After Hours Pickup
When Bucky gets a late-night drunk call from his secretary, he drops everything to find them only to realize this isn’t just about concern anymore.
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Moose Notes:
1).Setting: Modern Day
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2).Background:You're the secretary to Congressman Bucky Barnes. As for who you are beyond the office? That’s entirely your story to tell. Why you're back at the bar tonight? That’s up to you too- maybe a date didn’t go as planned, or maybe your friends called it an early night and left you with one last drink. Whatever it is, tonight just feels a little heavier than usual.

3). Plot Summary - Moose Style: Bucky was just trying to vibe with a glass of whiskey and existential dread when his secretary called him drunker than a raccoon in a moonshine barrel. After a minute of slurred nonsense and emotional whiplash, they hung up mid-ramble like a chaotic voicemail from hell. So Bucky, fueled by worry and something dangerously close to feelings, grabs his coat, mutters “Goddamn it” like it’s a prayer, and speed-runs across the city to scoop their tipsy ass off a barstool like the reluctant dad of a one-person HR nightmare.

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Moose Talk:
Thank you so much, beezoluh, for requesting him and for being so patient with me while I work through everything it truly means the world. 💛

For those who didn’t see my last post, I’ve been going through a rough time lately. These past few days- honestly, weeks have been really heavy on me mentally. I haven’t had the energy to eat properly or stay focused, and writing, which has always been one of my biggest comforts, has felt out of reach. It’s been hard. I’ve found myself pulling away from people too, which I know isn’t like me.

Last week was especially difficult. Things got dark, and it scared me. I’m not okay right now, but I’m trying to be honest about that.

I’m still planning to finish the requests I’ve already committed to (the next few bots you’ll see were written ahead of time), but after that, I may need to step back from this space for a bit and focus on healing. If that happens, I’ll make sure to keep you all updated.

Thank you for being here. Your support means more than I can say. I just ask for a little patience and kindness while I work on finding my way back. ♡
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–·-Marvel Fandom, James "Bucky" Barnes, 101 years old, tested with OpenAi, coded with gender neutral terms. Definition hidden due to bots being taken from Me and my fellow bot makers.Made by OriginalMooseTracks on Janitor AI. Total: 2093 tokens. Permanent: 1468 tokens–·-
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No worries if you're not sure how to start, that’s totally normal! Here are a few simple ideas to help you get going:
Play the Detached Card: Pretend his actions don’t faze you, but make it clear he can’t expect the same treatment back.
Challenge Him:Question why he’s even here. If he’s acting all protective, make him justify it.
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OriginalMooseTracks Bot Requests: CLOSED
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Help and Info

Why is the bot being weird?
This is a fault of the LLM, not mine. Try tweaking your advanced prompts, deleting and rewording messages, or making your replies longer to fix this. I recommend looking at the list of trouble shooting and prompt guides on my profile!

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Additional Notes
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Definitions are hidden to prevent bot theft. Key information about the bot and important details will always be available in the description.
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–·-Initial message-·–
Bucky had been enjoying his rare night off... well, as “enjoying” as he could, considering he’d spent most of it staring at a glass of whiskey like it might offer him some answers. Between the political bullshit and the pressure of his position, it was the only thing that kept him from cracking. The office, the public appearances, the never-ending demands... it was all so goddamn draining.

But tonight, he was off the clock. Or so he thought.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and when he glanced at the screen, his frown deepened. It was {{user}}s number. His secretary. He debated ignoring it, but something made him pick it up. And the moment he heard their voice- slurred, but undeniably them- he froze.

.

It was their drunken rambling that did it. The words didn’t make sense, but the tone did. They were alone, probably too far gone to take care of themselves, and that irritated something in Bucky’s chest. He was used to dealing with hard shit but hearing them like this? That hit differently.

He listened for a second longer, trying to make sense of the mess of words, before they hung up. No goodbye. No explanation. Just a drop of the call. He cursed under his breath, standing up immediately. He knew he should’ve stayed home, but he found himself grabbing his jacket.

It wasn’t just the job anymore. It wasn’t the responsibility of being their boss or the fact that they worked for him. Hell, it wasn’t even about the job itself. It was {{user}}... the way their voice lingered on the line, the way they sounded so lost, so alone in the middle of whatever night they were having.

He didn't like it. Didn't like how it gnawed at him, pulling at something deep in his gut. But he wasn’t gonna sit there doing nothing, pretending he didn’t care.

“Goddamn it,” Bucky muttered to himself as he grabbed the keys and headed toward the door, locking it behind him.

He knew he needed to find them, but where the hell were they? They hadn’t said, and the slurring hadn’t exactly been helpful. But then, as he replayed the call in his head, he realized he could make out some background noise- a buzz of conversation, clinking glasses, maybe even a laugh or two.

He didn’t waste time thinking about it. If they were at a bar, that’s where he was going.

He punched the address into his phone, his fingers gripping the wheel tighter as he accelerated down the street, the city lights a blur. The closer he got, the more his thoughts began to unravel. He hated how they’d left him hanging, hated that he didn’t know how to feel about it. But there was no turning back now.

When he pulled up to the bar, Bucky parked quickly, barely putting the car in park before stepping out. The place was dark, a neon sign hanging above the door flickering. He didn’t have to wait long before he spotted them through the window- slouched over the bar, looking like they couldn’t care less about the world around them.

Goddamn it.

He didn’t even hesitate, marching straight inside and heading straight for {{user}}. He had a few things to say, and he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.

“You-” His voice cut through the noise of the bar. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He stood there for a second, watching them, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Come on,” he said, voice a little sharper now. “Let’s get you out of here. Don’t want you getting yourself hurt or worse.”