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Steve is, well, he's uncomfortable to say the least. He's been sitting behind this chick—who literally has the reddest hair he's ever seen, he might add—for at least ten minutes now and she's probably sent at least twenty or thirty snapchats, each of which probably featured Steve in the background and one of which definitely featured Steve in the background—complete with an utterly stupid, mouth hanging open look.
But there's no other empty seats around other than the one next to the sleeping, drooly grandma and Steve hasn't quite hit that low of a point yet. Besides, he doesn't want her to think that she's annoying Steve or anything. Steve just doesn't particularly want strangers to see his "I woke up at four in the morning" look, eye-bags and all. It's honestly a no-win situation.
He hears the woman snort at whatever it is she's reading on her phone and then she turns around to glance at Steve. Steve reddens, self-esteem dropping to something in the negatives. He locks eyes with her and she appears embarrassed to be caught looking. Good, that asshole. She bites her cheek and then quickly turns back around, staring back down at her phone.
Steve lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The bus is stuck in literally the worst traffic he's ever seen and not only is he probably going to be late to the first day of his new job, but he also has to sit behind this middle-school jerk. He's seriously considering just walking the next few blocks at this point.
Another few moments pass with Steve staring at the floor, wondering what color the gum stuck to it had originally been. Green, probably. No, maybe blue and then Steve ponders on just how fucking sad his life is that he's actually debating with himself on this.
But then a hand is suddenly waving in front of his face and it only takes a flash of red hair for him to know that the snapchat girl is trying to get his attention. Steve looks up, a confused look on his face, which only becomes even more confused when the woman chooses to just blatantly stare at him and say nothing.
"Ummm....yes?" Steve questions. She stares a moment longer, looking Steve up and down as if she's a judge at a food fair and okay, no, Steve did not just make that reference—Professor Potts would slap him silly if he ever used that in his writing. But nonetheless, that is exactly what the woman is doing and Steve feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
Steven can pinpoint the moment though when she obviously deems him worthy of whatever the fuck it is that's going through her mind. She shrugs her shoulders and nods her head, a devilish gleam in her eyes and this probably can't end well.
"So here's the thing," she starts. "Oh, I'm Natasha, by the way."
"Steve."
"Pleasure. Anyways, you may or many not have noticed that I've been snapchatting for pretty much the entire bus ride—"
"Oh, I've noticed," Steve interrupts her and she gives him a curt glance before choosing to ignore it and continuing.
"Well, my friend who I've been snapchatting thinks you're hot. Or as he put it, 'Holy shit, that's the hottest motherfucker I've ever seen in my life. I need to get in his pants right now.'"
Steve isn't sure what to say so he's glad when Natasha chooses to keep on talking.
"And, well, I'm just gonna be frank. One, you don't have a wedding ring and two, you haven't been on your phone at all, so I'm assuming you don't have a boyfriend to text—"
"What makes you so sure I'm gay?" Steve asks, voice rising a few embarrassing octaves.
"Oh, please," is the only response she gives and Steve decides not to argue because, well, she's right. But still.
"So," Natasha begins. "What do you think?" She holds her phone in his face and Steve is graced with a picture of Natasha standing beside what has to be the most gorgeous person he's ever seen in his life.
"Is this a joke?" Steve asks. "Because that is definitely not a real human being. Your friend was created in a factory, sorry to tell you."
Natasha laughs, she actually laughs and Steve is only slightly less scared of her.
"I know, right?" she replies. "It's a shame he's gay but I still wouldn't touch his dick with a ten-foot pole, because he's like my brother, you know?"
"Umm, yeah?" Steve answers, or at least attempts to answer with what he thinks she would want to hear. "Sure."
"So get your phone out because I gotta give you his number," she more or less commands Steve to do.
Steve stares open-mouthed for a moment before realizing that, "Holy shit, this is happening. You weren't joking." He pulls his phone out and Natasha snatches it from his hand, quickly figuring out how to add a new contact.
"Here," she hands him his phone back, grinning and Steve notices that she entered the guy's name down as 'bae'.
"So I'm assuming that bae isn't actually his name?" Steve questions, laughing.
"It's Bucky," she answers.
"That's both the weirdest and cutest name I've heard in my life."
Natasha laughs. "Make sure to tell him that. Maybe it'll turn him on."
Steve reddens, but laughs along with Natasha.
"Anyways," she pipes up, looping her purse around her shoulder. "This is my stop, so I gotta go. But it was nice meeting you Steve and you better fucking text him because you two would make the cutest couple in the world and I want to be there at your wedding. Got it?"
"Got it."
The rest of the bus ride seems to go by agonizingly slow, Steve staring at his phone, unable to figure out how to text Bucky. What if Natasha had just been fucking with him? What if he embarrasses himself so badly that he has to move to Guam and change his named to Marco? A lot of fucking bad things could happen.
He's fifteen minutes late to his job by the time the bus reaches his stop and he runs into the building, frantically pushing elevator buttons as he struggles to remember which floor he's gonna be working on. It's only another five minutes for him to figure it out and he's a sweaty mess by the time he enters his boss's office, breathing heavily.
"I'm here," Steve breathes out, struggling for air. "I mean that—I uhh, I'm Steve Rogers. Your new assistant. Or well, one of your assistants. Not your only assistant, obviously. But uh—"
"You're late," Mr. Barton says sternly, not even glancing at Steve from where he's seated at his desk.
"Traffic, sir," Steve replies weakly. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."
"It's fine," Mr. Barton says, finally looking at up and giving him a polite smile. "I won't be your boss technically, so it's not my problem."
"W-what?" Steve stammers. "I thought—"
"You'll be my nephew's assistant. He recently got a promotion and the little asshole feels like he needs an assistant, so yeah. That's where you come in."
"I'm sorry," Steve replies because what the hell, he thought was going to be working for Clint Barton, one of the top CEOs in the state and also one of Forbes' friendliest people to work for. "I was under the impression that —"
"Is there gonna be a problem with that?"
"Oh, no. No, not at all," Steve says quickly, shutting his mouth for once. He really needs this job.
"Good. Now I'm not gonna lie. My nephew is a pain and he'll probably have you doing all kinds of dumb shit like buying him whatever the hell new flavor is at Starbucks, so if it does become a problem, just talk to me and we'll work something out."
"Yes, sir." There's a knock at the office door and Steve jumps, incredibly too nervous for his own well-being.
"That must be him," Barton says, walking over to open it and the next five seconds or so feel like they came out of the cheapest fucking chick flick Steve has ever watched on Lifetime. On the other side of the door is Bucky, flashing the kind of grin that belongs on politicians and looking unfairly attractive in his suit and tie.
"Your guy is here," Barton says, nodding his head toward Steve.
"Bucky?" Steve questions and Bucky finally notices Steve standing in the corner.
"Holy shit," he says. "Are you?"
"Yeah—"
"What even—"
"I know."
"Do you two know each other?" Barton questions.
"No," Bucky says, eyes turning into a mix of something both completely sinful and dangerous. "But we're gonna."