I live for clichés. Sitting on a Parisian rooftop, reading poetry in the early morning when the air is crisp and cold, soft kisses peppered across the face, romantic bouquets, walking as if on air throughout an art museum, every corridor empty except for me, pressing post-it-notes with messages to all the walls of my apartment, being unable keep myself from gasping as the heavy burgundy curtains of a opera house reveals beauty. I want it all.
how do you think alpha bucky would react to his mate being in heat? Reader x bucky please?