Chapter Text
You stare at the letter.
You stare a little longer.
You stare some more.
Oh my god.
“They’re going to fucking deport me?!”
Your screech is loud in the confines of the apartment that you live in by yourself. Your heart starts racing and you curse every single past version of you that saw letters from USCIS and thought you had plenty of time before you had to reply. The paper that doubles as your death sentence crumples up in your hand as you jump off your couch. It takes two minutes to grab your phone and keys, dialing up Tony’s phone number as you slam your apartment door behind you.
“Come on, you fucker, pick up.” You grumble, jabbing at the elevator button to bring you down to the lobby. The numbers dwindle as you feel your body lift, vision blurring as your world crumbles apart around you. The phone rings and rings and rings. The elevator opens with a ding but you’re only on the sixth floor, almost screaming when Tony’s dumb fucking voice tells you to leave a voice message. The sound just comes out as a frustrated groan and everyone walking into the already confined space whips their attention to you but you don’t even find it in yourself to care at the moment.
“Okay, okay, Pepper next.” You mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath in of filtered building air and letting it out. If anyone can sort out your immigration problems, it’s Pepper Fucking Potts. She’s the boss, absolute queen fucking bee. You can rely on Pepper, you always have! She got you out of that accidental B&E when you were nineteen because drunk-you is apparently dyslexic and cannot read apartment letters/names so she can get you out of this six foot grave too.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Your anxiety starts rising to insurmountable heights. You hop out of the elevator once you reach the lobby and make a beeline for the rotating doors of your building, barely giving a smile to Oscar the day doorman as he waves at you. Sharp right, three blocks down and you’ll be at Avengers Tower in ten minutes flat. The June sun beats down on the back of your neck as you move, across your shoulders and through the fabric of your tank top. Your house slippers almost fall off your feet and you stumble when once again, you are met with a voicemail message on the other side of the line.
Goddamn it. If neither of them are picking up, then they’re fucking like rabbits. In other words, useless.
You glance down at your phone, weaving through NYC’s hoard of citizens expertly as you scroll through your contacts list for someone to help. You have been living here for years after all, you might as well be a native. That’s the shitty thing though, you’re not as the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services oh-so-graciously just reminded you, threatening you with a letter that they’re going to fucking deport you for not filing paperwork on time.
It’s not your fault. Well. Maybe a little bit your fault. But you’re busy , okay? You’re a busy woman! Running the Division of Sustainable Energy and Resources of Stark Industries for Tony is a full time fucking job and you’ve worked very hard to get to where you are. Didn’t hurt to be Tony’s little cousin, of course, and being hailed as a part of the Stark Legacy has its perks. Your dad, the lesser known Edward Stark, had passed away long ago but not before leaving you a fat chunk of change to live the rest of your days comfortably.
You enter the Avenger’s Tower with Natasha’s number ringing in your ear. If anyone had a loophole to avoid deportation by USCIS, it was the Russian spy. Surely Tash could like, erase some files or even make you a whole new citizenship. It’s second nature to her. Clint would totally help you as well. Anything to stick it to the man, no matter who the man was and anything to do some crawling through vents. He loves that dumb spy shit.
“Good afternoon, little Stark. Where to?” FRIDAY asks you as you enter the elevator. Little Stark, she liked calling you by that nickname once Thor started a few years back. It was very cute, and you do not mind the moniker. It’s one of many that you harbor here at the Avengers Tower--dumbass being added to that list soon enough.
“Tony’s please.” You answer politely.
“Tony is a bit preoccupied. May I bring you to the main living quarters?” You roll your eyes. Preoccupied. Of course.
“Sure. Please. And if you could tell him that I’m dying and need his presence, that would be much appreciated.” If FRIDAY could laugh, you’re sure she would.
“Absolutely I can. Captain Rogers and Mr. Barnes are currently having lunch. I will inform them to make a plate for you.” Your stomach rumbles. Oh yes, you haven’t eaten yet. Lunch with the super soldiers will be nice, if there’s anything left to eat that is. You’ve never seen two grown men pack away so much food and still have room for dessert in all your years.
Suddenly, the memories slam into you. The past twenty years start swirling in your head like a tsunami. You remember stepping onto American land when you were 7 years old after your father died, Tony there to greet you with his 24 year old self. He was sober then, still reeling and preening with the success of owning Stark Inc after his own parents passed. Tony took your hand and enrolled you in the best schools in NYC, and you’ve been here for most of your life ever since. Toronto had a condo with your name on it and a nanny in it but no mother to claim you. The mother that had left you on the doorsteps of the Stark Canadian quarters wasn’t going to be coming around any time soon.
You didn’t need her then, you don’t need her now. Tony takes care of you, playing the role of a doting older brother for the past twenty years quite fucking well. Pushed you in your studies, let you drink when you were sixteen, and grounded your ass for fucking a S.H.I.E.L.D agent in a custodian closet when you were eighteen (a worthy lay and great way to lose your virginity, thanks, Agent 81). Even through the whole Iron Man and superhero origin story, he was there for you and you were able to be there for him.
All you have is each other. All you have is family. Everyone in this Tower is family. Pepper is family, soft hands stroking across your forehead on days you’re too sick to even get up and shower. Bruce is family, long nights sitting beside you at the kitchen island as you both pour over biochemistry and physics. Natasha is family, beating up the guy that grabbed your ass at the bar on 87th. Clint is family, pouring glitter into envelopes to mail to you and sending you caskets of potatoes and eggplants for no reason other than to make you laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Wanda is family, soothing you to sleep on restless nights with a warm touch and red mist. Vision is family, calling you and asking you how your day is because he knows you miss Jarvis. Little Peter Parker is family too, swinging by and leaving half a dozen donuts from your favorite shop on your fire escape when you’ve returned from a difficult trip.
You stumble into the main room, your chest tight and eyes blurring. What would you do if you were deported? Canada is fine. It’s great even with it’s universal healthcare or whatever. But your home is here in NYC, three blocks from Tony. Three blocks from Natasha and Clint and their gorgeous golden retriever Lucky. Three blocks from Pepper and her lemongrass mint tea that was always steeping before you walked through her door. Three blocks from Happy and Peter, your adorable little mad scientist, superhero on the sly. Three blocks from Sam, from Rhodey, older brothers by name but not by blood. Three blocks from dear sweet Steve, who sketches skylines of new cities for you every year for your birthday. Three blocks from quiet, intriguing Bucky who is impervious to your charms and still keeps you at a vibranium’s arm's length even after spending a whole year in the Tower.
“(Y/N)?”
You look up from your phone, hitting cancel on Natasha’s phone call that had been ringing for a few minutes now. It’s Steve standing at the kitchen, his eyes full of worry, no doubt feeling the vibrations of your stress from all the way across the room. He’s observant like that and you can see the components of a meal on the granite countertops that he must be making for you. Bucky is there too, handing onto what looks like a ginormous turkey, brie and bacon sandwich. He’s looking at you with confusion, head cocking slightly to the side. Then your eyes water and your bottom lip starts to tremble, and the pair start freaking out as if they’ve never seen a lady weep before.
“Hey, hey, you okay?” Steve asks gently, walking over to you. All your strength gives out and you let yourself sink to the floor, tears falling in fat droplets down your face. You’re sobbing now, full on, and a part of you feels silly for being so dramatic at 27 fucking years old but more of you just feels devastated.
“I’m being deported!” You cry, pulling your legs out from underneath you so you can cross them and sob in a more comfortable position. The burning starts in your nose, snot building up quickly and clogging up your throat.
“Deported? You’re not American?” Bucky asks, walking over with Steve.
The blond sits down on the floor next to you, arm around your shoulder immediately for comfort. “She’s Canadian.” Steve answers, looking up to Bucky briefly before returning his attention to your weeping form. “But I thought you and Tony worked that out? A work Visa right?”
“They rejected it!” You wail, thrusting the letter into Steve’s hands. You hear him straighten the paper out in his hands before returning to your sobbing.
The crying is ugly, you know. You cry often, it’s just how you get the emotions out. You’re snotting up like a monster from the depths of the ocean. Your hair was in a messy bun at home and you can feel strands frizzing up and falling at your temples now. You’re wearing your house slippers still, a faded pair of jean shorts and a wrinkly blue tank top you had pulled from the top of your clean-but-not-folded pile of clothes in the corner of your room. No make up, no cohesion, no semblance of having your life together.
And now you’re being deported .
“I’m sure Tony can do something.” Bucky tries to say in an effort to comfort you. He’s still standing, tall and broad and blocking the sun from the windows. Somehow, he still manages to look soft and handsome in the light.
“Not even Tony can protect me from the U.S Immigration services. Fucking leeches .” You sniffle and Steve coos your name, rubbing your arm and pulling you closer to him. You snuggle into his warmth, arms wrapping around his waist as he rubs your back soothingly. Ugh, America’s sweetheart gives the best hugs.
“It’s going to be alright, dear. Here, let’s make you a cup of tea.” You nod at his suggestion and take Steve’s hand when he offers to pull you up.
Bucky just looks at you awkwardly as his best friend leads you to the kitchen table, following behind. Pulling at Steve’s heartstrings is easy because he’s so kind. You became quick friends with him the moment he came into the Tower as someone willing to sit through the old black and white movies he loved so much from the 1920’s. Steve is protective though, and you soon found yourself another faithful friend willing to beat up any handsy director or scientists if need be.
Bucky on the other hand, is much different. Unfortunately, you don’t think he likes you much. He always finds a reason to leave when you’re around and if he stays, he’s always as far from you as possible. All your attempts to get to know him have been met with wide shocked eyes and short answers. Once, you asked him if he prefers chocolate, strawberry and vanilla ice cream but with the way he clammed up for the rest of the night, you might as well have asked something a lot more invasive like if the serum made his dick bigger or if that was just an unproven tabloid theory. Tony says it’s just because you’re a lot to take in and Bucky is still adjusting to the 21st century. Still stung regardless, but you let Bucky avoid you as you mourn the could-be friendship.
It sucks because he’s freaking beautiful. You seem to be surrounded by beauty and Bucky, whilst a little rough around the edges, is ethereal in his own way. In the past year that he’s arrived at the Tower, he’s gone from secluded-hermit-don’t-fucking-look-at-me-or-i’ll-combust to semi-secluded-hermit-but-willing-to-be-bribed-outside-with-baked-goods and that’s pretty adorable in your opinion. You’ve seen him smiling and laughing with nearly everyone in the tower, and he’s progressed far enough to even go on small missions with the team. Yet, it changes the moment you walk into the room and you just wonder why you haven’t been allowed to see that part of him.
“Did it say why your visa application was rejected?” Steve asks you as he puts the kettle on.
“I waited too long. There was an error in my first one, I guess, and I haven’t had time to go correct it so they just rejected the whole thing.” You say, defeated. You wipe away the last of your tears with the back of your hand and a flash of a white napkin being waved takes your attention to the left. It’s Bucky, holding out a tissue for you and you give him a grateful smile before you take it. Your fingers brush his metal ones and he jerks back almost instantly.
Ah, one step forward and two steps back.
“We can pull some strings.” Steve reassures you as you’re blowing your nose loudly. “I mean, are they really going to brush off Iron Man?”
“You know, Captain America can help out a lot too.” You hint. He laughs heartily and you even see Bucky smirk to the side, returning to his lunch.
“I’ll vouch that you’re definitely not a terrorist.” Steve offers.
“Gee, thanks. You’d think after all I’ve done for this stupid country they’d let me stay a little longer.” You grumble, leaning forward and thumping your head onto the cool granite countertop.
“Solar panels?” Bucky asks, jokingly.
“More than just solar panels, Barnes!” You correct, sitting up straight. It jostles Bucky but you don’t let this stop you. “I’ve cut this country's use of nonrenewable energy by 10% just this decade and have convinced nearly every capitalistic corporation to commit to sustainability! I’ve passed dozens of laws and legislations to ensure the green future of America! I am a pioneer, dammit , and I deserve to stay!”
“Yes, yes, the forests and trees thank you greatly. Have some tea, tree hugger.” Steve pushes a steaming cup of what looks like green tea, lemon and honey towards you and you deflate just a tad. It's the perfect temperature you find when you wrap your hands around the mug. It’s nearly 100 degrees outside but nothing can calm nerves like a cup of warm tea from Captain America.
“(Y/N), Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes, Tony is no longer preoccupied and will be coming down shortly.” FRIDAY informs you and the boys.
“Only ten minutes? Poor Pepper. She deserves more than a one pump chump.” You say with a shake of your head. Bucky chokes on his sandwich at your comment and when you look over to his coughing fit, his face is as red as the tomatoes he’s eating.
“You need some water, Buck?” Steve holds out a water bottle that he had retrieved from the fridge and Bucky nods, grabbing it. He tips his head back and you watch, enraptured by the way he downs half the bottle, chest rising and falling with exertion. When he finally lowers the bottle from his lips, his eyes meet with yours for a moment, catching your confused gaze. His cheeks redden and soon enough, he hops off his stool and escapes to the bathroom. Your lips slant.
“Stevie, why doesn’t Bucky like me? Am I too crude?” You ask the supersoldier left behind. You take a sip of your tea and feel the warm liquid pool in your stomach pleasantly.
“Uh, no, that’s not really the case.” Steve turns and starts to busy himself, shoulders hunching in that way you know means he’s hiding something.You go to jokingly accuse him when the elevator doors open and Tony comes striding in, pulling up the sleeves of his dark henley.
“Tony!” You exclaim, ditching your tea and jumping down from the island stool.
“Why are you here? Isn’t it your day--oof!” His words are cut off when you throw a hug at him, cheek pressed to the warm metal of his arc reactor. You’re glad Tony knows you so well because immediately he senses that something is wrong , and his whole demeanor changes. A set of strong arms wraps around your shoulders, his dominant hand cradling the back of your head.
“I’m being deported.” You mumble into your cousin's chest.
“That’s impossible.” Tony states flatly. The palm of his hand comes to your forehead and pushes your head back so he can look at you but you keep your arms firmly wrapped around his middle.
“It’s true. I forgot to fill out some dumb fucking paperwork and now they’re sending me to moose land before the end of the month.” Saying out loud, making it real, causes your eyes to water and tear again. You try not to, really, because Tony abhors seeing you cry. He’s never had to deal with girls crying before and then you were plopped onto his lap, an overly sensitive and recently orphaned 7 year old girl who did nothing but cry. Some things never change.
“FRIDAY, check on (Y/N)’s immigration status for me please.” Tony orders with a sigh. You release him from your boa’s constrict grip and let him lead you back to the kitchen island where Steve is looking at you with sweet pity. Bucky is back now but he stands further away, leaning onto the countertop by the sink. He catches your eye for a moment, reddens and turns around before you can say anything.
“It seems here that an address mistake on her forms needed to be corrected.” FRIDAY starts. “Unfortunately, the deadline was one month ago and (Y/N) now needs to leave America for a minimum of one year before her visa can be reinstated.”
“A year?!” You groan and thump your head onto the countertop.
“What else, FRIDAY?” Tony asks, rubbing your back reassuringly.
“She is unable to work for any American companies as well for the duration of the one year.”
“Wow, and I’m losing my fucking job. Great.”
“Well that won’t do. I can’t lose my director.” Tony nonchalantly says. You sit up and glare at him.
“Is this how you treat family, Tony? As nothing more than an asset?”
“That’s how I treat idiots who can’t file their immigration paperwork on time.” He snidely answers. You grimace at the well-deserved jive but go to say something rude back anyway.
“Alright, kids. Come on, now.” Steve placates. He looks up to the ceiling to speak to the AI, something many inhabitants of the Tower do to give FRIDAY a body to her voice. “Is there anything we can possibly do for (Y/N), FRIDAY?”
“The only thing that would keep her in the United States of America is gaining citizenship in other ways. The fastest way to do so is to marry an American citizen.”
Silence falls onto the room.
It takes a moment before the actual idea settles into the wrinkles of your brain. Marriage equals no deportation. If you want to stay in America, you have to marry someone. An actual person has to sign on a dotted line and legally bind themselves to you. You, a mess of a human being that hasn’t had a decent relationship since college and spends too much time at the office. You, who hasn’t thought about marriage since you were ten years old and playing bride and groom with your barbie dolls on the floor of Tony’s lab.
“Guess I’ll start packing.” You shrug and stand up, grabbing your purse and preparing to shove your whole life in a suitcase.
“Hey, hey, hey, sit your ass down.” Tony plops you back onto your chair and you roll your eyes.
“Tony, it’s hopeless. Let me go back with some dignity.” You plead.
“We’ll find someone to marry you--” You snort and he fixes a look on you so intensely you actually pause. “We will , because there are plenty of people that would marry you for the right price.”
“What am I, a prized hog?” You snap, mood switching quickly from being morose to being angered. “Are you gonna put up a post on Craigslist? Buy an ad in the NY Times?”
“There’s services for this kind of thing.” Tony informs you slowly. You see his temper tick underneath his jawline, the way it always does when you toe the line.
“There are?” Steve squeaks. Tony sighs at the captain’s naivety.
“Yes, there are. People do it all the time. We just have to do it right. ” With a deep breath, Tony spins your stool so you face him. He takes your face in his hands and lifts up your chin until you’re looking at him right in the eye. He doesn’t say anything, just stares right at you and you wrinkle your nose with discomfort.
“What?” You ask him meekly.
“What did I say? When we met?” You wrack your brain to try and rewind to all those years ago. The promise rings in your head, the promise of a 24 year-old billionaire who rarely ever had a clue what he was doing but was passionate about it anyways.
“ I’ll take care of you .” You repeat. Nostalgia washes over your body and you feel it calm you. Your pummeling heart rate calms down and the warmth of Tony’s touch melts the tension at your shoulders.
“That’s right. I’m gonna take care of you.” Tony promises again. “I have for the past twenty years, I’m going to do it until the day I die.” He looks more sure this time and while that makes you feel a little better, the thought of it is still daunting.
“But I don’t want to marry a stranger.” You whisper, scrunching your eyes closed. You’re a romantic and the idea of such a sterile marriage, it makes your chest twinge. You thought you might find something like Tony and Pepper one day, far away one day, but one day nonetheless.
“It’s just for three years, (Y/N).” FRIDAY chimes in. “After that, the marriage may be annulled and your visa still stands.”
“I know you’re an eternal artificial intelligence, but for us normal human beings three years is a long time.” You inform her.
“It’s not like you have to live with this guy for more than six months.” Tony says casually. “After that, you go your separate ways and do an annulment at the 3 year mark.”
“Having her marry a complete stranger is dangerous, Tony.” Steve intercepts. “He could have malicious intent or in three years he could reject an annulment. She is a Stark after all and a legally binding marriage is the best way to get your hands into the honeypot.”
“First of all, never say those words in that succession ever again or I’ll throw up.” You start, earning a snort from Bucky, “Second of all, if I’m not going to marry a stranger, who will I marry? Must I remind you folk that all of my friends live in this building, and not a single one of them is able to just give up three years of their life?”
“Bruce would do it!” Tony beams as if he’s finally fingered out a legitimate use for string theory. You roll your eyes.
“Bruce is nearly thirty years older than me. The legitimacy of our marriage, or lack thereof, would be quickly revealed.”
“Natasha would do it!” Steve exclaims, excitedly. You snort, immediately popping his golden bubble of goodness.
“Over Clint’s dead body, she would.” You remind him. Clint isn’t necessarily homicidal but he is territorial and you’d rather stay on his good side.
“What would Natasha do over my dead body?” Clint’s voice alerts you to the presence of not only him but your favorite Avenger and Bruce entering the room.
“Natashaa~!” You whine, holding out your arms for a hug. She looks cuddly and soft in leggings, bare feet and her curls swept up atop her head.
“What is it, moy dorogoy ?” Natasha asks, her hands coming around to embrace you as you place your head on her chest. The strong beat of her heart is life-giving and even Clint gives you a quick pat on your shoulder as he walks by. As the only female on the team currently, you’re glad you have more estrogen around with Natasha rather than drown in the testosterone of the men.
“They’re deporting her.” Bucky explains to Clint. The eyebrows on Clint’s forehead come together, perplexed.
“Can they do that?” He asks, picking up Bucky’s half eaten sandwich to take a bite. “But we’re superheroes.”
“ I’m not a superhero.” You grumble into Natasha’s skin.
“Now why on earth would they want to deport you, love?” She asks, leaning back, fingers coming up to brush away the hair tangling into your lashes.
“The idiot didn’t fill out her paperwork on time.” Tony answers for you.
“Damn, moose, sorry.” Clint garbled through a full mouth of turkey and bread. He had stolen the other half of Bucky’s sandwich. “Aliens? No biggie. Immigration services? No thanks.”
“And I’m assuming Tony wants you to marry for citizenship?” Natasha turns her stare to your cousin, eyebrow rising.
“Don’t look at me like that, it’s the fastest way!” Tony argues.
“Why not Rhodey?” Steve suggests.
“Rhodey is like a brother to me.”
“Sam?”
“Too busy for me.”
“What about Mr. Barnes?”
The room falls dead silent.
It’s almost comical how quiet it gets. You turn your head slowly to the semi-retired assassin and he resembles a doe in headlights, whites nearly visible all around his pretty blue eyes. The arms he’s had crossed around his chest since you’ve walked into the room are flexing as he tenses up. The rest of the team already has their eyes on him and you watch as his shoulders come up a bit, jaw ticking as he grits his teeth. You want to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words to relieve the awkwardness that was brought on by FRIDAY’s words.
It’s Tony who snorts so fucking hard that you’re scared he’ll deviate his nasal septum right here in the kitchen. You flinch as you whip your head to him and his snort turns into a full blown cackle. Suddenly, he’s throwing his head back and clutching at his chest, booming laughter coming from him. The sight is so unfamiliar, so foreign that you can’t help but start to chuckle with him. It’s silly isn’t it? Marrying Bucky? Of course the idea is ridiculous. That guy can barely stand being in the same room as you, nevermind legally binding himself to you.
“Funny, FRIDAY.” You compliment, wiping an invisible tear from your eye as Tony’s laughter dies down. You look around the room, expecting to find amused faces amongst your friends but you don’t. Bucky is red now and Steve is looking at him with an undeniable worry. Natasha looks like she’s actually contemplating it and Clint is nodding like it’s not a bad idea. Bruce hides himself away by making another cup of tea, the bastard.
“Looking at possible candidates, Mr. Barnes is actually your best option.” FRIDAY argues. “Decently close to you in age, less of a celebrity status than other Avengers, and enough mystery to his personality that you can mold it in a way to fit your story. I can easily forge messages, photos and experiences to support any timeline you like.”
“You can?” The words come simultaneously from you and Bucky. Your eyes dart to his and the poor man quickly looks away.
“Of course she can. This is my AI you’re talking about.” Tony answers with a pout, offended by the idea that FRIDAY is anything but capable.
For a moment, you almost consider it--marrying Bucky. It flashes beyond your eyes; a white dress, a soft kiss, strong arms wrapped around your waist. It makes your stomach cramp, how much you suddenly want that and you stamp out that flame as quick as it came. It’s a blasphemous idea for a million reasons. You barely know him, he obviously doesn’t want to know you and to marry him?
“No, absolutely not.” You state, shaking your head, resolute. “Find another option.”
“Damn, harsh.” Clint snickers. You turn to flip him off but Bucky’s wounded face suddenly makes your chest squeeze. Oh no. You hurt him. Fuck, you didn’t mean to that. You just want to spare him the awkwardness and absurdity of trying to forge a relationship with you.
“No, no, it’s not you Bucky. I just know you don’t like me all that much and--”
“Who said I don’t like you?” He inquires, interrupting your spiel and standing up straight. It takes you back, how strong his tone is. Bucky rarely speaks to you and when he does, it’s with flitting eyes and short sentences. This side of him, firm and oxen, is unknown to you.
“Uh, well. It’s not that hard to figure out.” You say slowly, very aware of all the eyes on the both of you. “You always leave the room when I’m here, we never really talk and when we do, you look like you’re swallowing razor blades.”
“I--” Bucky shuts his mouth, lips pressed together tightly before he can get another word out. His arms fall from the position across his chest and he shoves his hands into his pockets. The gaze he fixes on you is potent, more direct eye contact than you have ever had with him in the time you’ve known him. It’s so piercing you almost want to shrink back and for the first time, you notice just how handsome he is.
Well, you’ve always known he was handsome. Being with the Avengers might as well be the same as walking onto a modeling shoot every day of your life, you being the normal and average intern just there to soak up the beauty. Yet right now, with him looking directly at you, you’re able to look straight back at him instead of feeling like a creep who is staring and there are so many little features you’ve never taken note of before. The gunmetal blue-grey of his eyes, small scar on his cheek, sharp cut of his jaw even under the scruff--every aspect of him making your stomach coil.
“What?” You ask, urging him to say whatever explanation he’s got for making you feel like a loser for the past 12 months. Bucky takes in a deep breath and the words he says with it almost makes you swoon.
“(Y/N). Of course I like you.”
You think it’s the first time he’s ever said your name, at least the first time it’s ever directed at you. Warmth travels up from your toes to your chest and with his simple statement, you know you’re fucked. It dawns on you that you like him in that high school, heart thumping, brain melting like-like sort of way and holy fuck, why have you never realized this? Is that why you’re always trying so hard to talk to him? Why it always hurts so much when he runs from you?
“Enough to marry her?” Tony asks him, voice sharper than you’ve ever recalled, breaking you out of your thoughts. The acidity in your cousin’s tone is not lost on Bucky.
“To keep her from being deported? Absolutely.” Bucky answers firmly. It shocks you how absolutely resolute he sounds. You don’t think you know of anyone but Tony that would do such a thing for you without a second thought.
Clint, with a grin and lettuce in his teeth, shouts, “We’ll have a June wedding!”