Snowy Alps: Alpine.
Summary: Bucky brings home a stray cat. Alpine brings home a new routine.
Disclaimer: fluff, domestic bucky, stray cat adoption, alpine supremacy, soft cuddles, pet store chaos, bed-sharing (with cat), light teasing
The door slid open with a gentle swoosh, and Bucky stepped into your shared Watchtower unit, a takeout bag in one hand, your steaming cup of coffee in the other, and—most notably—white cat fur clinging to the black of his jacket like he’d wrestled a snowstorm on the way home.
“Baby?” he called out, voice lighter than usual.
You peeked from the couch where you’d been curled up with a blanket and a book. “Hey, welcome back.” Then your eyes narrowed, amused. “You’re covered in something… fuzzy.”
He blinked, then glanced down. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. About that.”
He set the food down and shrugged off his jacket, revealing even more fur speckled along the sleeves of his black long-sleeve shirt. He didn’t even bother brushing it off. Instead, he practically beamed as he sat beside you, still riding the high of his afternoon discovery.
“There’s this cat,” he began, already breathless with excitement. “At the café downstairs. All white. Like—not cream or off-white. White-white. Snow.”
You tilted your head, already smiling. “And she attacked you?”
“No,” he said, eyes softening as he looked at you. “She curled up on my lap while I was waiting for your pastries. Like she just decided I was furniture. Didn’t flinch when I pet her. She even rolled over so I could scratch her tummy.”
“She showed you her belly?” you laughed, heart fluttering at how gentle he sounded. “That’s trust. Instant soul bond.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” His knee bounced slightly. He was trying to contain himself, like he was unsure if this would sound silly—but you already knew the answer.
“So… I wanna bring her home,” he said, glancing at you, hopeful but cautious. “If you’re okay with that. I already checked—she’s a girl. I’d name her Alpine. Like the snowcaps in the Alps. Pure white. Peaceful. It just… felt right. I think she reminds me of that part of me I never got to have.”
That last part made your chest ache a little—softly, sweetly. You leaned forward, cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb over his stubbled cheek.
“I love it,” you said. “And I love her already. Let’s go get Alpine.”
—
Later that evening, you were both back at the café. The little white cat was still perched in her usual spot by the patio, paws tucked under her like a loaf of bread.
Bucky crouched down and softly called, “Hey, Alpine…”
Her ears twitched. She lifted her head, saw him—and without hesitation, padded straight over. She hopped onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, head bumping against his chest before she curled against him.
“Yup,” you murmured, watching him hold her like she was the most delicate thing in the world. “You’re hers now.”
He scooped her up carefully, and she made no fuss—just settled in with a quiet purr, trusting and content.
—
The evening ended with a smooth vet visit—Alpine was healthy, just a little underweight—and a very enthusiastic trip to the nearby pet store that felt, quite honestly, more like preparing for a royal homecoming than a casual adoption.
The moment you stepped inside, Bucky froze like a soldier facing an unexpected new mission.
“This is… a lot,” he muttered, surveying the rows of colorful packaging and towers of cat furniture like they were tactical assets on a battlefield. You watched his eyes dart from brand names to ingredient lists with the same intense focus he used when analyzing mission files.
He lingered in the litter box aisle for an embarrassingly long time, crouched in front of three nearly identical models with his brow furrowed. One had a carbon filter, another promised “maximum odor control,” and the third came in sleek matte black.
“This one looks like it belongs in Stark’s bathroom,” he grumbled.
“Then she’ll probably hate it,” you replied, laughing as you nudged him. “Just pick one that doesn’t look like a spaceship.”
“She deserves something classy,” he insisted, eventually settling on a simple beige model with a privacy hood and golden trim. “She’s got dignity.”
The indecision didn’t stop there. In the food aisle, he hovered like a man trying to choose the perfect wine for a Michelin-starred dinner. He held up one bag of premium organic kibble like it held the answer to the universe.
“This says wild-caught salmon,” he mumbled, reading the back. “But this one has freeze-dried duck. Which one’s better? Which one screams ‘I love you and I respect your primal instincts’?”
“She’s a five-pound cat, Buck.”
“She’s my five-pound cat,” he said stubbornly. “I can’t give her anything boring. What if she hates me?”
Then, with sudden intensity, he looked at you and said, completely serious: “Should I just buy raw steak? Like… once a week? A little Friday night ritual? We could call it Alpine’s Ribeye Hour.”
You burst out laughing. “No, babe. No ribeye hour. She doesn’t need red meat marbled to perfection.”
A staff member nearby chuckled and gently stepped in. “If she’s not on a raw diet, that much red meat might upset her stomach. Fancy kibble and wet food will do fine. Maybe throw in a few freeze-dried treats.”
Bucky nodded slowly, as if receiving sacred instructions.
“I just want her to feel safe,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. “Like she’s somewhere soft and permanent.”
“She already does,” you reminded him softly.
Eventually, you both left the store with a small cart piled high: a tall cat tree (“She deserves the high ground,” Bucky declared), a pastel pink ceramic bowl set (“Matches her tiny murder princess energy”), a soft faux-fur bed, several mouse-shaped toys, a bag of treats shaped like little fish, and a feather wand Bucky couldn’t stop playing with while waiting in line.
“She’s gonna think we’re insane,” you said.
“She’s gonna think she won the lottery,” he replied.
—
By the time you were both back at the Watchtower—inside your cozy, shared space that passed for a home more than a mission base—Alpine was already out of her carrier and trotting forward like she’d been here before in another life.
Tail held high, she made her rounds with purpose. First the kitchen, where she sniffed the legs of the island and examined the corner near the fridge. Then the couch, where she clawed lightly at the throw blanket you’d folded earlier that morning, as if testing the texture for naps. She darted into the hallway, disappeared into the bathroom, and reappeared with what looked like a stray cotton swab in her mouth.
“She’s inspecting her kingdom,” you whispered.
“No—she’s checking for weak spots in our defenses,” Bucky replied seriously, crouching to retrieve the cotton swab from her mouth. “Classic flanking maneuver.”
Eventually, she made her way into the bedroom, pausing only once to look over her shoulder and chirp—a soft, curious sound that neither of you had expected to melt your hearts the way it did.
You followed her inside, and watched as she leapt effortlessly onto the bed. But not just anywhere. No. She walked with clear intent to Bucky’s side—his pillow still creased from that morning—and plopped down like she owned it.
“I…” Bucky blinked. “I think I’m the chosen one.”
“You are,” you smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re covered in fur and she already slept on you once. You’re marked.”
As if to prove it, Alpine stretched and rolled sideways, exposing her belly to the ceiling as she purred and rubbed her face into Bucky’s pillow like she was stamping her signature all over it.
He stepped forward slowly, like if he moved too fast she might vanish. But when he sat on the edge of the mattress, Alpine stood, walked over, and—with the most casual entitlement—climbed halfway up his leg like a tiny mountain lion scaling familiar terrain.
“Did you see that?” he whispered, wide-eyed and trying very hard not to move. “She picked me again.”
You grinned, arms crossed. “Yeah. She’s definitely got good taste.”
Alpine nuzzled her cheek into the dark fabric of his pants before curling into a loaf at his feet, purring like a little motor. The kind of sound you could feel if you stood close enough—warm and steady.
Bucky’s voice dropped to something almost reverent. “She’s home.”
—
Dinner was easy that night. The two of you ate on the small dining table tucked against the window, city lights sparkling far below. You passed each other bites between conversation and quiet laughter, half of your attention stolen by the soft presence now occupying the middle of the table.
Alpine had curled up just to the left of Bucky’s plate, nose tucked under her tail, the tips of her ears twitching ever so slightly. Her soft, rhythmic purring filled the space like background music—comforting, cozy, like a fireplace crackling.
Bucky just stared at her for a long moment, chin resting on his palm, spoon suspended in his other hand.
“You good, Buck?” you asked gently.
He didn’t even look away from her. “Mmhmm,” he hummed, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. “I’m full already. Could listen to that purr all night.”
You snorted into your drink, setting it down with a smirk. “So that’s it, huh? I’ve lost my queen position to a white cat with jellybean toes?”
Bucky finally turned to you with the softest look—like he’d never been more sure of anything in his life—and said, “Nah. You’re the queen. She’s just… the royal advisor. Or a tiny fluffy tyrant.”
“She’s got you wrapped around her paw.”
“She does,” he admitted, completely unbothered. “And I’d do anything she asked.”
You couldn’t even pretend to be jealous. Watching him like this—gentle, light, his guard down so far it was practically gone—you felt the warmth of this little family settling into place around you.
And across the table, Alpine purred on. Content. Safe. Home.
—
Night fell quiet over the Watchtower, the kind of stillness only broken by the hum of distant aircraft traffic and the occasional creak of the unit’s HVAC system. In the soft light of your bedroom, all was warm and calm. Alpine was nowhere to be seen for now—last you saw, she’d been investigating the inside of Bucky’s tactical boot.
You were already under the covers, curled into Bucky’s chest, his vibranium arm stretched behind your pillow and his flesh hand lazily tracing patterns over your shoulder. Nothing heated, nothing rushed. Just the kind of closeness that spoke in silence—shared warmth, steady heartbeats, fingers laced under the sheets like they belonged there.
“I love this,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.
“Mmhmm,” he hummed into your hair. “Me too.”
But then, after a beat, you felt him shift. Just slightly. Then again—shoulders squirming, fingers pausing on your back.
“Bucky,” you said, suspiciously. “Why are you moving?”
He hesitated… then whispered like a kid asking for dessert past bedtime, “Can I… go pet Alpine now?”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve been waiting all day to cuddle with her,” he said, completely sincere. “I thought maybe she’d sleep on my chest tonight or curl into my arm or something.”
You groaned and buried your face in his neck. “You traitor. I lose my spot to a rescue cat in less than twelve hours.”
But before either of you could move, there was a soft thump from the hallway—then the elegant click of tiny paws against the wooden floor. Alpine strutted into the room like she owned the lease.
“There she is,” Bucky whispered excitedly, already shifting up onto one elbow with a smile spreading across his face.
You watched, amused, as Alpine paused at the edge of the bed, assessed the situation like a military tactician… and then, with no hesitation whatsoever, padded to your side and flopped down against your stomach. Not between the two of you. Not on Bucky.
Just you.
Bucky blinked.
You stared.
Alpine let out one satisfied purr, stretched long across your middle like a sash, and closed her eyes. Her white fur glowed in the soft bedside lamp, her little pink nose twitching like she’d claimed her spot and would not be moved.
“…She picked you,” Bucky said, sounding personally wounded.
“Oh no,” you gasped, not hiding your grin. “Oh no, Sergeant Barnes, I believe you’ve been rejected.”
“I fed her salmon bits tonight,” he said, genuinely baffled. “I carried her around PetSmart for two hours like she was royalty. I said she was my girl!”
“She was your girl,” you teased. “But clearly, she has her eye on the throne now.”
He narrowed his eyes, flopping back onto the pillow with an exaggerated sigh. “Betrayal. In my own bed.”
You reached over with a smirk, gently shifting Alpine so she now lay in the middle between you both. She didn’t curl into a tight ball, like she had before—instead, she stretched out flat and long, paws extended forward, belly facing up proudly as if to say yes, I own you both now.
Her purring started almost instantly—loud and deep, vibrating against the mattress like a lullaby.
“Well,” Bucky murmured, giving her a fond scratch behind the ear, “if she’s in the middle, then at least I get joint custody.”
You smiled, snuggling closer, your arm brushing his over Alpine’s fluff. “Looks like the bed’s not just ours anymore.”
He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your temple, and whispered, “I don’t mind. As long as you’re both here.”
And under the soft hum of Alpine’s purring, the three of you slowly drifted off to sleep—safe, warm, and home.
