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If in 1941, someone would have told Bucky that eventually he'd be able to use a small all-knowing light up box that allowed him to pick and choose through hundreds of women to find himself the perfect date, he would not have believed them. He also wouldn't have believed that eventually he would fall from a train, be turned into a weapon of mass destruction, would be set on ice for years, save the world multiple times, turn to dust, or join congress.
Yet, the red flame logo stared back at him from the phone screen and he had a metal arm and various nightmares. Sam had told him it would be a good idea. Not so much for dating, but just for talking to people (though Bucky knew Sam's real motive was a little more... spicy).
"You never have to meet them face to face. You can just chat and there is no commitment whatsoever," Sam had argued as he downloaded the program on Bucky's phone himself. Tinder. Like something that was supposed to start a fire. Bucky guessed that was really the point of what he'd learned, from his own research, was an app less about genuine connection and more about hookups. Fires burned bright and fast but always eventually went out, with everything that entered them coming out changed.
As Bucky slowly worked through the creation of his profile, he warred with himself on what exactly to put. If he was too much himself, that possibly put his job at risk, or at the very least his reputation. If he wasn't enough of himself, he felt disingenuous, and he'd been "someone else" for too long in his life anyway.
In the end, he settled on calling himself James. It was his name of course, but also generic. He listed his age as 35 but he was really only guessing at that of course. He would've been 26 in 1943 when he fell from the train and he was sure he'd gained at least a few years of full days "alive" as the Winter Solider. He died in 2018 and lost 5 years from the world thanks to Thanos. Really he was 109 but he certainly was not going to list that, so 35 seemed like a safe bet. The description was the hardest. What should he even say about himself? What could he say that wouldn't drive people away? Besides, this wasn't serious. This was just to please Sam. Bucky didn't really expect to connect with anyone. He left it blank.
Then there were the photos. Those were somehow easiest. Bucky loved taking photos of things. He liked having concrete reminders of his days and life and photos provided that. He preferred physical film (Yelena had gifted him a polaroid camera that he loved) but his phone had plenty of pictures too. He didn't want to post his face in full, so he settled for a slightly awkward mirror selfie he'd taken when trying to ask Sam about his suit. His face was covered and so was his arm, and that's really all that mattered. He chose a few nature shots, a meal he'd made where he was exceptionally proud of his plating, and a video of him playing with his cat Alpine.
As he started flipping through images he immediately had regrets. So many of these girls were young, barely 18, and the thought of trying to talk to any of them made his skin crawl. What would there even be to talk about? Others had descriptions looking for sugar daddies and expectations of luxury. There were a few that seemed genuine labeling themselves as cat lovers or history buffs or lovers of books who he swiped right on, but none of those conversations really went anywhere. There were pleasantries and then one would ask to meet for coffee and he would decline and then they were gone. Suddenly it was night and Bucky decided that he'd given it a good enough try to appease Sam. He swiped left one final time, ready to put the app to bed (permanently) when he froze, finger hovering over the screen. The face on the other side was gorgeous, Bucky really had no other words. Her profile was thoughtful and well written, her photos were all nicely taken and, like Bucky, she'd included several of various other things beside herself. Bucky hesitated before swiping. He felt nerves coil low in his stomach. Why, he wasn't sure. He'd faced scarier things, and there was no guarantee that they would match.
What are the chances she'd actually be interested in me? he thought, flipping through the photos one last time. Taking a deep breath, he swiped right. Nothing happened. His stomach still churned, only now it was with something more akin to disappointment. He shut off his phone with a sigh. Guess they're pretty slim...
****
Across the city, you were in a world of your own, also swiping the night away. Your date for the night, Sean or Sam or something, had bailed on you at the last minute, but you couldn't say you was too upset. The last few Tinder dates had gone... well, about as well as any of them ever had. The men were somewhat pleasant, but very focused on getting to the "wanna come back to my place?" part of the evening. If you denied or hesitated, you were a prude or a bitch and asked "why would you let me pay for dinner if I wasn't going to get any?" So really, staying at home, curled up in your own bed with comfy pajamas and a face mask was not the worst way to end the night.
Profile after profile was swiped left without a second thought. You'd seen enough dead fish and faceless pics and "looking for a third" profiles to last a lifetime. You never expected to find the love of your life, but just someone to hold a decent conversation would be enough. The newest profile on her screen was for a man named James. His profile was blank, nothing written at all. The video of the cat made her laugh and the nature shots were breathtaking. The mirror selfie didn't show his face, but you had to admit he did look very nice in a suit. He didn't seem odd, but you were still hesitant. No one without something to hide would ever have a profile that blank, and you weren’t sure that you could deal with another man with a hidden wife or girlfriend or secret strange fetish. Yet, there was something that just seemed so genuine about him (or maybe it was the half bottle of strawberry wine that you had drunk that made you more open) and you swiped right.
Your phone lit up instantly: it was a match. You had no idea what to say, you weren’t disappointed by any means but... There was nothing to really go on, no puns to make or jokes to break the ice. Then there was still the possibility that "James" secretly had a wife in another state with 2 kids while he was in New York on business and that you shouldn't waste your time. After a few minutes of careful contemplation, you settled on just being direct and hopefully coming across a little funny.
Hi! Your cat is adorable :) and if you actually have a secret wife please just unmatch me now...
****
Bucky's phone lit up on the arm of the couch with a ding. Before he could grab it, Alpine had pounced, swiping it off. His phone of course was only the latest target. She'd already tried to steal his dinner, had pulled the tea bag out of his mug, and destroyed a lace in his running shoes. Bucky sighed a laugh.
"Sometimes I think you're more trouble than you're worth," he said, picking up the small white cat. "Not everything is a toy you know." Picking up his phone he swiped through notifications. A text from Sam, a weather notice about an upcoming storm, he had a new match on Tinder, Yelena wanted to spar... His brow furrowed. He opened the app and was shocked to once again see the gorgeous face from earlier. Y/N was your name. It suited you, he thought, still just in shock that you had actually matched with him. What's more, you had messaged him first.
"Secret wife," he chuckled. "Alpine if she's worried about secrets this isn't going to go well." He considered for a moment what to say back. He didn't want to scare you off or bore you. He supposed it wasn't much different than chatting up a gal in a bar but it had been so long since he'd felt comfortable enough to do that.
Hello, her name is Alpine. I might have some secrets but I swear a wife isn't one of them.
After hitting send, Bucky immediately began to second guess himself. Would you think it was funny? Would you immediately ask what his secrets were? He hadn't decided what to say if you did. Telling the truth immediately was out of the question of course. But if he didn't say something early, you may feel like you were tricked. He didn't have long to think as the reply came almost immediately back.
Alpine is a great name, she seems ~cool~. As long as the secret isn't bodies in your basement I think we'll be fine.
Bucky couldn't help but smile a little. It was a silly joke, sure, but this conversation was already off to a better start than most others he'd had.
No bodies in the basement but don't look in the closet...
You grinned. He was funny, you’d decided. Or at least good natured enough to try and match your questionable energy. Besides, the wine was almost gone and you were certainly tipsy enough to laugh at just about anything.
You've got skeletons huh?
"Don't we all..." you murmured, going back to James' profile. Instead of the cat video, you looked at the faceless photo of the man. He seemed well built under that suit, and you could see a hint of scruff on the side of his face not hidden by the camera. His hair was dark and longer than average, pushed back behind his ear in the photo. "I wonder what color his eyes are."
I spent some time in the military. I've got more than my fair share.
You felt her heart twinge. You'd had family in the military, and you'd volunteered a couple of times at the local VA. It was hard work, not to mention a huge commitment of time and life, and always left various scars. You’d never met anyone who’d gotten out without some type of baggage. Based on his age, James likely served somewhere in the middle east and you just knew that was bloody and depressing. You'd seen enough war movies with former boyfriends and your stomach turned just thinking about the blood and gore.
I get that. Both my grandfathers served and neither of them talked about it much.
You thought for a moment before immediately texting back, trying to change the subject.
Are you also a photographer?
The photos on his profile were beautiful. In one, the New York City skyline was backed by one of the most gorgeous sunsets you had ever seen. The sky looked like cotton candy, with vivid blues and pinks and purples swirling together with the wispy white clouds. It looked professional, almost like a stock photo (and it wasn't because she checked). The second was a waterfall, covered in lush greens and brightly colored flowers. The white frothing water at the bottom flowed into a pool so blue it was almost bordering green. You could feel the serenity from the place even from just seeing it through a screen.
Not professionally, it's just a hobby.
***
There's no way it's just a hobby. How long have you been into photography?
Bucky considers it for a moment. The real answer is since he was a child, roughly 1928 when his ma, his sister, and Steve had scraped and saved a full year to buy him his first camera, an Ansco Memo. He'd taken it everywhere with him, always trying to find the perfect moments to capture. He'd had several clumsy attempts, just shoes, half a bird, an empty sidewalk, but slowly he began to appreciate the art and take his time. His shots became cleaner (his ma had framed a few) and then... Then he fell off the train.
The Winter Soldier did not care about the landscape or the world around him. He cared about his target and completed missions. All the beautiful places he might have seen were coated with blood instead. He tried not to think about that too much. Therapy had been helping, despite his explicit resistance to it at first. It was only shortly after he joined Congress that he had picked up the camera again and hoped to find the joy in it he used to.
I got my first camera when I was a kid but I just started to get back into it recently. Do you have any hobbies?
The minutes (really the hours) tick by as they answer questions about each other. You say that you bake when you’re stressed, Bucky tells you his favorite desserts. Bucky says he likes motorcycles, You admit that you'd always wanted to learn to ride one. Slowly, you both unfold pieces of yourselves to one another and Bucky is still in awe that for once things had worked out like Sam said they would. Soon enough, it's late and Bucky notices the world outside is dark apart from streetlights and other buildings.
I've got to be honest, I'm so tired. I'm not sure I can keep my eyes open anymore. Talk to you tomorrow?
That was a first for him. Of any of Bucky's semi-decent conversations, they had died the same day they were started. It was an easy answer to give back.
I'm looking forward to it. Goodnight Y/N
***
A week later and you were surprised to find that you and James were talking every day, morning to night. Sometimes about nothing (like the evil squirrel that stole your bagel on a morning when you were already late for work) and sometimes about more heavy things (how you'd both experienced being turned to dust in the snap and struggled coming back from nothing). He hadn't asked for nudes or made any inappropriate comments. You hadn't pressed for more photos of him either. You figured that he had reasons for not showing his face. Though you'd love to know if he was anything like who he said, at the moment you were just enjoying the conversations. James was smart and witty and desperately kind, always checking on you and seeing how your day was. It felt nice to be cared for in such a way.
Somewhere along the line, texts over the app became phone calls after your app had glitched one night and you thought that you'd lost access to your profile. It was surprising just how much you’d missed James company and after profuse apologies for being MIA, you made the move to leave Tinder in the past.
I know it was only a couple of hours but I hated not being able to tell you I wasn't ghosting you. Can I have your number? I don't want it to happen again.
He'd sent it and you'd called him immediately. A deep voice tinged by surprise answered.
"Hello?" You smiled. He had a nice voice, smooth with just a little gravel. The kind of voice you could suddenly imagine whispering very naughty things.
"Hi James, it's Y/N. It's nice to put a voice to the name." A warm laugh was the reply, and you could feel your stomach flip in excitement. The first phone call lasted only a few minutes, both of you having to return to work, but that night the call went on for hours. Eventually, roughly two weeks from the initial match, you felt brave enough to ask what had been on your mind for some time.
"Would you like to meet up? In person? As a date?"
Bucky stilled on his couch, the string he was using to play with Alpine laying still now on the floor. He wanted to say yes. You had been all he could think about for the last several days. You were warm and friendly and funny. Your laugh made his own smile wider and the soft way you spoke to Alpine through the phone made his heart ache longingly. He knew you were who you said, the perks of once being a spy and having access both legally and less than legally to tracking software made it easy to confirm that the gorgeous woman who made Bucky's heart race wasn't secretly a HYDRA agent or a rogue Flag Smasher bent on revenge.
At the same time, saying yes would mean that you would finally know who he is. No more hiding behind a screen or skirting around with half truths. Bucky wouldn't consider himself super famous like Sam was or Steve had been, but he was very easily recognizable. Then there was the arm to deal with, and how to make sure someone would be comfortable with that in close quarters.
"Uh... James? You there?" you said after a few beats too long, chest heavy with the anticipation of a rejection. Bucky fumbled with his phone.
"Sorry honey I was just thinkin'. Yeah I'm still here." The pet name slipped out without much thought and Bucky cursed himself, not knowing that on the other side of the line that one word had made your heart thunder and your thighs clench. Taking a deep breath, Bucky decided it was now or never. "Would you like to come to my place tomorrow night? I can make us dinner?" you smiled so wide Bucky could hear it through the phone.
"I would love to. I get off at 5," you said, already moving to your closet to pick out an outfit in advance.
"I could pick you up too," Bucky replied, running a metal hand through his hair. "Maybe on the bike?"
In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. The worst you could do was say no after all, and he wouldn't blame you if you did. He knew first hand how many dangerous people existed in the world (arguably, he was one of them but he tried not to dwell on that thought).
"Well, I guess that means no skirt," Y/N said, putting down the floral one you had been considering, as the image of you in something short straddled across his bike sent a hot spike down Bucky’s spine. "You won't let me fly off will you? Do I need to buy a helmet? Do I need some kind of license?" James' laugh floated up from your speaker. You would probably never get tired of it, or the warmth it filled you with. You'd grown very attached to a man whose face you had never seen. Your friends told you it was crazy to even entertain someone so secretive.
"He's probably just trying to romance scam you or something."
"What if he's secretly, like, a pedophile or something?"
"I doubt he's attractive. If he turns out to not be hot can you deal with that?"
You'd heard it all. But you truly didn't believe he was a scam or a catfish, something in your gut told you it was safe, that he was safe. As far as his looks... you were interested to know if your vision of him matched the real person. You guessed that he had kind eyes and a wide smile and maybe a scar or birthmark was the reason he didn't want to show his face. Really, you didn't care too much, you just wanted to meet the man who had begun to make your heart race with every phone call and notification.
"I've got a spare helmet, you don't need to be licensed to be a passenger, and I would never let you fall off," Bucky replied to the rapid fire questions. "Though you will have to uh... hold onto me?" He struggled with his words, face warming a little just thinking about having you pressed against him. Bucky was still only vaguely used to prolonged physical contact for non-”saving the world” purposes.
"Oh well... then I guess I'll hold on tight," you replied, fighting your own blush as it creeped up your neck. Bucky's stomach flipped and he desperately tried to not imagine your likely soft and warm body against his back, arms around his waist, as he drove, and how it might feel to have you pressed against him in other ways.
"I'll pick you up at 7? I can promise to have you back by midnight." Another slight pause. "Or earlier if you need," he continued, wanting to provide an easy out if necessary.
"You really are such a gentleman James," you said, hoping that if everything went well and you connected well enough in person, that even midnight might be too early. "I'll be ready at 7. Don't be late!" Bucky grinned, ear to ear, and you could hear the excitement and promise in his voice when he replied.
"Wouldn't dream of it doll."
***
The next day at 6:55pm, you were more nervous than you ever had been for a date. Your room was a mess with clothes, all deemed too warm or too cold or too formal or too casual or too sexy. It was hard to know what to wear when you really weren’t where the night would lead. Would James be looking for something intimate? Would you want to participate? You thought about the warmth just his voice filled you with and wore cute underwear just in case.
Overall, you'd finally settled on something safe and albeit a little basic: light wash jeans with a small rip above the knee (for warmth on the bike), a black v-neck t-shirt (for just a touch of sex appeal), a soft brown sweater (for comfort so you could fiddle with the cuffs on the sleeves if you got nervous), and a knife tucked in her pocket (because as a woman one can never be too careful). You looked good, at least in your own eyes, and you were just praying that James felt similarly. Looking in the mirror one more time, you smoothed out your hair and fixed the chain on your necklace where the clasp had moved toward the front. Your phone pinged across the room and you rushed over, eagerly unlocking it.
James <3: I’m here, right out front of your building.
Grabbing your purse, you rushed downstairs. Your heart was thumping nervously and you could feel your palms go clammy. As you opened the front door to the apartment building, you found him immediately, still straddling the motorcycle with a second helmet set out on the back. The first thing you noticed was that, although stopped, James was still wearing his helmet. The visor was clicked down and all she could see was a dark expanse of plastic. He also wore jeans, dark in color, with a black jacket and black gloves. His combat boots looked heavy, but it was clear he was used to the weight. James was built incredibly well, even more so than the one mirror picture had alluded to. His broad chest and sturdy arms were clear markers of some serious time spent in the gym. The denim against his thighs was tightly stretched and for a brief moment you had thoughts of sitting in his lap and feeling the friction of them against you. You quickly put that thought away even as it sent a delightful spark down below your waistband.
Bucky on the other hand was tense. Though the woman in front of him was more gorgeous than your photos had made you look and all he could think about was wanting to pull you close and see if your lips were really as soft as they looked, he also knew he had to tell you who he really was. He’d thought about it all day, when would be the best time to “come clean”. Taking you back to his apartment first was out of the question. He’d rather be told off where you could easily get back home if you didn’t want anything to do with him. As you came closer, his fingers flexed on the handles of his bike.
Now or never… he thought, letting out a deep breath and flicking up the visor to his helmet. It was a small start, something to help ease him into the reveal. You were startled by the blue of his eyes, clear and icy, but you had been right, they were kind. He had some faint laugh lines, clearly showing his disposition to smile. They were handsome eyes, like a painting half obscured which made you desperate to see the rest.
“Hi,” you said simply, stopping in front of him. “It’s uh good to meet you, though I feel like I already know you.” Your hand found the cuff of your sweater, twisting the material between your fingers for another thing to focus on instead of just how quickly your heart was beating.
“I know what you mean,” he answered, flexing his fingers as he pulled his hands off the bike and stood up, leaving the machine between them. “Look I’ve got to be honest –”
“You promised me no secret wife, don’t fess up now,” you quickly said. It was a joke, but it was rooted in truth. You knew he had a secret; you’d always known there would be something come up that James hadn’t been completely transparent about. You just hoped it was something that wouldn’t break your heart. Bucky just chuckled.
“Still no wife,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I promise nothing I’ve told you has been a lie but…” He takes another deep breath. “I haven’t been fully honest. Specifically about why I haven’t shown my face.” You look at him curiously, thinking maybe your theory about a physical malady had been more on the nose than you thought.
“Well… maybe now is a good time to start?” you replied gently, moving closer until there was only the space of the bike between them. Bucky looked at you in amazement, and your gentleness gave him courage.
“James is my name,” he starts, factual and succinct, “but… I sometimes go by Bucky.” It's then that he removes his helmet, before he can change his mind. “I’m uh… I used to be the Winter Soldier.” The silence is deafening. The semi-busy New York street suddenly seems silent and Bucky feels more like fleeing than he ever has before. Your jaw is dropped, shock plastered all over your face.
“You… but… you’re…” You struggle to form words. Never, in a thousand hundred billion years, would you have expected this turn of events. James – Bucky was famous. He was a super hero, a spy, a Congressman, and one of the hottest men you’d ever seen, both on TV and in real life. “Is this a prank? Am I being punked?”
Now it was Bucky’s turn to be shocked. He hadn’t expected you to stay. He expected maybe a polite goodbye or a scream as you turned tail back into the safety of your building and far away from the ex-assassain in front of you. But you hadn’t run away yet, so that was incredibly promising, and the way you were looking around the street for cameras to pop out made him chuckle despite his nerves sending acid up his throat.
“No it’s not a prank,” he said, smile fading a little and bracing for disappointment. “Look I understand if you’re not interested any more but –”
“Who said I’m not interested?” You looked up at him, a warm smile on her face, finally coming to terms with the new information. James was Bucky and there was nothing wrong with that. “I mean, you’re kind of famous. If anything goes wrong I can just ruin your political reputation.” You grab the second helmet, looking at him expectantly.
“Not sure my reputation can get any more ruined.” he retorts a little dryly, but the smile had come back to his face. He grabs the helmet out of your hands, gently placing it on your head. You try to not notice how your skin tingles when his fingers brush your neck as he helps you clasp the strap beneath your chin, and he tries to not dwell on how warm your skin is beneath his flesh hand even through his gloves (his other arm… that would be a bridge to cross later). He climbs on first and helps steady you as you slide in behind him, arms wrapping firmly around his waist. Bucky was thankful for the helmet he once again wore hiding the bright flush he knew was on his face. How long had it been since he was held like this, out of desire and not out of necessity? The bike lets out a roar as it starts and you tuck yourself closer to the leather covered back in front of you. The material is warm on your skin and you appreciate the care Bucky takes in explaining how to sit and lean before you really begin moving. “You ready?” he asks, voice raised over idle of the engine. He can feel a nod against his back and your muffled affirmation. He pulls out onto the street, feels the arms wrapped around him hold tighter, and feels his heart swell.
***
The drive to Bucky’s apartment was short, shorter than you had expected, and you were almost a little sad having to pry yourself away from him to go upstairs. His apartment was clean, and almost militarily tidy apart from several colorful cat toys scattered across the floor in front of the couch.
“I’m sorry,” he says, kicking off his boots and you do the same with your shoes. “I tried to put them all in a box but she always drags them all back out again.” You smile, walking over to the various toys.
“Does she have a favorite?” you ask, picking up a stick with a string and bells attached on one end. The bells jingle and suddenly there is a white blur zooming past your ankles to attack the string.
“Actually it's that one,” Bucky replies, moving into the living room with you. “Watch your ankles. She likes to bite.” He goes to shrug off his jacket and stops quickly. You notice a flash of gold out of the corner of your eye as he pulls it back into place and turn to face him, letting alpine steal the cat toy and trot away with it.
“You uh… you can take your jacket off. If you want.” Again, you fiddle with the cuffs on your sweater. “I mean it's your place after all. And I know about your uh, your arm.” Bucky just looks at you, and so, you continue to ramble. “Not that you have to take your clothes off. I mean it's okay if you want to but not like that I mean we just met and –” Once again a warm honeyed laugh cuts you off. You quickly close your mouth, embarrassed. Bucky steps closer to you, only a few feet of distance between you.
“I’ll be honest again,” he starts, pulling off first his right glove and then his left, revealing shining black metal. “I’m nervous. I haven’t had anyone new in my life for something not related to work in a long time. I don’t want to scare you off.” Your embarrassment is gone, quickly replaced by compassion and care for the man in front of you. “I know I have a history, hell, I am history.” This elicits a chuckle from you and your laughter brings a gentle smile to his face. “I’ve never enjoyed getting to know someone as much as I’ve enjoyed my time talking to you. I just don’t want to ruin it.” You reach out, gently grabbing both his hands with your own. The metal one was smooth and slightly cool to the touch, but the contact from both made your heart flutter.
“I like you Bucky,” you say, looking up at him. “I like that you’re funny and that you’re kind. I like how you can tell when I’m tired just by my voice. I like knowing that I can tell you anything and not feel judged. I liked you when I didn’t know exactly who you were and I arguably like you even more now.” You take a step closer and help start to guide his jacket off, slowly revealing the shining metal and the bottom of the silver star peaking out from his shirt sleeve. “I know your life hasn’t been easy and I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through but…” The jacket falls to the floor and Bucky swallows thickly. He wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t that comfortable with his emotions yet, but he could feel his chest tighten anyway. “I would be honored to stick around for you to tell me at some point. I’m not scared.” Bucky pulls his hand, the flesh one, away and moves it up to hold the side of your face.
“I want you to stay,” he says softly, closing the last bit of distance as his metal hand finds your hip. He leans in slowly, forehead resting against yours for a brief moment. “Can I kiss you?” You smile, hand finding the strong plane of his chest, barely brushing where the metal of his shoulder connected to skin.
“Yes.”
Bucky needs no more encouragement. He presses his lips to yours softly, but with clear desire. You kiss back, holding him close as the hand of your hip grips down a little tighter. You let out noise, somewhere between a moan and a breath and Bucky instantly feels his jeans get a little too tight. The hand on your cheek travels to the back of your neck, tilting your head to give him more access to your soft lips. One of his legs slots between yours as you try to pull yourself further into his arms, and suddenly your brief day dream from earlier is two layers of your own clothing away from reality. You give his bottom lip a soft nip and his responding groan makes your hips buck sending a muted wave of pleasure through you. The hand on your hip finds its way up under the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing the skin there gently. Bucky turns, slowly moving backward towards the couch while pulling you along with him when he feels a sharp prick at the back of his ankle.
“Ouch, shit,” he says breaking away from you to look down at Alpine, two paws wrapped about his leg and teeth embedded into his skin. He reaches down to pick her up, cradling her against his chest, lips still wet with spit and pupils darkened. You take a small step back, smoothing out the front of your shirt and trying to slow your racing heart and ignore the slick now coating your underwear. Bucky looks back at you, sheepish. “I’m sorry. I told you she bites.” You giggle, reaching out a hand to pet the small white cat as she instantly begins purring.
“It’s okay. We’ve still got plenty of time before the curfew you set for me,” you say, reaching up and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
“A very negotiable curfew,” Bucky corrects, laying one more soft, sweet kiss against your lips. “How about I start dinner?”
“Sounds perfect.” You gently take Alpine from his arms. “I’ll distract her so that you can cook in peace.” You turn away, back to the various toys on the floor and start throwing mice and springs for Alpine to chase, and Bucky just melts. He couldn’t believe how truly lucky he had gotten with a hookup app that Sam forcibly downloaded. As he made his way to the kitchen, he unlocked his phone and deleted the app. Tinder was the fire starter, but he knew he’d be burning with you for a long time.