Sebastian Stan One Shots

My Friends Call Me Bucky

-Bucky Barnes Post Winter Soldier-

*Your POV*

I opened my eyes slowly as the sun shined through the thin white curtains. The bright light only worsened the throbbing pain in my head, so I pulled a blanket up to cover my eyes.

I breathed in deeply, hoping to smell the familiar scent of vanilla, but instead my blankets smelled of mint and...sweat?

I put my hands on the bed and pushed myself up. As I scanned the bedroom I was now in, I gasped audibly.

This wasn't my bed.

Oh God oh God oh God. I remember going to the bar last night after a long day at work, with hope to drown my stress in a few shots of tequila. I remember having a little bit too much to drink. I remember staring into bright blue eyes. But everything else is a blur.

Wait. Did I...?

I looked down at my clothing, and started to shake in fear. I was wearing a long grey shirt and my underwear. Looking around on the ground, I saw that my clothes were nowhere to be seen.

I had sex with a stranger. And now I'm stuck in his bedroom, in his bed, in his clothes.

I stepped out of the bed and looked into the full length mirror that was hung on the wall.

My hair was tangled and messy, and my eyes had black rings from where my makeup had smeared. The grey shirt was see through, and I didn't have anything on under it, so I crossed my arms over my chest. I looked about as bad as I felt.

Suddenly, a large crash came from outside the door. It sounded like glass breaking. It stopped me where I was. I froze. My breathing became ragged and even.

Please don't come in here. Please.

After a couple of moments, I slowly padded to the door and pressed my ear up against it. I heard a sizzling sound, and cursed silently under my breathe. There's no sneaking out. I'm going to have to face him.

The worst part about this is that I have no idea who I slept with. He could be a drug dealer or a rapist!

Although, if he was a rapist, I'd probably be in a basement naked. I shook my head, trying to rid my mind of the terrifying thoughts.

Hopefully, he was just a normal guy. He didn't do drugs, he had a job, he didn't have any strange night hobbies and he wasn't a rapist. Hopefully.

After a few more moments of debating, I decided to walk out of the bedroom. I sure as hell can't stay in here forever, and quite frankly I wanted to know exactly what happened last night.

I placed my hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it, careful not to make any noise. Once the door was open, I stepped out of the room and quietly made my way down the hallway.

As I stepped into the living room, I was greeted with the smell of bacon and coffee. That lessened my worry slightly, but I'm still not going to let my guard down.

I walked into the small kitchen and stopped right in my tracks when I saw him.

His back was turned to me, hunched slightly over the stove. His dark brown hair was shoulder length, covering his neck. A thin, tight shirt covered his torso and he was wearing red plaid pajama pants. But the thing about him that stood out the most was his left arm. It seemed to be made of a silver metal, and I noticed a red star on the shoulder.

Its a prosthetic. That's all it is. Its hanging down loosely at his side, he's not even mov-