I am sniffly and cold and pathetic and my head hurts and I wanna go home.
i thought everyone ate baking chocolate chips out of the bag when they want something sweet and have no snacks
i love the fics where bucky just breaks into steve’s apartment post-tws for whatever reason, though in all of the fics i’ve read so far, he usually takes something from steve and/or leaves no trace of being there at all.
how about where he leaves steve a friendly note.
"change your goddamn kitchen lightbulb. how am i supposed to eat everything in your place if i can’t see it.
xoxo the winter soldier”
Things feel wrong sometimes.
Steve isn’t sure why or how it comes about but every so often he walks into his apartment and parts of him freeze up. Nothing is different. His laundry still sits on the edge of his washing machine, the paperwork from his landlord with permission to get a cat is under the Iron Man paperweight, and no strange scent hangs in the air. Steve keeps his personal space clean, though more out of habit then the desire to have tidyness around him.
The cat in question even shows no sign of upset - she sprawls on the couch with all three legs up in the air, half tattered ears lax and comfortable. The animal shelter said she hates physical affection but when Steve walks in, she meows and wiggles, and will likely let him pet her ears later.
Ms. Snuggles is the best cat, in Steves opinion, even if she is crotchety sometimes and ten years old.
"Afternoon, Snugs." Steve puts his backpack on the floor and his jacket on the proper coat hook. She purrs at him. "Anything interesting happen?"
She chirps like a proper guard-cat and hops from the couch to follow him into the kitchen. Ms. Snuggles winds around his feet, Steve only keeping upright from Super Soldier Reflexes as he’s not yet learned the hopping balancing act of all trained cat servants.
"I know, I know, you’re hungry. Today is medication day, did you know that?" She meows. "You are the most precious cat."
Ms. Snuggles is not the most precious cat but she’s more than content to be dosed with her medication. It comes in a can and is delicious.
Steve opens the fridge and goes still. One of his post-it notes ruffles in the breeze of the action. It’s in the shape of a moose, a gift from Tony Steve is actually fond of. It’s not the post-it that has him trying to breathe. It’s the words.
‘I hope you know your cat eats better than you do.
change your goddamn kitchen lightbulb and buy some groceries. stop being a punk.
Then, scrawled underneath:
'your cat likes me. we're both missing arms’
"…Ms. Snuggles," is all Steve can say until she headbutts his knee. "I asked if anything interesting happened. You lied to me.”
She gets her medication anyway and Steve doesn’t go into the living room to hyperventilate. He goes shopping instead.