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It was early Saturday morning when you made your way down to the shared living area in the tower. Everyone else seemed to have plans for the day, so you decided to treat yourself to a solo movie marathon. You were just about to make a cup of coffee when the elevator chimed and someone stepped out.
Looking up, your gaze met the piercing blue eyes of Bucky Barnes.
“Hey,” he said when he spotted you.
“Hi,” you replied, surprised. “What are you doing back so soon?”
“Why? Am I interrupting some secret plans?” he asked with a smirk.
Ugh, why did he have to look so good first thing in the morning?
You cleared your throat and rushed to respond. “No! Just wondering. Everyone else is out until late tonight—or tomorrow.”
“I didn’t make any plans. Just got back from working out,” he said, gesturing vaguely to his sweat-dampened t-shirt.
“Oh… well, would you like to join me for a movie marathon? If you want to, I mean. Only if you’re not busy or—” You stumbled over your words, mentally slapping yourself. Get it together!
“Yeah, actually… that sounds nice,” he said, flashing a soft smile before glancing down at himself. “Let me get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you back here.”
You nodded, and he made his way down the hall to his room.
The moment he disappeared, you let your head fall onto the counter with a groan. Why did you have to be so awkward? And now you were about to spend the entire day alone with Bucky Barnes—the man you’d been crushing on for what felt like forever.
You’d been paired together on missions plenty of times, always perfectly in sync. It was like your bodies moved with the same rhythm—no need for spoken orders, no hesitation. You both just knew what the other would do. The trust between you was unshakable.
You used to talk more too—teasing jabs, playful banter, and more than a little flirting. But lately, things had changed. The easy flow between you had become strained, quieter. It all started after the Stark Gala.
Tony had thrown it as a mix between a fundraiser and a celebration of the team’s recent streak of successful missions—not that he ever needed a real reason to host a party.
Everyone was told to dress up, and it wasn’t often you had a chance to get all dolled up. You’d enlisted the help of Pepper and Natasha to get ready. They’d put you in a deep green dress with a high neckline and a low-cut back. It hugged your figure just right, and the fabric felt soft and luxurious against your skin.
Thankfully, Pepper let you wear flats—heels were not your friend. But she refused to let you skip hair and makeup. You had to admit, by the time they were done with you, you barely recognized yourself. And for one night, you felt radiant.
Maybe too radiant… because something about that night shifted things between you and Bucky.
The gala had been a success. From the looks of it, the guests were enjoying themselves, and the fundraiser had already raised more than enough to meet its goal.
You’d been there for over an hour, mingling with guests and teammates. Natasha and Clint were posted near the bar, Bruce was deep in conversation with a few fellow academics, and Steve, Tony, Rhodey, and Pepper were doing the rounds with the big-name donors and VIPs.
Needing a break from the crowd, you slipped out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air. The New York City skyline stretched out in front of you—glittering, alive, and somehow always comforting. It was a view you never got tired of.
“Nice night,” a voice said behind you.
You turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway, dressed in a crisp suit and tie. He looked… devastatingly handsome.
“Yes, it is,” you replied with a smile. “You clean up nice, Sergeant Barnes.”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at his suit. “Thanks. Steve made me wear this thing.”
“Well,” you said, letting your eyes linger a little longer than necessary, “you wear it very well. Trying to escape the crowd?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Needed some air.”
“I hear that.” He stepped closer and came to stand beside you, your arms just barely brushing as you both leaned on the railing.
“I’ll never get used to this view,” you murmured, eyes scanning the skyline. “It’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful,” he echoed. But when you glanced at him, you realized he wasn’t looking at the city at all. He was looking at you.
Your breath caught, and you quickly turned your eyes forward again, cheeks warming. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him turn away, clearing his throat. “You look very beautiful tonight,” he said, voice softer now.
When you looked up, he had moved closer—so close you could feel the warmth of him. You tilted your head, your eyes meeting his, and watched as his gaze dropped to your lips.
He said your name—so softly it barely reached your ears. You found yourself leaning in, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Buck?” You both jumped apart as the balcony door opened. Steve stood in the doorway, smiling brightly.
“Oh, there you are! Come on, I have someone I want you to meet.” He looked to you. “Do you mind if I steal him for a bit?”
You forced a polite smile. “N-no, not at all.”
Bucky looked at you for a moment longer, something unspoken hanging between you, before nodding and following Steve back inside.
That had been two months ago. And ever since… things had felt different.
Like you were both tiptoeing around something that had almost happened—but didn’t.
And you weren’t sure which was worse: the silence between you now, or the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would’ve felt like if Steve hadn’t walked in.
Little did you know, Bucky had been thinking about the exact same thing as he walked back into the living area—only to find you sitting casually on top of the kitchen counter, swinging your legs and nursing a fresh cup of coffee.
“Sorry,” you said, looking up. “Figured I’d wait for you to pick a movie.”
“Oh. Thanks,” he replied. “But I think you’d have a better idea of what to watch than I would.”
You shrugged. “Right… sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” he said gently.
Then came a pause. That all-too-familiar awkward silence, heavy with everything unspoken between you.
Finally, Bucky cleared his throat and broke it. “I think we need to talk.”
Your heart skipped. “Talk? About what?” you asked, trying to play dumb even though your stomach had already twisted in anticipation.
“The gala,” he said.
“Oh,” you replied, heat rushing to your cheeks. “That.”
He stepped closer, leaning against the counter across from you, arms crossed casually—but his eyes were anything but calm.
“What do you want to talk about?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.
“Are you going to make me spell it out?” he asked softly. You looked down at your cup, fingers tightening around it. “No… I just—honestly, I don’t know what to say.”
Your voice was quiet, uncertain. You weren’t sure if he was about to close the door on what almost happened… or open it wider than you were ready for.
Bucky didn’t respond right away. He just watched you, his jaw tight, like he was weighing every word before speaking.
“You kissed me,” you said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. “Well—almost.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. And you almost kissed me back.”
You looked away. “Then Steve showed up.”
“Yeah,” he said again, quieter this time. “He did.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward now—it was charged. Heavy. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
“I’ve been thinking about it ever since,” he finally said. “That night. You. How close we were.”
You felt your heartbeat pick up and you let yourself admit to him that you have been too.
He pushed off the counter he was leaning against, slow and deliberate, and walked the few steps over to you. You felt your breath catch as he moved to stand between your legs, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the counter, one on either side of your thighs—close, but not touching.
“Then why are we pretending it didn’t happen?” he asked, his voice low.
You bit your lip. “Because I don’t want to make things weird. Because if we ruin this—us—our friendship, the team…”
His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before returning to your eyes. “But what if we don’t ruin it? What if this is the one thing we actually get right?”
You swallowed hard. The space between you was practically non-existent now, your knees brushing his hips, his presence overwhelming in the best way.
“And what if we do?” you whispered.
His voice dropped rough and soft at once, thick with emotion. “Then I’ll take responsibility. I’ll fix it. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t want to be near you. Like I don’t feel something every time you walk into a room.”
You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the edge of the counter beside you.
“I don’t think I can ignore this much longer” you admitted.
“Then don’t,” he murmured.
You stayed there for a moment—close, barely touching, the tension between you a living thing.
But neither of you moved to close the distance. Not yet.
Instead, you whispered, “Why now?”
His eyes flickered, searching yours. “Because I’ve spent too long waiting for the right moment. And I think maybe there isn’t one. Maybe this is it.”
Your breath caught.
He didn’t say anything more. Just stood there, watching you with so much patience it nearly broke you open.
Your breaths mingling in the quiet space between you. Every nerve in your body was aware of him—his warmth, his closeness, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against the counter like he was resisting the urge to touch you.
So you leaned forward—barely.
He met you the rest of the way.
His lips brushed yours so gently at first it could have been a question. You answered by kissing him back, slow and soft, like a secret finally spoken out loud.
There was no urgency. No wild hands or desperate fumbling. Just a careful, aching kind of closeness—the kind that said, I’ve thought about this, and I’m terrified to ruin it.
One of your hands slid into his hair, fingertips threading through the strands with reverence, while the other steadied itself at the nape of his neck. His breath hitched at the touch, like even that small connection meant something.
His hands moved to your hips, fingers tentative at first—like he was still asking permission even as you melted into him. You jolted a little at the sudden cool of his metal hand against your bare leg, and he started to pull back, concerned, until you gently pulled him back with a quick “It’s okay.”
And it was. Because somehow, even the sharpest parts of him knew how to be soft with you.
You ran your fingers through his hair again, scratching lightly at his scalp. He let out the faintest sound—half sigh, half groan—that made heat bloom in your chest. You smiled against his lips, a flush rising to your cheeks, but the moment shifted again when he pulled you a little closer, anchoring you to him.
Your lips parted in a quiet gasp, and his matched it, like you were both surprised by how much you felt… how much you’d been holding back.
But neither of you took it further. Not yet.
Because this, this was enough.
When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, both of you lingering in the closeness, breathless and unsure, but certain of one thing:
Something had changed and there was no going back.
The quiet stretched again, not awkward this time—just full. Full of new possibilities and old feelings finally spoken without words.
You were the first to break the silence. “We forgot to pick a movie.”
Bucky let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling in the way you loved. “Yeah… well you distracted me.”
“I distracted YOU?” You laughed. “Oh I’ll remember that for next time.”
“Next time huh?” He looked at you suggestively and you shook your head with a grin.
The tension loosening just enough for your heart to feel light again. He smiled—really smiled—and with that, leaned in to kiss you once more.
It was even softer this time. No more questions. Just the answer.