bucky barnes imagines

lxvi. DRUNKEN MISTAKES

You had a problem.

You'd woken up as usual, with a quiet groan and a drowsy stretch. The sunlight that illuminated the room told you that you'd overslept, which was strange – usually you would've set an alarm to make sure you didn't miss your morning training session.

That was when you noticed that you definitely hadn't woken up in your own bed. And the problem? Well, you were absolutely stark naked, utterly and completely exposed.

While your own clothes were nowhere to be seen, somebody else's garments caught your eye – a red Henley shirt, draped carelessly over the back of a chair.

The sight triggered your memory of the previous night. Tony had thrown a party. Thor had brought along some of his Asgardian mead, boasting of how mortal beings could never handle its strength. You, being naturally stubborn and competitive, had insisted that while you were admittedly mortal, you were enhanced. You'd drank as much as you possibly could without passing out right there and then, and that had brought you here – to Bucky Barnes' bed.

At least you didn't have a hangover.

You had two options; either make a run for it and pray that nobody saw you while you tried to find your way back to your room, or impatiently wait for Bucky to return from wherever the hell he'd disappeared to, so that he could help you find your clothes. And then you could hopefully forget that the night ever happened.

"Shit," you muttered to yourself. There was no other word to describe the situation, really.

Because the thing was, you'd had a crush on Bucky since the day Steve had introduced him to you for the first time. If you'd slept together while you were both sober, you would've been thrilled. But that wasn't the case, and you were more than a little embarrassed about it.

Sighing, you quickly rolled out of the bed and, without thinking twice, pulled the Henley over your body. The material was soft and cozy, and tears brimmed in your eyes at the familiar scent of Bucky, of vanilla and musk and a hint of cedar. However, you didn't have time to mull over your mistakes; after quickly poking your head out of the door to check that the coast was clear, you took off running down the corridor.

You almost made it. You were inside the elevator, and you'd pressed the button for your floor. But the doors stayed open for just a second too long, allowing none other than Bucky himself to walk in behind you.

After a few moments of extremely awkward silence, he finally spoke up. "You're wearing my shirt."

"Yeah," you scoffed, "didn't really have any other options, unless I wanted to cross the tower with my bare ass out for everyone to see."

Bucky winced, and you immediately regretted your somewhat harsh response. It wasn't all his fault, after all – even if you wanted to blame everything on him, you knew you couldn't.

"Y/N," he sighed, casting his gaze to the floor, "I think—"

You didn't stick around the hear the rest of his sentence. The doors opened and you sprinted away once again, saving yourself the pain of inevitably being told that you were just a drunken mistake, a clueless one night stand.

Bucky watched you retreat to your room, slamming the door and locking it once you were safely inside. Of course, he easily could've caught up with you, but you were making your feelings quite clear – you wanted nothing to do with him. So, as much as it hurt, he let you go.

He was trying to be positive about the situation, but it was damn near impossible. There was nothing good about this – you were the girl of his dreams, and he'd already doubted that you would ever consider being more than a friend to him, but now he knew for sure. He'd messed everything up.

In desperate need of some advice, he headed to Steve's room, anxiously twiddling his thumbs as he walked. To his relief, his best friend wasn't busy, and welcomed him in as soon as he knocked.

"What's wrong, Buck?"

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but instead, he unexpectedly burst into tears. Sobs racked his body and he covered his face in shame, just as he always did whenever he cried. Years of torture had taught him that he wasn't allowed to feel emotion, that he didn't deserve it. That he didn't deserve anything.

Steve was by his side in an instant, pulling him into a hug, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly until his whimpers began to subside. Even after his tears had dried, his hands still shook slightly, as if his entire body was overwhelmed.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Steve asked lightly, concerned. "Was it another nightmare?"

"No," Bucky choked out, "it's Y/N."

He proceeded to shakily explain everything that had happened. It didn't take long – as far as he was concerned, he'd unintentionally ended things with you before they'd even properly started.

Steve listened intently, patiently waiting for the chance to tell Bucky that he was wrong, that he knew you liked him back because you'd told him yourself. But a perfectly timed knock on the door caused both men to fall silent.

"Steve, are you in there? I need help," you sniffled.

Bucky's eyes widened, and he frantically shook his head. However, he was too late; Steve had already opened the door and ushered you in, sending the two of you a mischievous smile as he exited the room, instructing F.R.I.D.A.Y to lock the door. Leaving you alone with the guy you'd been trying to avoid. Again.

Once you'd gotten over your initial disbelief, you took in Bucky's appearance. Red rimmed, puffy eyes, his shirt slightly damp at the neckline, a deep frown on his face. Unfairly, he was still adorable.

You pushed aside your pride and slowly sat down next to him. When he glanced at you inquisitively, you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly. At first, he involuntarily tensed up, but eventually his body relaxed under your touch as he returned the embrace.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after a while. "I didn't mean to leave you in my room, I went to– I wanted to make you breakfast, but I couldn't figure out how to switch on Stark's stupid fancy oven."

You chuckled, your heart jumping slightly at the suggestion that maybe he actually cared for you. Absentmindedly, you began to run your fingers through his hair, still smiling as he hummed gently, your movements soothing him.

"So I just gave up," Bucky continued, "and I went to your room to get you some clean clothes because last night, uh, I kinda ripped your dress when I was... y'know." He blushed and cleared his throat. "But the door was locked. And then I came back to my room and you were gone. Saw you running for the elevator in my shirt."

"I'm sorry, too," you murmured, finally pulling away from the hug to meet his gaze. "I was rude this morning, I guess I just... I was scared that you would hurt me."

Bucky flinched away from you, tears welling in his eyes once more. Only when he stood up did you realise what you'd said.

"Not like that! Wait, that's not what I meant," you blurted, desperately trying to correct yourself. However, the damage was done – he wouldn't look at you, leaving you no other option but to confess, to give away what you were really trying to tell him.

"Hey," you called softly, before taking a deep breath, "I'm saying that I like you. A lot. And I was scared that you wouldn't feel the same."

Luckily, your words seemed to catch Bucky's attention, and he sat down again, his thigh rubbing against yours. Tenderly, he reached out to hold your hand, his thumb drifting over your knuckles. And then his lips were on yours, kissing you slowly and sweetly, the complete opposite of the hungry, lustful kisses that you'd shared the night before.

"Doll, I've liked you since the moment I set eyes on you," he admitted once he'd pulled away. Butterflies swarmed your stomach as you leaned in to kiss him again.

Outside the room, Steve stood with his hand on the doorknob, grinning happily as he heard two of his closet friends finally confess their feelings for each other. He was about to walk away, to leave the two of you by yourselves for a little longer, but then he paused, clearing his throat dramatically.

"No fonduing on my bed!"