Punk (Chap. 5)
Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.
Word count: 2942
Warnings: Same as always
A/N: FYI on Chap. 4 I had to go back and make a minor change bc of a continuity error. Bucky’s hair is short (think TJ Hammond style) in this fic and i slipped up an put in a man-bun note (it’s my weakness). Sorry! Now, back to the story….
Abandoning Wanda in your closet to hunt through the mass of new clothes you’d unceremoniously shoved in there earlier, you raced down the floor towards Nat’s room, ready to call the whole night off after that disaster of a dinner. You rounded the corner and attempted to stop short but your socks had no grip and you crashed into a wall of muscle. “Sorry, Sam,” you mumbled. “You okay?” Sam laughed and steadied you back on your feet.
heard Bucky snort from behind and winced.
Great, he’d just seen you stuff your face full of Chow Mein and apple
pie and now he caught you hurdling down the hallway like the giant boulder from
Indiana Jones. “He’s fine,” Bucky
clapped him on the back. “Not even you
could crack this thick skull.”
And with that he pulled Sam’s sweatshirt hood over his eyes and gave him a noogie before guffawing like a doofus and racing past you with Sam hot on his heels.
“Ay yo! What the hell’s that mean?!” he hollered. “And don’t touch my hair, man!” Sam’s voice carried down the hallway as he chased your best friend. A loud thud and muffled ‘ooof’ confirmed that he’d caught up to him and apparently rugby tackled him in the living room.