Drabble dumpster

“Grover, get your little rat ass back here,” Bucky yells, pulling the leash to coax the little ankle-biting Chihuahua back into line with the rest of the hoard.

He thought he loved dogs until he started walking them.

Which, okay, he still loves dogs, just not these dogs, these dogs are a pain in his ass.

He keeps up pace, getting yanked forward along the park trail that he's walking, trying his best to control the army of dogs that he's no longer leading but being led by.

Little dick dogs, he mumbles to himself.

He doesn't get paid enough for this.

Eventually, finally, he spots a bench. He lets out a sigh of relief, wrangling the dogs in with as much strength as he can manage so he can settle in there for a minute.

The dogs jump and bark and pant, one named Cornelius, a schnauzer bites at the leg of Bucky's pants, trying to convince him to keep going.

But instead, Bucky ties their bundle of leashes to the bench, thankful that it's bolted down.

The last thing he wants is for his dogs to run away, dragging a park bench along with them.

That thought pushes an actual physical laugh out of him.

Stupid dogs.

Settling onto the bench, Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket and his water out of his bag, chugging that down as he texts Natasha idly.

Bucky: do u think id make enough money to move across the world and change my name if i sold all of these fucking dogs?

Nat: One of those fucking dogs is mine.

Nat: But go for it

Bucky: urs is the worst

Nat: I know

Bucky shakes his head, laughing as he looks down at Natasha’s bigass Bernese, slobbering against the pavement. He's a big fucking idiot, not an asshole like the rest but when he wants to go somewhere he will go there, and he will drag every dog and human attached to him, with him.

Bucky can't keep himself from petting the top of his fluffy head.

He laughs, telling the dog, “You're dumb, you know-”

But is cut off by an unfamiliar bing sound next to him, startling the shit out of him. He darts his head to the side, thinking maybe it's someone. Maybe hes about to be murdered, maybe his body will be dumped in the river and these dumb dogs will be his only witness but they're fucking dogs so they can't say, hey that dude was murdered. No, he'll get murdered and there will be no human witnesses and his killer will never be found and-

There's another ding.

Bucky looks down, hearing the sound again, coming from below the bench and the source of the mystery being is quickly found.

On the ground, face up is a phone.

Which, makes a lot more sense than it being a murderer, he thinks.

The phone screen is lit up, notification showing across the screen, and another bing sounds through.

What the fuck.

Bucky looks up, scanning the park confusedly, as if the owner of the phone might somehow appear out of thin air, maybe they'll be back to get it he thinks.

So Bucky huffs out a breath, paranoid now and sits back on the bench.

He has no fucking clue what to do. The grass is slightly dewey, so that's probably not good for the phone, he thinks. But at the same time if he picks up the phone and the owner of the phone sees that, there's a solid seventy percent chance that he'll get accused of stealing it and probably get arrested or something.

The phone makes another sound.

Bucky cringes, face scrunching up. But he's so fucking curious. Fuck.

Okay- okay, he'll pick up the phone, and set it on the bench, he decides. He'll pick it up, very quickly, and get it out of the grass.

Maybe if he sits there long enough the owner will appear and no one will steal it and everything will be fine.

Reluctantly, Bucky bends down, quickly grabbing the phone with just two fingers, as if he's afraid to get his DNA on it.

Oh fuck, what if the phone belongs to someone else that was murdered, he thinks, what if he's touching evidence. Now his fingerprints are on it and the cops will come looking for him and-

It dings again.

Mystery phone owner must be popular.

Setting it down gently, Bucky looks at the screen. It's lit up on its own, and it's not really like he's spying on it or anything. It's not like he unlocked it.

So, while the screen is still on he lets himself look. A text notification showing that just says.

Sam: u suck at answering ur phone u kno tht

But before the screen can even go dark another text is chiming through.

Sam: istg Steve if you lost ur phone again i’m canceling u

Bucky laughs, looking away from the phone.
Okay, so the phone owner is Steve, so that gives Bucky a game plan at least. If he just sits and waits for a while, someone might come by looking and he can ask if they're steve.

Which, okay, maybe that's creepy actually, maybe he shouldn't confess that he's been spying on this dude's texts.

So, real game plan. He'll sit here for twenty minutes and if the guy doesnt come he'll take it and try to call someone on it.

Bucky huffs out a breath, looking down at the phone because its stressing him the fuck out, and then back at the dogs because they do too.

—
Twenty minutes later and the phone is still sitting next to him, completely alone.

No texts have come through since the last one, it's stayed completely dark.

Bucky scrubs a palm over his face frustratedly, looking down at the stupid phone.

“I don't like you,” he mumbles, “I hope you know that.” As if he's not speaking to an inanimate object.

But before he can think otherwise he’s stuffing the phone into his backpack, taking it home.

—
He finishes off walking the dogs, taking them home one by one, except for Natasha’s since he lives with it.

The entire time he's thinking about the phone.

Maybe he should take it to the police, he considers. There's like a lost and found or whatever. But then, it would probably be less likely to be found, he's pretty sure.

If it's with him he can answer it at least, or call through it.

He hastily unlocks his apartment, letting Nat’s dog run in, flinging his bag off of his back so he can trudge to his kitchen and throw it on the counter. Huffing, shit, to himself when he realizes that he didn't lock the door back and has to pace back to do that.

Getting back to his backpack, Bucky feels like he's about to do surgery or some shit. Or like, he found a baby or something.

He exhales a breath and slowly unzips his backpack, reaching in to grab for the phone.
It's in a case, but it's nothing special, just black rubber, and it looks relatively new, not all torn to shit like his phone case.

Bucky sets the phone, face up on the counter and tries to work up the courage before finally unlocking it.

The brightness is pretty damn high, illuminating the screen. The wallpaper, ironically, a picture of a dog, it's obviously a mutt, like a beagle and a lab mix maybe, and- okay thats pretty cute, Bucky thinks to himself.

But quickly his happiness shifts into annoyance as he realizes that the phone has a password.

So, it looks like he's not calling anyone.

Scowling, Bucky leans back on the stool he's sitting at and tries to figure out what in the hell he's supposed to do now.

—
Natasha comes in two hours later, her keys jangling as she hangs them up on the hook by the door. Bucky turns to look at her, leaning back in his seat.

And, as usual she glares at him, cocking her eyebrows, “What are you doing?”

Bucky swallows, feeling like an idiot. “I found a phone,” he starts, “Now I'm just waiting to see if someone calls.”

Natasha walks through, grabbing a water out of the fridge and a snack off of the counter, leaning against it as she opens the package. “Did you try figuring out whose phone it is?”

“Yes,” Bucky sighs, “no shit. It has a password.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha eats a bite, speaking with a mouthful, “Okay, asshole, has anyone called it?”

“No.”

“So wait until someone calls it.”

Bucky grunts tapping his foot against the counter, “But this is getting boring.”

That earns him another bitchy glare, “Is the volume up?”

“Yes.”

“So just wait for it, you dont have to fucking stare at it dumbass.”

“But what if i miss it?” Bucky yells, “What if I don't hear it, and then I'm stuck with this piece of shit forever?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha starts, “First off, that's like two generations newer than your phone. Second, just carry it with you, idiot.” Shaking her head, she grabs her things and walks away.

—
Bucky ends up sitting in his room, the phone in his lap as he plays video games.

By nine there's nothing, still radio silence.

“Natasha,” he screams across the apartment.

“What do you want?”

“There's still nothing, what do I do?”

“Just keep waiting idiot.”

Sighing, Bucky slumps back against his bed, setting the phone on his stomach.

And, as if it were timed perfectly, it rings.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Bucky scrambles, sitting up to look at the phone. The contact says Sam and Bucky's really not fucking ready.

Why is this so stressful, he thinks, answer the goddamn phone you fucking coward.

He lets out a breath and does, pulling the phone up to his ear, “Hello.”

“Hi-” the voice on the other line starts, letting out a laugh, “I'm assuming you found this phone somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “On a bench in the park.” He knows that's sort of a lie, it was on the ground. But ya know, same thing.

The other line lets out a sigh that turns into a laugh, before saying, “Fuckface, you left it at the park.” He's muffled just slightly, obviously not speaking to Bucky.

But then he comes in again, “Right so my friend Steve here loses his phone so often that I'm about to tell him to go back to landlines.”

Bucky nods his head nervously, realizing that the dude on the other line probably can't see that.

“So he appreciates you finding it,” the guy continues.

“No problem,” Bucky says, “Um, does he want to come get it?”

“Yeah, give me your address,” Phone guy's friend asks.

In the back of Bucky's mind he's ready to get fucking murdered again.

—
Another hour later and Bucky's answering a knock at the door. The phones in his hand but he almost fucking drops it when he sees the dude behind it.

He's tall, not ridiculously tall but pretty fucking tall, and blond, and pretty, and he has fucking dick sucking lips, and he's built like a son of a bitch and-

Bucky wants to climb him.

“Um,” he mumbles, “Are you, Steve?”

Blond guy Smiles, teeth gleaming, and it has to be Steve. For a moment Bucky regrets all of this because Steve is dreamy and Bucky wants to fuck him and he regrets all of this so much.

Steve nods, “That's me.” He sticks a hand out to shake, which is kind of weird Bucky thinks, who does handshakes for non-business related things anymore.

But still, he reciprocates it, shaking Steves hand, watching the muscles in his tricep flex because he's fucking ripped. So fucking ripped.

Fuck him.

It takes everything in Bucky's power to not be a dumbass and blush like a little fucking girl.

He lets go of Steve's hand, stuttering as he reaches his opposite hand out to offer Steve his phone. “This is yours,” he babbles.

Steve smiles again, grabbing it easily from Buckys grasp, and jesus christ hes pretty Bucky thinks, his fucking face and his killer arms and his eyes.

Bucky forces himself not to yank Steve in as he lets him grab his phone back.

Steve pats Bucky's arm, “Thank you for keeping it safe, I thought I'd lost this one for good.”

“Nah, it's nothing,” Bucky says, waving it off nervously “I'm glad I could get it back to you.”

Awkwardly, Steve waves the phone, shoving it into his pocket, “Cool, okay.” he shifts, “Thanks.”

Bucky nods, watching Steve turn to leave so he begins shutting the door.

Suddenly though, Steve stops, floundering some, “Wait, wait, um,” his face goes red. “So since I have my phone back could I maybe get your number? Ya know in case I'm in the area and I lose my phone.”

Bucky lifts an eyebrow, “But then how would you call me if you lost your phone?”

“Touche,” Steve nods, “So could I have your number because I owe you for finding, and not stealing this, like lunch or something.”

Bucky shakes his head, laughing “Don't even worry about it man,” he insists. Internally screaming at himself because Steve is hot, really fucking hot, and he knows he's about to fuck this up.

Thankfully Steve continues, “No, no I insist.”

And, well, Bucky's weak. He's so fucking weak. So he gives his number away anyway.

—
Five minutes after Steve leaves Bucky gets a text from an unknown number that says

Do you like pizza?

And Bucky's dumbass says

only if i can eat it off of you.