Bucky Barnes Fics

Whatever It Takes

This is, without a doubt, the worst date you've been on. The restaurant itself is stunning, the romantic family-owned spot is only a few miles from your home, and you've been dying for a chance to eat here.

The waiter, Peter, has been fantastic. You can't remember the last time you've had such delicious, decadent food, you're amazed to see the menu has all your favorite foods. The music coming from the live band is phenomenal, you almost want to join the other couples on the dance floor.

Almost.

Everything should be perfect, your first date at your dream restaurant. It would be if you weren't sitting across from the most obnoxious, self-centered man you've ever met. Lance.

You should have known when he walked in ahead of you, leaving you to pay for the uber he used to pick you up. Then he was short with the hostess, and the way he's been treating poor Peter is embarrassing. You've already made a mental note to leave him a huge tip as an apology.

This is the first and last time you let your friend Kristy talk you into going on a blind date. You wanted to stay at home and sift through pictures of you and your ex but she insisted you get out of your house. So here you are stuck with this egomaniac.

He may be cute, but if he continues to talk about himself in the third person or mentions the words gymnastics or gold metal one more time, you're going to shove the entire bread basket down his throat. He hasn't let you get a single word out; you wonder why he didn't just ask himself out.

Glancing up from your dish, you inwardly cringe as Lance chews loudly, talking around the mottled food in his big mouth. "I'll show you my medal later, baby," he winks, picking out a piece of lettuce lodged next to his molar with his pinky. "Let you see up close and personal why they call Lance the god of gymnastics."

It takes all your willpower to not gag, hiding your grimace behind your wine glass. Does that line work on anyone?

You briefly contemplate if it's worth the jail time to strangle him and Kristy. No, no, it's not, you don't look good in those jumpsuits.

Sighing, you mutter something that weakly resembles okay Lance, not that he's listening. He's already talking about some upcoming event while brazenly gawking at you.

His beady eyes drag across down your body, lingering on your breasts, making your skin crawl. Subtly placing your arm across your chest, you force a smile, figuring it'll be better to just ditch him after the check.

Needing a distraction from the droll, one-sided conversation, your gaze wanders across the room, taking in the fine artwork decorating the deep burgundy walls, tasteful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling casting a picturesque glow across the bustling room. Placing your chin on your palm, you smile at the band playing. The lithe redheaded singer is stunning; her sultry voice almost drowns out the grating man across from you.

Bucky observes you from his table, his imposing gaze cutting across the room. Silencing his men with a flick of his ring-adorned hand, he studies your every movement, noting every expression crossing your pretty face, willing you to look at him. And when you finally do, when you finally let him see your gorgeous eyes, he knows you're going to be his again.

Turning your head, you're gazing at the wall of liquor behind the bar when a flash of black catches your attention. Your eyes flick over to your left, and your heart stalls in your chest.

A pair of familiar intense blue eyes are honed in on you, studying you with a striking reverence, like you're a newly discovered classical masterpiece as if he'll blink and you'll disappear.

Bucky always has a knack for throwing you off kilter with a simple look, his presence filling whatever room he's in.

He's sitting back in his chair with an air of confidence, exuding power and charisma. He's impossible to miss, and once you've got a look at him, you're captivated. Again. The oh-so-familiar spiral starts in your heart, your belly sinking to the floor.