A/N: I've been working on this imagine here for, oh I don't know, about four months now?? It's been a real long time coming but I have to say I rather like how it turned out :) Hope you all do, too!

Requests will be up soon :) Thanks for reading!

Winnie

(PS. The gif above inspired the whole story and fits so perfectly and I'm very happy about that)

Words: 6.1K

"OH BUUUUUCKY! BUCKY BAAAAARNES!" At the top of your lungs you sing his name. Prancing around the compound and hollering for the super soldier seems to be doing you no favors as you've been doing it for ten minutes now with not a spot of luck. With a grunt you spot some human life in the kitchen. You smile when you see that it's Steve in there with Wanda.

"Hey!" you shamelessly interrupt their conversation by catapulting yourself between them. They blink at you and raise eyebrows. "Either of you seen Bucky anywhere?" You bounce your weight from one leg to the other.

"No," Steve replies curtly. He takes a bite out of a pear and chuckles when you groan in annoyance.

"I last saw him outside. I think he was going to go swimming with Sam." Wanda shrugs.

Steve leans his lower back on the rigid counter behind him. "What do you need Bucky for anyway?"

"He owes me a favor," you boast with a triumphant smile and a quick rise onto your tippy toes. "And I'm cashing in today."

Wanda laughs and Steve quickly does the same as you dash off again. "Thanks guys! See you! Love you!"

"Don't be late for dinner again...!" is the last thing you hear Steve AKA your wanna-be adoptive father call after you. It's equally adorable and obnoxious how he tries to parent you since you joined the team as the newest orphan and youngest member when you were 19. Now you're 23 and he still thinks you're 12. You're not a child but Steve sometimes treats you like one.

Oh well—Steve's not the super soldier on your mind right now. The one you're looking for is brooding with freshly chopped chestnut hair and a gleaming metal arm...

"AH! Just the assassin I was looking for," you sing-song on your way out towards the swimming pool. Your chiming call draws Sam's and Bucky's attention to the pool gate as you come forward. Nat's in one of the loungers taking a nap. She hardly stirs as you skip past her.

"Oh hey Y/N!" Sam cheers. He props himself out of the water partially by his arms. "Are you coming to swim?"

Clint appears from behind the towel tower. "Water's great, kid."

"Not now, maybe later." You come closer to the edge of the pool near the ladder that disappears into the deep end below. "I'm here to talk to Bucky."

"What is it, squirt?" Bucky knocks his head from side to side to get some of the lodged water out of his ears. You watch on amusedly as he does this for a few moments before answering his reasonable question.

"I'm cashing in my favor."

"What?" Bucky treads water and stares up at you with feigned confusion. "What favor?"

You roll your eyes. "Don't play coy with me. You owe me a favor and you know it." At the front of your chest you cross your arms and wait for him to say something. When he doesn't you decide to carry on as if he had. "And I need to cash it out in the form of a fake date."

"A what now?" Bucky splutters as Sam cackles behind him. Bucky pauses to splash water back at the Falcon before turning back to you. He swims closer to the pools edge so that he can lower his voice slightly. "I said I owed you a favor, Y/N, not a date."

"FAKE date," you repeat. "Which technically isn't a date at all since it's fake. So I'd say it's a reasonable favor."

"What do you even need a fake date for anyway?"

"Doesn't matter why I need it, does it? Just that I need it and you owe me bigtime."

Bucky huffs and takes his turn at rolling his eyes. "Sorry, Y/N, but I'm not gonna be your fake date."

You kinda saw this one coming. Good thing you came prepared with a backup plan.

"That's alright." The lightness in your tone immediately makes Bucky suspicious. "How about we just reminisce a little to the day that brought about this whole favor nonsense? The day I found you..."

"Okay! Okay," Bucky rapidly waves a hand in the air and silences you with rambling words. He's already heading towards the pool ladder. "Fine, fine. I'll be your stupid fake date." While his grumbling causes him to frown it only makes you smile.

"Yay!" you squeal and clap your hands together once for good measure. "We're leaving in two hours. Look nice but not too nice—I can't have my date looking better than me. Oh and don't forget to shave. I only real date guys who shave, and it won't be believable if you don't." With that as your final request you spin around on a heel and saunter off again. "See ya at four, Bucky darling!"

You're unaware of Sam's giggling commentary as you head back into the compound. "Don't look so pouty, grumpy pants. There are worse things you could be doing tonight than going on a date with that cutie." Sam slaps Bucky's shoulder as he joins him outside of the pool. He grins, "Don't try anything with her though or Steve might put your head on a steak. Just because you're his best friend doesn't mean he'll let you off that easy."

Bucky grunts—drying himself with a white towel. "I'm not going to try anything, Wilson. It's a fake date. I don't even know what the hell for."

Nat opens one eye. "Her friend's birthday party. Apparently she's a real bitch, so have fun." Nat readjusts herself in the lounger to nap again.

"What? Why would Y/N be friends with her then?" Bucky asks—utterly confused. He shakes his head before anyone can actually answer. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. I don't care. I just gotta do this thing so she leaves me alone about it."

Sam cackles. He tugs on one of Bucky's ears, making the soldier grunt unhappily. "Oh you're not fooling anyone!"

Upstairs on the fifth floor in a yellow painted bedroom with billowy white curtains you're raiding your closet for something to wear. You asked Bucky last minute to give him less time to argue or come up with a way out of going. But you know just as well as he does that he's been dragged into this thing headfirst now and there's no way out. Not if he doesn't want the whole team knowing what you walked in on him watching 50 Shades of Grey in the theater room last month. Oh, how they'd TEAR INTO HIM if they knew. Especially Sam! Oh it makes you smirk to think about it. Despite how hilarious it'd be to see Bucky get the shit roasted out of him, you want this favor so much more. There's no way you can go to Hillary's party without a date: in that scenario YOU'D be the one getting roasted (in a much less friendly way). You've already lied to her about being in a relationship for weeks now. She's expecting you to bring this boyfriend of yours for her to meet. Oh, you hope Bucky doesn't do anything to embarrass you tonight...

"Relax, Y/N. It's going to be fine." You pep talk yourself into confidence as you fix your hair. You nod along to yourself in the mirror with a smile. "Great time—it'll be a great time!" You dab on some makeup and curl your lashes one last time with a content sigh. "And maybe—who knows—Bucky will actually wanna hang out with me after tonight." You stop when you see yourself in the full body mirror next to the closet. You grab the hanger that houses your pretty party dress. The soft velvet fabric is unlike anything you would normally wear. It's trendy and sexy and practically everything that you're not (at least as far as you can tell). But you slip it on over your head and watch as your baggy workout clothes are replaced with the tight push-up bodice and short skirt. Over the top you throw on a belted black coat to keep away the chill that always turns up on New York November nights. On your feet you wear flats because 1) heels are uncomfortable as hell and 2) you're afraid of being taller than your date. Not that Bucky's not tall, because he is, but you're rather tall too. For a girl your age some may say that you're unsightly so. Perhaps it's because of your DNA mutation that you tower over half the men on the team (especially Clint and Tony). Maybe that's the reason you're still single: maybe men are intimidated by you. You consider this with a cocked head while looking yourself over in the mirror. Eventually a sigh flutters past your lips. You can't quite figure out what it is that boys don't like about you: you'll just have to accept the fact that it's true.

Sparingly you shoot a glance to the clock. You gasp as you realize you're running behind. You said you'd meet Bucky downstairs at four. It's already fifteen after.

"Crap, crap, crap," you mutter to yourself the whole way down the hall. You dash into the elevator and ride it all the way down the garage before stumbling out into the cold, uninsulated place. Bucky's leaning on the hood of his slick black car with his eyes on his cell phone screen. He seems to be reading an article or something when you hurry up to his side.

"You're late," Bucky sighs.

"I know—I know. I'm sorry."

Bucky walks around to your side of the car. He opens the door for you, sort of taking you off guard. He has a hand in his pocket and another on the door when he sighs. He lets his blue eyes flutter over you and your clearly post-running state. Your breathing is erratic, hair frizzier than you'd like it to be, and cheeks flushed. A small smile tugs at Bucky's lips. "You look pretty though."

"Oh. Thanks." You awkwardly push some hair out of your face. "This is a fake date, though—remember? You don't have to compliment me or anything."

"I know." Bucky closes your door and then walks around to his side. You watch him from the front windshield with a long sigh. You're nervous—there's no denying it. Bucky even knows you well enough to comment on it when he puts the car into drive.

"Yes, I'm nervous. Hillary can be... brutal."

"Then why are you even going to this shindig?" Bucky doesn't move his eyes off of the road as he drives  away from the compound and into town.

"Well, it's... it's complicated."

"Doesn't sound like it to me." Bucky shrugs one shoulder lamely. "She sounds like a real piece of work. Why'd you need a friend like that anyway?"

"She's been my friend for a long time. For a long time she was my only friend, ya know? She's not all bad. She has her faults—but we all do." You double check the contents of your purse to make sure you remembered the present and your ID. Seeing both, you breathe a sigh of relief.

"And what are yours?" Bucky asks. He has to stop at a red light. As he does he glances over at you. You do the same for him—eyeing the way he wears a button up shirt so well with those dark, tight jeans.

"What are my what?" you cluelessly repeat.

"Your faults. You say we all have 'em. But as far as I've heard about you from everyone else, you really don't have any." The light switches to green. The car purrs as it starts moving again. "Ever since I got to the compound, even before you officially joined the team, all they'd do is sing your praises." You blush at his words—hardly believing all of them. But he doesn't sound overly flattering as he speaks, just talking as if he's presenting a set of boring facts.

"Well, I definitely have plenty; or else I'd have a real date tonight and not a scammed one," you chuckle nervously. You fiddle with the rings around your fingers and watch the scenery breeze by your window. Bucky feels slightly guilty in what he's said. You don't seem offended though, which only makes him feel worse. You look sort of shy and thoughtful now as you get ready for this elaborate fake-date scheme that you haven't even thought all the way through yet.

"Tell me what I gotta do tonight," Bucky speaks up a few minutes later. You blink, sort of taken off guard by his sudden eagerness to play along. "We have to have a backstory. When did we meet?"

"We should keep that part of the story the same," you decide aloud. "To avoid confusion."

"Alright—five months ago."

"But how? Everyone else has cute couple stories. I met you in a stiff conference room after I'd just gotten out of the hospital and my face was all bloodied up..."

"Well," Bucky hums in thought, "If I remember right, you were trying to introduce yourself when you knocked over a full cup of coffee onto me. You tried to clean it up with your shirt, or jacket or something. Then we were both covered in coffee for the whole damn meeting." His blue eyes flicker over to you in the passenger seat. "That was pretty cute." An amused little grin tugs at one side of his peachy pout.

"I don't know if I'd call it cute, but definitely cliché." You chuckle and resume your viewing of the scenery out your window. It's slowly shifting from greens and browns to hues of greys and blues as you near city limits. "We haven't slept together yet."

"What? Why would we even need to know that?" Bucky sounds utterly confused.

You roll your eyes. "Because Hillary will ask. And her boyfriend will probably make a jab at you about it, too. We have to be on the same page."

"And after five months we still haven't fucked?"

"Oh my god—not with that foul mouth we haven't," you scoff.

Bucky chuckles to himself lightly. "Fine, fine. We're well behaved—no touching." He picks his fingers up from the wheel slightly as he drives as if to elaborate.

"Now I didn't say that," you argue. "We gotta hold hands and everything or we won't look legit."

"Ok. What are your parents' names?" Bucky asks.

"Dead and irrelevant," you point out.

"Oh. Sorry," Bucky grips the steering wheel a bit harder as he apologizes meekly.

You change subjects. "Who made the first move?"

"Definitely me," Bucky proudly declares.

You consider this for a moment. "Yeah. Hillary would never believe that I could make the first move."

"Are you the kinda girl that likes all those cutesy nicknames and shit?" Bucky asks. In any other circumstance you'd feel thrown off by this question, but considering the circumstances it's totally fine.

"Depends on the nickname, I suppose." You shrug.

"Sure," Bucky validates with a hum. "I don't like 'em. Not for myself, anyway. Try sticking to Bucky."

"Bucky won't work," you argue. "We have to come up with another name."

"Another...!?" Bucky stops himself with a deep breath. "Okay, fine. What's my name then?"

You purse your lips in thought. "Jake."

Bucky's face contorts into one of disgust. "That's gotta be the most millennial, douche-bag name I've ever heard."

"Fine. Pick your own name." You start flipping through radio stations to pass the time.

Bucky thinks back to all the movies and TV shows he's watched recently. A few names pop up in his mind, but one rolls of his tongue the easiest. "Sebastian."

"Sebastian? Seriously? That's so... extra."

"And so is bringing a fake date to your bitchy friend's lame birthday," Bucky, or should you say Sebastian, retorts.

You draw your hands up in defeat. "Touché." You pause, letting out the name in a sigh, "Sebastian."

"I think it's fitting."

"About as fitting as me being in this dress right now," you refer to your usual casual ways.

Bucky's blue eyes wander over you. "I dunno. I think it looks pretty damn good."

You can't stop the heat that floods your cheeks. "Next question."

"Alright. When's your birthday? Our anniversary? How long did it take me to kiss you?" Bucky asks a spitfire of questions at once—only giving you a second in between to answer. The third one has you stumped, though.

"Umm, I don't know... maybe a week?"

"A week for a kiss? Just an innocent little kiss?"

"I highly doubt that anything you'd do with a girl, James, would be innocent."

Bucky opens his mouth to retort before the gesture turns to a proud smirk. "Alright. That's valid."

"Oh I've got a good one," you clap your hands once to draw his attention back. He quickly brings his eyes off of the road to you. "You're clearly not an Avenger, because no one knows I am, so what do you do?"

"What's your cover job? That'll affect mine."

"A massage therapist."

"Wait—really?" Bucky raises a brow. "Why?"

"I have my certifications; that's why."

"Damn," Bucky chuckles. "If we ever end up owing each other anything again I know how I'm cashing my favor in."

"Nice try, ace, but I'm not touching you." You sit farther back in your seat and try not to think too much what it'd be like to have Bucky laying out half-naked in front of you with hot wax dripping down his back. Briskly you give your head a shake. "Besides, after tonight we'll be even."

"Fine." Bucky slows down for a yellow light. Once the car is stopped fully he says, "I'll be a mechanical engineer. The gloves are because my hands are all fucked up from the machinery. Burns and oil stains and all that sort of stuff."

In agreement you nod. "Hm. That's pretty believable."

"Not the first time I've had to lie about who I am, doll." Bucky revs the engine as the light switches green. He catches sight of your surprise when he's called you the new name. "What? Doll not one of the good ones on your little list?"

"No, no. It's fine. Just..." You shrug. "Different." You don't want to admit that the name, especially hearing it in his sultry voice, has your insides melting to goop.

"A different sort of name for a different sort of girl." Bucky chuckles when he sees you frown. "Don't look so offended: it was a compliment."

If there's anything to be said in response to that, you're not sure what it is. So you remain quiet until Bucky's GPS takes the car straight to the parking garage nearest the hotel where Hillary's booked her in-town stay. The bar where dinner and drinks will be is on the rooftop.

Bucky helps you out of the car. He holds the small of your back with his metal hand, earning a strange look from you. "I think this is the sort of thing that boyfriends do," he offers as his excuse.

"Oh. Right. Duh," you chuckle nervously. You don't notice then when you glance away to blush that Bucky's still looking—unable to stop himself from staring. It's a peculiar desire he's hit with suddenly, but he just can't seem to get enough of the sight of your pretty little face. Maybe it's because he's never seen you outside of work before, or maybe it's because you look so gorgeous in that little black dress. Whatever the reason, Bucky can't tear his eyes away.

Inside the hotel elevator Bucky leans over to whisper into your ear. "How long do we have to be here?"

You sigh. "Two hours, at least."

Bucky nods. "Got it." He glances to the other people in the elevator before leaning over to add, "You swear we're even after this?"

"I swear." You can't help but smirk. You look over at him, grateful to be almost the same height, and tease quietly, "Your kinky little movie preferences will follow me to my grave."

Bucky huffs irritably. "For the hundredth time, I wasn't planning on finishing the whole thing..."

"Then why were you on movie number three?" You raise an eyebrow skeptically. When Bucky can't speak you only laugh. "Like I said, your secret is safe with me."

The elevator doors chime open wide. The other patrons on board file out first before Bucky escorts you ahead of him. Outside the doors he resumes his place at your side—this time reaching down for your hand. He wraps his fingers through yours tightly with his thumb resting on your slim wrist. He quite likes how your hand fits into his. You, coincidentally enough, have the very same thought.

For being so early in the evening there are a good amount of people already at the bar. Its six now and the air smells of food and expensive booze. Quickly your wandering eye spots Hillary over on the dark dancefloor. Her blond hair is done up in large curls. She wears a black dress even slinkier than yours. When she shuffles too much the very top of her thigh is exposed—showing a bit of skin that the sun never sees.

"That must be her," Bucky mumbles.

"How'd you know?" you ask as you lead him closer.

"You sighed when you saw her," Bucky chuckles.

You can't help but join him in laughing quietly. "Like I said, we only have to be here two hours. Let's just try to survive until then."

Bucky's lips turn up in a smirk when he nods. "Yes, dear."

Hillary's boyfriend is the first to spot you. He waves an excited hand in your direction. Hillary takes note of the action and turns around with a smile.

"Oh... my... GOD!" she shrieks. Quickly she skitters off of the dancefloor to meet you at the edge. Her arms tug you out of Bucky's hold and into a sweaty hug. "You came!"

"Of course I did," you laugh. You escape the hug and give her a smile. "Happy birthday, girl."

Hillary quickly turns her attention towards the man standing beside you. "And this must be that sex-maniac lover of yours?"

Bucky's eyebrows quickly launch halfway up the rest of his face. You're blushing madly—stuttering out a reply. "I—I never... I didn't say..."

"If I remember right, you said he was kinkier than Christian Grey." Hillary stands on her toes to give Bucky a hug around the neck. When she's back down again she beams. "What's your name, handsome?"

"Sebastian."

"Well, Sebastian. It's nice to know that someone's finally giving Y/N good dick. She's been absolutely deprived since that last boyfriend of hers left her out to dry. Cheating on her with the maid—cliché or what? I laughed so hard when I first heard. After I felt bad, I mean."

Bucky can hardly keep up with what's being said. He knows enough though to have reason to believe that maybe the little Y/N isn't as innocent as she seems. Intrigued by this, he catalogs the thought for later. For the moment Bucky puts on a smile and smoothly says, "It's good to finally meet one of Y/N's closest friends. She talks about you all the time, by the way. Didn't you just get back from a trip? Out of country, if I remember right." Sebastian—you mean, Bucky—speaks confidently and velvety slick. He even manages to casually drape an arm around your waist as you stand there.

You blink rapidly. You never mentioned anything about a trip. Little do you know, the expert agent in Bucky has taken notice to the bikini line sun-kissed tan Hillary sports all over her body.

"Oh my god, yes! Peru," Hillary yelps excitedly.

"Ah—great place." Bucky's grin is beaming white. He's quite handsome, really, but right now you're still stuck on the embarrassment of hearing what Hillary just had to say a few moments before. You hardly remember telling her those things about having a sex-maniac boyfriend... it must've been a weak moment for you to have lied so vividly.

"You two should come dance! It's early but we're young so who the fuck cares what we do anyway." Hillary tries to drag you out by the hand.

"Oh, I..." you try to reason quietly. You really don't want to dance. You hate dancing, especially in crowds. But Hillary wouldn't care if you told her, so you end up stuttering shyly instead as she grabs your hand.

Sensing your unease, Bucky's hand holds onto your waist a bit tighter. "Listen, doll," he speaks to you in a delicious voice. Hillary even grows quiet when she hears his low tone as he goes on. "I know you wanna, but you really shouldn't be out there on that foot of yours yet. Doctor said three more weeks, remember?"

"What do you mean?" Hillary asks.

You open your mouth and close it again like a fish out of water. You're not very good at this impromptu lying thing, apparently.

"Twisted ankle. Nothing major—no sprains, thank god. She still cried like a baby though." Bucky shoots a wink at you as if telling an inside joke.

Finally you start to collect yourself enough to join in on the show. "Don't act like it wasn't your fault," you scoff. "You were the one who challenged me to a race down the stairs."

"I said I was sorry, babe."

"I'll accept your apology when you make up for it like you promised," you retort quickly.

Sebastian—wait, no his name is Bucky—raises a brow. "Refresh my memory, dear."

You throw your arms up in annoyance. "Clean the damn garage, Seb!"

Bucky rolls his eyes. Very convincingly he plays the part of an annoyed boyfriend. "Fine, fine." He laughs lightly. "But you're still not dancing."

Once you get into it it's actually sort of fun going back and forth with Bucky like this. Hillary's eyes jump from one of you to the other between phrases.

"Alright, alright." You smile at your friend. "Sebastian says no dancing for me. I guess I should probably listen to him since he's the one who's gotta take care of me."

"Damn girl—okay. Let me know if you change your mind." She winks at you before turning and sashaying away. The moment she's gone you let out a long breath.

"So..." Bucky's tone is absolutely devious.

"Don't say it." You turn and lightly push Bucky off of you. But like a magnet his metal arm is back at your waist again. He lightly squeezes your hips as you saunter towards the bar.

His smirk paints his words. "Mr. Grey...?"

"I said don't say it!" You flop down into one of the seats at a table and glare at your feet.

Bucky's laughing wildly when he collapses into the chair next to you. "Oh, doll—I cannot believe the irony of this."

You shake your head briskly. "Hush up about it already."

"Already? I've hardly started," Bucky retorts. He leans his arms onto the table. "But I'll at least buy you a drink first." He tilts his head slightly more to one side as he regards you. "Whaddya want, babe?" He wiggles his brows.

"Don't have to call me nicknames. No one's listening," you reply quietly. You trail your fingernails over the tabletop. Is that disappointment in your tone?

"Maybe I like calling you nicknames." Bucky shrugs as he stands. Then, as if he said nothing at all, he asks again, "What do you drink, sweetheart? Red? White? Coke and rum? Martini?"

You turn around slightly to get a glimpse of the bar. "Whatever's on tap."

Bucky pauses. "Like, beer?"

"Yeah. Nothing fancy. No IPAs. Hefe is fine." You shrug and cross your legs at the knees—completely unaware at how fondly Bucky stares at the back of your head.

"Sure thing, doll." He gives his head a little disbelieving shake. Damn—you're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you? Sure: lots of girls drink beer. But he never imagined you would. Maybe he just never had the time to think about your preferences before. But now, as he waits for the bartender to fill the glass, he can hardly wait to get back to the table with a list of questions to ask.

You tap your fingers impatiently as the bar slowly starts to overfill. Traveling businessmen and women alike are taking an evening off on the rooftop bar that overlooks half of Manhattan. You're more engrossed with the sight of the people than the city. You ride in jets too often for a skyline to excite you.

"Hey."

Your head turns up a bit in the direction of the voice. Following the realization that the speaker is not Bucky you see a tall stranger coming to take his place.

"Hello," you reply. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I'd like to change that." The stranger smiles. He's rather cute. Your age, too. "Can I start by buying you a drink?"

You open your mouth to reply but someone else beats you to it.

"She's already got one. And forget about being the guy she takes home, because she's already got one of those too." Bucky's standing over the seat that was once his with two beers in his hold and a low-hanging scowl on his face. He glares at your present company until the man smiles and backs away.

"Sorry, sorry—didn't know you were here with someone." He shoots you an apologetic grin, but Bucky's not amused: or maybe he's still playing the part of Sebastian. You're confused.

"No worries. Have a good night." You smile to the man as he walks away. Then you're glaring at your fake date. "That was rude."

"He was hitting on you," Bucky grumbles. He sets down the ales. Some foam splashes out the sides and along the frosty glass.

"And I'm single!"

"Not tonight you aren't," Bucky reminds you with a sharp jab towards the dance floor where Hillary is off somewhere.

Dramatically you let out a long groan. Bucky watches as you catch you face in your hands and sigh. "The one time a guy hits on me and I've brought along the world's most intimidating man as my fake boyfriend."

"You're the one who cooked up this whole scheme, darlin'. Don't whine about it to me." He takes a gulp of his beer and wishes he'd still get a buzz like he used to in the good ole days. Then again, it'll be nice to keep his head straight for the duration of the night with you as your "date". He wants to remember tonight for as long as he can in as many details as possible. "Can we go back to our conversation before? What Hillary had to say?"

"No. It was something I stupidly said over text when she was goading me about being single again. I'd rather not relive it." You sip on the beer and enjoy the familiar taste as it lingers on the back of your tongue.

"So you have a thing for Christian Grey?" Bucky ignores your protesting.

"No!"

"You want a guy like that?"

"I never said--"

"What happened to innocent little kisses and waiting a million months before making it to bed? Hmm, doll face?" Bucky gets a real kick out of seeing you blush at his words.

You bite your tongue. Then you mutter, "I am a well-behaved woman, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky grins ear-to-ear. "Maybe you are," he pauses to shrug, "Maybe you aren't."

"I think you're thinking too much into it." You roll your eyes and try to cross your arms. Bucky stops you by grabbing your hand. He brings your knuckles up to his lips for a soft kiss—eyes roaming your face over the smoothness of your skin.

"And I think I just found a reason for you to owe me a massage. Good intel means a good payout, does it not, my dear?"

You scowl. "Sometimes I wonder why I like you so much," you admit before the words can be stopped.

"Like me? I'm flattered." Bucky gently sets your hand down onto the table—toying with your fingers rhythmically while he finishes his beer.

"As a friend, I mean." Your rushed reasoning doesn't convince Bucky otherwise. His eyes sparkle deviously.

"Ah, I see." He gently moves his empty glass away. "So no second fake date then? Not even a real one?" God, maybe alcohol does affect Bucky somehow still. He's gotten so gutsy all of a sudden. He didn't even plan to ask you out tonight when he got in the car today. Now, well, it's all he can think to do.

You nearly laugh. "A real—a real one? You have to be kidding me."

Bucky's face momentarily drops. Then it's picked back up against with a defensive, scowling nature. "Why? So hard to picture yourself going out with someone like me? Am I too rough edged for ya, doll?" His tone is full of offense as he slouches back in his seat. "You waiting for that rich-guy Mr. Grey to come and sweet you off your feet?"

"What?" You blink quickly. "That's not at all what I mean." Still looking offended, Bucky waits for you to speak. "This is a fake date, Bucky. I asked you on a fake one because I didn't think there was any way you'd actually go out with me for real. I could've asked you seriously, but then why the hell would I even try?" You down another long gulp of ale and sit farther back in your chair—hands in your own lap now. "So yeah it's hard to picture myself going out with someone like you. Because it would never happen. Only in my wildest dreams would you actually be here with me right now—hence the lies." You don't know why you're saying all this. It's only an hour into the date and you've made plans to leave after two. You could've made it all night without admitting your biggest insecurities to Bucky. You're not even drunk. Perhaps you're just lonely. Perhaps you're ready to fall in love. Perhaps you find yourself wanting Bucky. Perhaps you've felt his hand on your back or his breath on your neck and realized how sweet it feels. Or, perhaps you're just really hungry and your low blood sugar is impairing your judgment.

"I need some food," you mumble. Quickly, before anything else can be said, you shove away from the table. At the bar you stand impatiently leaning against the counter. You hardly have time to pick up the appetizer menu when you feel a leather gloved hand on the small of your back. The fabric of this dress is much too thin.

"Not so fast, doll." Bucky smiles down at you cheekily with that sexy little drawl to his tongue. "We still haven't agreed to any terms."

"Terms?" you repeat the word disinterestedly. You tap your fingers on the bar and try to avoid looking into Bucky's beautiful blue eyes. He's acting strange for someone who just listened to you spill your heart out onto the cheap metallic tabletop.

"Yeah, it looks like I got a little secret of yours now. I wanna make another deal."

"Fine, fine, whatever." You flick your hand in hopes he'll leave you alone and maybe, just maybe, this embarrassment will start to fade. "I'll give you a massage."

"I don't want a massage," Bucky surprises you by saying. This captures your attention. You spin a bit to face him fully. Once you've done this, he goes on. "I want a date." He indulges with the surprise on your face. "That's right, doll. I wanna take you out on a date: a real date. I wanna show up at your place with a big thing of flowers and see you in a pretty little dress and we can go walkin' round the park or eat expensive food. We'll go see a movie or a play or whatever it is you want to do. Hell, if you ask me to take a stupid painting class I'd sign myself up. Then we'll grab ice cream from that corner shop you like to go to with the chocolate dipped cones and I'll hold your hand the whole time we stand in line. And then," he pauses for dramatic effect, "I hope you'll let me kiss you before a whole damn week goes by." He grins and adds, "And I promise it'll be nice and innocent for you... at least the first time."

Your mouth is dry. Somehow, miraculously, you're still able to breathe.

"You're... you're kidding," you let out eventually.

Bucky shakes his head. "Not even a little tiny bit." He leans his upper body weight against the bar. "Just waiting for you to say yes or no, Y/N. Totally up to you."

A grin the size of Manhattan itself stretches over your lips. "Yes." You nod vigorously. "Yes, I'd—I'd love that."

Bucky's grin is pretty damn huge, too. He tries to play it cool though and manages to contain it enough to still look collected. From the counter he picks up your hand—landing a kiss to your soft knuckles. Blue eyes peering up at you, he adds, "It's a date, doll."