#i usually do laundry on sunday and wash everybody’s laundry that’s in the washer but i got new clothes this week bc we did shopping

[fluttershiesworld]

ok. i was gonna do a poll on whether i shld watch a horror movie but the people in my head have unanimously decided this is the worst idea (they’re right). so now real poll:

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Seen Part VI

“I can’t believe you have a laundry closet inside your apartment. You’re just so Uptown now,” Joe teased. He pitched in folding clothes and putting them on hangers with Mary Sue, clean laundry spread out across the bed, and another load spinning in the washer. “John and Angie don’t have this. They’re still going to Mom and Dad’s for dinner twice a week to do wash. Shit, Nanna D still hangs her clothes on a line in the basement because she doesn’t even have a dryer.”

“Did you go home to wash clothes...before? Or did you do coin laundry?”

“I had coin laundry available in the basement of the building, but I went home. Every quarter counts.”

“Oh I know it does. One of the decision makers on this place was the laundry closet. No quarters and no trips home either.”

“Mom asked if I was mad at her Wednesday. I told her you had this in your apartment…”

“Our apartment.”

“God I love hearing you say that.”

“Was that slip up intentional?”

“No. But maybe I’ll start doing that to hear you correct me more.” She pinched her face in phony aggravation. “So, I know you’re already doing Nanna’s on Sundays, but...”

“I love going to your Nanna’s. I really do. I love being there. I love eating with your family and Nanna’s food. I love the way her house smells…”

“It smells like...Nanna’s,” he chuckled. “It smells like food and furniture polish.”

“Well yeah. I love that. I love walking in and breathing it in. Just fill up my nose and lungs with ‘home.’”

“You like how it smells. Do...where else do you feel that way? You ever felt like that anywhere else?”

“That it’s home? No. I mean, here now. ‘Cause you’re here. But no other place feels like home. Well...maybe your parents’ house. But that’s it.”

“I mean that you like the way it smells. Bakeries and flower gardens obviously don’t count,” he amended.

“The art museum. Libraries. Used book stores.”

“Used book stores? Only used book stores?”

“Yeah. New book stores usually smell like coffee, which...eh. Plus used books smell better than new ones. Old ones smell better. There’s actually a chemical paper releases when it ages that...I’ll shut up now…” She bumbled a pair of socks and re-balled them up correctly.

“Don’t ever shut up. Finish it. I really wanna know now. I’m not even just…whatever.” Joe took eight hangers in one hand and hung them in the closet before returning to her.

“Placating me? Pacifying me?”

“The words are sexy. Seriously. I’m not even playing around. Yes. I’m not doing those things. I want you to educate me about old books and what makes them smell good.”

“Wood based paper releases something called lignin as it breaks down over time, and that’s really close to vanillin, which is obviously...y’know...vanilla. Like you bake with or make ice cream with, and so new books don’t have that yet. It doesn’t release until the paper ages. That’s why the older ones are better. Libraries and used book stores. They smell like...vanilla. And there’s a lot of comfort in that. I love walking into a place with a smell. Nanna’s house does smell like food and furniture polish. Because she makes things and nourishes everybody that comes over and she takes care of the real things, the things she’s kept from a long time ago, because she cares about them. That’s nice. Libraries and used book stores smell like people read and learned and loved those books. The art museum smells like that too. History and preservation of timeless beauty and creativity. You know. It smells like...the museum. It has its own...scent. Good, but it smells like something. Your mom and dad’s house smells like cut grass outside and fabric softener inside, and I always thought it was because your mom used a lot of softener in the wash, but it’s really because there’s just constantly wash going. That’s kinda awesome. That’s...home. ‘You can still come home when you need something. We’re still here for you.’ I love places that have a familiar smell that permeates the whole space and sort of defines it like that. My parents’ apartment doesn’t have a smell. Steven’s house didn’t have one. Rugby player’s house didn’t. The dorms didn’t have one. I mean, that’s good, I guess. It could smell like garbage or a sewer grate or something. I mean, those places were clean, at least mostly, but the lack of any kind of smell is weird. When a place smells like...something...like itself...like what’s inside it...it makes you want to stay or at least come back all the time. But places without a smell or with a strange, clinical ‘clean’ aroma to them are just...too sterile. Like a dentist’s office or something. No one wants to go back there. You go there because you have to. Or that fake, perfumey...like the make-up counters in department stores. It’s too much, and it’s almost assaulting, and you know it’s covering over everything real... God, Joey, tell me to shut up! You just...let me run on and on!”

“I like seeing you run. I like seeing where you go.” He leaned back against the edge of the bed and she closed the last drawer, finally cleared of chores until the next load finished. “Your apartment smells like the stuff you wash your hair with. And food and furniture polish. And fabric softener.” She closed her eyes in gratitude for him using her metaphor to tell her he felt like home in the apartment now, and he relished seeing her take hold of that realization. “Anyway, you think maybe we could go have dinner at my parents’ sometimes? That’s what I was gonna ask like...twenty minutes ago when I brought up that you already go to Nanna’s with me. I don’t wanna like...overwhelm you with my family, but I can tell my mom cares that I’m not doing laundry there anymore. Not because she misses the laundry.”

“Of course. If they want us, of course we’ll go. I’d love to go with you. Or you can go without me too if...”

“I don’t wanna go without you.” He reached out for her and intertwined their fingers again. “Mom and Dad don’t want me to come without you. I mean, that came out wrong, but you know what I meant.” He paused at her nod, thinking about how agreeable she’d been since their reunion, and troubled himself over it. “Am I ever gonna ask you for something you’re gonna say no to?”

“I dunno. You want me to say no?”

“Not exactly. Just...want you to know you can.”

“Oh I know I can. I’ve said a lot of no’s. But with you… You really like seeing me run?”

“Yes. Take off!” he laughed.

“OK in school, my adviser told me this thing from improv comedy to get over writer’s block, right? When your negative inner critic keeps telling you no, and you’re stalled, just deliberately switch the no to a ‘yes, and...’ instead. It’s how you get more. And better. ‘No’ only gets you less. So you only want less of things that hurt or defeat you. It’s actually rare that you want less. You tend to always want more, and that’s definitely what you want when you’ve been blocked for a while. More. Well, I’ve been blocked for a while, and I want more...you. More...love. So I’m doing Yes, Ands. I’ll only say no if I want less. If it’s hurting or defeating me. So...you ever gonna ask me to commit a felony or otherwise get arrested? Hurt somebody on purpose? Quit school or my career? Give up the new friends you just encouraged me to make? Stop talking to my brother? Cheat on you? Invest in a pyramid scheme? Do something that makes me need a lot of expensive medical intervention?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I’m getting a no on no’s. You aren’t ever going to ask me to do something I’d say no to.”

“That’s good to know.”

***

Joe, Ethan, and Will set up on Main and 9th again for a rare Saturday playing together. Will and Ethan both cracked their knuckles and played a few lazy flourishes on the keyboard and drum to warm up. Joe took a few deep breaths and worked the valves on his trumpet without putting it to his lips. He rolled his shoulders and rotated his neck from one shoulder to the other before saying, “Start with Sell Out?” to his friends. Before they could answer, a surly voice from the crowd on the street called, “Be careful here, folks. The trumpet player will steal your girlfriend.” It was Steven. Joe registered him immediately after Mary Sue’s stealthy identification the previous evening.

“No, man. Just your girlfriend,” Joe rapidly shot back, Ethan following up with a rimshot on the drum; perfect comedic timing.

Steven’s face turned red, and instead of accepting the loss, he doubled down. “You admit you stole my girlfriend then?”

“You don’t own people. How can I steal something from you that never belonged to you in the first place?” The question was rhetorical, but Steven boiled, searching for a snappy comeback anyway, and failed. “You left her downtown without a ride two weeks ago because she tipped us.” Will couldn’t resist adding an ominous piano riff from the first stanzas of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony to the end of Joe’s last damning statement of fact. The minor drama had drawn a small, rapt crowd, and without playing a song, several passers-by had already dropped some money in the hat between Joe’s feet, tinkling with entertained laughter as they continued their evenings out. Steven opened his mouth to speak again, but Joe cut him off, this time with the trumpet. He took out his plunger mute and domed over any formed words with mournful wa-wa’s and nonsense notes of musical mockery, like the adult voices in a Peanuts cartoon. The crowd howled with laughter, and again, before a single song in the set list, earned them more cash in the hat.

“I saw you with her last night. I can’t believe she’s actually seeing...you. What could possibly possess her to wanna be with you?” Steven spat out his words, nearly literally foaming at the mouth with embarrassed furor.

“I see her. You still don’t. Your loss, man. That girl’s gonna be my wife.”

***

“There’s that red hot trumpet player from Main and 9th who I tricked into living with me,” Mary Sue claimed as Joe opened the apartment door and set to resetting all the locks. It was late, and she was in her baggy sweats and bunny slippers again, this time patiently expecting him, however.

“So your dipshit ex showed back up downtown tonight and tried to ‘interrupt our gig.’ I’m surprised he didn’t call you tattling and begging like a crybaby before I got home, honestly.”

She sat up to attention from a complaisant repose on the couch. “Are you serious?! What happened?! I hope you just ignored him because he doesn’t deserve any of your attention or energy…”

“We might have antagonized him a little.” Joe smirked with devilish joy that Mary Sue mirrored, even as she shook her head at him, bemused and scolding.

“It’s not for me, you know. He doesn’t care about me. That’s why he didn’t call me. He just wanted to try and humiliate you. Because he has zero humility in him. He’s shameless.”

“Oh I know he was trying to humiliate me and fuck up our night and maybe shoo us away from playing there at all again, but the shameless thing? Him having no humility? I mean, not disagreeing with you, but he definitely felt some shame today. Not for the shit he should be ashamed of, like leaving you downtown with no ride, or being a pretentious asshole who’s probably at least a little racist based on how he looked at Will, but...he did feel some. Because his evil plan backfired. Damn, he made us soooo much money. Ethan and me let Will take home most of the extra, but both of us still brought home about fifty tonight. Will wanted to ask him to come back again; he thinks we could call off all the money-making...’gigs.’ You infected all of us with that word now…” Joe had put away his trumpet, and stripped off his hoodie and stepped out of his shoes again, leaving himself in just jeans, a plain white tshirt, and thick work socks. He dropped himself down on the cushion next to her. She pulled the sock hat off his head, revealing his unkempt curly hair.

“I think your band should have a name and everything.”

“Will and Ethan and me? Should have a name? Dollar store lawn chairs on the street and Will’s the only one who can read music? We could call ourselves the Dollar Store Lawn Chairs.”

“I think that’s a kick ass name for a band.”

“Sure. Hire us out for weddings and bar mitzvahs and shit.”

“I’m serious, but ok. Laugh at me. That’s fine.”

“We did call off next weekend entirely. Like...it was THAT much money. Who knew a heckler could get you more tips?!”

“You think Steven’s gonna show up all the time now? I’m sorry, Joey…”

“No way. I think he’s had his fill of being part of the show.” He wound a covetous arm around her, prompting her to crawl into his lap. “Can I have a little kiss?” She nodded and pecked him on the lips. “Will you go to bed with me?” She nodded again.

“Will you sing to me?”

“When you kiss me, Heaven sighs. And though I close my eyes, I see La Vie En Rose...”

***

“Hey Nanna,” Joe murmured in secrecy. It was the first time that Sunday evening he managed to corral Nanna D away from the rest of the family for a private conversation.

“What’s the matter with My Joey?” his grandmother asked with concern. “You seem a little outta sorts. You should be walking on air with Mary Sue here three weeks in a row.”

“I guess I’m just nervous to talk to you tonight. About Mary Sue.”

“We love her, Joey. All of us do. We’re all glad she’s back with us. Are you...not...anymore?”

“Oh no, of course I’m...I couldn’t be any happier that she’s back. I just...I...” He huffed, frustrated with himself that it was so strangely hard to bring this up, when it’s all he wanted to do, and knew his family supported him. They always had. “Remember...remember when she was here back in high school? And you said...um...you said...you told me you didn’t wanna put any pressure on us, but that you thought...you could see...and Nonnina Maria’s ring was um…”

“Oh Joey!” she chirped with excitement.

“Ssssshhh!! Nanna! She’s just around the corner here,” Joe laughed.

“Well of course you can have the ring! Nonno and I promised it to you seven years ago. We meant that. Everyone...meant it.”

“I was worried maybe you and everyone else would think it was...too soon after…”

“It’s not too soon if you feel like you want to do it now. You didn’t want to after three years together with her before. It’s time now. The ring, though.” She shook her head and her expression dropped into doleful gloom, pulling Joe’s own face down into a concerned and discouraged frown. “Mary Sue has worked so hard to...she has...goals...expectations now for her life, as she should and… It’s not...it’s not much in the way of say...being appraised…if you...I’m sure Johnny and your dad and your Nonno and the rest of the family would give a little if you wanted to get her something more and better...”

“It’s the ring she’ll want, Nanna. It is more and better. To Mary Sue.”

***

“Smells like the movies in here,” Mary Sue giggled, entering the apartment. Joe had popped two bags of microwave popcorn before she got home. “Don’t lock up or take your coat and stuff off. I wanna take you out,” he said. He was wearing the nicest sweater (not hoodie) he owned over one of his two button-up collared shirts that weren’t flannel, and the wingtips. But still jeans. He’d pulled on a toque and grabbed gloves and a scarf, but didn’t put them on.

“My goodness, look at you!” she squealed.

“It’s not the suit, but...”

“It’s still pretty nice. Like an Abercrombie model, just with your shirt on,” she teased.

“Never been in that store in my life.” He closed his eyes and shook his head at her pestering.

“Unfortunately I have. The atmosphere is about eighty percent perfume. It’s gross. I clearly didn’t buy anything. The pictures on the walls though? Um...they were nice. And you...look niiiice.”

“Wanted you to see some effort.”

“I see it. I should go get ready, too, if...”

“You always look like you’re already on a date somewhere nice. Except when you’re home in the bunny slippers, which is kinda my favorite anyway. But we’re not even going… We can just go. No additional work needed on you, Rice Chex.”

“Dinner?”

“I packed us dinner.”

“Where is it?”

“In the truck.”

“Do I have time to hit the restroom first?”

“Yeah. Quickly. Don’t want dinner getting cold on us.”

He opened the truck’s passenger door for her and she climbed in next to a bucket of Guster’s chicken, a six pack of bottled Cheerwine (a specialty cherry soda that was one of Mary Sue’s favorite indulgences), and two gallon zip top bags of popcorn. She saw he’d taken the time to melt extra butter and drizzle it into the bags. “Now the truck also smells like popcorn. And fried chicken. What are you up to?”

“Taking my girl on a date.”

“We went out last weekend...”

“You went out with friends last weekend. Which you wouldn’t have done, either, if I wasn’t playing. You’ve seen me play. That’s not a date. That coffee shop doesn’t count either. Coming home to you every day is awesome, but it doesn’t count as a date...we haven’t really gone on a date since...a long time ago. And shit, even most of those were with Andy tagging along. So taking my girl out on a date.”

“To where?”

“Starlight.”

“You’re just gonna blow that entire fifty you made Saturday night?”

“No, we’re not going in. We’re gonna park in the alley across the street. And watch the movie from the roof of the truck. With no sound.”

She felt her eyes burn and get wet, but she steeled herself not to cry. “What movie’s playing?”

“Amadeus.”

He parked in his strategic spot, still there from their high school days, as was the drive-in theater, despite so many other changes in the past seven years. Starlight was now promoted the same way most of the downtown bars and pubs and cafes were; as more upscale than it really was. ‘Retro.’ ‘Classic.’ But really, it was the same worn drive-in that survived demolition and dwindling patrons with dwindling incomes by repackaging itself as trendy.

Joe pushed the mix tape he’d made from the classical AM radio station into the truck’s cassette deck. They ate chicken and climbed up onto the roof with the popcorn and the rest of the napkins and Cheerwine. The opening of Amadeus played soundlessly before them with a cobbled together, historically inaccurate soundtrack of more romantic classical selections. “I know it’s not right, but Mozart wasn’t a romantic composer, so the tape is all Beethoven and Chopin and Debussy. Lotsa soft piano. I know that’s your favorite.”

“Actually trumpet is my favorite. Loud or soft.”

“Yeah, there aren’t a lot of romantic classical trumpet pieces, though. And jazz would just be...way off for a movie about Mozart. I wanted to be not so far off it...ruined anything.”

“This is a long movie. How much music’s on that tape?”

“On that one? About two hours. We just get side one twice.” She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder. He took her hand and laced his fingers into hers. “I wanted to take you to a high school baseball game, and play you some 90s grunge, but it’s November. I’m lucky the drive-in is still open. They shut down for the winter December first.”

“Joe this is...perfect,” she dreamily sighed.

“I um...I got something for you.”

“There’s more? Than this? This is already…”

“There’s more. And I hope better.” He took off his gloves and fished the ring from his pocket, not letting go of her hand for more than the seconds it took to uncover his. “This was my great grandmother Maria Disibio’s ring. You can see it’s not a diamond. It wasn’t really designed to be an engagement ring. My great-grandfather Giuseppe had this ring made for her to mark their American success. They thought what they had here...was a success. Her family...her family didn’t want her to leave Italy with him. But she did. Obviously. And when she died, my great Aunt Lucia got her necklace, and great Uncle Poulo got the diamond ring. Nonno Gianni got this ring. Nanna...Nanna mentioned this ring to me when we were sixteen. She saw...she saw a lot then. And then you left, and...well, Johnny got married, but he told Nanna he couldn’t take this ring because I was supposed to have it. For you. It’s got history. It’s been passed down through generations of my family, and...well I wanna give it to you. So I guess I’m asking if you meant it when you said you were gonna marry the trumpet player.”

“Yeah. I meant it, Joey.”

“Yes, then?” She pulled the fingers of her left glove one at a time and slid if off her hand.

“Yes, AND.” He beamed at her and slid the ring down her finger. Neither of them were really surprised that it fit without adjustments. She stared at her left hand and he stared at her face, both ignoring the silent film scenes playing across the street as Beethoven’s “Moonlight” Sonata played on the truck’s stereo. “I love you. I love this heirloom ring. I...shouldn’t even accept something so...priceless.”

“Yeah, you should. Yes, and...”

“Yes, and forever after this.” He drew her left hand to his lips to plant a kiss on that ring before kissing her mouth. “I love that you took me out tonight, Joey, but...I wanna go home.” She caressed his cheek and neck (the beard was growing back, which was fine with her...she loved his face regardless of how often he shaved).

“Me too.”

***

“Hey. Whatsamatter with my Rice Chex?” Joe sat down at the tiny dining table across from Mary Sue. She scowled at an open spiral notebook and an old solar calculator.

“Getting married costs a lot of money.”

“It definitely can. It doesn’t have to, though.”

“My parents can’t give us any money for...I mean...it’s all very Jane Austen, or some PBS period piece. I’m a dowry-less girl. Even if they had money, sometimes I think my mom wouldn’t give me any. And I counted your family and the friends I know about, plus guests, and maybe the same people who showed up to my high school graduation and it’s just a lot. Gotta rent a place...”

“Or have the reception at Mom and Dad’s. There’s enough parking on the street. There is for Christmas...”

“And all the food...”

“My family will make all the food...”

“And music...”

“Rice Chex, I’m IN a band. And I’m the mix tape MASTER. Come on, now...”

“And pictures...”

“We can pass around Mom’s fancy camera!” he laughed. “You still wanna do this, right?” he continued more seriously.

“Yes! But I don’t wanna just...spend here and then not get you a house to play the trumpet in. Or not spend here and seem like I don’t wanna have a nice wedding with you. Or make your family like...work all the time for it.”

“Look, you know if we paid a caterer, all the Disibios will pick the food to pieces, anyway. Especially Nanna D. My folks would wanna have the party at their house. They’ll just throw us an engagement party if they don’t get the wedding reception anyway. You know this. Ethan and Will have already had a discussion about playing at a ceremony for us. You’re calling it work; they’ll be insulted if you work around them.”

“Maybe we should just have your family come watch us get married at the courthouse. That really saves a lot.”

“I’ll do that and so will they if that’s really what you want. But I can’t believe you don’t wanna dance with me to La Vie En Rose.” He urged her from her seat into a dancer’s hold and sang the lyrics until they were dancing to only the matching instrumental music in their heads.

“I do want this. I want the dress and the flowers and all of that. But I want a future more. I want my someday. The good one.”

“We’ll find a way to get all of it. Maybe we’ll have to let the people who love us...do a little work. But we’ll find a way.”

“What if she wrecks everything, Joey?” She didn’t expand or provide any context for what she said, but Joe nevertheless knew she was referring to her mother.

“She won’t. We won’t let her.”

“I want my dad to walk me down an aisle. I want Andy to be there. But she’s...”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead and folded her into one of his patented cradling hugs. “We’re gonna get married.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, and you’re gonna dance with me as my wife in my parents’ back yard, or the kitchen I guess if it’s raining.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, and you’re gonna finish your thesis and get this great job teaching college.”

“Yes, and we’re gonna get that house. No shared walls. Off street parking.”

“Yes, and I’m gonna play you La Vie En Rose on the trumpet every single day, and not play on the street anymore.”

“Yes, and since you won’t be playing on Main and 9th, we’ll just have Will and Ethan over for a cookout or something to play together sometimes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, and we’ll have a baby. Someday. Probably not as far off as it seems right now.”

“Yes, and our baby will grow up and get real music lessons. Read music. Read lotsa books. Love art and science and learning so much it will be hard for them to choose some kind of path to take.”

“Yes, and...” she stalled, and started to cry.

“Yes, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

“That’s the best Yes And.”

“You ever get blocked on a Yes And, I’ll be there with one. I’ll see a Yes And. I promise.”

“I promise too.”

[sebspocketsquare]

Hook, line and sinker.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Summary: Takes place after the events of Civil War - Bucky is living in an apartment in the City - one of the conditions of Tony and Steve’s new truce. Bucky seems to develop a soft spot for his neighbor across the hall.

Warnings: Language, fluff, flirtation, I think that might be it.

A/N: I’ve had this sitting in my drafts forever and I’m finally posting it. I hope you enjoy it! Also, I had to edit this on mobile, since my laptop took a shit(hopefully I’ll get a new one for christmas!)

The first time Bucky heard you sing, he knew he had to get to know you.

‘My lover’s got humor, she’s the giggle at a funeral.’

He was sure you couldn’t hear his light footsteps coming down the basement stairs, the washer and dryer that you shared was always making an awful knocking noise. He hadn’t ever met you face to face before, he’d only ever heard your voice.

You were more beautiful than he had imagined.

‘Knows everybody’s disapproval,

I should’ve worshipped her sooner.’

Each note that you sang made his heart race more and more. He was sure that at some point, it would jump right out of his throat and run straight to you.

‘If the heavens ever did speak,

She’s the last true mouthpiece.’

His remaining descent of the stairs happens in a daze. He feels like he’s floating as he watches you sway to the music he can’t hear, emotion evident on your face, even with your eyes closed.

‘Every Sundays getting more bleak,

Fresh poison each week.’

He sets his basket down beside him, crossing his arms over his chest as you continue folding your freshly cleaned clothes. He decides he loves seeing you like this - no makeup, hair in a messy tie on your head, sporting sweatpants and a loose tank-top, a grey hoodie hanging off your shoulders.

‘”We were born sick.”

You heard them say it.’

He has to resist the urge to come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist and bury his face in the crook of your neck, that beautiful neck. He’s completely infatuated with the freckles that dust your skin; he wants nothing more than to study each and every one until he finds constellations.

You close your mouth momentarily, still humming along to the tune as you find the match for each of your socks. He’s completely enamored with the curve of your lip, the dimple in the corner of your mouth.

‘Take me to church,

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,

I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.

Offer me that deathless death,

Good god, let me give you my life.’

Hook, line and sinker, he’s yours and you don’t even know it.

He gets so caught up in the sway of your hips, the random strands of hair that fall around your face, he doesn’t even see the basket in front of his feet, gracefully tripping and ripping you out of your blissful state. He looks up from his heap on the floor to see your wide eyes staring down at him, a mixture of amusement and worry in your features. You pull your earphones out quickly, taking a few steps closer to the strange, handsome man in your laundry room. “Shit - are you okay?” You ask, reaching down to help him, his arm muscles feeling taut under your fingertips. “Yeah, sorry, I.. It’s pretty late, I didn’t think anyone would be down here..” He muses, running a gloved hand through his hair once he’s upright once more. Your lips twitch into a nervous smile as you straighten out the ratty clothing you now realized you were wearing. “Yeah, uh.. I usually wash my stuff in the morning, but.. Cleaning is a stress reliever for me, so..” You trailed off, trying to keep your eyes from exploring each and every inch of the man before you.

There’s a pause in the conversation before he thrusts his right hand forward in greeting. “James. or Bucky. Apartment 3B.” He tells you, and you smile softly, resting your hand in his. He makes you feel so small. “Y/N. 3A.” His eyes light up at this, “You live right above me, then?” You nod in response and a huge grin takes over his face. “You-you’re the one with the dog, yeah?” Your eyes widen in fear. “Oh-oh god, I’m so sorry.. Selene can be pretty.. talkative at times, I’ll try and keep her more quiet.” You tuck your hair behind your ear nervously, but he just shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “No, no.. Not a problem at all, I just.. I love dogs. What kind is she?” He wonders, his heart hammering in his chest at how easy you are to talk to.

“Husky. Do you have a dog?” You ask, feeling comfortable enough to turn away and continue to fold your clothes as you talk to him. He comes to stand beside you, leaning back against the washer so he can see your face. “No, no.. I’m away for work a lot.. I’d feel terrible for leavin’ the little fella by himself all day, y’know?” You smile at this, an accent slipping through in his words. “And what do you do for work, James or Bucky?” You wondered, flirting with him the tiniest bit. He’s quiet for a few moments and you look up at him in confusion. His eyes are focused on the floor, a far off look on his face. “James?” You prompt, taking a step towards him. Before you can say anything else, he looks up at you with a forced smile. “I’ll come back in about an hour. You should be done by then, yeah?” He says hurriedly, before turning and darting up the stairs, going so fast that he even forgot his clothes.

You watch him escape from the conversation, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little hurt at how he’d just ran away from you. “Well..” You mumbled to yourself, going back to your clothes. “That’s the last time I try to flirt with anyone.”

It would be a whole week before you saw Bucky again.

You were stumbling into the apartment building, bags upon bags of groceries in one hand and an overly large bag of dog food in the other. It was the beginning of November and you’d managed to break a sweat from the taxi to the elevator, only to find an ‘out of order’ sign on the door. “Mother fucker.” You hissed, trying to balance the bag of dog food on your hip as you turned towards the staircase. You’d have to climb 3 flights of stairs to get to your apartment and you weren’t looking forward to it. “Well.. Mama didn’t raise a quitter.” You mumbled to yourself before making your way to the stairs. A voice from behind you stopped you in your tracks. “Can i help you with those?” Turning slowly, you saw none other than James standing behind you, bundled up in a leather jacket, scarf and beanie, gloves on both of his hands today. You shake your head slowly, clearing your throat. “I think I can manage, thank you.” You say softly before turning back to the stairs.

“I work for the government.. Security mostly..” He says quickly, making you cease motion once more. “I can’t tell you what department.” He adds, voice timid. “So.. you’re like a cop?” You ask, turning your head with your eyebrow raised in inquiry. He shrugs. “Not really - well… Sort of.. I guess.” He chews his lip nervously as he waits for you to say something, anything at all. You let out a small sigh, beckoning him forward with the nod of your head. “C’mon Officer James, you can help me this one time.” You tease him, and a shy smile forms on his lips. “Sergeant, actually. Its Sergeant James.” He tells you with a wink as he takes a few of the grocery bags and the dog food from you. “3A?” He confirms, before taking off up the stairs in front of you. You’re stunned. Where was this shift in behavior coming from and - goddamn, how could a man have such a nice ass? You have to tear your gaze from his jeans as you follow him up the stairs.

“Thank you, James, I.. I really appreciate it.” You tell him when you reach your floor. You can already hear Selene whining before you approach your door. “It’s no problem, ma’am. Glad to help.” He replies, that same, shy smile taking over his face again. When you reach your door and dig your keys out of your purse, Selene lets out a bark and Bucky looks at you, eyes wide with excitement. “Is-is that her?” He asks, and you nod, putting your key in the lock and turning it. “You can come in and meet her, if you’d like.. I can’t promise she won’t jump on you or lick you.” He just nods excitedly, waiting for you to open the door. As soon as you walk inside, Selene is on you. “Hi, girl. Hi. I know, I missed you, too.” You giggle as she desperately tries to reach your face to give you the affection she’s been holding in the entire time you’ve been gone. “I know, I know.” You whisper, hearing the soft sound of Bucky placing your groceries on the small island in your kitchen.

Selene’s attention is suddenly grabbed, ears perking up as her head snaps in his direction. “Selene, this is my friend James.” You tell her, keeping a hold on her collar in case she makes to leap at him, too. Bucky takes a few steps forward, a warm smile on his face as he holds his hand out to her to smell before he tries to touch her. She sniffs, once, twice, three times before trusting enough to nuzzle his hand, making his smile grow even more. “Hi there, pretty girl.” He coos, slowly kneeling so he’s closer to her height as he begins scratching behind her ears. Her eyes closed in contentment and you feel your heart soar. She loved him already.

You let them have their moment in peace, taking the time to unpack and put away your groceries, trying to hold back your smiles as you hear him talking to her. “You’re such a pretty girl.. and so soft.. I wish I had a dog like you.” You hear Bucky let out a loud chuckle and your head snaps in his direction. Selene has managed to knock him over and is currently assaulting his face with her affection, slobber everywhere. “Oh, Selene, knock it off! Thats rude!” You chastise her, quickly coming over to shoo her away. She retreats to the safety of her dog bed, a small whimper leaving her as she tries to reason with you without words. She just wanted to love him.

You offer Bucky your hand to help him up, which he gladly takes, dusting the dog hair from his jeans once he’s standing. “Oh, she’s alright. I don’t mind.” He informs you with a soft smile.

There’s a beat of awkward silence between the two of you as he looks around your apartment. “I like your setup.. Is that what I think it is?” He asks, eyes lighting up as he notices your record player in the corner of the living room. “A record player? Yeah.. I may or may not collect vinyl.” You tell him, walking over to the device and motioning for him to follow you. “It’s beautiful.” He whispers, running his fingers over its edges and knobs. “Thank you. It was my father’s.. I inherited it a few years back..” You tell him, suddenly feeling sadness well up in your stomach. Bucky’s eyes dart over to you, sympathy evident in his gaze. “I’m sorry..” He breathes, slowly retracting his hands from the player. “It’s alright..” You shrug, making your way back to the kitchen to finish your chores. “We knew it was coming, really..”

Bucky doesn’t say much else, just watches the way you move, trying to understand how you could be so collected when talking about such a tragedy. When you look up after a few moments and meet his eyes, he offers a small smile. “Well.. I guess I should be going.. I’m expecting company here soon.” He tells you, and for some reason, you feel a twang of jealousy in your chest. Who were you to get jealous? He wasn’t yours. You barely knew the man. “Sure, of course..” You say softly, nodding as you wipe your sweaty palms on your sweater. “Selene, come say goodbye.” Selene trots over, immediately jumping up on Bucky and resting her head against his torso. He scratches the top of her head lovingly, humming softly. “I’m sure I’ll see ya around, pretty girl.” He muses, and before you can stop yourself, the words just fall out of your mouth. “You’ll have to come back sometime. I could make dinner - or-or we could watch a movie.” Your cheeks flood bright red when you realize that you’ve practically just invited him on a date, but he doesn’t seem too phased, just looks up at you with a bright smile. “Yeah.. I’d really like that.”

When Selene hops down, you walk Bucky to your door, awkwardly shoving your hands in your pockets. “So… I’ll see you around, then.” You tell him as he opens the door and stands in the doorway. “I hope so. Get in touch with me about dinner, yeah?” He replies, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. You notice that he’s still wearing one glove. “Sure, yeah.. We’ll have to do it soon.” You say quickly, chewing the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything else that might be embarrassing. “Soon. Sounds great.. Catch you later, doll..” Your heart flutters at the pet-name, and then drops into your stomach as he began to walk away. What was with the rollercoaster of emotions you were having around this man. “Oh, and Y/N?” He calls once he’s about halfway down the hall. You look up, a nervous smile on your lips. “Thank you.” That’s all he says before he disappears into the stairwell again.

TAGS: (I didn’t know who to tag so sorry) @plumfondler @mindingmyownbusiness @breenieweenie @dianelogan @buckyshattergirl