Outlandish
Warning Tags: One curse word, angst, fluff
Note: This is my first ever oneshot writing. Feedback is welcome. Please be nice to me, I might cry.
Word Count:
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Something of a writer
You fancy yourself as sort of a moderately good person. At least, you try consciously not to hurt anyone and go out of your way to make kindness.
Bucky never quite believe in free-given kindness anymore. He thought so, before Wakanda.
Before you.
Shortly after the battle against Thanos, and Steve left, he had managed to try and find a semblance of himself.
Perhaps not the same Bucky he was before the war, but he feels more and more like himself nowadays.
One morning, he was going out for a run, to which Sam had invited — no, nagged — him to tag along for the umpteenth time.
There you were, with your messy hair and groggy smile. His neighbor, who he sometimes hears when you come home during the evening after work.
How did he know, you ask?
Simple. His supersoldier hearing allows him to have some enhanced ability, and it includes this, yada yada yada, but you also would complain about it to your friend.
Other times, he hears you cry.
Being away from home must be hard, and he understands the feeling of missing something more than anyone.
The next time you meet, it happens that you both bump into each other, quite literally.
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“It’s fine.”
You look up to him, a sweet smile adoring your lips as you hold up a hand, having just bumped into him, and tried to regain your composure.
Bucky’s hand reach out to help you steady yourself before he could help himself.
“Are you okay?”
An assuring nod, and you brush a hand down your skirt, he assumes you must be going to work, with the button up shirt and high heels.
“I’m okay,” you smile, clearly sheepish and a bit ruffled.
Bucky’s brows furrow as he try to make out your expression, and he decides to let it go this time, knowing the two of you don’t even know each other that well.
Third time’s the charm.
A knock resonates through his door, and by then, he’s already standing behind it, peering through the door to see you.
“Oh, um, hi,” you glance over your back, then smile up at him.
“Hey,” he takes note of your appearance, this time laid-back with your linen shirt and shorts.
Barefoot, which makes him wonder whether you’re cold, it being the middle of winter.
“My heater died.”
“My condolences.”
You snort, despite his curt tone, sarcastic remark coming out even though he only wants to stare and perhaps offer you his place to stay for the night.
“Could you help me, maybe see what’s wrong? I don’t really understand a thing about it.”
“Sure, sunshine.”
The nickname slips, just before he could stop himself. Bucky turns around rather fast, using the excuse of finding his tools.
You were oblivious, shivering from the cold since you just remembered about skipping any footwear.
After about an hour of knocking around and fiddling with the heater, Bucky declared his diagnosis.
“There are some parts that would need to be ordered and it takes a while to get here, I’m afraid.”
Having just checked the availability, you let out a huff, thanking the store staff before hanging up.
“Well, that’s it.”
Bucky looks up from where he sits by the floor, looking absolutely domestic you just couldn’t help yourself but to stare.
“No hope?”
“Nope.”
The idea pops back in his head, and Bucky decides to just fuck it.
“Why don’t you stay at my place?”
“Are you sure? I don’t wanna be a bother.”
He stands up, the toolbox in one hand, and waves you over.
“Come on.”
“But—”
“You can’t sleep here, you’re already shivering.”
He waits by the door, giving you a look. You try not to bend into the urge to curl into yourself with how cold it has been.
Pushing the door to his apartment open, Bucky tilts his head, a silent offer to get inside. The furniture is simple, and from behind the couch, a white cat pops out.
“You have a cat?”
“Alpine.”
The said cat purrs, then rubs its head against your ankle. You dutifully leans down to scratch behind its ear.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
You look up, now with the cat on your lap, a frown on your face.
“I can’t — it’s your place.”
“Just take it, I barely sleep there anyway.”
Bucky reminds himself to bite his tongue. He turns to put the toolbox back and retreats to his bedroom.
Alpine meows, continuing to purr and stay curled up in your lap, refusing to leave.
“She never does that with anyone else.”
To be fair, Bucky rarely have anyone over. Maybe Sam, once or twice, but other than that Torres kid he brought with him, no one ever goes here.
Not since Steve left.
“She’s adorable.”
You coo, then let Alpine jump off your lap to find Bucky, purring and rubbing her head against his metal hand.
Bucky let the cat plays with his fingers, and he speaks up, surprising you.
“You can ask.”
“Can you still . . . feel?”
“Vaguely. It doesn’t feel the same as it was, but the Wakandan technology must’ve some nerves of some sort wired in.”
Shuri always makes sure to put updates, she believes in making everything better, even though the said thing is already in good condition.
You went to sleep that night after debating about how Bucky should have the bed.
He ends up on the floor by the couch, though he makes sure you were asleep before he moves to the wooden floor.
Around three, he awakes.
The same nightmare. So, he sit there, controlling his breath before he stands and peeks to find you shivering in your sleep.
Finding another blanket inside his cupboard, he carefully tucks you with it, before going back to sleep.
