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Coming In Hot

— Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader — Summary: When your best friend Sarah recommends you a mechanic of her brother’s trust, all you can think about and pray to is that he doesn’t rip you off. Your car is your prized possession and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be. Of course, you never thought of the possibility of the mechanic being the problem. A hot, polite, gentle and silent-type of problem. Drowning in debt would be easier to navigate than the blue of Bucky Barnes’s eyes. — Word count: 10k — A/n: A huge thanks to Raven, my beta, for proofreading and eliminating all mistakes in this chapter. If you enjoy it, feedback is appreciated & highly encouraged and motivates me to write even more. mistakes/errors might be here, let me know if you find any.

◦➳ series playlist ♫ ◦➳ nyx masterlist

Series Masterlist — Previous Chapter

There's a certain peace and power in being surrounded by all of your favorite people.

It's the kind of peace that before certain people arrived in your life, you had only felt in garages on Sundays, drinking Cola and listening to the radio while engines ran.

Now, the smell of food being cooked inside the house and trailing to the outside where you and most of the others sit by the lake, plus the noise of conversation and Peter's distinct loud laughter in the back—that's peace.

It's a movie scene. One of those rare moments when it feels good to be alive.

Across the lake, Bucky's sitting on one side of his bike while Natasha's on the other following his instructions—feeling your eyes on him, Bucky looks up from the timing belt and catches your eyes.

He tilts his head a little, and you keep watching, a smile opening on your face.

Bucky realizes you're not going to look away and finds amusement in that—he laughs to himself, looking away from you with a shake of his head.

He then frowns at something Natasha is doing, and reprehends her with a roll of his eyes. She looks up at him with the utmost annoyance in her brows, and they go right back to arguing.

"Is it always gonna be like this?" You ask, finally looking away.

At your side, Steve looks up from his book to see what you mean and when his eyes catch what is happening on the other side of the lake, he snickers. "Oh, yeah."

Down by the right side of your chair, Gabe hums on top of his Mojito cup. "Hmhm. Yup. A couple of months ago I saw Sam and Bucky just... flipping each other off." He looks up at you, twisting his mustache. "Continuously. Back and forth. Just—" Gabe starts mimicking one finger being given after the other, and Morita starts laughing.

After the fifth or sixth middle finger, Morita reaches to grab Gabe's excited hands. "I think they got it," Morita nods.

Behind you, MJ stops the braid she's doing to lean over and observe the scene in front of her.

On the other side, Bucky is laughing delightedly, and you can hear him saying 'yeah, you see the difference?' and your heart flutters a little.

MJ pins you with a look and a smirk. "She's going easy on him." She lifts her eyebrows. "Why."

You inch your sunglasses lower a little, observing Nat nodding along to whatever complicated bike engineering he's teaching her about.

The past few days, Natasha had kept Bucky walking on his toes around her—never offered him a bone, always crispy-polite when he spoke to her; you knew her game well. She was intimidating him by doing nothing at all, and you knew what MJ meant with 'taking it easy'.

Natasha took it easy with people whose opinion she knew mattered to you and would matter in the future, meaning she saw in Bucky someone who would be around for a while.

You look at MJ. "She knows he doesn't know everything that went through between us yet."

At the same time Steve hums in sympathy in front of you, MJ goes: "Ah."

"Yeah," you chuckle.

Steve rests his head against the chair and looks up at you. "Don't worry. If he's teaching her somethin', that's Buck language for a hug and a kiss on the forehead."

Your eyes and attention shifted between the group surrounding you by the lake and the chaotic group of idiots you adored on the other side of the lake.

You nodded in agreement. Bucky took a while to warm up to people—when Nat had mentioned her new bike and how much she thought his own was beautiful, how much she'd love to know some things about them so she wouldn't have to go to a mechanic over there too often and Bucky's response was, "Want me to teach you some stuff?" your heart had done some acrobatics inside your chest.

"Nat letting someone help is Nat language for 'you're cool and we can be friends'," you tell everyone.

Gabe points to where Yelena is sitting, watching Nat and Bucky on top of the rock. "That one is easy to make friends with, huh?"

Yelena, almost as if sensing you're all talking about her, looks over to you guys and waves excitedly. "Nah." Everyone turns around to you with a look that questions whether you've lost your mind or not, but you shrug at all of them. "It's true. You know how Nat and Bucky give off those vibes to everyone but us?" They all nod. "Yelena gives off that vibe to everyone too... unless she's around Nat. Or me." They all hum in surprise, and you close your eyes when the feeling of MJ's fingers goes back to working on your hair. "I'm happy you guys like them."

Steve pats your calf. "We know they're part of the package and we're keeping you. Thank god we like them," he sasses.

You laugh at him, and MJ snickers behind you to stand still.

Inside of the house, you can hear Sarah's boys playing video games and now, the smell of whatever it is the Wilsons are cooking is truly starting to take over the air.

Steve seems to pick up on that at the same time as you, 'cause he sniffs the air around him and starts craning his neck to get a look at the kitchen. "What on earth are they cooking in there?"

Morita hums at the back of his throat. "You're a lucky man, Cap." He huffs. "That's a damn good family to marry into."

To innocent ears, the compliment might've sounded very nice, but you feel MJ snickering behind you just as you try to hide your own laughter.

Steve, always so smart, knows better too and sees right through the bullshit. "Aht—knock it off." He slaps Morita on the arm, and the man laughs at him, unashamed of his boldness. "You guys and your stupid fucking poll." Steve throws his arms up. "We're not getting married! Not now, at least!"

MJ lets go of any pretense of hiding her laughter when Steve slaps his friend, but she recovers quickly to tell him. "Oh, c'mon Steve. Don't pretend you haven't bought that man a ring already."

Steve gasps in shock, and it's such a genuine and loud gasp that it catches everyone by surprise. He points an accusatory finger at MJ and then looks over to the other side of the lake, where Peter's laughter can be heard on top of Natasha's voice. "That TRAITOR!"

At the word, Peter's head snaps to where everyone is on the lake.

Everyone, including you, gasps at the realization of what Steve falsely assumed... and ended up revealing in the meantime.

"YOU DID?!" MJ yells the question.

Watching the realization hit Steve's face is almost as priceless as knowing that Steve Grant Rogers bought Sam Wilson a ring.

You watch as his eyes go from accusatory to wide in horror, and then his eyebrows crease in pain. Morita and Gabe start causing absolute havoc, and you're too shocked and happy to do anything but stand there with your mouth wide open and a smile splitting your face in half.

Steve, beet red and also beating himself over his misinterpretation, gets up from the chaos that has installed between a yelling Gabe, Morita, MJ and fastly approaching Peter ("What's up what's up what's up why did he yell at me—") and starts walking in direction of the house.

Big mistake.

MJ gets up from the chair behind you and starts singing the wedding waltz, and that's finally what snaps you out of your shock.

Immediately, you pull her down by the waist and start shushing her. "Shushhhh, oh my god, Gabe, shut up! Are you guys kidding me?!" you scream whisper. "Make it more obvious, would ya?! Let the man keep his secret at least from the person who's meant to be surprised, huh?!" You point vigorously at the house, looking at them like one looks at children who forgot that this is supposed to be a surprise party.

The three of them clasp their hands over their mouth, and you sigh dramatically. "If he finds out because of y'all, I'm killing you. I swear I am."

Peter, between ragged breaths, looks between you all with wide eyes. "Who told you?" He whines.

For the second time, you feel MJ hiding behind you, and when Peter cries out a betrayed, "Babe?", you can't help but laugh.

Your eyes find a pair of blue ones on the other side of the lake, and sharing your moment of happiness with him makes it even better somehow.

◦➳◦

Meet me at the Willow at 2.

The words had been whispered to you while dinner was served and everyone navigated each other in the kitchen; Bucky had slid behind you at the plate line, whispered that at the shell of your ear, and fucked right off the kitchen, leaving you standing there confused for a moment.

Confused and giddy, for that was the right word—giddy; as if you were a teenager; as if this was all a joyous new thing to experience.

Bucky said the words and created a monarch dynasty in your belly, butterflies fluttering with his wink as he left, with your eagerness to wait for the clock to strike midnight so everyone would retire to their beds and you could watch the minutes pass by.

It was stupid and foolish, but it felt good.

At one-thirty, you kiss Nat's sleeping forehead, remove her cellphone from her hand before it falls on the wooden floor, slip it under her pillow, and leave for a smoke at the back porch.

There was no privacy at the lake house.

Surely, among a group of adults, no one lived under the impression to share a roof with prudes; on the contrary: having a group of intimate friends you were learning, meant sharing the good, the bad, the weird, and the extremely personal.

Still. Common courtesy indicated no loud, delicious sex when you shared literally the same room with somebody else.

A thin wall? Acceptable. One can shove their heads under a pillow and go back to bed, ignoring the grunting and moaning on the other side, but when it's sleeping right next to you?

A little rude.

Not that you and Bucky were meeting to fuck behind a tree, like an actual couple of teenagers—no. You had better self-control than that (you hoped), and taking things at their own time was not a problem for either one of you.

But god, you missed making out with him.

Kissing, tasting him, teasing him for more than an hour, feeling the way he likes to map your body with his hands—fuck, his hands.

You put out the smoke, glanced at your clock, and thanked the summer heat for making nights just as perfect as days as you walk to the willow tree at the back of the lake.

Sitting under it in his baggy, black shorts and one of your favorite t-shirts of his, smoking a cigarette with a phone in his hand and a blanket underneath him, is Bucky.

When he sees you, Bucky smiles at the side, then pats the place on the blanket next to him.

You walk to him, and instead of sitting where he suggested, stop in front of his crossed legs, looking down at him with no reservation to your thoughts.

He's always been good at reading them. Bucky's incredible at reading you, and if someone said you were once a book on his shelf in this or any other life, you'd believe them.

His legs all but melt in front of him, uncrossing in a clear invitation. To make matters better, Bucky opens his arms wide, leaving his cigarette dangling from his mouth—waiting. Open.

You sit down on his lap and his arms close around your waist.

"I'm glad you found the location easy, ma'am," he teases, making you laugh.

The theatrical side of him is something few people know, and you, personally, adore. His voice gets carried easily in the dark and the silence of the night; you take the cigarette from his lips and lead it to yours, take a puff and then put it out in the trunk behind his head.

Bucky pouts at you. "I wasn't done with that," he whines a little.

You shake your head at him, rolling your eyes. "Don't care." You'd missed him. Missed being close to his body so much, so the first thing you do is get closer—wrap your arms around his neck and interlace your fingers in his soft, growing hair.

His hair's getting longer again.

The days here at the lake house did him good; Bucky looks healthy, tanned; there's a glow on his skin that's almost unfair and his hair feels made of silk.

"You look so pretty, Buck," you whisper to him.

Bucky's eyes are on your mouth, and even in the dark, you can see the color rising on his cheeks. "What's with you and callin' me pretty lately?" He asks with a shy chuckle.

You shrug your shoulders. "Dunno. Just thought you should know," you voice softly.

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but seems to miss the words to answer you.

To give him a way out, you lean closer and place a kiss at the corner of his mouth. "I like how long your hair's getting. You plan on cutting it?"

The question is asked while you measure the length of his locks with your fingers, in the same way that a barber does before taking the tips out with a scissor.

Bucky remains quiet for a couple more seconds under you, but when he finally answers, your movements halt on his head. "Dunno yet. Hey, Y/N. You really think I'm pretty?"

The measuring stops. Your heart falters, skips, trips. It falls, and the floor of your chest echoes with the shatter.

Your body inches back slowly, to avoid spreading the pieces under places you'll never find again.

Bucky's looking straight ahead—eyes fixed on the necklace around your neck, both of his hands tight on your waist. With care, you cup his face into your hands and lift it until his eyes meet yours. "Bucky." The moonlight does wonders with his eyes, and you're growing to love the privilege of seeing him under a light that only you get the opportunity. "You. Are the prettiest person. I have ever seen."

He blinks through watery eyes at how much emotion slips out of your mouth alongside your words, and both of you have to swallow down the knots of tears that belong to another moment.

You kiss his pink cheeks, one by one. "So pretty, Sargeant." A kiss between his eyes. Catching a sniff of his citrus-smelling hair, you add "and you smell so nice." Bucky chuckles under you, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. "Except after your runs."

Now, he laughs harder. He kisses your sternum, and you sigh. "Thanks, doll." He looks up at you, his face still safe and happily tucked in your hands. "I ask 'cause... you're the most beautiful ever. So. You deserve to be with someone you think 's pretty."

God, this man's beauty will be your ruin.

His outer beauty, his inner one, too. Your smile widens, and you suddenly hate every breath you take without having kissed him at least once. "Trust me. I'm right where I should be." Wiggling on top of him, you adjust your legs around his waist and tuck your feet under his thigh, just a little. "Kiss, please?"

Bucky's eyes lose some of the blue with the question, and he obliges with that smile that always steals some of your breath and melts your insides a bit.

He closes the distance slowly, and his lips are soft and wet when they suck on yours.

Kissing Bucky is the smoothest bike ride you've ever been on.

If you unlearned everything overnight because of a mysterious reason or a curse, maybe a true kiss would be real, then. You're certain that having his mouth on yours would come back to you, sure as the Sun does every day.

Whether it's the same rhythm as you, or the way Bucky enjoys kissing, just like you—his lips on yours are a sweet taste you can't get enough of. Never could, never will.

Bucky sucks on your tongue and kisses you until you're both breathless. He lets you get some air, gasping through ragged breaths, as he sucks on your neck and licks on your neck with abandon.

He licks a stripe from the middle of your clavicle all the way up, finishing right under your chin. It's ticklish, and your giggles get eaten by his hungry lips once again.

You suck on his moans and swallow down the grunting noises he offers you; kissing Bucky always makes your body come alive, your head spinning with the lack of oxygen and your lower body melting with the heated need that overtakes everything.

He kisses you with his right hand fisting your hair at the nape, his left hand gripping your waist, your ass, pulling you closer and further at the same time—Bucky wants you closer, but the more you sit and sigh in his arms, the more you rub yourself against his cock, which is rapidly answering to your hips and filling up inside his sweater-shorts.

When his left hand grips your waist tight enough to leave bruises and pull a whine out of your mouth, you both go still at the same time.

You take a deep breath together, inhaling the same air, right against each other's mouths.

Bucky smiles, and you try your damn best to not move. His iron-grip on your waist is what's guiding you now, and you did say to yourself you had better self-control than this. "Fuck, baby," Bucky's voice is wrecked.

It twists the knife on your stomach—the one made of butter, cutting through you like you're made of honey.

He might be wearing boxers. Whether he is or not, you can feel the outline of his dick nestled between the lips of your pussy, even through the layers of your panties and your sleeping shorts.

You hum, and press a tentative, innocent kiss on his lips. "Sorry." When he smiles, his grip on your waist loosens, but you remain still. "I thought you had come here to read for me... or something," you joke.

It works—Bucky's laughter is suppressed on your sternum, and you try not to think about how close his lips are to your nipples. He's trying to keep it quiet; the laughter can be carried through the wind and end up waking someone up in a fright inside the house.

Fuck. You'd wake up everybody and kick them all out if it meant he just went back to kissing you right now.

"I was reading Ham on Rye before you came," he whispers to you.

For a moment, your mind finds a safe boat. "Ah! Your first read or re-read?"

Bucky kisses your exposed shoulder, and the imaginary safe boat floats away like a popped balloon. "Re-read, but—the first time I read it I was pretty young, so it's kinda like a first read?"

He hums thoughtfully, and you know he isn't done yet.

Another kiss is placed, higher up on your shoulder this time, and you wonder if you're safe to relax the bottom half of your body without going back to circling his hips like a bitch in heat. Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how much he behaves, too.

"I like it," Bucky adds, kissing the column of your throat. So much for behaving. "But that's not much of a surprise. I like the dirty old man."

The silly nickname and jab at one of the author's titles make you giggle. "He really was one, wasn't he?"

Bucky laughs, but it's with his stubble scratching your throat. Your own laughter dies in a little whine. "Guess we share a trait, then."

"You're not a..." your words trail off, ending in a soft gasp. Bucky sucks on your earlobe, and his hips buck up a fraction, and you never had a chance; not when he feels so desperate underneath you. "Dirty old man," you whisper.

There's a low hum as Bucky kisses more of your throat. "Dunno if I always was one, or if you just—you got this power to awaken somethin' in me." Bucky takes both of his hands from your body and places them on your cheeks, turning your focus entirely on him. "I used to be a real smooth fucker before, you know?" He whispers, stealing every ounce of your attention.

It's unnecessary detailing before 'what'; whenever Bucky mentions 'before', he's referring to the army and, more specifically, his injury. Your body is frozen on top of his, listening attentively and feeling his fingers caressing your cheeks.

"I was always a decent-looking fella," he says in mock-humbleness, and you roll your eyes at him. He chuckles, but continues in a more somber tone. "But after things like that, it's. Fuck. You lose touch with yourself and—things that felt normal before. They're harder. New, all over again." Bucky leans up and kisses you, and you melt around him in an embrace. "I'm sorry I got so overwhelmed that morning... I never. Before you—the women I'd been with; they hadn't noticed the thing I do. I don't think I had either? It had—it'd been a while since I looked at someone I was being intimate with. And... I think knowing you really think all the things you say about me helped me... see myself. A new light, a bit better, all that yadda."

The way he finishes does little to mask how real and open all the other things he's said were.

Bucky's fiddling with your necklace by the end of his speech, and you're trying your best to finish picking up the pieces of a heart that broke for him because this... it needs to fall again.

How could people just skim past someone else's obvious body language that way?

Well—thinking back on how all of this started, it had all came from the fact that most men before Bucky had never paid attention to yours, to begin with.

Not until this 'dirty old man' came and showed you what could truly be.

You close the distance between your lips in a soft kiss. "I'm glad I can make you feel that way, Buck," you whisper. "I know we joke about your old age and whatnot, but honestly—you're one of the most handsome men I've met. You've got years of being a menace to my heart and health ahead of you yet."

Missing his 40th birthday had been the only truly sad day of this vacation for you. You knew from Steve Bucky had an amazing time with his younger sisters — Becca hadn't gone because of an important work thing, it turns out — and you were happy for them.

But you also knew Bucky and how much the date must've made a mess in his thoughts about a lot of things.

"You see me being a menace to your heart and health for a long time?" He asks.

He makes himself comfortable against the tree, adjusting the pillow on his lower back and pulling you close with him. "Sure. Do you?"

Bucky smiles up at you. "For as long as you'll have me."

It goes to your head. Of course it does—Bucky's offering himself to you on a silver platter, and saying it's yours to have and hold.

"One more kiss, please?" You ask nicely.

Bucky chuckles at you, pulling you by the nape. "Have as many as you want," he whispers before closing his lips on yours on short, sweet pecs. "Just... control these damn Succubus hips of yours, please?" He pleads, sucking on your bottom lip. "It's hard already having you sitting on me—if you—ah, don't do that, Y/n—if you give me blue balls in here I swear I'll make you cum at the cinema theater as a punishment or somethin'. I know I probably deserve them, but you smell so good, doll, it's torture already, c'mon."

The problem with Bucky's soft pleading is that it turns you on even more.

You have to physically stop your hips from circling his again, and he kisses you so sweetly that for a moment, you think of nodding along, saying 'yeah, Bucky, sure, baby'.

That plan goes downhill when his hands go down on you.

For someone trying to keep himself away from blue balls, Bucky is sure not doing his best at keeping his own excitement at bay.

When the sweet, languid kisses start heating up once more, it's him who starts pressing your waist down and guiding it with his big hands to rock back and forth against him. Bucky's hands are big, they hold firmly on your pelvis and when you see, he's moaning in your mouth because of the movements he's inflicting on himself.

But god, does it feel good.

He kisses you like he starved for it for a month, and he did.

When you think about the last time you had Bucky inside of you, so long ago, your resolve cracks, and you're whining on his mouth.

That, he notices, and it snaps Bucky out of his drunken lust. He pulls back with a gasp, and if he was half-hard before, there's no doubt he finished getting himself worked up now.

You know intimately and closely the weight and the girth of that fully hard cock, and you whine again, rocking your hips against it. Bucky's hips buck up to meet yours, and he groans against your neck. "Okay that might've been on me this time," he gasps, licking and kissing on your neck. "Doll," he rasps out, and woah, he even sounds drunk. "You're gonna have to be stronger than me. I can't get my hands off you right now," he moans, leaving his trail of kisses on your beard-burned throat.

"Don't wanna."

Unlike you, he finds amusement in this frustration, because he chuckles. "Y/n, we're both just gonna get more worked up and even more frustrated, baby." He takes a deep breath and tries inching his waist back a little. "I didn't bring anything with me," he whispers to you, smiling through what are supposed to be comforting kisses. "Plus—I got a date to take you in first, don't I?"

The logic is sound.

"Fine." You pout. "You didn't bring anything—no rubbing on each other. Just—kiss me?"

Buck obliges, kissing you with fervor.

If the plan and the reasoning were good, you two only missed one factor in this equation—the kissing, which you are both very good at, is effective with or without you two letting the lust and the heat take over your heads.

You and Bucky kiss to taste the missing days on each other's tongue, to find in his soft sighs the words you missed from poems he read away from you, to nibble on the lonely days at his house and the moments you could've had together at his birthday.

Under minutes, your foreheads are glistening with sweat and your hands have found home under each other's sleeping shirts.

Bucky's burning under you, and he's so hot and ready that his body starts doing something that breaks every last bit of resolve and rationalization you had stored in your brain.

For a second, you're embarrassed to feel how wet your panties are. It's ludicrous to be ashamed of it—Bucky loves how wet you get, but under the given circumstances you think it's wise to have him at least lying on top of you instead of under before you start rutting against his clothed dick like one does to the corner of a couch.

It's with a slip of the hand that you notice you're not alone.

Adjusting yourself, you move back a little and start saying, "D'you wanna get on..." but when your hand misses his thigh — a genuine mistake in the dark — and finds his crotch instead, your words die on your tongue.

Bucky's wet too. "Oh, fuck," you mutter, pressing your hand harder on the patch now. "Bucky."

"Y/n," he groans.

He's dripping pre-come in his boxers, and the wet spot on his shorts says as much as your panties do at this moment.

You don't care whether he's brought a condom or not anymore. "Bucky... d'you... have you been with anyone?" You ask him in a shaky whisper. Under you, Bucky stops groaning. And moving. "I swear I ain't asking to be a dick—I'm asking, well—I'm asking 'cause I trust you enough to know you're one of the good guys and you don't lie about this shit like some do just for pussy. And right now—I need to know. Not if you've been with others—that's not—I care if you're clean, 'cause I am, and I'm on the pill, and if you tell me you are too, just this once we could..."

Bucky grips you by the jaw, stopping your rambles, making you look at him. "You really think I could touch anyone else when I've had you?" He asks, seriously.

You close your eyes, sighing in relief over a worry you had no right to have. "Buck..."

He kisses you eagerly, and you correspond in the same way, almost forgetting all about your question until he answers you. "I haven't, no," he says calmly—too calmly for a man undoing your insides like you're a wool sweater and he's unmaking you by the thread. "And I'm clean." He pulls you closer again, since you had slid lower on his lap. "Are you sure, though?"

You nod, eagerly. "So, so sure."

His groan is guttural. The grip on your waist and neck are primal, too—Bucky's having a hard time hiding from you just how much you and your body are affecting him, or perhaps he doesn't want to.

He never hid from you, but it's with him writhing and moaning against your skin, unabashed and so soft at the same time, that you notice—he never hid, but he downplayed.

The Bucky who'd laid with you for months had been a giver, and a taker, and a very good partner.

This Bucky is everything.

He's shameless—the way he looks up at you from under his eyelashes, so little of his eyes left blue and his cheeks pinker than the sky at twilight, it screams give it to me.

How could you not? If he's shameless, then so are you.

Bucky's wide open in his desire, rotating his hips to meet yours as he kisses you with the hunger to end a feast. When the heat starts becoming too much inside of you, the need to externalize it before you explode is what makes you take off his t-shirt, then yours, leaving his torso naked for the mosquitos (and you) to have a go at it, and your upper body in nothing but the black bralette your put on for bed.

It's his little whines of your name that while he takes himself from his boxers that make you want to scream—you're thankful for the loose booty shorts when you notice how practical it is for him to slip your panties to the side and move the head against your wet and waiting core.

Muffling the sounds that leave your mouths can only be done if you're kissing at that point.

Bucky slides inside of you with ease, burying all of him to the hilt in only a few thrusts.

His metal hand holds your panties away, and his right hand grips the other side of your waist, and when he moves, the filthy sounds of your bodies connecting and your breathy moans start becoming a symphony.

It would be a lie to say it felt the same as other times.

It's not. "Bucky," you grind down on his lap, feeling full to the brim with him seated inside of you. "Oh god. Missed feeling you. Missed being so full."

Bucky's face feels stapled to your neck—the deep, almost wounded sounds he's letting out would definitely be more than enough to wake everyone up, but they're buried with the stubble burns on the side of your neck. "You missed it, baby?" He asks, biting on your skin. He's picked that from you—Bucky was never a biter. "I missed ya too. Fuck—your pussy's so good—oh god, so tight, Y/n, like it was made for me, huh?"

If you were a stronger person, you'd swallow the scream that climbs up your throat, but Bucky's words, his strong arms, and the way he moves his hips like they're made for sinning—it's too much.

Feels too good. Drives your mind up the walls on every corner; it reminds you that he's in you, and how there's nothing between him and you—and oh fuck, fuck. "Bucky. Buck—are you gonna cum in me?" Your hands fly to get a grip on his hair before your back gives up and you fall backward, nothing but a puddle of pleasure in his hands.

His hips falter and become still inside of you, making you whine loud. "Y/n." On one hand, it's only your name—on the other, his dick twitches inside of you, pulling a broken moan out of your lips. Bucky moves back, just enough to get a look on your face, and he looks just as drunk and fucked out as you imagine you are. "Look at you." Bucky's right hand goes up to your face, getting the hair that's plastered on your face away from it, then leaves kisses all over it. You'd try moving your hip, but the iron-grip of his metal hand makes it impossible. "You tryna kill me, doll? Hm?" With that question, Bucky starts to piston his hips up in slow, deliberate moves. "You tryna gimme a heart attack?"

The movements are slow, but you feel when he secures his feet against the ground and then, the next thrust is sharper. Thankfully, Bucky puts his mouth on yours before you scream one more time.

"You tryna wake everybody up so they know who's making you feel so good, huh, pretty baby?" Bucky's words are slurred out together, and he highlights some words by just pushing in harder, then pulling out slowly. "You call me pretty then... then get cock drunk on top of me like this—fuck, it ain't fair."

The second his hand goes from your waist to your neck, your hips gain free range to circle him and meet his thrusts; Bucky's pace hits all the right places inside of you and the patience he has to make sure he's angled just right every time is exactly why you know he's right.

Bucky's fucked you speechless before, he's fucked you into a blubbering mess, he's fucked you until all you could say was his name, but today, you're taking him with you.

Gripping your pussy tighter around his cock in his next thrust, you feel his broken moan against your lips. "I am," you breathe out, laughing breathlessly and mouthing on his jawline. "You feel how good you make me feel, Buck?" your voice is small, drunk, just as slurred as he is, but he hears it. Leading your lips to the shell of his ear, you grip him tighter on purpose again, going down a little faster. "You look so pretty under me—fuck, right there—so, so pretty, Sergeant. I wanna feel it. Can I?"

If he planned on pulling out before your whiny pleading, the resolve gets lost when you hold his face between your hands and kisses him filthily, just to match the sounds of your hips meeting each other.

"I'm—you sure? Fuck, are you sure?" Bucky moans brokenly.

All your agreement is muffled in the next kisses, but Bucky reads and understands the permission.

When he gets both arms around the middle of your waist again, you know what's coming—the strain of his muscles every time he takes your full weight to himself and starts thrusting up faster and harder gets you without fail, burning you up even hotter.

You hold on to his biceps, feeling him kiss on your cheeks and your damn forehead like he does in front of everybody—and that's what it does you in.

He kisses your forehead while fucking straight into your g spot, his grunts and moans all absorbed by your skin and trailing to the lake behind you two, and you're done, you're pulsating and cumming all around his cock, his name falling from your lips in a desperate prayer or a plea—you can't know, you don't care.

Bucky feels your pussy squeezing him and the only warning you get is the way he buries his face between your boobs and lets out a grunt before you feel him shooting inside of you.

Neither of you moves or says another word for what it feels like the longest minutes ever—this is going to become a problem.

You don't want him to pull out—hell, you never want him somewhere that's not inside of you, filling you up, ever again.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Bucky whines underneath you.

Oh. You said that out loud. "I'm... never." You laugh brightly. "Sorry."

"Do not apologize," he laughs back.

"It just... it feels good."

Bucky groans, and when he tries to pull out just a little, your whine stops him. He takes a deep breath and rests his head back against the tree trunk, and you get to appreciate his sweaty, fucked-out look.

The smile is your favorite part. "I don't see how this is a problem," he whispers to you, moving his hips a little again for another reaction—you both hiss at the sensitivity, but you hum pleased right after. "Nope. Nevermind. This is a problem—you know, I had a dream on New Year's day when you slept over that I woke up and I was already inside of you for some reason?" Bucky's voice is still deep and raspy, and you missed how he sounds after all those grunts and growls. "That's why I went on a run."

"That's a nice idea," you whisper.

"Are you trying to kill me?" He begs again, louder this time.

Laughing, you realize that Bucky is only starting to get an idea of how much you truly want to "kill him".

This should be fun.

◦➳◦

"That sounds cutthroat."

The comment is offered so honestly that you can't help but tease a little. "Yeah." You sip on your Coke, then add in a tone as serious as you can muster. "Few places in this world are as cutthroat as a Ballet school."

Bucky stops with the straw halfway to his mouth and, sensing how much of an absolute little shit you're being, only shakes his head, amusement written all over his face. "I can imagine."

You smile behind your cup, biting on your lip. It's a little hard to concentrate on staying on topic when he looks so good. "Anyway. I think it's good for them to get a little competition going on." Natasha and Yelena were always good at bringing the best out on each other. "I can't wait for the casting paper picture. They send me a pic of the paper the professors pin on the board with all the names of who's dancing and as what—very pretty handwriting, dramatic old school style."

Bucky smiles at that. "My bet's on Yelena."

"What!? Why?" You lean in, curious.

"Nat's more experienced, but from what you've told me, she's also... distracted," he wiggles his eyebrows.

Oh. He had a point.

Wanda. "You really think so?"

"Sure. She's got other priorities right now," Bucky nods.

"Hmm, that is true." You're munching on your straw at the answer, thinking about the goodbyes at the airport, when the food arrives.

Given it was the last week of summer, everyone had (reluctantly) left Steve's small piece of heaven and headed back to where they came from.

Your girls, after their extended vacation, flew back to Russia with the biggest smile on their faces and a little bit of a tan to boot.

When you were saying goodbye, Natasha had whispered. "I like him, lyubov. He's still... pending. But I like him."

Behind her, Yelena rolled her eyes and made a small heart with her fingers—she knew her sister, probably knew exactly what she was saying, but getting the stamp of approval from both your girls meant the world.

In front of you, Bucky thanks the waitress — a girl named Monica, who he introduced you to as soon as you arrived at Nakajima — and gives you a raise of his eyebrows at how delicious the food looks.

You prefer spending time observing how appetizing he looks.

The black trousers, brand new black shirt and plaid overcoat made his long hair and clean stubble give him almost a model look. That, or perhaps you were biased with how handsome he was.

Riding with him on his bike was maybe one of your favorite things now.

"How's the pretty rescue?" You ask, digging in the food.

"Pretty rescue," he chuckles under his breath. "I should've never shown you pics of him, 'till last week I was 'pretty boy' and now all I hear from ya is 'where's my pretty boy, let me see that ball of fur, Bucky' and no love for me."

Most people would think Bucky's doing all that theater just to get the laughter out of you — which he does, always — but you know him better; Bucky loves hiding his true adorable persona behind sarcastic jokes that have a little bit of truth.

That's why you squeeze him by his cute chin, call him pretty when he wakes up, and wolf-whistle when he passes by in all his shirtless glory.

The comfort and ease that he carries himself around you now could never go unnoticed by you.

(You, and others.

Is that Bucky SHIRTLESS behind you? Damn, Y/n, that's Buck language for serious businessssssss 😛 Steve had texted.)

Chuckling, you grab him by the chin. "Sorry, baby," you press a kiss on his pink, sake lips. "He's just too fucking cute. I'll call him—hm. That long silky fur reminds me of those prince lap kittens who always look super mean, but Alpine isn't mean, he's just prince."

"Alright, I'll take it." Bucky gives a small little bite on your chin, and you smile to yourself. Definitely picking up on your habits. He goes back to his food with a smile and answers, "He's fine. I thought he'd have left 'till I was back, but Luke said he gave no trouble and always ate the food he left for him. He even sent me a couple of pictures of them playing a couple of times when he came by and Alpine was sleeping on the couch or just around. Did I show you?" You nod, listening with a smile. "Right. He's just been getting all my clothes properly branded now—everything has his fur, Y/n, I swear to god."

Bucky feeds you the broccoli he isn't going to eat. "That's gonna be the default now," you tell him.

"I know." Bucky sighs. "I told myself 'he's not gonna sleep on the bed, you bought him a bed, Bucky' but—he is. Yeah." You laugh in sympathy, nodding along to Bucky's conformism. "You'll see when you go." He shakes his head. "He annoyed me all day, every day, for a week when summer started and when I gave him shelter during that first storm I said—just tonight. He's cryin' outside, you're not heartless, Bucky." He turns to you and pauses dramatically. "He was eatin' from my plate yesterday, Y/n. I have lost control of my own home."

That does it in—you burst out laughing, your upper body falling forward, leaning against him.

"Stop laughing at me! This is serious!" He says, laughing too.

Not laughing with him is almost an impossible task.

That's why you're not scared, says a voice in your head. Whenever the things you feel for Bucky grow and bloom inside of you, growing branches to new places and solidifying how much he means to you and in your life, the breeze of fear is nothing but a passenger cold in your stomach.

It goes away quickly. Bucky warms you up with laughter every time he speaks to you.

That's how you know he'll be in your life for as long as he wants to—even when things were bad, or difficult, Bucky managed to make you smile through the sadness or the hurt.

He makes you happy.

"Does it taste good?" Bucky confirms at one point, when conversation dulled in favor of you both devouring the delicious dinner Yori prepared just for you two.

You nod with a mouth full, chipmunk cheeks ending up poked by one of Bucky's metal fingers.

"Cutie," he chuckles, pressing a tasty kiss on your cheek.

Dinner is almost as good as the date itself.

After picking you up on his special bike — a black, sleek and traditional Harley — and taking you for a ride around town, Bucky took you to a spoken poetry event he'd gotten the tickets for before you two had even "broken up".

He held your hand the entire evening, asking or whispering things to you about the books surrounding you and the people he saw.

People-watching with Bucky was much more fun than with most people; his observational skills were incredible and after the spoken-poetry session ended, you two roamed the fair in which it had happened and left there with two bags of books, your mouths sweetened of cotton candy, cheeks pink and aching from smiling so hard.

Then, he asked you, "Ready to eat?" And you knew where you two were going.

This time, Bucky had introduced you to Yori.

The Japanese man owned the restaurant, and it took you two minutes laughing at their sharp banter to see how much Yori meant to him.

Yori had told you about what inspired him to do a place where Asian cuisine is so mixed, and he'd given you a tour of both floors while talking animatedly about how much he loves regulars who dress so nicely as you.

He also ignored Bucky's attempt to be part of the conversation, because, according to him, "Don't mind him, Y/n, he wants my attention 'cause he's used to it. Lemme talk to the girl, James. Go get us some more sake."

It was nice to see someone else with the upper hand around Bucky who wasn't Steve.

You two finish a whole bottle of sake before dinner is over — mostly you, considering he's driving — and by the time your stomachs are full and conversation has finished making a hundred different stops, your bodies are leaning against the glass window behind you, your hands intertwined under the table.

Bucky smiles when he feels you leaning your cheek on his hand. He pinches it softly, then kisses it. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom and drink some water." He kisses your eyelids, which are feeling heavier already. "I'll get the bill before I come back. I'll bring you a bottle, kay?"

That's Bucky language for 'you're tipsy and I'm gonna hydrate you', and you appreciate it. Silently tilting your chin up, Bucky gives you the kiss your gesture asks for. "Meet me outside? I'm gonna smoke."

He snickers, giving you a cheeky smile. "Tsk tsk, bad habit, miss."

"I'll quit it when you do."

"I know. I'll make us quit, you see," he laughs.

It's something you two have been teasing each other about, ever since Bucky heard you yelling at Natasha over the phone to wait until you've found your lighter, and she replied with "agh! that nasty fucking habit" and received a "which I got from WHO?" that silenced her really quick.

He claimed he was gonna help you get rid of this nasty habit before you were a hypocrite in a white coat and he had no lungs to eat you out for hours or have you sit on his face.

"Loving the priorities, Buck."

Clutching your jacket closer around your body, you laugh at the memory.

If Bucky and Natasha's competitive streak ends in you becoming healthier, then so be it.

"Ah! You're here." Your head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice and finds Yori getting down the steps from the side door, joining you in the alley outside. "I have Monica stalling James at the cashier with a pep talk of her little girl, that should buy me some time," he says, making you laugh.

"Are you here to gimme more dirty secrets on him? 'Cause I'm all ears," you joke, angling your body so it faces the wind direction and none of the smoke hits Yori's face.

He notices it, and eyes your cigarette with the same distaste your mother does. "I'm not, actually."

The seriousness in his tone makes you hesitate a little, sobering up, too. "Is something wrong?"

Yori waves his hands in front of him in a dismissive way. "No, no. Nothing's wrong." He points at the smoke on your hand. "Except for that. I heard James saying you two are going to quit." Yori pins you with a look. "Next time you two come over, I better not see smoke breaks," he waits for you to nod in agreement before continuing. "Good. I've been trying to get him to quit for years, but if it takes a pretty girl and being in love for him to do it, at least it gets done."

"We'll quit it, Mr. Nakajima."

He looks away with a shake of his head. "Ah! I told you before—Yori." To your surprise, Yori puts out his hand in a request for the cigarette and you hand it to him, trying to contain your smile. "It's a nasty habit." He takes a slow drag and says through the exhaled smoke. "Feels good, though."

"That it does," you chuckle.

Yori looks at you calculative, taking another drag. "I came to thank you," he passes it back to you.

"For what?"

"You know what." Yori points to the inside of the restaurant, where if you follow his finger, Bucky can be found smiling at a picture that's being shown to him on the girl you recognize as Monica's phone. "He hasn't smiled like that in years." When you look back at Yori, the man has a smile on his face you haven't seen before. "My son used to make him smile like that all the time, so I think there's definitely a type there to where his taste lies, but—" he looks away from Bucky to you, his smile growing. "Kim could never get through his thick skull. You do. And he's finally opening up to being happy again..." Yori's hands join together and, like a flower, open in a blooming gesture. "Under your light."

The words get caught on your throat, and you put out the cigarette even though it was only half-finished.

"Kim was your kid?" You ask, feeling suddenly very hot under the streetlight. My son used to make him smile like that all the time.

The picture in Steve's corridor flashes behind your eyes; the bright smile of a younger Bucky, unmistakably happy and delighted.

Fuck. My sweet Bucky.

"Yeah," Yori confirms. "I adopted him when he was just a kid." His smile has sad and sharp edges. "I had a kid before him, but he... life can be tragic, sometimes." Yori catches your hand between his, and his smile eases. "But not always." Shaking your head and stealing a glance to the inside, he whispers. "You two make the loveliest couple. I can see in his face how much he cares about you. Which is hard. Men like James can hide a lot from their face, but he can't hide it with you—oh, no," he shakes his head, chuckling amused. "I'm happy."

So were you. "So am I, Yori." You squeeze his hand back. "I'm happy too."

◦➳◦

Being Bucky's girlfriend is, just as you expected, even better than being his friend.

He's a great partner, he discovers. You knew that already—he had taken care of you in more ways than one when first approaching you.

The soft-spoken compliments might not have been there, or the subtle touches he seems to love so much when he's in public with you now, but the laser-focus attention and the sweet way of caring have always been.

Being Bucky's means grease stains on your cheeks too because he's incapable of seeing you at his shop and not kissing you. It means late-night dinner at Nakajima's, the place with the best food in this area of Brooklyn.

There's also the mindblowing sex, but that was your entry card.

With the days passing, you discover more of him can blow your mind.

His ability to compromise is incredible.

Bucky's patient with your schedule—when summer ends and the rush of school starts once again, your first fear is that your studying and how busy you are will mess up the good flow you two have going on.

What happens is: Bucky brings back the habit of texting between you two and when he catches you biting your lip raw in worry, he hugs you for a long time and kisses your worries away with a simple "I met a busy woman, I asked a busy woman to be mine—I'll deal with the consequences, kay?". Just like that.

His openness about his past takes a little of your breath away.

Through text messages or in person, Bucky starts offering to you cuts and pieces of life before you met him.

You learn more about his family — he and the girls are getting much closer and Bucky mentions a couple of times about the possibility of you meeting them — and in return, he listens to your tragic tales about yours, told through sarcastic jokes and glasses of brandy.

He never shies away from your touch or hides in the shadows anymore. Yori's analogy of a flower gets imprinted on your head and, in only a few days, that's all you can see in his selfies or cute little snaps.

Bucky looks amazing. Happy, and less broody.

He looks seen.

And from how he talks, he feels that way too. "Hey—can I pick you up at your University?" He asks on a Friday over the phone.

"Hello to you too, Sarge."

"Hi, pretty." He chuckles. "Can I pick you up? Morita just sent me a page about somethin' on the other side of town you're gonna like and I wanna take you. I even changed clothes—I won't look like a hobo coming to kidnap you, I promise."

The joke makes you laugh, but it also raises the need to do something in your brain.

As soon as Bucky arrives at the parking lot of your university and parks his bike, you throw Sarah a cheeky wink and go to walk in his direction.

Bucky hugs you close and kisses you hello, and then you put your plan to action. "Sargeant."

"Hm?" He asks, taking your backpack from you.

You circle your arms around his neck, bringing his attention fully to you. Sweet like honey and low enough for only his ear, you ask. "You see all these people... looking at you over my back. Drooling a little. Eyeing you up and down?" Bucky's eyes go over your shoulder, looking around in the parking lot, and you get to witness his eyes widening a little, his cheeks tainting. "Yup. All of 'em." You kiss his jawline. "They'd all love for you to show up here dirty with grease and make their wildest dreams come true just by... getting a look at you." You cup his surprised face in your hands. "You forget sometimes, don't ya?" With a kiss to his smiling lips, you add. "Pretty boy." Another kiss, and Bucky's smiling too. "They all wish they were me right now, Sarge."

That makes him laugh loudly, and the way he eyes you up and down, eating you with a glance; your skin burns hotter from it. "Oh, baby. They wish," he states boldly, kissing you again.

Bucky's spontaneous rides around town are the best surprise of them all, though.

He takes you to see a poetry reading, a book opening for a poet you've never heard of before and in return, you take him to the car exposition you always went to when you were younger with your dad, but stopped frequenting once he left.

You take Bucky to Flora and Rosa's back-to-school play because if there's one person who deserves to see your special little bundles of joy dressed as aliens, it's him.

Bucky officially asked you to be 'his girl' on the night of your first date, and only a month after that, you noticed that you were his girl since he first leaned down on Bullet's window and asked about your car's name.

His eyes hooked you in, and his voice sank you down below, but it was his personality that froze the lake and kept you under until now.

Bucky stops reading to you when he notices you aren't paying attention.

"Have I lost you?" He asks with a smile.

He's lying on your bed with What We Buried in his hands, reading the poems out loud to you, he has your legs thrown over his lap and your back nestled against the headboard of the bed.

The thermal bag over your stomach eases the cramps you're feeling, but Bucky's the real medicine here. "A little bit, but in a good way," you answer.

Your voice's groggy from the pain meds, and Bucky leans down to kiss your exposed thigh, and you feel his warm breath on your sensitive skin. "Do I keep reading?" He asks.

"Yes, please."

"Just don't fall asleep like that, baby. You'll crane your neck."

"I won't."

"Yori said he'll bring dinner for us later 'cause none of us are gonna cook tonight, okay?"

"He just wants an excuse to see Alpine," you giggle.

"Alpine and you." Bucky huffs, and opens the book again. "I said he could 'cause I can't say no to his food, but don't abandon me when he gets here. You two always lose me on your Chinese literature rants." He throws you what's supposed to be a menacing look. "No man left behind, doll."

"Yes, Sergeant," you smile.

"Good girl." He kisses your leg again, and clears his throat. "Now—where was I?"

"Bucky?"

He looks away from the book with a patient smile. "Hm?"

"I love you, pretty."

He smiles with the same happiness from the first time he heard it, and leans in his whole upper body to place the next kiss on your waiting lips. "I love you more, baby." He pulls back smiling. "Now hush. I'm reading the pain away from my girl—where was I?"

"In This Story, you have claws..."

He nods happily. "In this story, you have claws. In this story, happily ever after has bite marks in it. In this story, you are free and terrifying. In this story, you get away. In this story, you bleed. In this story, you survive."

We do, you think.

In this story, you bleed, and the love leaves bite marks, and even though you're terrifying, both of you are free—he, a survivor, you, a fighter.

You two get away, and most importantly, get together.

In this story, Bucky smiles at you under the sun and the Moonlight, and he's just as perfect as he was when you met him, perhaps only a bit brighter.

Bloomed. Like you.

Like your love.

— THE END —

Taglist ☆ @undiadeestos ; @keepingitlokiii ; @hallecarey1 ; @mardema ; @mollygetssherlockcoffee ; @fanofalltheficsx ; @justlovelifeblog ; @fallenoutofrose ; @rvgrsbrns ; @tripletstephaniescp ; @mal-edictions ; @rippl3s ; @barnesafterglow ; @vintagepigeon ; @dirtyweenerking ; @couldabeenamermaid ; @leyannrae ; @nerdwholikesword ; @andreead ; @ren-ni ; @pastamomma ; @fairytalebucky ; @bvckysmoon ; @buttybarnes1917 ; @rebekahdawkins ; @xbeauxny ; @redirection04 ; @thatblondebrownie ; @carrotfantasimp ;

PART TWO. @carmellasworld ; @iambeeee ; @agni-l ; @bahama-mama-llama ; @sstan-hoe ; @hawsx3 ; @weirdowithnobeardo ; @hdbngsprnva ; @itsdawnashlie ; @sweetdreamsbuck ; @slutforsteve ; @itsmedramaqu33n ; @strongpowerthank-yu ; @fiftyshadesofokay ; @its-hopeless-romantic ; @peonyophelia ; @hannabritta; @blossomedfloweroflove ; @thegirlnextdoorssister ; @leeviiieee ; @champagnebuckyyy ;

To everyone who has read, reblogged, commented, and loved this story: thank you from the bottom of my heart. I had the utmost fun time creating this, and I plan on writing several drabbles and blurbs in this little universe. They'll be added to the master list, and they'll be from the past, present, and future of these characters. I hope you've enjoyed your reading. <3

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vxnta · 3 years

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excuse me! that is my emotional support murdering milf

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vxnta · 3 years

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my comfort character is so soft!!

the comfort character in question:

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vxnta · 3 years

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Look. As someone who knows women, they just want a huge blade for violence. trust me

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vxnta · 3 years

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Castigo

pequé en mi albatros una rutina constante del pensar-miento crepúscular calendario de facto se germina un olvido ayer palabras de fiebre trasnochaban sinfines superstición melódica flor de aquelarre enjaulada pulsión de vida se trasfondea el que hicimos con esto

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vxnta · 3 years

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vxntas divine beings section

hello there, introducing this section of the blog where im gonna be making up different types of god/ess for your drs, requests are open and welcome ;).

a single being will probably contain a variety of weapons, abilities, powers, clothes and origins.

remember this is for fun and you will probably see common origins or namings such as, for example: god/ess of wisdom or nature, just to get to the idea.

^^to add

#marvel dr #shifting to the mcu #mcu #avengers

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vxnta · 3 years

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some of the ways you can make money as a superhero:

(i remember investigating about this but i don’t remember the page where a lot of people gave ideas)

Double life, typical job type of income: fast food employee, mechanic, server, bartender, reporter, librarian. Example of double life: Peter Parker

Born rich - became rich type of income: inherited family company of made your own business. Example of born rich: Tony Stark

Government hero/crowdfunding income: the government pays you for your duty or there are organizations that gather money for their local superheros. Example of government hero: Captain America

#avengers #superhero #argentina #script #shifting #steve rogers #endgame #tony stark #spider man #peter parker

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vxnta · 3 years

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thinking about doing a divine being power inspirations 😏

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vxnta · 3 years

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this is a MASTERPIECE

Look at me

Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Bucky's been dying to let you know about his feelings, but he's not so sure about how you may feel.

warnings: curse words.

notes: expect feelings I guess. this is totally mine, please don't repost, translate, copy or any variant.

One thing is for certain: Bucky was smitten, utterly enamored by your mere presence. The way that his chest was constantly with this tight feeling whenever you were around, or the fluttering in his belly whenever he got to make eye contact with you, even if it was just a coincidence and you weren't really looking at him. Ever since being free of HYDRA, (hell, and other 70+ years where he hadn't had the chance to feel this way), you were the first person he truly felt was capable of keeping him on the edge of his seat constantly. He had made his own attempts to hide them though, to hide his affections for you, and so far it has been a disaster. Steve seemed to be the only one who wasn't aware of the way Bucky behaved around you.

"Wait, really?", Steve said to him on a saturday evening by the lake, his brows furrowed and looking completely confused.

"Old men truly are the worst", Nat had murmured as she pinched her nose bridge and closed her eyes. Obviously, Natasha had been the first one to decipher the strange behavior Bucky was having around you, and for others to not see it at this point was blatantly ridiculous.

Sam followed Natasha, then Clint, Tony, Rhodey, Wanda and Vision, and even that weird tiny-big man who was not really living at the Compound. Bucky really thought he was being subtle: having the redhead to know was something he could live with. Natasha was capable of knowing things even before anyone could actually experience them. But the rest of the team? Already? To say Bucky was mortified at first was an understatement. He was already having a hard time trying to not let his voice waver whenever you asked him something, but it all came down to the (relieving?) conclusion that it didn't matter if they knew, because you, by no means, seemed to be aware of it.

That, or you didn't know how to spare his feelings and decided to just play dumb around the brunet.

Ever since you joined the team, you were remarkably a highly skilled asset. You started for the police station, just to have a few years later the title of Lieutenant and the praise of very important people around the NYPD and beyond. Nick Fury included. Your level of sharpness and professionalism was unparalleled, you were remarkably someone to be looked upon, having also served at the most important Intelligence Agency of your home country before you decided to settle in New York. You were ruthless and perseverant, yet your current job at the NYPD wasn't exactly what anyone would deem fitting for you. Nick Fury, for instance, thought you could do better, so he didn't doubt to recruit you to the Avengers, giving you time to settle in the new ambiance by giving you a few months of training. You didn't even get to finish the training months along with the rest of the SHIELD agents because you managed to outgrow them. You were ready for the team, and the team no doubt was more than eager to fight alongside you.

You have adapted well, you fighted fiercely and worked well both individually and paired. Every agent walking in the Compound knew who you were within your first weeks and you were a highly respected figure. It didn't help anyone's case the fact that what you had as ruthless you also had it as cold.

And that, even if at the beginning was kind of mysterious and oh-so-sexy to Bucky, was starting to drive him mad.

You were a rock. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Your voice tone never seemed to doubt anything that you could say. You were precise, only speaking when it was inevitable, but most of the time you decided to keep things as cool as ice could be. It didn't help that you also didn't let any emotion touch your surface. Always so formal and calculating. Funnily enough, your distant and professional attitude was playing a big number on Bucky. Fuck you, he would curse your name in his head as he unconciously pouted watching you from across the room to something on the window of the common room, fuck you and your dreamy eyes, and your soft-looking lips, and your nice hands and that round ass too. Your ass is really nice though... Bucky, focus. He wasn't going to fall for someone that seemed uninterested in him. He should have dignity, he would scowl himself as he absentmindedly would prepare your tea, just how you like it, because he is that weak.

That was the root problem. He wasn't sure if you really were uninterested in him. People these days and in the 40s would call it mixed signals.

You see, it would be easier to just curse you and kick you out (mentally, of course) of his life if at least you were an asshole to him. But the thing is that you weren't, and that plus the fact that you didn't seem to react to his advances were leaving him in a total nowhere with you. You were by no means affectionate or a bubbly friendly type to Bucky, but in his defense you were not like that at all.

"Sergeant Barnes", you greeted him one day, some months after you were officially working with the Avengers.

"Please", he would call your first name and throw an awkward smile, attempting to make small talk with you, "just call me Bucky".

You have looked at him as he had grown two heads. It was obvious to him that you had an extensive history of not-so-cute things to see, adding the fact that you seemed comfortable with the bare minimum interactions, but to say he wasn't feeling even an itty-bitty nervous was a lie. Some part of him understood your need to put walls around you, eerily remembering him of his first time as a civilian in Romania where he would only talk to the plum vendor in his most robotic voice just to get out of there fast and mind his business. Bucky decided to let it go at first as it was clear you weren't into it.

But you weren't always like that. Not to him. You still weren't Suzy Sunshine but you would do little, certain things that would leave him reeling on the feeling. He had his reasons, as dumb as they sounded, to think he was being lead on these mixed signals.

Once, for example, you let him sit beside you. Believe it or not, it was a really important thing that Bucky could not ever let go. You were extremely careful with your surroundings and who you let close in proximity to you, one would think it was a thing just reserved for the field, but no. You were just that careful and untrusting. If Bucky had already assessed a room one minute after stepping in, you were probably done doing that by the time he had finished. Every one of your touches were just as you, precise and calculated. It wasn't weird for the team to be gathered around the kitchen sitting and you being the only one standing, just to not sit with someone.

"Do I have lice or something?", Tony had asked you on one of those occasions. Luckily, you were already at the point where you knew he was joking from left to right, yet you didn't doubt to clear his mind as the rest of the team indulged in the food. Bucky had been munching like a chubby squirrel, his eyes throwing subtle questioning looks at you, eager to hear you say something. Anything.

"I'm not really comfortable being so close, Mr. Stark", you curtly said, your gaze fixing on Tony, and then on his shawarma, and then back to him. It was still funny hearing you talk like that when you were wearing your pajamas, but you were the one who decided to not go by first name basis. "I have to keep an eye on the rest of the room. I hope you understand and don't take it as an offense"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it, Game of Thrones", Tony rolled his eyes. Your attitude really could be off putting by times, yet the team would still cherish their time with you.

So, when you actually did let Bucky sit next to you, let's just say he wasn't the only one who noticed.

It had been a debriefing. You usually preferred to sit on the end of the table, that way you could have eyes on everything. The mission was an exhausting three day op in Croatia where you went along with Sam and Bucky in order to gather intel. To say you guys were exhausted after returning was an understatement, and that was what Bucky used to grasp whenever that moment happened.

You were probably so tired, he still remembers your sweaty forehead and the way you licked your lips, the faint sound of the AC as background noise in the pristine room. Bucky had been first to enter the conference room to meet Fury, Sam following and opting to sit across from him. And then you came in, and from all eight seats availables to watch the room in the comfort of your formal distance, you decided to sit next to Bucky.

The way Sam had raised his eyebrows was forever ingrained in his mind.

Bucky said nothing to you, of course. What could he possibly have said in order to defend his rapidly increasing itch? Yeah, you sat next to me on a debriefing after you made it very clear you were willing to throw hands and since that day I jerk off to that moment.

To Sam, however, that moment did set a before and an after.

"Dude, I think...", Sam had started that night, finally alone with Bucky, his tone sounding so doubtful, his frown so light. He didn't even know what to conclude from his friend. "I can't tell you what's going on that head, you know that neither of us know"

"I know", Bucky conceded in defeat.

"However, though, I'd tell you to not give up", Sam shrugged before patting Bucky's shoulder.

The moments that were to come were still as cryptic as that one. Better than the first months, yes, but Bucky was only human to the way you navigated around him. Did you like him as much as he liked you? Could he shoot his shot with you? What words of the thesaurus would you use to reject him if things don't go well?

To be honest, that moment really set a before and an after. You wouldn't always sit with Bucky, but his heart always jumped whenever you did, and you conceded him eventually to small talks. Small talks escalated to something alike, but more deeper than the usual small talks, it was kind of blurry to him. At some point you even accepted to call him anything else but Sergeant Barnes: you decided to call him James instead and he was willing to work with that. He would see you everyday and you would throw knowing glances in his way. You would chat from time to time about his life, you would accept to talk a bit about yours, but you seemed to indulge asking him about what he remembered, who his family was, and more details about his life.

The situation has been going so good between you despite your latent attitude, he couldn't let himself be kept in the dark anymore. It didn't matter how flustered you made him feel, he had to do something before it was eating him alive.

Bucky felt this inexplicably connection with you even if you didn't seem aware of that, you had to say something at some point. But you didn't. You always kept a soft smile in your face whenever he was talking to you, playing with a ring you always carried, telling him to go on in every of his antics, yet you didn't say anything else to address the giant elephant in the room, and Bucky would go and repeat the pattern every day. In those days it seemed as if you and him were the only ones in Earth, not even a needle dropping could be heard.

He didn't even remember how time had gotten him so fast. Weeks with you became months, months became years, and soon year one became year three and he still hadn't said a thing. The years with you around felt like they were passing on a heartbeat, so it was only fair when he decided that he wouldn't stand another single day with his feelings unconfessed. Just the thought of you maybe reciprocating him, feeling the way he does, makes him all sweaty and in need of someone to help him walk.

This is it, Bucky. This is the moment you've been waiting for. He would gulp loudly as he watched you, your form sitting tranquil on the couch, eyeing the TV as you pressed the buttons of the remote. Bucky sighs and his heart skips a beat. To him, you had never looked more beautiful and radiant as today, and he has seen you plenty of times on plenty of occasions. You look so innocent as you change channels as if you couldn't kill a man with just your two thumbs, your cute pink tongue poking through your lips in concentration. Bucky calls your name, and it's then when he decides to stand up and go to you. Your gaze immediately falls on him as he gets closer, and you let yourself sigh in his presence as you scoot aside to let him sit with you on the couch.

God, he really hopes he doesn't mess this up.

"What is it?", your voice is not that firm and sharp this time. The blue-eyed man feels himself getting tender. He takes a deep breath, and suddenly he can't look you in the eye as he would like to. He doesn't need a mirror to know his face is beet red, the warm doing its job.

"What has you so flustered, Jamie?", you chuckled. Even then, Bucky can't seem to redirect his gaze on you. If anything, the nickname only serves him to feel his heart going crazy.

It's now or never. He can't fathom the idea of having to retire soon just for the sake of a normal life without at least telling you the truth. He even had prepared a written speech he had left in his room, hoping to read it to you someday. Guess this will have to do, he just hopes he remembers everything he said in his letter.

"I know this may seem out of the blue to you. And I want to say sorry in advance if I had read things the wrong way", Bucky begins, and his chest makes him feel as if he's going through some sort of high-priority mission. Your eyes, however, are as patient as only you can be. You had ceased pressing the remote, it being left in the little table in front of you as the news sounded faintly in the lowest volume. You have a sweet questioning look in your eyes that makes Bucky want to kiss you breathless, and for a moment he thinks he saw you gulping from his side glance.

"I've been in love with you", Bucky whispers, his blue stormy eyes fixed on the way your hands rest on your legs, "ever since I've first laid my eyes on you"

"I know you have seen us only as your team and nothing else, but I also know that you have been acting differently with me. Sam noticed too", his tongue is dry but he can't seem to look at your face at that moment, "And even if he hadn't said anything, I feel like you and I understand each other. You and I... we became so close, it's impossible for me to not feel this way about you whenever we get to be together in moments like this one".

Bucky chuckles breathily, and goes on. He tries to ignore the blatant silence from your part, even if it's all it takes for him to feel his hopes shattering.

"We don't even have to be on missions for me to feel this way. All so tingly and blushy like a goddamn schoolboy. I feel everything just from seeing you, so casually sitting and relaxing, or when you decide to put on music just to make me feel good. You are special, Y/N. You are so incredibly special to me and to think about another day watching you and not telling you how I feel is complete torture. I can just hope you feel the same about me"

Bucky finishes hesitantly. His face is still incredibly warm and he allows himself to close his eyes for a moment. You've been silent this whole time, but he could still feel you right beside him, gaze fixed on him, long deep breaths mixed with the whispers of the television.

"James, I...", you begin, and Bucky swears he has never heard your voice so delicate, as if you were handling something extremely fragile. Yeah, his feelings.

Please, let me down gently. Please. His throat constricts as he swallows.

"Jamie, look at me", you say and your hand comes to his flesh arm, nudging him to look up.

"No", he whines almost childishly, still refusing to look. His eyelids are scrunching shut. To be fair, he had to cope some way or another after your impending rejection. He gets to deal with it how he wants it to be. Damn professionalism, damn be the bigger person.

"Why won't you look at me?"

"Because I know what you are going to say", the knot in his throat is almost painful and he feels he's going to cry. "I ain't sorry".

"What would you be sorry for?", you inquire as you get a bit closer, "you have nothing to feel sorry"

"Damn right", Bucky stubbornly says before he finally looks up to you, his nose flaring. He's expecting to find that blank look on your face, but instead you are there... smiling?

And not the pity smile or even the "oh Bucky, I am in love with you too" smile. Not at all. You look like you are on the verge of crying over a hilarious joke he just told you. His heart plummets directly to his stomach and then he takes a bit of space between you two in the couch. The look of disbelief in his face is evident.

"What is wrong with you?"

And then you actually laugh. Well, Bucky thought the worst scenario would be you not reciprocating his feelings. He was clearly wrong.

"Oh no, baby, baby...", you continue laughing, trying to get closer to him again, but he's reluctant to touch you, "Jamie, please, don't be like that...", he's dead quiet and he's once again with his eyes fixed anywhere but you. He can't help the way his eyes water for the embarrassment he's feeling.

"No, James", you insist with your godforsaken smile, and it's then when your hands hold his face, forcing him to look at you. You don't waste your time to show him one of your hands, the one where your usual ring lies.

"You know what this is?"

He shakes his head. He's not in the mood for your cruel mock.

"Baby, this is the ring you asked me to marry you", you say, and it feels as if the tell-tale in his stomach has an enormous pause sign over it.

Bucky furrows his brows in confusion and takes a moment to study your face. And there you are.

Your sweet eyes are sparkling in joy, a radiant smile curls in your lips. But Bucky lets his eyes wander around the rest of your face. Your hair is down, a bit messy, you have soft-looking crinkles around your eyes, around your dimples. You even have whites in your head if he looks beyond.

"What do you mean?", Bucky stops every train of thought as you go for the remote again, only to turn off the TV this time. He follows your movements with his eyes.

The black mirror stares back at him, and he gasps. The metal arm is unmistakably the same, but it seemed as if the years out of the cryo chamber have come up to him. His blue eyes are just as wrinkled as yours, his skin looking as soft and tender as a raising can look. His hair is not as dark as it used to be, peppered with the same whites that cover his beard.

"Jamie, we've been married for almost 30 years. We are far beyond accepting our feelings. Which, by the way, I do feel the same about you", you chuckle waterly, your hand coming to his, intertwining your fingers to his fleshed ones. "I know this might seem a bit confusing, baby, but you have quite an age now. The doctors have said it's the pent up years of your life and out of the cold finally acting up. Steve is the same"

"We have two beautiful grown daughters, Jamie. One of them is even carrying our third grandson right now", your soft fingers massage his cheeks, and he feels as if he can breathe again, even through the shocked feeling.

"I-... I did confess my feelings?", he knows right now it's the dumbest question to ask, but to be fair he had come originally with one mission. You laugh again, this time Bucky knows it's not mockery at all.

"Yes, my love. Long time ago", you smile even through your tears, and you close the small gap between you two to give him a soft kiss on his lips. "It wasn't easy, I know I was a hard ass, but no amount of Sergeant Barnes could make me not feel about the way I do about you, baby. You told me after the mission in Kapur, said I was the sexiest ninja and that you weren't regretting it. I was hoping you didn't"

Bucky's not sure if what he's feeling right now is the absolute bliss of happiness or the edge of a cardiac arrest. After some seconds, he knows it's not the latter. He lets his own watery eyes close to shed some tears, and after a deep breath he looks up to your surroundings.

No, you weren't at the Compound. How could he have missed it? Four cream walls surround you, in front of you the nice TV you've been watching before, and on the right side of it lies a nice library with tons of books and pictures. Those little ones are kind of hard to see from that distance, but he still can make out the forms in it. In your walls hang paintings of colorful child hands with the descriptions of "Happy Father's Day. Becca" and others with a kind of comical heart made of sparkles, this time only with the description of "Love you lots. Jennie". His heart once again is feeling the struggle just from letting his eyes wander.

"Look, Jamie", he hears you say as you carefully step up from the sofa to get one of the pictures by the shelf. You hand it to him before sitting by his side again, entwining your arm to his, seeking his warmth. His crinkly blue eyes roam the picture, none other than an official shoot of the reception of your wedding.

You were just as he remembered. So beautiful, dressed to perfection. He was less than that, of course, but the huge smile he wore to the picture told him he couldn't really care about anything else in that moment but you.

"I really did it?", it's not really a question, but it sounds like one. Bucky continues to eye carefully the picture.

"You did it. We did it", you confirm, and then he lets the picture rest on the little table before coming to wrap his arms around you lovingly. He takes a moment to inhale your neck.

Oh well, at least he had done something right. Surely nobody else could snatch you up at this point of your newly rediscovered relationship. He was still eager to try and take you on a first date, though.

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vxnta · 3 years

Text

Lost

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Summary: You get a little surprise when a random cat decides to make itself at home in your apartment. Turns out her home is actually the apartment above yours.

Warnings: fluffy fluff fluff, bucky is a big ol’ flirt in this. This blog is 18+

Author's Note: I’m not entirely convinced on this but I'm hoping it'll get me back in the groove! There will be a part 2 and it will probably get steamy 😏. I hope you enjoy this, as always reblogs and comments are super appreciated! (word count: 1.9k)

The heat in Brooklyn was stifling. The air around you was static with the impending storm. That, combined with your broken air conditioner, made for your apartment becoming your own personal hell. You’d opened all the windows and doors to try and make the most of the slight breeze, but really it was a worthless effort.

Sighing for what felt like the 100th time that day you flop onto the love seat by the window determined to finish the book you were reading but after about ten minutes your eyes started to get heavy and before you knew it you were fast asleep.

You startle awake at the sudden crack of thunder. Looking outside just in time to see the downpour start. Smiling to yourself, as the cooler air hits your heated skin.

Turning back around you yelp, seeing a mass of white fur with striking blue eyes sat on your coffee table staring at you.

“Oh, hello. Where did you come from?” you chuckle breathlessly.

The cat perks up at your voice, hopping off the table and onto your lap.

“Aren’t you a friendly one, huh,” you laugh, scratching behind their ear, smiling to yourself when they start purring loudly, “no collar either.”

Looking back outside the window the dark clouds stretched without a break in sight. You didn’t have the heart to put the cat out on the fire escape to find its way home in the rain.

“Well, looks like you're staying here tonight you little stowaway.”

The cat meowed in response, stretching and curling up on your lap essentially keeping you to the sofa for the night. This cat had been in your life for less than 5 minutes and you were already whipped.

You sat for as long as you could before the urge to pee took over. You scoop the cat up off your lap as gently as possible before laying them back down on the seat.

After heading to the bathroom and having a quick shower you decide to call it day. You stop in the doorway to your bedroom when you notice a ball of white curled up on your bed.

“Make yourself at home why don’t you,” you giggled, sliding into bed next to them, “don’t get used to it buddy, we’ll find your home tomorrow.”

Three days. It had been three days since your little intruder invaded your home and you still hadn’t found her owner. You’d been to all the apartments in your building and no one had a clue. Whoever lived in the apartment above you hadn’t been there the three times you’d checked so you assumed they couldn't be the owner.

“Right you little fur ball, I think I’ve found the solution!” you exclaimed as you entered your apartment, finding the dozing cat in its new favourite spot on your couch.

You’d spent a bit of time last night putting together a found poster that you were going to stick in and around the building in the hopes that someone would claim her. After getting them printed at work you were determined to get them all out now the rain had stopped and the sun was shining again.

It may have only been three days but you found yourself becoming more and more attached to her each day. She would follow you around the apartment, constantly being near you. When it had stopped raining you had opened the window out to the fire escape to see if she’d leave on her own but she stayed firmly planted on your couch all afternoon, and you just didn’t have the heart to shut her out without knowing she’d get home safely.

After changing out of your work clothes you grabbed the stack of posters and headed out, giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head when leaving. God, you’re really going to be upset when you have to give her back.

You weren’t paying attention when you left your building, running straight into what felt like a brick wall. You dropped your posters everywhere as you stumbled back, tripping over your feet as you felt yourself falling. Before you could hit the floor two strong hands, one hot one cold, reach out to grip your arms, pulling you forward.

Looking up your eyes met a pair of soft blue eyes, crinkled adorably in the corners as he flashed you a gorgeous smile. Holy shit.

You could see his lips moving but did not register a word that was coming out of his pretty mouth. You’d never seen someone this beautiful. His dark hair was pushed back from his face by a pair of sunglasses, the ends kissing his shoulders. His jaw was covered by dark stubble and he had the cutest dimple in his chin.

“Hey, did you hit your head before I caught you or something?” he smirked, causing heat to hit your cheeks as you stuttered out a response.

“I, I um, sorry, you just took me by surprise a little bit. Oh shit!” you blurted out, remembering the posters you were holding that were now scattered all over the floor along with what you were assuming were a bunch of posters from the handsome stranger.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been paying more attention,” you scrambled to pick up the posters, trying to figure out which were yours when you realised both posters had a picture of the cat that had moved in with you.

“Is this your cat?” you asked, holding up the poster saying ‘lost’.

His smile dropped slightly, “yeah, she’s been missing for a few days now. It’s not like her to not come home and with the storm and everything I’m worried about her.”

The sight of this beefy guy looking so lost and heartbroken about his missing cat had your heart melting. “Well, I think I might know where she is.” Lifting up your ‘found’ poster you couldn’t help but giggle at the huge smile that broke out onto his face.

“She’s in my apartment, I tried leaving the windows open to see if she’d leave but she seems quite fond of my couch,” you chuckled, “I’ll take you up and you can get her.”

He helped you scoop up the rest of the posters before he was following you back into the apartment building. Once in the elevator he turned to you, “I’m Bucky, by the way,” he said, holding out a shiny, black and gold hand.

You were stunned for a moment, taking in the intricate details on the metal limb, “oh wow,” you whispered out loud before you realised, you wide eyes quickly looking at his face, “sorry, that was really rude of me! I’m y/n,” you rushed out taking his outstretched hand in yours.

Bucky just chuckled at your flustered state, “don’t worry about it, doll. I’ve had worse reactions.” He still had hold of your hand and the sweet smile he was giving you made your cheeks heat up more than they already were. His smile only grew and you felt like he was enjoying this.

Luckily the elevator reached your floor and the doors dinged open. You quickly pulled your hand back, giving an awkward chuckle as you rushed out the elevator towards your apartment.

“So,” you coughed, trying to compose yourself as you unlocked your door, “do you live in the building or nearby?”

You let the both of you into your apartment, inwardly cringing at the mess, not anticipating to have the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen being invited in.

“Well by the look of the view you’ve got, I’d say my apartment is right above yours actually,” he replied, following you into your living room.

“Ah, well that explains how she ended up in my apartment, she must have come straight down the fire escape,” you chuckled, eyeing the sleeping cat on your couch, feeling your heart swell as Bucky’s eyes brightened.

“There’s my little hellraiser,” he cooed, kneeling down to the cat's level.

You couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips as Bucky scooped the cat into his big arms before walking back over to where you were standing.

“Maybe you should get her a collar, you can put your contact details on it so the next person she gate crashes can call you,” you suggested, giving Alpine some scratches under her chin, missing the way Bucky gazed at you affectionately.

“You asking for my number, doll?”

The question took you off guard, your wide eyes shooting up to his making you realize how close you were standing to each other.

“I...um...I…” you stuttered, willing your brain to make a coherent sentence as you took a step back.

His eyes wrinkled adorably around the edges as he chuckled softly. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll make sure to get her a collar.”

“Right,” you laughed awkwardly, “um, let me just put the food and stuff I bought into a bag for you, no point me having it now.”

Turning swiftly to head into the kitchen you took a deep sigh once you were out of Bucky’s sight.

“Pull it together woman,” you scolded. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten you so flustered and he hadn’t even done anything! You bagged the items you’d bought quickly and headed back into the living room trying your best not to falter when Bucky flashed you the prettiest smile.

“I honestly can’t thank you enough for taking Alpine in,” he smiled, taking the bag from your hand, his fingers brushing yours gently.

“Really, it was no problem at all,” you couldn’t help giving Alpine a couple more pets, “gonna miss having her around if I’m honest.”

You both started to head towards your door where you opened it for him.

“Well my door is always open, doll. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you,” he said, heading into the hall before turning back to you, “I know I would be.”

And then he was gone. Leaving you standing with your door open, mouth agape like a fool.

You couldn’t get Bucky Barnes off your mind. The way his blue eyes held a softness that you didn’t know was possible in a man so large. The way his metal hand felt in yours. The way his smile was so bright.

You hoped to run into him again, even lingering a bit longer in the lobby than usual, but you’d not seen him since.

Settling down on your couch you pulled out your phone with the intention of ordering some food. It had been a long day at work but it was finally Friday and you couldn’t wait to do nothing all weekend.

A soft meow had your head whipping around towards the window and a smile pulling at your lips. Sitting by your open window was the little white fur ball that had stolen your heart.

“What are you doing here, sweetie?” you cooed, moving towards the seat in front of the window, chuckling when Alpine jumped onto your lap.

You scratched the top of her head, admiring the black and gold collar around her neck, “well look at your brand new collar. You and Bucky are matching now aren’t you. What’s this though?” Pulling the folded up piece of paper from the collar as Alpine settled on your lap. The paper had your name written on it and you couldn’t help but smile when you opened it.

Thanks again for taking care of Alpine, if you can’t tell I think she’s missed you. If you’re not busy I’d love to thank you properly. How does pizza sound? You know where to find me, come on up when you’re ready x

Part 2

Thank you so much for reading 🥺💖 I hope you enjoyed this! As always, comments and reblogs are super appreciated and I'll love you forever 💕

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