Of course! I’ve just been so busy later I haven’t had a chance or found a message that I wanted to do.
I can always rec angsty stucky fics, I do love to suffer. Idk what you consider long so I’ll just do a whole range. (Also these all pretty much have a happy ending, so if you’re not into that sorry)
When Bucky comes home, the apartment is empty, which, admittedly, isn’t exactly what he had been expecting.
For as long as Bucky’s known him, Steve has never once failed to greet him when he’d get home on his birthday. Not back in Brooklyn, and certainly not since Bucky came back to live with the guy here in the Twentieth century.
Steve takes birthdays very seriously. Even when he shouldn’t – something Bucky has experienced first hand, more than once. Like that time Steve had insisted on baking him a birthday cake, despite the fact that Steve’s the kind of guy who can’t even boil water successfully. The mere memory makes Bucky’s throat constrict, and he quickly pushes the thought away before it can grow all too vivid.
He sets his bag down by the door and toes off his shoes. It’s a weird rule, but he knows that Steve will throw a minor fit if Bucky walks in with his boots on – especially seeing as it has been pouring rain all day long.
Bucky’s jacket is still dripping a little as he hangs it up. He pulls his metal fingers through his hair, knowing that it’s wet, even though the sensation registered by his nerve endings doesn’t translate exactly the same way as it would have with his other hand. It’s still an odd feeling. Tony’s been working hard on this new sensory module for his arm, and so far, Bucky is now able to actually feel a whole range of different things compared to what he had been before. Heat, cold, and pressure had always been there, but the little things… Those are what throw him off, still.
Like being able to feel the rain, for example. Which had been the reason why he’d decided to walk home in the first place, rather than take a cab – with the left sleeve of his jacket pulled up all the way to the elbow, just because he could.
The rain is his favorite sensation so far, and he’s already relishing in the thought of the similar, falling water in the shower he’s going to take in a matter of minutes, when he spots the Post-It note that’s been stuck to the center of the hallway mirror.
It’s in Steve’s handwriting – soft and curvy – and Bucky tugs it from the mirror with a curious frown. The note says a single word.
ealdor 