Chapter Text
Brooklyn, New York
Bucky smiles softly looking at the picture of you two on his lockscreen.
He’s had the Parker kid teach him how to use those damn devices just so he could look at your pretty face and talk to you while you’re not together.
Alpine is cuddled on the couch with him and he shoots you a good morning text like he does every day. You haven’t responded much since yesterday, but he doesn’t think much of it.
You’re at a bachelorette party with your best friends and he doesn’t want to be a bother.
Still, he can’t even begin to describe how much he misses you. It’s only been two days since you’ve left for Vegas but he feels his heart constrict in his chest because you’re not there, and he can’t hold you, cuddle you, whisper sweet nothings into your ear and make you giggle like a schoolgirl.
He can’t look at you with big, curious eyes while you do the pretty girl things you always do, like put on makeup or do face masks. He can’t brush your hair and rub your feet when you come home after wearing heels all day at work. He can’t cook your favorite comfort food as you rant about your job.
God, if his father saw him run to the store to grab you tampons and chocolate every time you get your period, what would he think? He barely suppresses a snort just thinking about the shocked and embarrassed look on his old man’s face after he accidentally overheard Becca tell her friend she’d gotten her period at 14.
He’s sure Mr. Barnes wouldn’t approve of Bucky’s behavior.
And surely HYDRA would punch the air if they saw their most prized possession paint his best girl’s feet in a pretty baby blue nail polish, because baby blue makes you happy, and if you’re happy then he’s happy too.
He’s such a sap, like Sam tells him.
He smiles like a lunatic at the thought of Zola having a stroke if he could see him all dolled up, hair braided and makeup done, just because his girl is bored and wants to practice her skills.
He’s fallen hard for you and he knows you love him.
Well, you love Jaime, as he goes by when he’s with you.
Would you love troubled, damaged Bucky too?
Las Vegas, Nevada
Your late 20s are a weird phase of your life.
Half of your friends are inviting you to their weddings and baby showers, some aren’t even done with school yet, and others can’t properly take care of a house plant on their own.
You belong to the latter category.
It’s Jade’s bachelorette party tonight, you’re in Vegas and you’ve drank more alcohol and done more drugs than you can handle.
And mixing those it’s a bad idea, but you can’t find it in yourself to care anymore.
Getting wasted in Vegas. It’s cliché really, but a it’s a fitting ending to Jade’s bachelorette years. You have always wanted to recreate The Hangover, minus the tiger and a couple other things, you suppose.
It reminds you of the first time you two have popped a pill in the dingy restrooms of a club in Barceloneta. You weren’t 18 yet, but in those kind of clubs age really did not matter.
You were so out of it by the time whatever drug you took kicked in that some British girls you met that night had to drag both your asses to their apartment.
Those girls, Grace and Hannah, if it wasn’t for them you wouldn’t be alive today.
You’d fucked and drank your way through Europe. It was London first, but London was boring, then Barcelona and Rome; Jade loved southern men, and you loved the way Spanish and Italian people partied. From Rome to some random italian city in the south where you’d taken a ferry to Corfù.
By the time you got to Greece you were so high all the time you barely registered moving from island to island until it was time to catch a plane to Athens and then Budapest. And from Budapest to Berlin, and from Berlin back home.
It was the summer before college and you were celebrating the end of your high school career. It was a nice phase, admittedly. You were both cheerleaders, popular, pretty, smart. You’d gotten into the college of your dreams on a cheerleading scholarship, your parents were proud of you, life was good. That summer you didn’t have a single care in the world, except choosing the sorority you would join in when August came.
Ten years later, Jade is getting married.
Today, you found out your boyfriend is a conniving bitch and a lying asshole. Not to mention the one they call the Winter Soldier.
“Hi pretty girl, can I buy you a drink?”
It’s lame maybe, but you’re drunk out of your mind and he’s handsome.
Warm brown eyes look down at you.
They’re not like Jaime’s, his eyes are light blue, almost transparent.
His skin is dark and glistens in the lights of the club, nothing like Jaime’s fair completion and his rosy cheeks.
You can feel the drug induced euphoria wearing off and the slight tick of your jaw. You’re glad you’re wearing a bandana that covers the lower part of your face.
“Why don’t we get out of here?”
His smile is pretty like his face. His head is shaved. Jaime’s chestnut locks reach his jawline.
You nod your head.
When he talks he’s charming and sure of himself. Jaime was a stuttering mess the first time he spoke to you.
You think of nothing, you feel like nothing.
“Cum pretty girl, cum for me.” he grunts in your ear.
His voice is gruff and deep. Jaime’s voice is soft for a man so big.
You should feel guilty but you don’t.
How can you, when this feels so good?
Why would you? You’re not the one who lied in the first place, you’re not the one who hid their identity.
You’re spent and satisfied. In your drunken haze you barely register the man cleaning you up with a washcloth and leaving you in your hotel room with a kiss on your temple and a whispered thank you..
You should be ashamed of yourself but you’re not.
Because Jaime who brings you flowers on all of your dates, who opens the door for you, pulls the chair out the table, gives you his jacket when you’re shivering, that sweet Jaime doesn’t exist.
His name isn’t Jaime at all, it turns out.
It’s James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes.
Morning comes and your head is pounding. You’re hugging the toilet while you throw up all you’ve got left inside of you while Grace holds your hair out of your face.
You never fucking listen, and that’s one of your biggest problems.
The second big problem you have, you never watch the news, and that’s shame.
If you did you might have seen the cool looking guy with the murder strut that beat the shit out of Captain America at the Triskelion.
Too bad you never bothered to educate yourself on what’s going on in the world.
If you did, you might not have ended up dating the Winter Soldier for five fucking months.
Morning comes and the sun shines through the curtains of this nice hotel Jade’s fiance has booked for the five of you. Raven snores softly on one of the beds, and you hear Hannah whisper to her girlfriend sweet nothings on the phone, and all you can think about is Jaime’s shy smile and soft eyes.
The way he hunches on himself to appear less threatening, the way he gives up his seat on the train to pregnant ladies and old people, the way he never fails to leave a generous tip to waiters and is polite to everyone.
Your phone lights up with a text message.
Good morning sweetheart, I hope you had fun with your girls last night. Having lunch with Alpine, we both miss you. I love you.
Your throat feels tight as you choke back a cry.
You never fucking think before you act, and that’s the biggest problem of them all.
You should regret it, and you do.