crazyunsexycool

[crazyunsexycool]

How to cure a grump (2)

Summary: You’re losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, grumpy Bucky, awful boss, mistaken identity, kinda fake dating trope, snowed-in trope

How to cure a grump (1)

How to cure a grump masterlist

James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky to his friends, prides himself on not being a petty man. He believes in second chances. So, when storms toward his private jet, he tries not to be too angry.

One day before Christmas he must fly across the country to find a missing employee. Or rather, ex-employee.

Bucky grits his teeth, barely acknowledging the petite blonde welcoming him with a French accent. He always had a thing for French women or women in general.

Today, he doesn’t care, too angry at you for spending Christmas with your parents and not waiting for his call.

“That woman! The audacity! How dare she block my number!” He’s fuming. If this was a cartoon, steam would come out of his ears.

Bucky barks orders at the pilot and the stewardess before sitting down. He hates Christmas and everything that comes with it. From the cheery attitude to exchanging gifts. James Buchanan Barnes is the Grinch in flesh and blood.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Bucky loses his temper for a second, or like, ever. He glares at the poor girl telling him there’s only one left at the car rental. “I wanted an SUV, not a fucking truck.”

“Sir,” the girl sniffles, “I reserved the best car for you. It’s the Christmas season, and it's difficult to even rent out a car. We are booked out for months.”

“I don’t care! Is that how you do business?”

“Sir, I must ask you to lower your voice,” the owner of the car rental steps in. “We did our utmost to find another car for you. It’s the only one left. Take it or leave it. If you want to walk, it’s fine by me.”

Bucky grits his teeth. He’d love to go at the man like a missile but doesn’t have the time. If he wants to find your house, get the password, and leave within two hours to fly back to New York, he must swallow his pride and accept one defeat for today.

“Fine,” he growls at the man. “I’ll take that one.”

Bucky is beyond pissed. No one in your sleepy little hometown wants to tell him where you are living, or rather your parents. On top of all, his feet are hurting from running around town for hours.

He cracks his neck before entering the bakery, his last hope.

Bucky opens the door, forcing it to swing open. The little bell above the door rings, catching the other customers' attention. Your former boss, in his expensive slacks, coat, and slippers, sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Good day, Sir,” the owner chirps. She’s a short woman in her early fifties, wearing a brown mini dress shaped like a gingerbread man cookie, with icing details and colorful candy accents. It has a slightly flared skirt and appears to have a tulle underskirt. “What can I do for you?” We have a special offer for Christmas-themed cupcakes and muffins. Or do you prefer classic gingerbread cookies?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Bucky cuts her off. “Y/N Y/L/N. I think she’s at her parents’ house.”

“OH! OH! You must be the handsome fiancé she was hiding for so long!” The owner rounds the corner to wrap Bucky in a hug. He stiffens, not used to unwanted affection from strangers. “But… didn’t you come with her?”

“I—I,” Bucky stammers. If he tells the owner the truth, she’ll not tell him where your parents are living. “Work kept me busy last minute.”

“—and now you came here to surprise her,” she concludes, and Bucky doesn’t correct her. What else can he do? “Wait, I’ll write her address down. And, oh, you must take some of the cupcakes and cookies with you. They are on the house.”

All the women in the bakery sigh. They believe the handsome man in his expensive clothes came to surprise you on Christmas.

Well, in a way, he will surprise you.

“Mom, I’ll go and pick up the things you ordered. Do you need anything else?” You call for your mother, already halfway out of the house. “Mom?”

“Can you bring some cupcakes and cookies from Aunt Y/A/N’s bakery? Bread too. We don’t need to bake it this year. She offered to bake mine at the bakery!”

“Sure thing, Mom. Anything else? We don’t want to forget something, especially with the approaching snowstorm.”

“No, I got everything else, Munchkin. We will survive for at least three weeks or more with all the things in the pantry. You can stay for months if you want to.”

“Mom,” you sigh. Since you told her about your boss and that you lost your job, she offered you half of the house. She already talked to people in town. Within not three hours, you got four job offers. “We can talk about it after the holidays.”

“That’s not a no,” she coos. “You know, I’d love to have my Munchkin back at home.”

You smile because your mom means well and loves you unconditionally, but you know moving back home is not an option. After the holidays, you will attend a few job interviews. You already had a look at a few free positions and applied to them.

“I’ll be back soon, Mom. Call me if you need something else.”

“Coming,” your mom coos as someone impatiently rings the doorbell. She carries a plate with cookies toward the door, assuming it’s one of the neighbor’s kids. “What can I do for you?”

She opens the door, meeting stormy blue eyes. Bucky looks her up and down, humming as she’s the spitting image of you. “Mrs. Y/L/N,” he clears his throat, “I’m looking for your daughter, Y/N. I know it’s a busy time, but I need to talk to her.”

“Wait—” Your mother sizes Bucky up while trying to remember the picture you sent her some months back. The one of you and the guy you dated for a few months before he broke things up with you. “You must be…” She struggles to remember the name you gave her too.

“James,” Bucky offers, and holds out his hand. He chuckles as your mother is still holding a plate with cookies in her hands. “Sorry, can I help you with that?”

“Where are my manners!” She gasps. “It’s freezing, and you are standing on my front porch. Come in and get warm. Y/N is picking up some groceries for me. She’ll be back soon. Do you want coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”

Bucky reluctantly enters your mother’s house. He looks around before taking off his coat. His hands are ice cold thanks to the lack of hand gloves, and he cannot deny that he doesn’t feel his feet any longer.

“Yeah, the weather caught me cold,” Bucky and your mother chuckle at his bad wordplay. He takes off his shoes to wiggle his toes. “I didn’t expect the snow to be so…persistent.”

“We get lots of snow at this time of the year,” your mother says while preparing a hot beverage for Bucky. “Do you want some cookies too, or a sandwich maybe?”

“That’s too kind,” Bucky says. He doesn’t want to risk getting kicked out of your mother’s house. He’ll be waiting patiently for you to return, get the password, and be on his way.

You hurriedly get inside the house. The snowstorm already arrived, and you barely made it back to the house. “Mom, I’m back,” you call for your mother. “I guess we won’t be able to get in town anytime soon.”

“Munchkin,” your mother calls from the living room. “We have company. Can you come here?”

You frown. The last thing you need after fighting your way through snow masses is neighbors wanting to catch up with you. You love them, but explaining that you lost your job is something you don’t want to do again and again.

“Coming,” you take off your boots, coat, scarf, and hand gloves before walking into the living room. You suck in a breath watching your former boss get comfortable on your mother’s couch, a cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

“Look! He came to see you for Christmas.” Your mother gets up to give you and your “boyfriend” time. She still doesn’t know he’s your boss, or now ex-boss, not the guy breaking up with you weeks ago. “You can catch up while I take care of the groceries you got.”

Speechless, you watch your mother leave the room. “What are you doing here?” You spat at your former boss the moment your mother was out of sight. “How dare you come here to bug my mother!”

“She invited me in,” he dares to say. Bucky shrugs as you look at him, murder in your eyes. “I think she confused me with some other guy. She mentioned a boyfriend or fiancé.”

Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest. “Not even close,” you snap at him. “I was seeing someone, but my mom knows that it didn’t work out. What did you tell her? Did you lie to her?”

“Whoa, calm down,” he slowly gets up. “I’m here because you forgot to reset the password. I cannot access the files.”

“What?” You cock a brow. “I left my current password and the PIN to reset the password along with my keys. I gave them to the security, as suggested by Mr. Rogers the day I left.”

“Mr. Rogers—” Bucky huffs. “That punk! That goddamn motherfucker let me fly down here to get the password and knew you left it?”

“Problem solved,” you grunt and point toward the door. “If you’d leave me the fuck alone now. It’s almost Christmas, and the last thing I need is for my mom to believe you are the guy I dated!”

“Munchkin, will your boyfriend stay for Christmas? Do you want the guestroom to have more privacy?” You love your mother dearly, but right now, you’d love to tell her to shut up. “Y/N?”

“No!” You say. “He will fly back and spend Christmas in New York.”

“Oh, Munchkin, I don’t think he can,” your mother says while walking back inside the living room. She shows you her phone. “See, all airports are closed, and the streets are, well, you know the streets in winter. “I think James is stuck here.” She smiles softly while you start to sweat.

“I think he’d prefer a hotel!” You are quick to reply. “Right, James.” You clear your throat and furrow your brows. “You want to sleep at a hotel.”

“Nonsense,” your mother insists. “We have more than enough space. Let’s get his luggage inside before it gets even colder. I’m sure he’s tired and needs a rest.”

“Mrs. Y/L/N, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll go to a hotel,” Bucky jumps in, wanting nothing more than to get out of your mother’s house.

“All hotels are booked up. I talked to Mrs. Brock yesterday. There are no free rooms left. Your boyfriend can sleep here,” your mother chuckles. “I know you are all grown, Munchkin.” She kisses your cheek before leaving the room.

Awkward silence spreads through the room. You look at your boss, the man ruining Christmas and your career for you within a few seconds. “Why didn’t you tell her?” He asks.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” You throw your hands up. Dropping another bomb at your mom is the last thing you want. Maybe she forgot that you told her about the breakup some weeks ago.

“Uh—you know, I wanted the password and feared she’d kick me out getting to know I’m your boss.”

“Ex-boss,” you point out. Putting your hands on your hips, you huff. “Okay, we will survive one night. You’ll sleep in the guestroom, and tomorrow morning we will find a way to get you out of my hometown.”

“Good,” Bucky mutters.

“Good,” you snap at him before storming out of the room.

How to cure a grump (3)

More tags in reblog.

@cjand10, @nofingjustaninchident, @pettyjayy

[crazyunsexycool]

How to cure a grump (1)

Summary: You're losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, grumpy Bucky, awful boss

How to cure a grump masterlist

“Santa Claus is coming to town,” you sing along to the song blaring from your phone. You’re, as so often, the last one at the office.

Before the holidays, most of your colleagues try to get out of the office as early as possible. They have better plans than to work like busy ants two days before Christmas.

Sadly, you didn’t get to leave on the clock. Your boss demanded your attention. You couldn’t join your colleagues at the little Christmas party you organized for weeks.

Now they will all exchange the Secret Santa gifts you got for most of them, drink eggnog, and sing awful Christmas songs while you are stuck here with your grumpy boss.

“Miss Y/L/N, I need the numbers now." Mr. Barnes doesn’t even walk toward your desk. He simply barks orders your way.

You heave out a sigh and glance at the stack of papers on your desk. Before you get up to hand Mr. Barnes the numbers he wanted you to finish before the holidays, you save your work.

Grabbing the papers, you silently pray that Mr. Barnes won’t come up with more tasks. It’s long past your work time, and you’re tired and cranky. You’ll need a good night’s sleep and at least a day off before driving home for Christmas.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he barks as you are already halfway toward his office. Mr. Barnes huffs as you stumble over your own feet. “You know, I had better things to do than wait for the numbers. I have been waiting for hours. I think you’re the worst person working here.”

For a second, you’re stunned. You feel like Mr. Barnes slapped you across your face.

“Maybe if you asked the person responsible for the mistake to help you with the numbers, you'd like the outcome better. I worked overtime only to get yelled at!” You gasp. The words just flew out of your mouth, unfiltered and raw with emotions.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t work here any more then!” He bites back. It wasn’t a surprise to you that Mr. Barnes lost his temper. He’s always been a little hot-headed and grumpy. Mr. Barnes fired people here and there over the years. You just didn’t think you’d be one of them one day.

“You’re firing me after I fixed a mistake someone else made?” You huff and cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t see anyone else standing in line to work through the numbers. I worked overtime before the holidays to do you a favor.”

“That’s your job,” he growls and points at the door. “Or was. I want you to pack your things and don’t come back.”

“Fine,” you huff and turn on your heels, regretting your mishap instantly. You’d apologize and even fall to your knees to get your job back. Sadly, Mr. Barnes is a strict man. He doesn’t accept mistakes or insubordination. Whatever you’d do or say, there was no way he’d give you your job back.

So, you got a box from the storage room, emptied your desk, grabbed your belongings, and left the building for the last time in your life. To hell with this job and your boss.

“Mom, stop asking questions,” you plead as your mother wouldn’t stop asking questions about your job.

“It’s all so exciting. Living in the big city, having friends you meet up at bars like Carrie in Sex and the City, and your job. It sounds wonderful!”

“Mom, I barely made any friends,” you sigh, and try to rub the embarrassment off your face. “I’d call them work friends or acquaintances.”

“I bet they are all too happy to have you around,” she coos and cups your face. “I know my Munchkin conquered the big city in no time.”

“Mom, I—” you sniffle and look away, ashamed. It never gets easy to lie to your mother. “I have to tell you something about the job.”

“What is it, Munchkin?” she asks, looking at you, worry in her eyes. She coos to you as you begin to cry. Starting anew after your long-term boyfriend and fiancé broke things up was the dream you wanted to fulfill. Now, you failed again.

“I got fired yesterday,” you sniff. “I worked overtime, and my boss yelled at me. I fixed someone else’s mistake, and he still yelled at me. I lost it and…” You shake your head and refuse to look at your mother.

“Y/N, that’s not the end of the world.” She wraps you in a warm embrace. The kind of embrace only a mother can give you. You feel warm and safe, remembering all the times she calmed you in times of need. “You’ll find a new job, a better one. If he fired you, that man doesn’t know how to value you.”

“The fuck no!” Bucky flings a stack of papers across the room. He tried to access your account, only to realize he never asked you to reset your password. Now he’s seething because most of your work, except the files you shared with colleagues and him, is password protected. “She forgot to reset the fucking password!”

“Well, you told her to pack her things and leave, Buck. What did you expect to happen?” Steve huffs. He had to leave his cozy home and wife to help Bucky with some unimportant paperwork. “We've got time to fix this until after the holidays.”

“Unimportant to you,” Bucky bites back. “I want this finished before the year ends.”

“Buck,” Steve snorts. “If you need her password, call her.” The blonde shrugs before turning to leave. “I know you are not the best at communicating, but I believe in you. You can handle a phone call with a woman you just fired.”

“I tried more than once,” Bucky snaps at his best friend and business partner. “She won’t answer. The last time I called, she blocked my number.”

“Yeah, because you fired her!” Steve replies, laughing. “I wouldn’t answer any call from an asshole firing me two days before Christmas, either.”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply. He huffs as his friend already walks toward the door.

“What shall I do now? I need the password!”

“If you cannot reach her, go to her home and ask for the password. I will go home now. Please don’t call me during Christmas. Natasha will rip me a new one if I miss Christmas.”

“She’s not home. I was there. Her neighbors told me that Y/N will spend Christmas at her parents’ house. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Buck,” Steve laughs. “You can fly to her hometown and ask her for the password. While on your way back, you can celebrate with a pretty stewardess in first class as every Christmas…”

How to cure a grump (2)

[crazyunsexycool]

Omg yes!!!!!!!!

Foundations (#7)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 6.2.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Previous Chapter

When Bucky returned to the apartment, Thomas was already waiting expectantly for him to serve dinner. He grabbed two plates, ladling generous portions of the stew she’d made before setting them down on the table.

He took his seat and watched as his little one dug in immediately, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth before pausing mid-chew. His eyes widened slightly. “This is so good, daddy” the kid announced through a mouthful, nodding to himself like he was confirming his own statement.

Bucky smirked, shaking his head as he took his own bite.

Damn.

Yeah. It was good.

She always cooked well, but tonight, for some reason, it tasted different. Maybe because of everything that happened. Maybe because his body was still trying to recover from the fucking elevator.

Later, much later, when Thomas was asleep, when the dishes were washed, and the apartment was silent except for the occasional creak of the old pipes, Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything.

The way she had looked at him.

The way she had touched him.

The way she had let him touch her.

Steve had been right. Not imagining things, not making it up to spare his "poor, damaged friend." And that little part of him -the one that still had some self-esteem and hadn’t been completely swallowed by self-loathing and doubt- had been right, too.

But tomorrow, she would come again after picking up Thomas from kindergarten as always, like nothing had happened. Because that’s what they'd have to do. Pretend -or try to pretend- nothing had happened. At least until they had a chance to talk. It wasn’t a simple thing. Fuck, it was the furthest thing from simple.

Because if -if- they talked and decided on something… stable, something real, he couldn’t just throw that bomb at Thomas like it was nothing.

He was a child. His kid. And as his father, his well-being always had to come first.

No matter what Bucky wanted.

----

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, with her heart still thrumming with the ghosts of his fingers on her body.

It happened. She could barely believe it, but it did.

She thought it was just her. That she was the only one foolish enough to catch feelings, to overanalyze his stares, his comments, the subtle brushes of their bodies when sometimes wasn’t necessary. She chalked it up to loneliness, to proximity, to the way her heart had clung onto the first person in a long time who treated her well.

But she hadn’t imagined it. It was there. It had been there all along.

She turned onto her side, curling her fingers into the sheets. Then there was… the other thing. The news. The police station. The way he hadn’t denied a damn thing, telling her he would do it again.

Should she feel guilty?

Maybe.

But she didn’t.

The creep had it coming, and she couldn’t shake the warm, twisted sensation curling in her gut at the knowledge that Bucky had been the one to make sure of it. He hunted him down.

For her.

And that should probably unnerve her. Should probably make her question things, but instead, she felt safe.

Protected.

She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut.

Tomorrow, she would have to walk into that apartment like nothing had changed. Like they hadn’t been tangled up, kissing, grinding, and… like she hadn’t almost let him fuck her against an elevator wall. Because if it weren’t for that alarm, she would have.

But it had changed.

And there was no going back.

----

She arrived at the apartment as usual with Thomas in tow, chatting about something that had happened in kindergarten. When she opened the door Bucky was there, waiting, greeting the child with a small smile and a ruffle of his hair but his eyes, found hers the second she walked in. She set her bag down in the usual spot, and she felt the heat of his gaze linger on her longer than necessary. He looked away a second too late. Then cleared his throat.

Routine. They had a routine.

So she went to the kitchen, and he followed, under the excuse of getting some water. They moved around each other like always, but it wasn’t like always anymore.

She felt it In the brush of his fingers against hers when she handed him a glass. In the way his arm ghosted against her back when they crossed paths, close enough to feel the furnace heat radiating from his body. In the way he stood just a little too close when he reached for the tin of cookies in the cupboard, brushing his chest on her shoulder.

It was suffocating and intoxicating. And then there was the staring.

She caught him at one point while she was stirring the pot, gripping the back of the chair, jaw tense, eyes dark, trailing slowly from the curve of her neck down to where her sweater bunched at her hips.

It made her body prickle with awareness, impossible to focus on anything but the memory of his hands gripping her thighs, his mouth on hers, the way he ground against her until she could barely think.

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” Thomas announced suddenly, hopping off his chair.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

The moment the child disappeared around the corner, his eyes flicked to the empty hallway, then to her.

A second later, he moved.

With the grace of a predator, he was on her, curling his fingers around her wrist, and tugging her toward the kitchen with a firm but controlled grip.

She barely had time to gasp before he caged her against the counter, pressing his hands flat on either side of her body, trapping her.

"Bucky-"

He didn’t let her finish.

His lips were on hers, rough, demanding, like he had been holding himself back all day and finally snapped.

She responded immediately, gripping the front of his shirt and yanking him closer as he angled his head, deepening the kiss. She whimpered when his vibranium hand slid up her side, grasping her hip.

“We need to talk about this,” he muttered against her lips.

“Y- yes,” she managed to reply between gasps.

His grip on her and the counter tightened as he ground against her, just once, enough to make her gasp into his mouth.

“Come early tomorrow, when the kiddo is in kindergarten” he rasped, his voice rough, needy.

She could only nod.

Thomas' voice echoed from the hallway.

"Buck-"

He was already stepping away, breathing heavily, with hands clenched into fists at his sides.

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath.

���Tomorrow,” he repeated, with a strained voice. Then he turned, heading back to the dining table just as Thomas rounded the corner, leaving her against the counter, trying -and failing- to compose herself.

After a couple of minutes, his phone rang. Bucky exhaled sharply, ticking his jaw, and pulled the phone from his pocket. He checked the caller ID and answered.

A pause. His expression hardened further. “Understood. When?”

Another pause. His eyes flicked to her for a split second before landing on the floor. “You can’t expect me- no. Yes, she’s already- I… I’ll be there in an hour.”

The second Bucky hung up, Thomas’s little voice piped up, full of concern. “Do you have to go far?” perceptive.

Bucky sighed, pocketing his phone. “Yeah, buddy. Gotta take care of something urgent.”

“For how long?” he countered.

“Just a few days.” Bucky sighed.

Thomas’s brows knitted together. “Will you be back for the weekend?”

He hesitated just a second too long. “I don’t know yet, kiddo. But I’ll try.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy him. “Do you have to go? Can’t someone else do it?”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair before reaching out to ruffle Thomas’s. “I gotta help, pal. Just like I’d want someone to help me if I needed it.” That seemed to help. A little. “Listen, kid. I need to talk to her for a minute, okay? Just grown-up stuff.”

The child considered that for a moment before nodding. “Okay, Daddy.” He slid off his chair, grabbing a toy from the table before heading toward his room, but not before throwing one last glance over his shoulder as if double-checking that everything really was okay.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel. “How long?” she asked softly.

“Four, maybe five days,” he muttered, slipping the phone into his pocket. His gaze flicked to her, hesitating for a fraction of a second before continuing. “You good with that?”

It was the first time since she had started working there that he was leaving for various days. But they had agreed on this. She knew what she was signing up for.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “We’ll be fine.”

Bucky exhaled, raking a hand through his hair again before stepping closer, voice lower, rougher. “Look, I know we-” He cut himself off, glancing toward the hallway, then pressed his lips into a thin line, as if holding something back.

She swallowed, tightening her fingers around the dish towel.

His gaze flickered down to her hands, then back up to her face. He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

A small, humorless chuckle escaped her lips. “Yeah, well. Life’s funny that way.”

He huffed out a breath, shifting his weight like he was fighting some internal battle. Finally, he settled on: “When I get back, we figure this out.” He stated, walking toward his room.

----

When he emerged in full gear, bag slung over his shoulder, Thomas ran to hug him. "Do you really have to go?" the child’s lower lip wobbled slightly as he asked again, and Bucky sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I do, but listen, this time, you’re staying here instead of going to Uncle Steve’s or the tower.” That seemed to ease some of Thomas' anxiety, and his brows lifted in surprise. "You're gonna stay with her." He nodded toward her, offering his son a small smile.

Thomas blinked, then turned to her, and his worry gave way to excitement. “Really?”

She ruffled his hair. “Yep. Just you and me, kiddo.”

Bucky nodded. “That means you gotta behave and help her out. You’re the man of the house now, alright?”

Thomas’s chest puffed up slightly at that, and Bucky hugged him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

When he straightened his stance, she was already grabbing her jacket. “I’ll walk you down.”

He hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Alright.”

The elevator ride was quiet, thick with everything they hadn’t had the time -or the courage- to say. She glanced at him once and saw his fingers flexing around the strap of his bag, his jaw tight. Then, without warning, his arm shot out, pressing the stop button. The elevator shuddered to a halt.

She turned to him, heart thudding, parting her lips slightly at the heat in his gaze.

Bucky exhaled sharply, backing her up against the wall, caging her in with his body, dipping his head slightly as if debating what to say. “I left you a magnetic card inside the rice container. If anything happens, if you need anything, if you are scared, go to Stark Tower. That’ll get you in.”

She swallowed, then nodded, unconsciously gazing at his lips.

His fingers curled against the strap of his bag. "I wish things were different, doll." His voice was rough and thick. "I wanted-"

"I know." She reached up, cupping his stubbled cheek, and he leaned into her touch for just a second before closing the distance.

The bag hit the floor with a dull thud, but he didn’t care. He was too busy drinking her in, pressing her against the elevator wall as his lips moved hungrily over hers. His vibranium hand cupped the back of her head, fingers fisting her hair, holding her there like he was afraid she’d disappear before he got back.

Five days. Too damn long.

Her fingers curled against his jaw, nails grazing his stubble, and he swallowed the little sound she made when he tilted her chin up, deepening the kiss. He was being selfish. He knew it. Taking what he could before duty called, before he had to step back into that other version of himself.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, “Bucky,” she murmured, and damn, if his name didn’t sound perfect on her lips.

He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to step away, as his muscles screamed in protest when he bent to grab his bag. When he straightened, his thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, wiping away the tiniest smudge of spit-slicked lip-gloss.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

She nodded, licking her slightly swollen lips. “I know.”

With that, he pressed the button, and the elevator jerked back to life.

----

The days passed in a strange mix of normalcy, and the feeling of Bucky’s absence. Thomas was as cheerful as ever, filling the apartment with laughter and endless questions, but the hole was there. It was ridiculous, really, Bucky wasn’t even that talkative, wasn’t the type to hover or make himself the center of attention. And yet, without him, something was missing.

She tried not to dwell on it, focusing on Thomas, and keeping herself busy. But little things kept catching her off guard. Cooking felt different, and she caught herself making the amount of food he would eat with his insane metabolism, instead of adapting it to her appetite.

Then, one afternoon, her phone rang. It was Steve.

“Hey,” she greeted, balancing it between her ear and shoulder as she stirred the pot on the stove.

"Hey, uh... listen," Steve started, and her stomach twisted. No. “Bucky’s fine.”

Her hand froze mid-stir.

“He’s fine,” he repeated, sensing her tension. “Took a couple of bullets, but nothing the serum won’t heal. He just- he needs rest, but he refused to stay at the medbay after the briefing.”

Her grip tightened around the spoon.

“What do you mean, bullets?”

“High caliber rounds. Pierced his suit. He’s healing, but it’s taking longer than usual.”

She exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a second. “Where is he now?”

"He left the tower and is probably heading home. Just wanted to let you know."

"Thank you, Steve. I'll see he rests properly, don't you worry." She tried not to alert Thomas, serving him the chicken and rice and chatting normally with him about the bubble concoction they were going to prepare tomorrow.

----

The sound of the key turning in the lock made her pause, tightening the hold on the plate she was washing. The door swung open before she could reach it, and Thomas was already bolting across the apartment before she could stop him.

Bucky barely had time to drop his bag before the kid flung himself at him, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck.

“Daddy!”

She watched as Bucky caught him easily, staggering only slightly before securing the kid against his hip. His free hand came up to rub soothing circles over the boy’s back.

“Hey, hey, I’m here, buddy,” he murmured with exhaustion. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

But Thomas only clung tighter, little fingers fisting into the fabric of his henley. His shoulders shook slightly, and it didn’t take much to realize he was crying. Bucky sighed, shutting the door with his foot before making his way toward the kitchen, carrying Thomas like he weighed nothing. He had no idea how to handle this. He could patch up wounds, endure pain, and fight through gunfire, but comforting a crying child, his child, always left him feeling helpless. He pressed a kiss to Thomas’ temple, tightening his grip. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

When he stepped into the warm light, she caught a flicker of something on his face, an almost imperceptible wince as he shifted the boy in his arms.

He was dressed comfortably in a clean pair of black sweatpants and a henley, surely got a shower and a checkup before bolting home but his exhaustion and pain were obvious. The way his shoulders sagged just slightly, the way the corner of his mouth twitched when Thomas moved too suddenly against him.

Still, he offered her a small, tired smile. “I’m home.”

“Welcome back.”

Both of them hesitated, suddenly aware of what had happened before he left.

Then, she reached out, briefly squeezing his forearm. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” he admitted, shifting his weight, careful not to jostle Thomas too much. “Actually, I’m starving. But don’t cook anything, just some sandwiches will do.”

She scoffed. “There’s chicken and rice. I ended up making a lot, so…”

Bucky groaned, and just that sound sent a ripple of warmth through her body. “That sounds so good, doll.” The endearment slipped out naturally, but Thomas didn’t seem to register it.

“Alright,” she said, moving toward the counter. “Go lay in your bed, and I’ll bring everything in a pinch.”

He just looked at her. “I’ll just sit here and-”

“This is not a democracy, Bucky,” she cut in smoothly, leveling him with a look. Then she turned to Thomas, softening her tone. “Baby, will you do me a favor and take Daddy to his room? Maybe help him with his boots?”

Thomas nodded eagerly. “Come on, Daddy. You gotta listen to her.”

Bucky huffed, twitching his lips like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just muttered, “Little traitor,” and turned toward the bedroom.

She smirked to herself as she turned back to the stove, reheating the food.

A few minutes later, with the tray carefully balanced in her hands, she nudged the door open with her foot.

He was stretched out against the pillows, with one arm draped over his eyes, while Thomas sat cross-legged beside him, chatting happily.

She set the tray on the nightstand and nudged his thigh gently. “Eat.”

He peeked up at her, exhausted but amused. “So bossy.”

She ignored the comment, crossing her arms as she assessed him. “Do you need help?” Her voice was carefully neutral, not wanting to say too much with Thomas still in the room.

Bucky sighed, running a hand down his face. “Steve called you, didn’t he?”

She nodded. “On your way here.”

He muttered a curse under his breath.

She hesitated, then carefully asked, “Where?” She didn’t say how bad, but the implication was clear.

“Shoulder and thigh,” he admitted reluctantly.

She huffed. “More reason to stay in bed, then.”

“I can sit up on my own, y’know.”

“Will you manage to-”

His glare cut her off. “You’re not feeding me like a baby. I’m very capable of doing it myself.” As I have been for years.

She lifted her hands in surrender. “Alright, I assume you’ll sit on your own too, then.” She took a step back toward the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

And with that, she disappeared, leaving him grumbling into his rice.

----

She sorted through the laundry basket, folding clothes into neat piles, and smoothing out wrinkles with the flat of her palm. Every so often, she glanced at the clock, waiting for the right moment. When she figured that he might have emptied his plate, she made her way to his room, stepping lightly.

Thomas was curled up beside him, with one small hand resting on Bucky’s chest, and his tiny face relaxed in sleep. Bucky, on the other hand, looked exhausted but awake, flicking his gaze to her the moment she entered.

She kept her voice low. “Want another helping?”

His answer came in the form of a slow nod, “And… maybe a piece of bread too.”

She returned a few minutes later, with a plate balanced in one hand, and a folded blanket in the other. She placed the plate on the nightstand, then leaned down to drape the blanket over Thomas, tucking it around him carefully.

As she straightened, her eyes landed on Bucky again, and she sighed. “Stubborn man.”

Bucky blinked at her, confused, until she grabbed a cushion and circled the bed to his side.

“Come on,” she murmured, “Lift yourself a little more.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though he didn’t stop her when she slid a hand behind his back, helping him as he shifted.

“You are not fine.” She gave him a pointed look before shoving the cushion behind him, making sure it gave him proper support.

He let out a small huff, but the fight had already drained out of him. It wasn’t just about the cushion, and they both knew it.

Her eyes flicked down to his henley, her lips twitching. “Besides, your shirt ratted you out.”

Bucky frowned, looking down. Sure enough, greasy stains dotted the fabric where he had spilled food earlier. Shit. He had been careful picking up the rice grains and the occasional cube of chicken, or at least he thought he had.

Grumbling a low fine, he settled more comfortably against the pillow as she handed him the plate.

She hovered for a second, like she was about to say something, then shook her head. “I’ll let you eat. I should get back to the laundry.”

Before she could step away, his fingers brushed against hers. “…Stay?”

It was soft. A little unsure.

She had missed him. God, she had missed him.

She didn’t hesitate before perching on the edge of the bed, close but not too close. “Alright,” she said, gently. “I’ll stay with you.”

Bucky took a few bites in silence before she finally asked, “How are you feeling?” Then, before he could deflect, she quickly added, “And no lying. I know you act tough in front of Thomas, but he’s asleep now.”

He hesitated, dropping his gaze to his plate. “It’s been a long time since I got shot,” he admitted. “Guess I forgot how much it could hurt. But the serum will take care of it.” He shrugged, scooping up another bite.

She hummed, watching him closely. “Still,” she murmured, tilting her head. “Just because it’ll heal faster doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”

Bucky scoffed softly, chewing with unnecessary focus. “I’m not ignoring it.”

She arched a brow. “You told me once your metabolism burns through medications too fast. So, I assume no painkillers or anti-inflammatories are doing much right now. Which means you have to rest. Tonight, Steve told me-”

“Steve talks too much.” His voice was dry.

She sighed and shot him a pointed look. “He worries about you. And he’s right.” Her voice softened. “You have to take it easy, alright?”

Bucky swallowed, his throat worked around the words he wanted to say but couldn’t. He had missed her. More than he wanted to admit. And now, here she was, sitting beside him, fussing over him, making sure he was comfortable, and staying, even though she didn’t have to. He lifted another bite to his mouth, chewing slowly, just to focus on something else. “I’ll rest,” he said eventually, quieter now. “You’ll be here, anyway.”

Something flickered in her eyes at that. A small smile played at the corner of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I’ll be around.”

And somehow, Bucky knew she wasn’t just talking about tonight.

----

Since Bucky was already home, she settled into Thomas’ bed, which was substantially better than the couch. At some point in the night, a noise in the kitchen startled her awake, a faint rattle of metal against wood, followed by a muffled curse.

Her heart stuttered before her brain recognized the timbre, Bucky. She exhaled slowly as she rolled over, and reached for her phone. 4 a.m.

Frowning, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She grabbed the wool cardigan she had draped over the chair and pulled it on over her nightdress, padding out into the hall on silent feet.

A quick glance inside Bucky’s room showed Thomas still curled up against his dad’s pillow, sleeping soundly.

But in the kitchen, she found Bucky squatting, stacking pots and pans back into the cabinet while swearing.

“What the hell are you doing?” she whispered harshly, her voice just loud enough for him to hear. He barely had time to lift his head before she was right there, grabbing his good arm, and tugging at him to stand up. "You got shot in the thigh and you’re squatting at this hour doing God knows what? Is this your idea of resting?"

For a second, he looked like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, but he recovered fast, smoothing his expression into something unreadable.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna wake you." His voice was low, scratchy from sleep deprivation. "I just wanted to heat some milk, but I can’t find the damn steel jar-"

She blinked. "And you're not microwaving it because…?"

"It's not the same," he muttered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She arched a brow.

"The texture’s different," he elaborated begrudgingly. "And I’ve always heated it this way, so…"

Ah. Perks of being born in the ‘20s, she supposed.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Alright, fine. Just sit down and I’ll find it for you."

He didn’t move.

“Bucky.” Her tone was sharp. "Go sit on that chair or I swear to God, I-"

Before she could finish, his hands were suddenly on her waist, gripping firmly, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her breath hitched as he effortlessly placed her on the counter, stepping into the space between her thighs, crowding her in.

“You were saying?” he murmured against her ear, his voice was a low rasp of challenge and something else.

A shiver ghosted down her spine.

Oh, fuck.

She swallowed hard, and her pulse jumped under the heat of his mouth.

“You know,” he murmured, brushing his lips on the shell of her ear, “you’re pretty bossy for being the nanny.” His grasp on her hips became firmer, as his fingers pressed into the soft fabric of her nightdress and her flesh. “And last time I checked, you’re not my mom, so-”

He tilted his head, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down the column of her neck, pausing just at her pulse point to nip gently at her skin.

Her fingers curled against the edge of the counter, gripping the cool surface as she tried to remember how words worked.

"Where does that leave you, huh?" His voice was a low, rough drawl against her skin.

Where was she standing?

Her mind scrambled for something -anything- to latch onto. "I-um. I'm just worried because Steve-"

"Fuck Steve."

He tilted her chin up, guiding her gaze to his, and damn it all, his eyes were too much. Dark and heated and full of intent.

“Tell me, doll,” he murmured, stroking his thumb on the curve of her jaw. “What’s going on here? We owed ourselves a little chat… and damn if I don’t think it’s time for that.”

She exhaled shakily, feeling like the ground beneath her had been pulled away. This wasn’t how she imagined this conversation if she had ever dared to imagine it at all.

His body was warm between her legs, his hands were still gripping her hips, and she could feel the tension radiating from his body. Expectant. Waiting.

And yet, she hesitated.

It wasn’t that she didn’t feel the same. God, she did. But putting it into words, exposing herself… that was terrifying.

Her silence must have stretched too long because his face shifted, and something guarded crept into his expression. He exhaled through his nose, tightening his jaw.

He should be ashamed of himself.

This wasn’t how he was raised. This wasn’t how a man should treat a woman, coaxing her, pressuring her to speak first, to lay her feelings bare before he had the nerve to do the same.

His old self would’ve been mortified.

But that version of him, the one who had confidence, who knew how to flirt, how to charm, how to navigate a woman’s affections without second-guessing himself, died in Austria.

What was left was a man who had spent decades as a weapon, and then, after that, just trying to survive the modern world carrying the weight of what he’d done. Who didn’t know how to handle something good without overthinking it to death. He could still hear himself, the desperate edge in his own voice just moments ago.

"Tell me what this is. Tell me what you want."

Like a goddamn interrogation.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping back slightly, though his hands lingered on her hips like he couldn’t make himself let go. “Just… ah, this is so pathetic. Let me-” He took a breath, and she saw it, the moment he forced himself to speak, to be vulnerable. “I like you. A lot.” He swallowed hard. “Hell, since the first day I saw you at the kindergarten, I thought you were pretty.”

She felt warmth crawl up her neck, a slow burn spreading across her cheeks. She wasn’t used to hearing things like that. Not with such raw honesty.

"And… and I thought I’d never see you again," he continued, "until Steve pulled that stunt at a time when I desperately needed help. And then… then things got worse for me.”

She blinked, confused. “Worse?”

He huffed a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah. Worse. Because it wasn’t just about finding you attractive. So fucking attractive.”

Her heart slammed against her chest.

“You became indispensable at home. You made this a home." His fingers flexed slightly against her. "You put warmth in here, in me. Stirred things that have been missing in my life since the war. You are kind… and you make me want things that I shouldn’t.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and something pained flickered across his face. “I shouldn’t, because of what… because of the families I destroyed, because of what I did.”

His voice cracked slightly, and she felt her own breath stutter.

"And then… you’re the fucking nanny and-" He let out a shaky exhale, tightening his grip before loosening again. "And this works. My son loves you. And I have no right to rob him of that if you-"

She didn’t let him finish.

Her fingers brushed softly against his lips. Stopping the spiral before it could consume him.

Bucky froze.

It had all poured out of him before he could stop it, the words scrapped past his throat, and now, now she was just looking at him.

Wide eyes. Lips slightly parted.

His chest clenched.

Shit. Fuck.

He shouldn’t have said all that. He should have-

She tilted her head slightly, dragging her fingers in the faintest touch down his chin, ten rested it on his chest.

He inhaled sharply.

"Don’t," she finally whispered.

Bucky frowned, furrowing his brows. "Don't what?"

"Don't pull away. You deserve to want things.”

He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that until now. Her hand was warm against his chest, her touch so casual, like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

And then-

"Do you take me for someone who would do what we did in the elevator, what we have been doing since then if I didn’t have feelings for you?" she asked softly.

He shook his head before he could even think.

"There is your answer."

And just like that, he was done for.

His fingers flexed against the fabric of her nightdress like he needed to hold on to something. "Ok... ok. I don't know how people do this kind of thing nowadays. We said what we wanted to say, and before, it was just enough to-"

"Bucky" she chuckled, interrupting his rambling. She felt like she was in high school all over again "Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

It was such a simple question. One that made his brain stutter because, Christ, when was the last time he was allowed to be just a man and not a soldier who was drafted, not a puppeteered weapon, not a father trying to hold his shit together?

“…Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then it’s settled,” she murmured, as her fingers traced light patterns along his chest. "Or... what term do you prefer? Beau? Sweetheart?" She asked, teasing.

Bucky huffed a chuckle, shaking his head. “Beau does feel right to me,” he admitted. “But… I gotta move on at some point, right?” He met her gaze, and saw something soft lingering there. “Boyfriend it is.”

Her smile widened. “Good choice.”

He exhaled, like some invisible weight had lifted from him, then smirked. “Glad you approve, sweetheart.”

"Well,” she started. “Now that we had 'the talk' would you be a good boy and sit on the chair while I warm your milk?"

He lifted a brow at the unintentional innuendo, and the corner of his mouth twitched with intent.

“Oh, my God.” Heat flooded her face.

He just grinned, shameless. “M’simply following the analogy, sweetheart.”

She swatted his shoulder with the nearest dish towel, face still burning. “Oh, you are terrible!”

He caught her wrist before she could pull away in a firm but gentle grip. He turned it over, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the skin of her pulse point. His gaze lifted to hers, dark and unreadable.

“Oh, doll,” his voice dropped lower, rough with promise. “You have no idea how terrible I can be.”

And then, his free hand slid up her thigh, gripping just above her knee as he stepped fully between her legs, fitting against her perfectly. She gasped as his lips crashed into hers, all slow-burning desire and restrained hunger.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, threading her fingers into his hair, tugging until a growl rumbled in his chest. His hands gripped her tighter, pulling her closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them.

When he dragged his mouth away, it was only to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, and down the column of her throat. His stubble scraped deliciously against her skin, sending heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Bucky,” she gasped, tilting her head back as his teeth grazed over her pulse.

“Hmm?” His voice was a low rasp, lips teasing just beneath her ear as his hands wandered, pressing his fingertips into her soft flesh.

She didn’t have an answer. Didn’t know what she wanted to say.

Her breath hitched as his hands slid up, cupping her breasts over the thin fabric of her nightdress. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, and the touch was so light it made her shudder.

"Fuck," he muttered against her throat, still pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin. "No bra? You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart."

She arched into his hands, gripping his shoulders for balance. “Why would I sleep with it?” she whispered, teasing, even as her voice trembled.

Bucky exhaled sharply, a hot breath against her collarbone. “Fair point,” he muttered, as his hands kneaded and his thumbs circled, pressed, and flicked.

She gasped, tilting her head back, giving him more space to kiss, bite, devour.

His mouth latched onto her pulse point, sucking just enough to make her squirm. His hands left her breasts to wander lower, curling his fingers around the hem of her nightdress, teasing the bare skin underneath.

Her legs pressed around his waist, and she felt him, hard and big under the sweatpants, pressed right where she needed him.

“Will you tell me to stop?” he rasped, as he rested his forehead against hers.

She swallowed hard, digging her nails into his back as her eyes flicked toward the hallway. “I should… you need to rest, remember?” she tried, though the words came out weaker than she intended.

Bucky chuckled. “Not to be presumptuous, doll, but the limits of what my body can or can't do while injured have been tested decades ago. And believe me, two shots ain't enough to talk me out of this.”

Her stomach twisted, and heat pooled deep in her pussy as his fingers teased at the hem of her nightdress again, but she still managed to stammer, “What about Thomas? What if he wakes up, what if he comes in?”

She barely had time to finish the sentence before she let out a quiet yelp as Bucky’s strong arms lifted her effortlessly. His hands gripped the back of her thighs, as he carried her toward Thomas’s bedroom door, nudging it open with his foot before stepping inside.

With one smooth motion, he set her down on the bed, then reached back and grabbed a chair from the desk. Before she could say a word, he wedged it firmly under the doorknob, locking them in.

“If he wakes up, which I doubt,” he murmured, standing tall as his fingers curled around the back of his henley, “we’ll have time to make ourselves decent… and think of an excuse.”

Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira @technicallytinyheart @put-trash-here @chinggay85-blog @tulippix @dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100 @tanyaherondale @theflowerswillbloom @stars4birdie @soberbabes @greatmistakes @littlesuniee @casey1-2007 @escapefromrealitylol @thriving-n-jiving @vxllys @hi172826 @imaginexred @stormy-stardust @rattyfishrock @yes-ilovetowrite

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[crazyunsexycool]

Omg this chapter was so good!!!

Foundations (#6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 6.4.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Previous Chapter

Bucky exhaled through his nose as he threw another punch at the training bag and his knuckles landed with a solid thud against the reinforced material. The compound gym was mostly empty this early, which was fine by him. He never did well with crowds.

Steve stood a few feet away, casually wrapping his hands, watching with mild amusement. "You know, Buck, as the guys say, you look rested for once. Must be the extra help at home."

He grunted in response, not offering him much. It was true, having her around had helped. But thinking too much about that came with… complications.

And then, the doors swung open, and Sam walked in fresh from a run, with a towel slung around his neck. "I saw your nanny last night," he commented, pointing at Bucky like he was delivering breaking news. “Boy, can she dance.”

Bucky’s hand froze mid-punch for half a second. It was barely noticeable, but Steve caught it.

"Yeah?" Bucky forced his voice into something bored, tugging the wrap of his hand tighter than necessary.

"Yeah," Sam continued, oblivious -or maybe not- grabbing a water bottle from the rack. "Didn’t know she had it in her, but man, she was feeling that music."

Steve turned, brows raising ever so slightly in interest. Oh, he was going to have fun with this.

“What pub was this?” he asked, tone oh-so casual.

"Some place called The Velvet Pine," Sam said, stretching his arms. "Never been before. Seemed nice. Drinks were decent."

"Huh," Steve mused, rubbing his chin. "And who’d she dance with?"

Bucky knew exactly what the punk was doing.

Sam shrugged. "Started out with her friends, y'know, girls hyping each other up, just having fun. But eventually-" he took a long sip of water, "I saw her with some guy."

Bucky this time tightened the wraps around his wrist. The fabric stretched to its limit as something hot and unpleasant curled low in his stomach.

Steve definitely saw it.

"And?" he pressed, because of course he did.

Sam lifted his hands. "I don’t know, man. I wasn’t exactly watching her all night. At some point, I noticed her friends were still there, but she wasn’t."

Bucky bent the metal clip on his wrist wrap. Didn’t even realize he did it.

From a few feet away, Clint -who had been silently lifting weights until now-chuckled, dropping his dumbbells with a clank. “Oh. Naughty nanny.” He grinned.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath his stubble as he exhaled slowly through his nose. His grip on the wrist wrap tightened further, the already-strained fabric pulling taut around his poor fingers.

Steve, who had been enjoying poking the bear just moments ago, suddenly didn’t feel so amused anymore. He saw it then, the shift in Bucky’s expression. It wasn’t just irritation. It wasn’t even anger.

It was something heavier.

Possessiveness? No. That wasn’t fair. But something bordering close to it.

Steve cleared his throat, giving Clint a quick, subtle glance to shut him up before casually steering the conversation back. "Well, wherever she went, I’m sure she was just having a good time," he said carefully like he wanted to smooth over whatever storm was brewing in Bucky’s head.

----

Monday came, and she picked up Thomas from kindergarten like usual. The walk home was filled with his excited chatter, small hands swinging in hers as he told her about his day. When they arrived at the apartment, Bucky was already there, waiting.

He greeted Thomas as warmly as ever, ruffling his hair and kissing the kid’s temple.  But something was off, she felt it immediately.

Short answers. Little eye contact. Still, she tried to keep things normal, moving around the kitchen, and talking to Thomas about what they needed to pick up at the store. It had become their thing, a routine that had started naturally. But today, when she asked if they should go before the hot discount items run out, he shook his head.

“I’ll go alone,” he muttered, already grabbing his keys.

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard, but she nodded, pretending not to notice the way her chest suddenly felt too tight.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was quiet. She played with Thomas, helped him with the items he needed to bring the next day, and folded some laundry.

Bucky never came out of his room. He wasn’t asleep, she could hear the occasional creak of the old bed frame when he moved. But he stayed away. It was like he was hiding.

Eventually, she knocked on his door, pressing a hand against the frame. “Dinner’s ready,” she called gently. “And I’ll be heading out soon.”

Silence.

Then, after a beat, his voice came through, low and hollow. “Alright. Thanks.”

She lingered for half a second longer than necessary before pulling away. No see you tomorrow. No safe trip home. No let me walk you down.

----

He knew she had noticed something, how could she not, if he was acting like a boy? Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face.

This had to stop.

He wasn’t sixteen. He wasn’t some kid sulking because a girl he liked went out and had a good time. He didn’t have any claim on her.

She was just the damn nanny, for fuck’s sake. Someone who kept his home in order, who made sure that Thomas was cared for when he couldn’t. So what if she had a life outside of these walls? So what if she went out, laughed with people, danced with some guy, or even fuck-

No.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away before it could turn into something ugly, something he wasn’t ready to face. He had no right to feel this way and no right to let it fester.

Because this worked. The dynamic they had, the structure, the balance, it worked. And he wasn’t going to fuck it all up just because his dumb, touch-starved brain had decided to fixate on something it could never have.

So he’d suck it up. Just like he always did.

Tomorrow, he’d get his shit together. He’d act like a normal person. He’d even -fuck- ask her about her weekend like any regular, functioning adult would.

And he’d pretend.

Pretend it didn’t matter.

----

Tuesday afternoon, after she brought Thomas from the kindergarten, Bucky tried. Really tried. He put on that practiced smile -the one Sam always told him didn’t fool anyone but was the best he got- and forced himself to act normal. Like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t spent the last two days trying not to picture her dancing with some faceless stranger, disappearing into the night with him. So, when Thomas ran off to the bathroom at some point while she was making a snack, he casually made his way to the fridge for a glass of cold water, buying himself a few seconds.

He shouldn’t ask. But before he could stop himself, the words were already out. “I forgot to ask, how was your girl’s night?” His voice was so detached, so casual. Like he wasn’t already bracing for impact.

She stopped mid-motion, hovering the butter knife over the slice of bread, and looked at him as if deciding what to say. Then- “Not so great.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed before he could stop them. If dancing with some guy and leaving early wasn’t so great, well… “Oh?” He set the glass down on the counter, watching her carefully. “Why’s that?”

She pressed her lips in a thin line, exhaling sharply through her nose. “I-” She hesitated, then forced it out. “Someone put something in my drink.”

The world stilled. Bucky’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. The fridge door clicked shut as he took a step forward, and his body moved before his mind could even catch up. His fingers twitched at his sides, his breath came out slow and measured like he was trying to keep something dangerous contained. “What?”

She swallowed, dropping her gaze to the counter for a second before she continued. “A guy invited me to dance. He seemed nice, you know? Attentive. At some point, he bought me a drink, and I accepted. After a while, I started to feel… weird. And he started to-” She waved her hand vaguely, like she couldn’t -or didn’t want to- say it out loud.

Bucky saw red.

His jaw locked so tight it ached, and something dark curled in his chest, coiling tighter and tighter with every beat of silence that passed. He wanted to ask questions, to demand names, and answers. But he restrained himself and let her talk.

“I don’t remember much,” she admitted, quietly. “But someone noticed something was off. The bartender, I think. He called someone from the staff, and they got me a secure cab. I managed to tell them my address.” She took a breath, “I sent a voice message to my friends while I was in the car. I couldn’t think straight, so the woman driving the car had to help me inside. I… was fine after a couple of hours. Just dizzy. Nauseous.”

Bucky was not fine. His fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles cracked, and his vision tunneled as he fought the instinct to destroy someone.

She must have noticed the shift in his behavior because her hand suddenly did touch his, just barely, the lightest press of her fingers against his wrist. "I'm okay, Bucky," she said softly. "It didn’t go further than that."

Didn’t go further than that.

That shouldn’t be comforting. His chest ached with the effort of holding it all back, of swallowing the rage and forcing himself to breathe. “Who was he?” The words came out quieter than expected. Deadly.

She hesitated again before shaking her head. “I don’t remember his name but either way, it could have been a lie.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose. You should've told me. Called me. Instead, what came out was, “You should’ve taken yesterday off. You needed time to recover.”

Then he realized. He had ignored her all of Monday while she’d been dealing with this. While she’d been sitting with the weight of what happened alone. He felt like a fucking dick. “Do you wanna go home?” he asked softly.

“No. I- I don't want to be alone right now, if that makes sense. I prefer to distract myself.”

Of course, it made sense. She just escaped a fucking rapist by a hair. Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, and his protectiveness twisted tighter and tighter inside him. “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

Fuck it.

“Can I… I'll understand if you say no, but- just need a hug.” The last words came out lower like she was embarrassed to ask. But before she finished saying them, her body was enveloped in his. Warm, big, protective. And she let herself dive into it.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest, and he let out a slow breath, resting his chin on the top of her head.

It felt… right.

For both of them.

She shouldn’t want to stay there. Shouldn’t want to let herself sink into his warmth, into the solid comfort he provided her. But she did. And when she felt his arm pressing just slightly around her back, when he lingered, she dared to think that maybe… he didn’t want this to end either.

But while she was thinking about holding on, Bucky’s mind was already elsewhere.

Already planning.

He wasn’t a killer anymore. He wasn’t the man who mindlessly hurt and destroyed on command without thought. But when he finds the bastard who did this… when Bucky finishes with him, he’ll wish he was dead.

----

That night, he didn’t hesitate.

He called Steve and asked him to take care of Thomas, kept it vague. Steve asked if everything was alright and Bucky just answered, “I need to handle something.”

His first stop was the pub. It took all of ten minutes to get the surveillance footage. No one argued when he asked. Whether it was the weight of his name or the look in his eyes, he didn’t care.

The next stop was the Tower.

"Friday, pull up the security feed from Saturday night. Find her." Seconds later, there she was, black dress and nice hairdo, the picture of someone out to have a good time. Completely unaware.

Bucky fast-forwarded until he spotted her on the dance floor, spinning in some asshole’s arms. His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to keep watching.

Fast-forwarded again, there they were at the bar. “Friday, enhance the footage. Close-caption the movements."

And there it was.

The bastard dissolved something into her drink while her back was turned. Then he rejoined her near the dance floor, charming, smiling. They flirted -another painful churn in Bucky’s gut- and then, she took a sip.

It didn’t take long. A shift in her posture, a slight lag in her coordination, the way she started leaning more into him, like gravity had shifted.

Then the hands. On her thigh, on her hip. Bucky didn’t finish watching. He couldn’t. It felt wrong.

But he had seen enough.

"Friday, run a facial recognition scan. See if he has a record." It took less than ten seconds. Convicted of multiple sexual offenses. Vicious ones.

Bucky’s blood turned to ice. "Give me his last known address."

A pause.

Then, a map appeared on the screen.  And Bucky was already grabbing his jacket.

----

The news broke early the next morning, spreading like wildfire across the city. A known sexual predator had been found unconscious at the doorstep of a police station, it seemed his battered body was dumped there in the dead of night. Law enforcement officials remained tight-lipped, refusing to release details, but unofficial sources painted a far more gruesome picture. Multiple broken fingers, a savage beating that left him barely recognizable, and the most horrifying detail of all: his own severed testicles shoved into his mouth. Whoever had done it had made sure he lived through it, going so far as to cauterize the wound with a knife, ensuring he wouldn’t bleed out before he was found.

Speculation ran wild. Some whispered about vigilante justice, others murmured that the man had it coming. The brutality of the act sent shockwaves through the media, but behind closed doors, some simply nodded in grim understanding. No suspects had been named, no witnesses had come forward, and no security cameras had caught a thing. It was as if the man had been plucked off the streets, punished, and discarded without a trace.

Bucky sat at his kitchen table, sipping his morning coffee as the radio droned on in the background. He didn’t react to the report, nor did he stop munching his toast when the anchor speculated about the motives behind the attack. He simply stirred a little sugar into his cup, took another slow sip, and went about his morning routine as if it were any other day.

----

In the afternoon, Thomas asked to watch a movie, so she picked Toy Story. The kid was thrilled by the idea that his toys might secretly move and talk when he wasn’t looking. Every now and then, she caught him sneaking glances at them, with his eyes full of wonder, as if he could catch them in the act.

At some point, he begged for popcorn, and she laughed, ruffling his hair before heading to the kitchen to make some.

She was rummaging through the cabinets, searching for the right pot, when Bucky emerged from his bedroom. His hair was a mess, sleep-tousled and falling loosely over his shoulders. He moved on autopilot, going straight for a couple of plums. His heavy steps and sluggish posture told her he hadn’t been awake long from his nap.

She turned on the burner, setting the pot down, and spoke as casually as she could. “Saw the news today.”

He didn’t answer. Just let the water run as he rinsed the fruit, lowering his head slightly, his strands of dark hair covering his face like a curtain.

She gripped the pot handle a little tighter. No point in dancing around it. “The man at the police station,” she continued, voice even. “It was him.”

He stilled. Just for a second. A fraction of hesitation before he reached for a bowl, placing the plums inside with slow, deliberate movements.

"Figures," he muttered, shutting off the tap, and reaching for a towel. But before he could step away, she moved without thinking, brushing her fingers over his bicep, rubbing slow, careful circles with her thumb against the fabric of his shirt.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He still didn’t look at her.

“I would do it again,” he murmured.

There it was. The cat was out of the bag.

Now she knew -or was reminded- exactly what he was capable of. What kind of man stood before her.

Would she flinch away, look at him differently? He wasn’t sorry for what he did, wouldn’t regret it for a second, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that actions didn’t have consequences. And maybe this -whatever this was- was something he was about to lose.

But then, instead of pulling away, she did the last thing he expected.

She pressed her forehead gently against his arm. “Want to watch what’s left of the movie with us?” she said softly, as if nothing had changed. “Thomas is loving it.”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

He nodded, still without looking at her. "Then go sit with Thomas and I'll bring the popcorn when it's ready." She instructed, taking a step back and turning around.

----

She wasn’t stupid.

When she saw the news the next morning -just the night after she told Bucky what had happened- it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.

He could have just reported the guy, turned him over to the authorities, and let the system deal with him. Instead, he had gone out, hunted him down, and made sure he’d never hurt anyone again.

This wasn’t about justice. It wasn’t even about punishment.

It was personal.

Why? Because she was Thomas’ nanny? Because, somewhere along the way, she had become part of something he wasn’t willing to risk losing?

She thought about that night, when he had offered her his bed, and told her outright that he didn’t mind her there, that she was part of his household. Maybe that was why he felt compelled to do this. Maybe, to him, this was just… protecting his own.

----

Bucky was done pretending.

Done pretending this was just a comfortable, familiar routine. Done acting like this was enough when it had long since stopped being so.

And after what happened, after hearing what almost happened to her, the dam was close to breaking.

He was on edge.

Because if she had been with them that Saturday, she wouldn’t have been in danger. She wouldn’t have had to look for a good time with strangers and wouldn’t have been put in that position. And maybe that was the worst part. Not that she had gone out. Not that she had almost gotten hurt. But she had to go somewhere else to look for what she wanted.

What she needed.

Because he was a coward.

Trailing after her like a touch-starved idiot for months, basking in the warmth of the status quo. Letting himself be pampered, doted on, and wanted, but never taking it. It was time to admit, to face it head-on, that under all his layers of self-deprecation and doubt, part of him had noticed the signs. The ones Steve had subtly and not so subtly tried to make him see.

It used to be easy for him. To read those signs. To know when someone wanted him. And if they didn’t, well, he had once been the kind of man to make it happen.

But that man had died the moment he fell from that train.

Now, he was this. A fractured thing. A man with too much past and too many scars, with a kid who deserved a better role model than someone who spent his nights fucking his own hand inhaling a damn scarf because it smelled like her.

Yeah.

She hadn’t lost it, as she thought.

He had found it in the laundry pile weeks ago and, instead of leaving it out like a normal person, had tucked it away like some depraved, desperate little secret.

Like a fucking creep.

And now, after what happened, he didn’t just want to protect her. He wanted to keep her. Not just so she wouldn’t have to expose herself to the dangers of the world, but because-

He was a selfish bastard.

And he’d had enough.

----

Bucky was sprawled across the couch when she returned, popcorn in hand. He shifted slightly, making room for her, but hesitated -just for a second- before not removing his arm from the couch’s backrest.

Oh.

Subtle. But not that subtle.

She sat down, careful and deliberate, placing the bowl within reach. At first, she kept her posture straight, too aware of the space -or lack of it- between them.

Minutes passed. The movie played on. Eventually, her back started to ache, as a dull protest against how stiffly she was holding herself. She needed to lean back. And still, he didn’t move his arm.

There was no way he hadn’t noticed, no way this was anything but intentional. A week ago, he would have given her space, even would have put Thomas between them. But now…

She let out a slow breath and took the offer. Slowly, carefully, she eased back, resting her head against his shoulder.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his arm shifted, pressing her closer, barely brushing the edge of her sleeve with his fingers.

Okay, she wasn’t imagining this.

She was cuddling with her boss.

Her boss, who had just tacitly admitted that he was the one who hunted down and beat the life out of the man who had almost hurt her.

The realization should have made her tense, should have made her overthink every second leading up to this moment, but instead, her body acted on instinct. She shifted -just a little- closing more of the space between them, pressing herself against the warmth of his body. She felt it. The way he caught his breath, the way his muscles went tight for a brief second, before exhaling and resting his cheek against the top of her head.

----

As the movie went on, Thomas remained fully engrossed, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. But the same couldn’t be said for the two adults on the couch. Neither of them was really watching.

At some point, she shifted again, adjusting herself against his body, and Bucky felt it, all of it. The warmth of her body against his side, the subtle weight of her head resting just right on his shoulder. She smelled like something soft, and warm, like lavender and the faintest hint of chamomile, and he knew if he moved even an inch closer, he’d drown in her scent.

She wasn’t faring much better. Every slow rise and fall of his chest made her hyper-aware of just how solid he was. How warm. How big. His arm, resting along the back of the couch, wasn’t quite touching her, but she could feel its weight hovering there like it wanted to.

Her fingers, resting idly beside her, shifted just slightly, brushing against his thigh. A featherlight touch. Accidental. But the way Bucky tensed made her stomach flip.

Neither of them moved away.

Another slow inhale. Another shift.

Bucky turned his head slightly, just enough that his nose brushed against the top of her hair. He breathed her in, slow and quiet, and let it out on a slow, controlled exhale. And then, in the quietest, rawest voice she had ever heard from him-

“Fuck.”

It was whispered, barely audible, slipping past his lips before he could bite it back. She felt it more than heard it, the vibration of his voice against her temple.

He went still after that, like he’d just let something slip.

And she couldn’t help it. Slowly, carefully, she tilted her head up to look at him, brushing her nose along the rough stubble of his jaw.

He inhaled sharply, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Then, almost hesitantly, he moved, shifting ever so slightly, just enough to press his forehead against hers.

A slow, shared breath.

The space between them was nonexistent.

It would be so easy to close the distance. To press her lips to the corner of his mouth, to finally give in to whatever had been simmering between them for months.

And judging by the way his fingers pressed ever so slightly on her arm, he was thinking the exact same thing.

But.

As much as she wanted it, as much as he seemed to want it, Thomas was sitting mere inches away.

It was wrong.

All it would take was a second -a moment of distraction from the boy, a glance in their direction- and he would see everything transpiring between them.

A sudden laugh from the kid at just the right moment brought reality crashing back down. So, she swallowed, ignoring the heat curling in her body, and lowered her face slowly, resting her head on his shoulder again.

And that was when Bucky moved.

His arm, which had been resting on the back of the couch, scooped her closer, dragging her fully against him. Her cheek was pressed into his chest, and her hand landed against his ribcage, feeling his strong heartbeats beneath her palm.

She let herself sink into his body, into the way he held her there, firm and certain, like he needed it just as much as she did.

----

The movie ended, and with it, the fragile atmosphere built between them.

Thomas was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing in his seat as he fired off questions, questions that Bucky could only half-assedly answer because, truthfully, he had barely processed a single second of the film.

How could he?

Not when he’d spent the last hour fighting the urge to shift, to press closer, to let his hands wander where they shouldn’t.

Not when the scent of her arousal had curled into his senses, sweet and warm and impossible to ignore while she let him hold her, and press her against his chest.

Not when the dull ache between his legs had made every passing second feel like torture.

Fuck, he was wrecked.

She got up, answering Thomas’s rapid-fire questions easily -she’d seen the movie countless times- while making her way to the kitchen, and Bucky forced himself to move, standing up with a quiet grunt as he rolled his shoulders, discreetly tugging at his pants to adjust himself, willing his body to calm the fuck down.

A cold shower. He needed a cold fucking shower.

Throwing a glance toward the kitchen, he watched her move, hawking at the sway of her hips as she reached for a cutting board, the way she bent to reach a pot. Jesus. He clenched his jaw and forced his feet to move, heading straight for the bathroom.

----

She heard the shower start, and that was when she remembered. The towels.

Her fingers stilled on the knife for a beat before she turned to Thomas, mustering the most casual voice she could. “Sweetheart, can you take a clean towel to your dad? I forgot to put them back after laundry.”

The boy nodded happily, grabbing one from the pile and running down the hall.

And just like that, she was alone.

Alone with the feeling of his body pressing against hers. His smell. The weight of his arm. The slow, almost reverent way his fingers had traced just under her breast.

The way her body had reacted to his, aching, wanting-

Eventually, the sound of the bathroom door opening snapped her out of it.

And when she turned-

Oh.

Bucky stood there, fresh from the shower, water still clinging to his collarbone, shoulders, and forearm where he had missed a few drops before putting on a tank top that left almost none to the imagination. His beard was neatly trimmed, his jawline sharper, cleaner. And fuck, that damn ponytail again, like he knew exactly what it did to her.

She swallowed, forcing her gaze lower, only to regret it instantly.

The grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, and her stomach flipped violently, while heat crawled up her neck.

And God, then he looked at her.

Like he was devouring her with his eyes while he reached for a piece of bread from the table, biting into it with slow, deliberate movements,

She swallowed, gripping the wooden spoon tighter, forcing herself to focus on the food in front of her. Stirring. Stirring. Not thinking.

She gave the sauce one last absentminded stir, then shut off the burner.

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she exhaled slowly before turning back to the table. "Alright, I should get going."

----

Thomas frowned from his seat, already settling in for dinner. "Already?"

She ruffled his hair with a small smile. "Yeah, kiddo. Gotta catch the bus before it gets too late."

Bucky, who had been watching in silence, shifted in his seat. Then, without a word, he stood, tugging his phone from his pocket and typing something before shoving it back in.

“I’ll walk you down.”

It wasn’t a surprise. It had become routine at this point, the act of accompanying her to the door, sometimes even down the street if it was late. If she ever protested, he’d just look at her. That flat, unimpressed stare that made it very clear she wasn’t going to win that argument.

So she just nodded, grabbing her jacket before saying goodbye to Thomas, who, as always, made her promise she’d be back tomorrow.

With that, she followed Bucky out of the apartment.

The hallway was quiet, save for the buzz of the overhead lights and the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them looked at each other. Even as they stepped into the elevator.

She risked a glance at him, catching the way his fingers picked absently at a cuticle, and his jaw worked like he was thinking too much.

The elevator descended, floor numbers ticking down in a slow rhythm.

7

6

5

Her stomach flipped for no reason at all.

4

Bucky moved.

His arm slowly reached out, and before she could process it, his palm pressed the stop button.

The elevator shuddered to a halt.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned her head, looking at him.

And, oh.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… dark, intense, burning.

Her lips parted, and then-

His hand shot out.

Not to touch her. Not quite.

But close enough.

His fingers braced against the wall beside her head, caging her in, while his body got mere inches from hers, radiating heat. He leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost across her cheek.

His voice, low and rough, sent a shiver down straight to her pussy.

“Tell me what you want, doll.”

Her stomach clenched, and her pulse hammered against her chest.

Oh, fuck.

There was no point in pretending anymore.

She shifted her face to the side, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

He tensed beneath her lips. But she didn’t stop.

Slowly, she traced a path along his jaw, breathing warmly against his skin, teasing, waiting, until she reached the corner of his mouth.

And then he just took what she offered.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as his vibranium hand came up, cradling her face with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger of his kiss. His other hand remained firmly pressed against the elevator wall, keeping her caged between him and the cold metal.

He kissed her hard, like he had been holding himself back for too long, because he had.

And she melted.

A moan escaped her lips as she parted them for him, surrendering as his tongue swept inside, claiming, coaxing, demanding more.

Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His body pressed into hers firmly, as if daring the space between them to disappear entirely.

The elevator walls blurred away, and the world narrowed down to nothing but heat and mingling breaths.

He growled against her mouth, raw, almost desperate. His hands found the bare skin of her thighs beneath her jumper, digging his fingers into her soft flesh as he lifted her effortlessly, pressing her back against the elevator wall.

A gasp tore from her lips as her instincts took over, wrapping her legs around his waist, and locking him in. And then, he ground against her. A slow, deliberate roll of his hips, pressing the hard, aching length of his cock against the heat between her legs.

His eyes rolled back, as the pleasure ripped through his body like a live wire.

Fuck.

The thin fabric of his sweatpants did nothing to dull the friction, to stop the rush of sensations shooting straight up his spine. He barely had a second to gather himself, to hold on to what little control he had left, because if he didn’t, if he kept moving just like that-

He was going to fucking come in his pants like a damn teenager.

She took advantage of his momentary stillness, curling her fingers into his hair, and giving a soft, teasing tug at his ponytail. His breath stuttered, and his grip on her thighs tightened just before she latched onto the exposed skin of his neck.

Her mouth was warm, and her lips soft as she nipped and suckled at his skin, careful -too careful- not to leave a mark. Not that she could, really. She’d have to work damn hard to bruise him, to claim him in any visible way.

And still, he let her.

He thought he was going to die right there.

His neglected, touch-starved body struggled to process all the stimulus, the heat of her body pressed against him, the teasing scrape of her teeth, the friction, the fucking wetness soaking into the fabric of his sweatpants. He didn’t even know if it was his or hers or both, but he needed-

His hand moved on its own, slipping beneath her jumper, sliding up and brushing the rim of her panties, guided by pure desperation-

And then his phone blared between them.

The sharp sound sliced through the haze, snapping them back to reality for a fraction of a second.

He tensed. She gasped.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His past self had set that damn alarm. A fail-safe, a reminder, because he knew something could happen. Not this, definitely not this far, but something. He didn’t want to leave Thomas alone in the apartment for too long. Panting, he pressed his forehead against hers, squeezed his eyes shut, and muttered a curse under his breath.

She couldn’t stop herself, just one last time, and she rolled her hips against his, biting her lip when she felt just how hard he was.

His sharp gasp sent a thrill down her spine.

“Sorry,” she blurted, breathless.

His eyes snapped open, dark and hazy, his pupils blown wide. His chest heaved against hers, their warm breath mingling in the charged space between them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid her down, letting her body drag against his, while his hands glided up the backs of her thighs, fingers splayed. She barely had time to catch her breath before he squeezed both hands on her ass, hard enough to make her gasp.

But before she could say anything, he exhaled sharply and fished out his damn phone, silencing the alarm. His fingers curled around the device as if fighting the urge to crush it in his palm.

“Sorry,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Thomas…”

“Of course,” she managed to say, forcing herself to focus. “He’ll wonder why you’re not back.”

She ran her hands over her clothes, smoothing fabric that had been wrinkled in his grip, and fixing her hair in a vain attempt to make herself look less like she had just been thoroughly manhandled.

Bucky wasn’t fairing much better.

She caught the way he stiffened and looked down, muttering a curse under his breath.

She followed his gaze-

A wet patch stained the front of his sweatpants, where the fabric struggled to contain his very prominent erection.

She swallowed, and heat sparked again deep in her belly.

Bucky scowled, tugging his tank top down in a pitiful attempt to cover himself. It didn’t help. At all.

With his jaw tight, he reached for the elevator panel and pressed the button, setting it back into motion. The sound of the machinery filled the small space, but neither of them spoke.

He barely even looked at her.

Couldn’t.

Not when he still felt her warmth against his skin, still tasted her on his lips, still throbbed painfully inside his damn stained sweatpants.

When the doors slid open, she stepped out first, and he followed instinctively, keeping close behind, using her frame to shield the evidence on his pants from anyone lingering in the hallway.

They walked in silence. When they reached the doorway of the building, she finally turned, meeting his gaze, with a small, timid smile playing at her lips.

Something in his chest pulled.

Without thinking, he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek, tracing the warmth of her skin. And, instead of doing what he wanted -instead of kissing her the way he needed- he dipped his head and pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of her hair.

Soft. Safe.

All he could trust himself with right now.

“See you tomorrow, doll,” he murmured.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” she murmured, almost hesitant. Before he could pull away, she lifted her hand, cradling his where it still rested against her cheek.

Bucky swallowed hard as she brushed her thumb over his knuckles, slow, absentminded. Like she didn’t want to let go. But then she pulled back, releasing him and letting the air settle cool where her warmth had been.

She turned, walking toward the bus stop without another word. Will have the whole way home to think about what happened.

And him?

He had all night to regret letting her walk away.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira @technicallytinyheart @put-trash-here @chinggay85-blog @tulippix @dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100 @tanyaherondale @theflowerswillbloom @stars4birdie @soberbabes @greatmistakes @littlesuniee @casey1-2007 @escapefromrealitylol @thriving-n-jiving @vxllys @hi172826 @imaginexred

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[crazyunsexycool]

Foundations (#5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.3.k.

note1: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

note2: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Mutual Pining". Card number 4B-016.

Previous Chapter

Bucky hadn’t meant to come out.

But the tension in his back was unbearable, a deep, twisting ache left behind by the force of the seizure. He had managed to sleep for a few hours, but the pain had dragged him back to consciousness, leaving him restless. At times like this, it was easier to sleep without the prosthesis since its weight made things worse. So, as he often did on rough nights, he had detached it before lying down, giving his body some relief.

He hadn’t bothered to put it back on.

Because as far as he knew, he was alone.

He padded sleepily toward the kitchen, wearing only a pair of loose grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He pressed his hand idly against the stiff muscles of his back as he rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the discomfort. He was still half-asleep when he reached for the light switch, flipping it on.

That was when he saw her.

Sitting on his couch, curled up in his blanket, a mug of tea in her hands.

She had woken up to the sound of the storm outside. Not wanting to leave in the middle of the night, she had quietly made herself a cup of tea, maneuvering through the darkened apartment with only the glow of the streetlamps to guide her. She hadn’t turned on the lights, there was no need.

She’d been sipping her tea absentmindedly, lost in thought, when the sudden brightness filled the room, momentarily blinding her.

And then there he was.

Standing in the doorway, tired and rumpled, hair slightly tousled from sleep, his bare torso illuminated under the dim light, the ridges of old scars and muscle casting shadows across his skin.

And, most notably, without his arm.

Her eyes flicked to the space at his left shoulder.

Bucky realized too late. Saw the exact moment she noticed, the way her gaze briefly lingered before snapping up to meet his.

His entire body tensed.

“…You’re still here,” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

She swallowed, slowly lowering the mug from her lips. “Yeah. Didn’t feel right to leave Thomas alone after what happened, so I put him to bed and stayed a little longer. But… I ended up crashing on the couch.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, without quite meeting his gaze, she lifted the mug slightly. “Tea? Water’s still hot.”

Bucky hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

She could feel his discomfort, the tension rolling off him at being seen like this; so vulnerable, standing half-dressed in his own kitchen, missing a limb. She sighed softly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”

He exhaled, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I understand why you stayed. And I’m… grateful for that.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest feel a little tighter.

She approached carefully, offering him the cup, forcing her eyes to stay on his face and not drop to his bare torso, the lean muscle, the sharp angles of his collarbone, the scars tracing his skin. She could not think about that right now.

And yet, somehow, her half-asleep brain completely bypassed the normal route of conversation and went straight for-

“Do you always take off the prosthesis to sleep?”

Bucky’s entire frame went rigid. His jaw tensed, and for a second, his expression was unreadable. Too controlled, too neutral, like he was deciding whether to let her question slide or shut her out entirely.

“No,” he said at last. Then, as if preparing for some awkward moment regarding the topic, he added, “If it bothers you, I can-”

“No!” she cut in quickly, horrified. “My God, that’s not why I asked.”

His brows knit together slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe her.

She swallowed, shifting the cup between her hands. “It was just… curiosity. I’ve heard a lot of amputees take theirs off because the artificial limb feels heavy or uncomfortable when they sleep.” Her voice softened slightly as she gestured toward the missing arm. “And since… you know.”

Bucky exhaled, raking a hand through his already messy hair, and she absolutely did not think about how unfairly attractive that was.

“This isn’t a regular prosthesis,” he admitted after a pause. “You’ve seen how it works. It’s… different. Feels natural most of the time. But the strength it has… it strains my back sometimes. Puts too much tension on the muscles that support it.” He rolled his shoulder slightly, exhaling through his nose. “Nights like tonight, it’s just easier to take it off.”

She nodded slowly, watching the subtle tightness in his stance, the weight he seemed to be holding in his posture.

“So you’re in pain right now,” she said, less a question and more of a realization.

There was no point in denying it.

Bucky just let out a quiet grunt, taking the cup from her hands.

She tilted her head slightly, watching the way he rolled his shoulder again, trying to ease the stiffness. “Do you want to take a hot shower before I leave? It might help.”

“Leave?” Bucky’s brows furrowed as he looked at her like she had lost her mind. “At this hour? With this storm?”

She blinked at his tone, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t want to impose. You seem fine now, and maybe you wanted your privacy back.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not imposing.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Then, as if the mere idea of her stepping outside in this weather offended him, he added, “And what kind of man would I be if I let you go unaccompanied in the middle of the night, with the skies falling down?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, slightly thrown by the sharp conviction in his voice.

“Right,” she murmured, taking a sip of her tea to hide the sudden warmth in her face. “Guess I’m staying, then.”

Before he could reply, the apartment was swallowed by sudden darkness as everything went out at once -the light, the subtle sound of the fridge- leaving only the sound of rain slamming against the windows.

Bucky muttered a sharp curse under his breath, setting his tea down on the counter with a soft clink. “Great. Happens every time the rain’s this heavy,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “The wiring in this place is older than I am.”

She blinked at the unexpected shift, adjusting her eyes to the dim glow leaking in from the storm outside.

"Do you have candles?" she asked, glancing instinctively toward the kitchen. The small emergency light on the wall stayed stubbornly dark after a few attempts to make it work.

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. Somewhere. I think.”

She arched a brow, amused despite herself. “You think?”

He pushed off the counter, moving stiffly toward the cabinets. “I’ll check.”

“Don’t bother,” she said casually behind him. “I’ve been through every cabinet in there while cooking and organizing, and there are no candles.

He sighed and moved toward the fridge. Reaching up, Bucky grabbed something off the top -a small flashlight- and flicked it on, casting a cone of light that cut through the dark.

“Ah, that’s unfair,” she teased, tilting her head. “I don’t even reach up there.”

Bucky smirked faintly, glancing over his shoulder at her. “That’s ‘cause I had to hide it. Thomas keeps draining the batteries playing astronaut or secret agent.”

She let out a soft laugh, watching him as he limped slightly back toward the living room, shining the light ahead of him.

“Alright,” he said, pausing by the TV. “Check the last drawer in the rack.”

“The junk drawer?” she asked, moving carefully across the room.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, aiming the flashlight so it illuminated the drawer.

She crouched in front of it and pulled it open, and the soft beam caught on a chaotic mix of odds and ends: some tools, a broken pair of sunglasses, loose screws, a tangle of string, batteries, and other forgotten bits of life.

“Wow,” she chuckled. “You weren’t kidding. Miscellaneous indeed.”

From behind her, Bucky gave a soft huff. "Told you."

He shifted his weight against the wall, metal-free shoulder leaning slightly as he adjusted the beam of light.

"Pull some stuff out," he added after a beat. "It’s probably packed too full, you won’t see anything unless you move things around."

She hummed her agreement and started to carefully take out the tangled mess. Batteries, some pliers, a random cable that looked way too short to belong to anything useful, she placed all of it on the floor beside her, trying to keep some kind of order.

Reaching deeper, her fingers brushed against a small rectangular box near the back. It felt like a matchbox, finally, something useful.

“Aha!” she said with a small grin, tugging it free. “At least we have-”

Her words died on her lips the second she looked at it.

It was not a matchbox.

It was a sealed box of condoms.

Correction. A sealed box of XL condoms.

Her face went up in flames instantly, lips parting in silent shock.

Behind her, Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly at her sudden pause. He leaned forward to get a better look. The moment the saw the box in her hands, his eyes widened just a fraction, and before either of them could say a word, he reached out in one smooth motion, snatching the box and tucking it hastily into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Uh…” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze like it burned. “Forgot those were in there.”

She pressed her lips together to hold back any kind of reaction, her cheeks absolutely burning. “Right…” she murmured, ducking her head and diving back into the drawer as if she could erase the awkwardness by force of will.

As she resumed rummaging -now definitely avoiding eye contact- Bucky shifted his weight, glancing toward her for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. He clamped the flashlight between his teeth to free his hand. With the beam of light now bobbing faintly as he held it in his mouth, he discreetly slid the box of condoms back out of his pocket and turned it over in his fingers.

Expired. Two years ago.

He huffed a dry, almost soundless laugh through his nose. Not that he was surprised.

Quickly, he slipped it back in his pocket and took the flashlight from his mouth just as she straightened, holding up an opened package of candles with a triumphant little smile, though her eyes didn’t quite meet his.

"Here."

“Thanks,” he murmured, accepting them, brushing his fingers against hers just briefly, enough to make something sharp and tense spark in the space between them.

She quickly busied herself, gathering all the other junk and stuffing it back into the drawer, sliding it shut like she could shove down the thick tension in the air.

After lighting two candles -one set on the kitchen counter, the other on the dining table- they each grabbed their now-lukewarm tea and sat for a moment, a truce in the dim space.

She wrapped her hands around her mug and turned slightly to look at him, studying his tired profile in the glow. That’s when it hit her.

"You haven't eaten," she said softly. "You went straight to bed after the seizure."

Bucky was mid-sip, and when she said it, he paused, lowering the cup slightly. He was already shaking his head, about to downplay it like always.

“I’m fine-”

"I can reheat the gnocchi in a pot with a pinch of water," she offered gently, like it wasn’t a big deal. "They’ll be perfectly edible in a couple of minutes."

His jaw worked as though he wanted to argue, but in the end, he sighed, nodding once. He couldn’t say no to that.

"I’ll help," he muttered, already rising from his chair.

She arched a brow but didn’t stop him. "Alright. You can set the table."

As she pulled the tupperware out of the fridge and started rummaging for a pot, Bucky moved carefully toward the cabinets, grabbing plates and cutlery with one hand. It took a little longer than usual, he had to take multiple trips to set everything down, maneuvering around her, sometimes a little too close.

They brushed against each other a few times as they both navigated the small kitchen, her reaching over him for a spoon, him moving around her to get place mats for the plates. Neither said a word, though both felt it.

Every brief contact felt warmer than it should have, charged in a way that made her chest tight and Bucky’s gaze drop away.

“Do you want water or more tea?” she asked as she stirred the gnocchi in the pot, now steaming slightly.

“Water’s good,” he said quietly, moving to grab a glass.

His fingers brushed hers when she handed him a second one to help, and for a moment, they paused, not quite looking at each other but not pulling away either.

"Table’s ready," he mumbled eventually, breaking the moment, and went to set the glasses down.

“Alright,” she said softly, a small smile curving her lips. "Dinner’s served."

Bucky looked over at her as she turned around, and for a moment, as she walked toward the table with the pot in hand, all he could think about was how normal this felt, how easy, how… dangerous.

Because this? This was something he could get used to. And that scared the hell out of him.

As she get to the table to set the pot down, her eyes caught something that made her pause. There were two plates on the table.

Her brows lifted slightly in surprise. “You set one for me too?”

Bucky shifted in his chair, running his hand through his hair. He shrugged, glancing toward the candle flame rather than at her.

“I just thought… maybe you’d wanna join me. Like a late snack or something,” he murmured, almost shyly. “Felt weird to eat alone.”

Her heart did an odd little flip at that.

“Alright,” she said gently, giving him a small smile as she sat down. “A snack it is.” She served herself a small portion, careful to take less since it was clear he needed it more.

They settled into their chairs, and as she picked at her plate, she watched him out through her lashes, curious to see what he’d think.

He took a bite, chewing slowly at first, and then something in his expression shifted, and his eyes widened slightly as the flavor hit him.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, like he hadn’t expected it to be that good.

A smile tugged at her lips as she watched him, and sure enough, after that first bite, he didn’t hesitate, digging in faster now, like once the first swallow settled, his body realized just how hungry it was.

Still, halfway through, he slowed for a second, glancing up at her. “They’re really good,” he said quietly, making eye contact like it mattered to him that she knew he meant it.

Her smile grew. “Good,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I’m glad.”

For a few moments, they just ate quietly, with the candlelight flickering between them, and somehow, it felt less like nanny and employer, and more like something else entirely.

Bucky grabbed a forkful, savoring another bite before glancing at her, trying to sound casual. "Are these… much trouble to make?"

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Ah, there it was, a subtle way of asking if she might make them again sometime.

"Not really," she replied, secretly amused. "I actually make them once a month. They’re pretty cheap to do, too."

Bucky quirked a brow, leaning back a little in his chair, clearly surprised.

"Really? Huh. I bought a package once, about this size," he gestured to the plate with his fork, making a face, "and… let’s just say it definitely didn’t taste like this, and the price wasn’t cheap."

She chuckled, setting her fork down for a moment. "That’s because those barely count as real gnocchi; they use a paste with more flour and additives than anything else and then freeze them to death. This?" She gestured toward the food between them. "Potatoes, egg, flour… oh, and cornstarch."

His brows lifted slightly as if filing that information away like a secret recipe.

"And the time you use to make them," she added. "Which, if you have practice, isn’t that much."

He hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at his plate, idly nudging a piece of gnocchi with his fork.

 "If you want…" she started, casually, "I could teach you how to make them,  someday."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, surprised, blinking like he hadn’t expected that offer.

She smiled a little, giving a small shrug like it was nothing, even though, to him, it felt like something. "It might be a nice activity to do with Thomas. He’d probably love that."

Bucky stared at her a second longer, as if processing it, and then something warm, -maybe even a little hopeful- lit up behind his tired eyes.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat as if to play it off, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, that would be great. I’m not great in the kitchen, but if it makes the kid happy…"

She chuckled, sipping her water. "Still, if you don’t feel like getting flour all over your kitchen, I can always make them for you two again. Just let me know in advance."

Bucky nodded slowly, but there was something softer, more thoughtful in the way he looked at her now. Because the truth was, as much as he liked the idea of cooking with Thomas, the thought of her in his kitchen, making dinner like she belonged there, like this was something they always did… yeah, he liked that a little too much.

Even if he knew she’d eventually leave. Even if he knew when she walked out the door, he’d sit at this same table with Thomas, and the apartment would feel too quiet again. That was always when the little bubble of domesticity burst, and he remembered he was only playing house in his own head.

"Want a second serving?" Her voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, pulling him back.

He glanced down at his empty plate, surprised to see it already cleared, then back up at her.

A slow, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. "Yeah… I’d like that." She stood up to grab the pot, and he watched her move.

Maybe pretending for a little longer wasn’t the worst thing.

They talked while he ate, and the conversation flowed easily between bites, like slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes neither of them realized they owned. He asked about some of the kids she used to teach, and she told him a story about a girl who had insisted on wearing fairy wings for a whole month, claiming it was part of her "emotional growth."

Bucky listened, and his eyes occasionally crinkled in that rare way when he was amused, and though he didn’t speak as much, he looked... content.

When he finally finished, pushing his plate back with a satisfied sigh, she stood to collect everything without asking, moving toward the sink to wash up. He didn’t stop her, maybe because he knew it would take him longer with one hand, or maybe because, at that moment, it was nice to have her there doing something so normal in his kitchen.

He leaned back slightly, watching her roll up her sleeves, methodically washing each thing like… like this was just another evening for them.

But then she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her wrist, and something in him shifted. It wasn’t unusual for him to be awake at that hour -he was used to restless nights, to wandering through the dark- but her? She wasn’t supposed to be part of that quiet, lonely world.

Before he could stop himself, his mouth was already moving:

"Want to sleep in my bed?"

She froze mid-scrub, and her fingers went still in the water. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, raising her brows slightly as if questioning if she had heard correctly.

He straightened a bit, realizing exactly how that sounded, and cleared his throat. “Not with me,” he clarified quickly, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… You look exhausted, and I’m probably not getting any more sleep tonight anyway.”

"I-" she started, hesitating and twisting the kitchen towel in her fingers. "Are you sure?" The offer was tempting -God, she was tired- but part of her questioned the propriety of the situation. Sleeping in her boss’s bed? Even with the best intentions, it felt intimate.

Bucky leaned slightly in his chair, watching her carefully, and gave a soft shrug. "'S fine for me," he said quietly. "I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t."

She bit her lip, still unsure, and he must have picked up on it because he added, almost awkwardly, "You can... hum, lock the door if you want."

That made her chuckle softly. "I don’t think that’ll be necessary," she said with a playful lift of her brow. "I’m not exactly afraid that the Winter Soldier’s gonna take advantage of me."

His lips twitched at that, but something in his gaze sharpened.

"It’s just... the bed is intimate, and-" she tried to explain, but he cut her off gently.

"I don’t mind you there."

They stared at each other for a heartbeat.

"You’re here almost every day," he went on, trying to make her understand. "Taking care of my son. You cook for us, do our laundry, inventory the pantry, sometimes clean…" He let out a small, tired breath, holding her gaze. "Hell, you practically manage the whole household. How can I not offer you my bed to sleep in?"

Something in her chest clenched at the way he said it. Not just the words, but the way he looked at her, like she had become something more than just an employee, without either of them fully realizing it.

That was what convinced her.

Her fingers finally relaxed around the towel, and she gave him a small smile. "Alright," she murmured. "Thanks, Bucky."

He nodded, glancing away like it wasn’t a big deal, but his jaw worked a little, as though the moment had stirred more in him than he was ready to admit.

----

She slipped quietly into his room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, with her heart still beating a little faster than it should. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, silvery glow of the streetlights sneaking through the curtains. It was simple but warm, like the rest of the apartment.

She hesitated briefly before pulling off her pants, folding them neatly on a chair by the corner, leaving herself in her T-shirt and underwear. Then, she slid under the covers.

As she settled, shifting slightly to find a comfortable spot, she realized -of course- that the whole bed smelled like him. A mix of soap, leather, and that unique scent she’d come to recognize as Bucky.

Her stupid body tingled in response, betraying her before her brain could even react. She turned her face into the pillow, nuzzling it without thinking, breathing him in before she could stop herself.

God, what a creep.

What would he say if he knew? What would this poor man possibly think if he ever found out his nanny was lying in his bed, clinging to his pillow like some lovesick teenager?

And worse, what if he knew she couldn't stop thinking about that stupid box of condoms? Correction. Stupid box of XL condoms.

She groaned softly, burying her face deeper in the pillow, feeling her cheeks burn.

For fuck’s sake, she scolded herself.

But it was hard to get a grip when working there didn’t even feel like a job anymore. Because it wasn’t just about Thomas, as much as she loved the kid. It was the little things: quiet conversations over some beverage, the three of them going to the grocery store together, the way Bucky watched her sometimes like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

And now she was here. In his bed.

She swallowed thickly, shifting again under the blanket, trying to will her thoughts into silence.

----

Bucky had already been up for a while by the time she woke up, and when she shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes, she found breakfast already laid out.

Simple, just toast with cream cheese and jam, a black coffee for him and -he remembered- a milk coffee for her. Thomas was happily munching on cereal, swinging his legs under the table, with drinkable yogurt in one hand.

She blinked, still waking up, and instinctively offered, “Need any help?”

Bucky shook his head, sliding another piece of toast onto her plate. “Nah, just sit and eat.”

So she did, and the moment she sat down, The child beamed at her, absolutely thrilled to find her still there in the morning, and on a Saturday, no less.

“What are we doing today?” he asked excitedly, gripping his spoon with his little hands.

She smiled, stretching a little. “Well, I stayed because of the storm,” she explained. “But I’ll be leaving after breakfast.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his bottom lip jutted out slightly. “Can’t you stay?”

Bucky glanced up at that, but before he could interject, she was already speaking.

“No, buddy,” she said gently. “I have things to do at home, my real home.”

The kid frowned, clearly unhappy with that answer. He chewed on his lip, thinking for a moment before pressing, “And when you finish? Can you come eat dinner with us?”

Bucky was about to step in to remind Thomas that she had her own life outside of them, but before he could open his mouth, she beat him to it, again.

“Sorry, Thomas,” she said, offering a small, apologetic smile. “Today’s Saturday, and I have plans for tonight.”

That, however, caught Bucky’s interest.

Not that he had any right to ask, but-

“With who?” Thomas piped up.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering, “Uh- some friends.”

Bucky took a slow sip of his coffee, feigning complete disinterest, though his grip on the mug tightened slightly.

“Boys or girls?” Thomas pressed, utterly unbothered by social boundaries.

“Girls,” she said firmly, shooting the kid an amused look.

That settled fine with Bucky. Not that he cared. Not that he should care.

Thomas, however, was not done. “And where are you going? Is it a birthday? A party?”

“Not a party, kiddo,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “We’re just going to a pub.”

Thomas frowned in thought. “What do you do there?”

Damn, Bucky thought, hiding a smirk behind his coffee. The kid was relentless this morning.

She blinked, clearly not expecting this much morning interrogation, and struggled to keep up with his rapid-fire curiosity.

“Uh… we drink, chat, dance a little… that kind of stuff.”

Bucky set down his mug a little, fixing his gaze on her over the rim.

Dancing.

Thomas furrowed his brows, clearly trying to grasp the concept. “Oh, so there’s music then. And all the people there dance?”

“Some do, some don’t,” she answered, reaching for her coffee.

The kid chewed on his spoon thoughtfully. “So you dance with your friends, but there’s other people, all dancing there next to you?”

She hesitated, sensing where this was going. “Um… there’s a space to dance, and everybody who wants to dance, well… they just go there and do it. Sometimes I dance with my friends, and sometimes people ask you to.”

Thomas blinked. “Do you know them?”

“Um… no,” she admitted, suddenly regretting the direction of this conversation. “You just… you meet them while dancing or- or later.”

Bucky took a slow sip of his coffee, watching this unfold with a blank expression, but she felt his attention sharpen at that answer.

Fuck.

Thomas frowned, clearly confused now. “But Daddy says you’re not supposed to talk to strangers or take things from them. But it’s okay to dance with them?”

She nearly choked on her coffee.

“Well-” she cleared her throat, scrambling for an explanation, “it’s okay if you’re an adult and you’re in that particular scenario.”

Thomas tilted his head, still piecing things together. “So… if a man you don’t kno-”

“Honey,” she cut in smoothly, offering him a small, patient smile, “finish your cereal, please, before it gets all mushy.”

“Okay…” the kid mumbled, clearly unsatisfied by the abrupt end to his interrogation.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first, swirling the coffee in his mug, staring at the dark liquid like it might have the answers he was looking for.

But then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

“So, a girls’ night?”

She nodded, lifting her mug to her lips. “Yeah, it’s been a while since we dressed up nice and, um… socialized.”

His grip on the cup tightened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.

“The three of us work with kids,” she continued, swirling her coffee absently. “And, well… sometimes it’s nice to change the jumpers for a dress and just… have some fun.”

Have some fun.

Right. Of course.

She had a life outside of this apartment.

Outside of him.

She wasn’t his. She wasn’t theirs.

And yet, sitting there at the breakfast table, where she had been just the night before, where Thomas had lit up when he saw her, like she was part of their little world, Bucky was reminded, again, that this wasn’t real.

That, at the end of the day, she walked out that door, and she went back to a life he wasn’t part of.

Maybe she’d meet someone tonight. Maybe she’d dance with a stranger. Maybe-

He swallowed, setting his mug down with a quiet thud.

“I see.”

She cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her seat as the silence stretched between them. Something about the way he said "I see" unsettled her, like a door had quietly closed, and she wasn’t sure why.

So she tried to bridge the gap.

“Is your back still bothering you?” she asked, keeping her tone light, like it was just casual concern. “Or your head? You mentioned a headache last night.”

His fingers flexed slightly around the ceramic, a small shift, barely noticeable. “Back’s fine. Just a headache.”

She nodded, setting her mug down. “I have some lavender oil in my bag,” she offered. “If you want, I could rub some pressure points on your temples and neck. Might help.”

Bucky froze.

For a second, he thought about refusing. About keeping that blurred line drawn, that careful space between them almost intact.

But then there was that other part of him. The part that had gotten used to her voice threading through his apartment, the sound of her shuffling around the kitchen, the scent of whatever she wore floating faintly in the space even after she left, the simple, human comfort she brought into a life that had been built on surviving instead of living. The part of him that leaned, that craved, even when it had no right to.

The part of him that wanted to pretend a little longer.

He wetted his lips, flexing his fingers against his knee like he could still convince himself to turn it down.

God, he was so fucking tired of wanting things he couldn’t have.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

She smiled softly. “I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

And damn if that didn’t make his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

As she stood up and walked toward her bag to rummage for the little bottle of lavender oil, she took a breath.

Why was she doing this?

Why did she feel this need to take care of him, to soften whatever storm she felt churning behind his tired eyes, especially after catching that strange shift in him when she mentioned going out?

To prove what, exactly?

To reassure whom?

Her fingers fumbled slightly over the zipper, and she felt the tension in her chest growing tighter the more she thought about it.

Bucky was her boss.

God, she was projecting her own feelings on him, wasn’t she? Projecting something onto the soft edges of this makeshift little life they’d built together without ever daring to admit what it really was. Maybe he didn’t give a fuck if she went out or not and she perceived a shift in his demeanor because she wanted to.

She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek as she finally wrapped her fingers around the small bottle.

Maybe that’s why she had said yes when her friends suggested going out tonight.

Because this, this everyday routine, was killing her. Feeding her crush, her whatever-this-was, letting it grow wild and dangerous in a space where nothing could ever really happen.

She was setting herself up to get hurt.

And now here she was, oil in hand, about to soothe his headache like they were anything more than two people stuck in an arrangement that worked well enough until someone crossed a line.

She blew out a soft breath, composing herself before turning around, pasting on a gentle smile she didn’t quite feel. “Alright,” she said quietly, holding up the little bottle between her fingers. “Let’s see if this helps.”

And as she moved back toward him, her heart ached because part of her already knew it wouldn’t fix the thing she wanted to soothe.

“Oh, do you have a hair tie? This could get messy,” she said, pausing as she realized only then that his long hair might get in the way.

“I’ll get it!” Thomas chimed in enthusiastically before either of them could react.

Bucky huffed a quiet breath through his nose, and before he could say anything, Thomas was already running off toward the bathroom.

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head, but her heart was thumping a little faster than she liked to admit.

A moment later, the kid returned, holding out a black hair tie like it was treasure.

“Here!”

“Oh.” She took it gently. Right. Now she had to… Okay. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She ruffled his hair gently before stepping behind Bucky.

From her position at his back, she caught the way he straightened a little, squaring his shoulders like he was bracing for something.

"Alright, hold still," she murmured.

Then, carefully, she lifted her hands to his hair, gently combing through the thick strands with her fingers to smooth them out before gathering them to tie back.

The moment her hands slid into his hair, she felt him tense and freeze for a second. But before she could ask, she caught the smallest sound, a sharp inhale, like he was stopping himself from groaning. Her fingers hesitated, hovering just for a heartbeat, but when he didn’t pull away, she went on.

God, she thought, when was the last time someone touched him like this?

Her fingers were soft -so soft- and his scalp prickled under her touch. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him like that, careful, patient, almost tenderly.

He knew she felt him tense. She paused, just for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she should keep going.

But he forced himself to breathe, to let her. He let out a long, controlled breath as she worked, and his body slowly started to relax under her gentle hands.

She focused on the task, careful not to pull too hard, smoothing down stray strands with her fingertips. She couldn't see his face, which somehow made it easier. When she finally gathered the strands and tied them back in a loose ponytail, her fingers touched him for a second longer than they should have.

“There,” she whispered, almost more to herself. "Not too tight."

His head dipped in acknowledgment, but he didn’t speak.

“Okay now,” she murmured gently, stepping in closer behind him, grazing his neck with her fingertips, starting to work into the knots at the base of his skull, and Bucky let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

God, it felt good. He told himself it was just for the headache.

But as her hands moved up to his temples, rubbing slow, careful circles, he knew part of him wanted this for reasons that had nothing to do with pain relief.

His body had been wrecked after the seizure, just like always. It was like every muscle had been pulled to its limit, every fiber burning and sore, leaving him feeling like he’d gone through a war. His back, his neck, and even his jaw felt locked up and raw. But as her hands worked carefully along the tight muscles at the base of his skull, and her thumbs pressed firm but slow into the knots, the pain eased. Not gone, but slipping into something bearable, and God, that alone felt like a miracle.

What would he give to have this every time his goddamn brain decided to remind him how broken he was?

Her thumbs circled up to his temples, rubbing with gentle pressure, and a low hiss slipped through his teeth before he could stop it.

He felt her pause, just briefly, and he almost kicked himself, until she kept going, as if she understood that it wasn’t pain that made him react, but relief. A soft hum escaped his throat next, and he hated how good it felt, how vulnerable it made him feel to want it so much.

And of course, because his brain besides being a mess, was a goddamn traitor, another thought slithered in his mind.

How would it feel to have her hands on other parts of his body?

Not working at the knots in his neck. Not relieving his tension. But in a softer, slower, and more exploring way instead of fixing him. He swallowed hard, shifting slightly in his seat, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way his breath hitched. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, trying to keep himself composed, trying to stay focused on the innocence of the act.

"Feeling better?" she asked softly, still working her fingers gently behind his ears, tracing small, careful circles.

Bucky swallowed, with eyes half-lidded, trying to keep his voice even. "Yeah," he managed. "The ice-pickers behind my eyes seem to have disappeared. All is... numb now." He let out a soft, breathless chuckle, like he couldn't believe how much lighter his head felt.

"I'm glad," she murmured, as her hands slowly slid down the sides of his neck, expertly seeking out the tension that was still tight in his shoulders.

She let her thumbs dip lower, pressing just between his shoulder blades, and-

He moaned.

Low, guttural, and completely unfiltered, the sound slipped from his throat before he could stop it. The moment it left his lips, Bucky's eyes snapped open, and the shame heated his face as his back tensed again.

Fuck.

He felt pathetic, but there was a part of him, buried deep, that thrummed with how good it felt to let go, even just a little.

Behind him, she stilled for a fraction of a second.

She had definitely heard that.

He could feel his ears burning, and before he could gather himself enough to speak, her hands moved again, smooth and calm, as if nothing had happened.

She bit her lip so hard it almost hurt, thanking every higher power he couldn’t see her face right now. Because that sound? That sound had gone straight from her ears to her southern region, sending a jolt of heat through her body so fast it left her breathless.

She swallowed thickly, schooling her features before sliding her hands back up to tend a different spot. But then, guided by purely innocent intentions, she casually, carefully, returned to that same spot between his shoulder blades. Just to... make sure she worked out the tension. Of course.

Her fingers circled there again, pressing slow and deep-

And he didn’t disappoint.

Another low, breathy sound rumbled out of him, not as loud as before but just as raw.

She had to bite her lip harder, pressing her thighs together instinctively as she kept going, pretending not to notice. Maybe if-

"Can we go to the park when you feel alright, Daddy?" Thomas' small voice cut through the thick air between them like a pin to a balloon, breaking the invisible thread that had been pulling tighter and tighter.

Bucky stiffened slightly under her hands, and she froze, suddenly reminded that the child was there. Sitting on the couch, surrounded by toys, watching them like it was just another normal day.

Her face burned as a wave of mortification crashed over her. How had she let herself forget?

Bucky cleared his throat, answering with a soft voice, but there was something on it, like he was pulling himself back together. “Sure, kiddo. I’m all yours today. Wanna… wanna go visit Uncle Steve too?”

Thomas beamed. “Yay! Can we buy chocolate cake too?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah. We can do that.”

Taking the cue, she let her hands slide gently away from his skin. “There you go,” she said quietly, more composed than she felt, heading straight to the kitchen sink to wash the oil from her palms. The water ran warm, but her skin felt flushed for other reasons entirely.

She needed to stop imagining things that weren’t meant to be there.

Bucky was her boss. Thomas’ dad.

And if she didn’t want to fall harder, to make this nice domestic fantasy crack open and hurt, she needed to start expanding her social circle, like she had promised herself. Even if she didn’t want to. Even if she’d rather stay right here, tangled up in something that wasn’t hers to want.

She dried her hands slowly, hearing Bucky’s voice behind her as he started chatting casually with Thomas again, like nothing had happened.

“Well, I should... I should get going,” she said, folding the towel neatly over the sink. “Still have groceries to buy and...” Her voice trailed off as she smoothed her palms down her thighs, like she wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence.

"Of course," Bucky replied quietly, already pushing himself up from the chair, rolling his shoulders.

She glanced toward the living room area where her jacket and bag rested over the arm of the couch and moved to gather them. Just as she was slipping on her jacket, Thomas looked up from where he was playing and chirped, "Have fun dancing!"

Right.

She blinked, forcing a smile as she bent slightly to ruffle his hair. "Thank you, dear. I will."

Bucky was already at the apartment door when she turned around, opening it wordlessly, filling the doorway with his frame. She walked over, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and he stepped aside to let her pass first, ever the gentleman.

They walked side by side in silence to the elevator, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

As they reached the building entrance, she turned to him, giving a small, polite smile, holding onto the strap of her bag like a lifeline. “Have fun at the park with Thomas,” she said softly.

He hesitated, tapping his fingers against the doorframe before he forced himself to meet her eyes briefly.

"Yeah... and you-" he cleared his throat, darting his gaze away for a second before returning, almost reluctant. "Have fun tonight. Just... be careful."

"Always."

And with that, she turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her back until the door clicked shut behind her.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira@technicallytinyheart@put-trash-here@chinggay85-blog@tulippix@dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100 @tanyaherondale @theflowerswillbloom @stars4birdie @soberbabes @greatmistakes @littlesuniee @casey1-2007 @escapefromrealitylol

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[crazyunsexycool]

Foundations (#4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 6.9.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter

The coffee shop wasn’t too crowded when he arrived, and he was grateful for that. He was early, of course. Old habits die hard. But he also wanted a moment to compose himself, to get his head straight before she arrived. After everything that had transpired at Steve’s, he figured that meeting on neutral ground to discuss their arrangement's details was the right call. He didn’t want any more misunderstandings. Also, some things were better said in person than over the phone.

He chose a booth at the back end, right next to the emergency door. A spot where no one could come up from behind him, and he could see the entire room with just a glance. Five minutes ticked by, and his fingers started drumming lightly against the table while his gaze drifted to the door every few seconds.

The door swung open, and he straightened his posture.

She stepped inside, with her hair slightly tousled from the breeze outside. When her gaze landed on him, her lips curved into a small, almost hesitant smile, and she lifted her hand in a quick wave. He felt his body relax and found himself smiling back just a little, raising his own hand in return, curling his fingers awkwardly.

She walked toward the booth and sat across him, setting her bag down at her side. “Hey”

“Hey.” He settled back in his spot, and his fingers started drumming lightly against the table before he caught himself, folding his hands together to keep them still. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course,” she said, flicking up her eyes to meet his before quickly shifting to the side. “I figured it was better to talk things out in person.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” He nodded, relaxing his shoulders just slightly. “Wanted to… keep things clear. No misunderstandings.”

Before the silence could stretch, the waiter approached swiftly, with his notepad already out. “Ready to order?”

Bucky’s fingers twitched, his eyes shifting to the man. “Yeah. Black coffee.”

She glanced up, her voice softer. “Milk coffee, please.”

The waiter nodded, scribbling down the order before heading off.

Bucky cleared his throat, starting all over, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “I… uh… thanks for coming. And for agreeing to be Thomas’s nanny.”

She smiled again. “Thanks for offering. I’m glad we could work something out.”

He nodded as he looked down at his hands, unconsciously tapping his fingers against the table again. He stopped himself, shoving his hands under the table.

“Look, I want to be upfront about everything.” He took a breath, flicking his gaze to hers before quickly dropping away. “I talked to Steve. He… helped me figure out what I actually need.”

Her brows lifted, and she also leaned forward a little in a curious gesture.

Bucky’s jaw worked, and his fingers clenched under the table. “I need someone to pick up Thomas from school. Stay with him until I get back.” He hesitated, then continued. “If possible… make him dinner.”

She tilted her head. “Do you want me to make dinner for both of you?”

His eyes snapped up in surprise. “No. But… you’d do that?”

She shrugged, curving her lips into a faint smile. “The work’s the same. Just a little more ingredients.”

Bucky blinked, opening his mouth before quickly snapping it shut. Home-cooked meals. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that. Aside from the things he’d taught himself to make for Thomas, it was all takeout and quick fixes. He cleared his throat, nodding stiffly. “Yeah… yeah, that’d be good. Thanks.”

She smiled, easing her posture. “Alright. Consider it done.”

Bucky swallowed, tensing his shoulders again. “I, uh… I also need someone to watch him when I’m… away.”

Her expression grew serious. “Right. When you’re on missions.”

He nodded, dropping his gaze again. “Yeah. I try to pick things that can be done in a day. But… sometimes that’s not possible.” He hesitated. “And the people I trust to watch him… they’re usually in the field with me.”

His fingers started tapping again, faster, while his shoulders hunched. “I know it’s a lot to ask. It’s… It’s not fair to you. It’s complicated and messy, and I-”

“I’ll do it.”

His head snapped up, and his gaze widened in surprise. “You… will?”

She smiled softly. “I agreed to this knowing who you are, Bucky. Knowing what you do.” Her voice was gentle. “I wouldn’t have said yes if I couldn’t handle it.” She offered him a reassuring smile, but then it faded a little. “That being said, I told you my fee per hour. Given that you’re hiring me for a high amount of time, I could lower the number a bit, but… are you sure-”

“Don’t worry about that.” His response was firm and immediate.

She hesitated, dropping her gaze, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve with her fingers. He didn’t exactly look like the kind of man who could afford this sort of service: military pension, single dad, worn jackets and fraying jeans.

And maybe he saw the flicker of doubt in her expression because his jaw clenched, and his posture shifted. “Don’t- This won’t put me in a tight spot.” His voice was low and rough, his eyes locked on hers.

She wanted to believe him. She opened her mouth to argue, to offer a lower price, but something about his expression stopped her. The hard set of his jaw. The tension in his shoulders. This was about pride.

So she nodded, letting it drop. “…Alright.”

He relaxed just a little, uncurling his fingers from the fist they’d been clenched in under the table. The reality was that he didn’t have to worry about money. Not now. Not since Steve had stuck his nose where it didn’t belong like it was his favorite sport.

Knowing Bucky’s situation, knowing that he’d never ask for help even if he was drowning, Steve had gone behind his back -again- and talked to Tony. He could still remember the conversation, the smug look on Steve’s face as he relayed Tony’s response. The last time I go behind your back, Buck. Promise.

Tony had been… agreeable. Hadn’t even hesitated, according to Steve. Just asked for her bank information and handed it off to his accountants, calling it “pocket change” and making some joke about how much more than that his dry-cleaning cost every month.

All for the kiddo, Tony had said. Anything he needs.

Bucky’s stomach churned with shame as he gritted out his thanks. But Steve had only shrugged “We all promised to help with Thomas, Buck. And you know the one thing Tony has in spades is money. Let him do this.”

Bucky swallowed hard, This is for Thomas. For the boy he was trying so damn hard to take care of. And if accepting Stark’s “cents” meant giving Thomas stability… then Bucky would swallow his pride. Just this once.

Now that the elephant in the room was addressed, it was time to come clean about… the other things.

“There are some things I need to warn you about,” Bucky started, tightening his fingers around his coffee cup. “It wouldn’t be fair to let you take this job without knowing certain aspects of our daily life.”

She straightened, knitting her brows together as her hands folded neatly on the table. “…Okay. Shoot.”

Bucky’s lips twitched. Damn. Not the best choice of words for someone like him. He looked away, flexing his fingers around the cup again before he released it, running his hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. “Because of… past experiences, I have certain… neurological sequelae.”

He didn’t look at her, just fixed his eyes on the dark liquid in his cup, watching the faint ripple as his fingers drummed against the ceramic as he grabbed it again. “I don’t expect you to do anything about it. I just… I don’t want you to freak out if you’re at the house and I… have an episode.”

Her hands tightened together, but she didn’t say a word. She just… watched him. Listened.

He let go of the cup and curled his fingers into fists before he forced them to relax. “Also… I get it if you rethink taking the job after I tell this.”

Her brows furrowed, her lips pressing together, but she didn’t interrupt.

He looked away, stiffening his posture. This was something only a handful of people knew. Hell, even he tried to forget about it most days. But she deserved to know. Especially if she was going to be in his house, around his kid. He took a breath. “Sometimes I have seizures.”

Her eyes widened, but she quickly schooled her expression, straightening her shoulders. “Oh.”

Bucky swallowed. “You don’t have to worry about it. I don’t… I don’t need help or anything. Just… if it happens and you’re there, just… roll me on my side.” He hesitated. “So I don’t…”

Choke on my damn vomit while I’m a twisting vegetable.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Thomas tries to help, but… I’m heavy, and enhanced. So…” He trailed off, with his eyes fixed on the table, unable to look at her.

She was silent for a moment, but her features softened, flicking her eyes over his tense posture and hunched shoulders. Then she let out a breath, curving her lips into a gentle, almost comforting smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I had students with epilepsy before. I know what to do in case of seizures.”

His head snapped up in surprise. “…You did?”

She nodded, relaxing her hands. “Yeah. I know how to keep you safe until it passes. Do you have any meds I should know about? Anything I need to give you after an episode?”

He shook his head. “No. No meds.” He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “My metabolism eats them up before they do any good.” His eyes dropped, “I just… have to suck it up.”

And live with the fact that my brain’s fried beyond repair. Some things aren’t going to get better.

Her expression softened, but she didn’t comment on the matter. “Alright.”

He looked up, narrowing his eyes. “That’s it? No… questions?”

She shrugged, with a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You told me what I need to know and do.”

Bucky’s posture eased, but his eyes dropped again, working his jaw as he forced himself to continue. Might as well get everything out now.

“Alright. In addition to that, there’s something else.” His fingers tightened around the ceramic again. “Sometimes I go… idle.”

Her brows knitted together. “Idle?”

“Yeah. It’s like… I zone out. Completely. Like I’m… not there.”

She leaned in just slightly, curling her fingers together on the table. “And… what should I do if that happens?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his shoulders stiffening. “Nothing, really. It doesn’t happen often. But if you see me sitting on the couch or… anywhere, really, and I seem far away, not blinking, and not responding at all… that’s what’s happening.”

He looked up then, his eyes locking on hers. “I’ve been told it lasts at most ten minutes. It’s not dangerous. Just… weird.”

Her gaze softened.

He swallowed. “I’m telling you this because it’s fair for you to know. Not because I expect you to take care of me. That’s not… that’s not why you’re going to be at my house.”

“Alright. I get it.” Her voice was calm as she looked at him, not with pity or discomfort, just acceptance. “Anything else?”

Bucky hesitated, flexing his fingers around the cup. “No. That’s all.”

He left out the phantom pain that flared up in his arm, the twisting, burning sensation that ghosted through the limb that wasn’t there. He left out the swelling in the scarred tissue where the prosthesis met his skin, the raw ache after straining his vibranium arm. Those were things he’d learned to mask, just more pinches on the pile of crap that made his nights restless. Nothing she needed to worry about.

He looked down, waiting for her to hesitate, to show something that would prove he’d made a mistake by being this honest. Instead, she looked at him. “In case you’re wondering, what you’ve told me doesn’t change my intention to work under you. At all.”

He lifted his gaze, relieved “…Really?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, tilting her head just slightly. “Really.”

Her gaze dropped to his hands, and she almost reached for him, almost moved to squeeze his hand, to offer some physical reassurance. But she caught herself, tightening her fingers around her own cup instead, keeping the gesture to herself.

The silence stretched between them until she cleared her throat. “Um… how’s your finger?”

He blinked, jerking back his head, caught off guard. “My…?”

Her lips curved into a more pronounced smile. “Your finger. The one that I…” She nodded toward his flesh hand, her gaze flicking down.

“Oh.” Bucky lifted it, flexing his fingers as he examined the faint pink line where the wound had been. “Well, I removed the stitches.” He tilted his hand, appreciating the neatness of the scar. “You did a really good job. It’ll be pretty much gone in a day or two.”

She watched, almost transfixed.

In just a couple of days, the once-mangled finger had already smoothed over with pinkish new skin, as if weeks had passed instead of mere days. It was fascinating in a way she hadn’t expected.

Without really thinking, she stretched out her hand. “Can I…?”

Bucky blinked, startled.

She hadn’t actually planned to touch him, but she’d stitched that skin together with her own hands, and now it looked like it had never even happened. It was mesmerizing. He hesitated, and his body tensed, then he nodded, clearing his throat. “Uh… um, yeah. It’s your work of art, after all.”

She huffed out a soft laugh, stopping her fingers just short of grazing his, hovering close enough that she could see every healed stitch. “Kind of gory art.”

Bucky smirked, and the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. “Art’s still art.”

Her lips quirked, her fingertips almost brushing his skin before she pulled back, curling them into her palm. The moment passed, but the air between them felt different. Lighter. Warmer.

She glanced down at their empty cups, at the remnants of foam and coffee rings marking the ceramic. There wasn’t much left to say, at least, professionally speaking. The important things had been discussed and the terms understood.

And she knew he had to pick up Thomas soon.

Still, she lingered, drifting her gaze back to him. His beautiful, tired eyes. The way the exhaustion softened the sharpness of his features, making him look…

“When do you need me to start?”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tomorrow too soon?”

She grinned. “Well, it’s either that or staying at home vacuuming the floor in my old cotton nightdress. I guess I choose the first one.”

She laughed at her own joke.

He didn’t.

Because the second she said nightdress, his brain latched onto it immediately, spinning off into a reel of images he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about.

Cozy, homey images. Innocent ones, at first: she padding around the apartment, with her hair tousled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as Thomas babbled about cartoons.

And then… not so innocent ones. Soft fabric skimming over bare legs. The window light revealing her figure under the fabric as she moved. The idea of coming home late, finding her curled up on his couch, half-asleep, wrapped in the blanket that smelled like his home.

Fuck.

Bucky cleared his throat, blinking hard as if that would clear his head. He shifted his body slightly, drumming his fingers against the table again.

“Yeah. Tomorrow works.”

If she noticed his sudden lack of eye contact or the color he knew tinted his cheeks, she had the decency of not hinting about it.

She just smiled. Bright. Oblivious.

And Bucky took a slow breath, willing his damn brain to focus.

Apparently, in addition to the already fucked-up parts of his grey matter, the portion that still functioned was now traitorously overloaded with pathetic, touch-starved innuendos.

Fantastic.

----

The doorbell rang, and Bucky pushed himself up, heading for the entry phone. If they were going to do this, he’d eventually have to make her a copy of the keys. Eventually.

He pressed the button to buzz her in, then opened the door. The moment she stepped inside, Thomas bolted toward him, nearly crashing into his legs in his excitement.

“Papa! She brought strawberries!” The kid’s voice was bubbling with happiness, and his little hands lifted the plastic container proudly, as if it were some kind of treasure.

Bucky huffed a chuckle, ruffling his son’s hair before stepping aside to make room for her. “Welcome to our home,” he mumbled.

She smiled as she stepped inside, sweeping her gaze subtly over the space. The apartment was modest but well-kept, two bedrooms, a bathroom, an open-concept kitchen and dining area, with a small space for a couch and TV tucked into the corner. The walls were mostly bare, save for a couple of Thomas’ drawings stuck up with tape and an old framed picture on the bookshelf that she couldn’t quite make out from where she stood.

“Can I show her the apartment?” Thomas asked excitedly.

Bucky exhaled through his nose, nodding. “Yeah, go ahead.”

He didn’t waste a second, grabbing her hand and tugging her along like an eager tour guide. She let him lead, and her soft laughter filled the space as he enthusiastically pointed things out.

When they reached the kitchen, her eyes lingered on the vintage cabinets, at how smooth and well-restored the polished wood was. She reached out, grazing her fingertips on the counter lightly. “It’s really pretty,” she commented, taking in the careful work.

“Daddy did it,” Thomas chimed in proudly. “He fixes everything at home.”

Bucky shifted slightly, moving his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Needed some work, that’s all.”

She tilted her head slightly, watching him before a small smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve got really skilled hands.”

Bucky stilled.

His hand froze mid-motion against the nape of his neck, and for a second, his brain just… stopped working.

It made sense, of course. Men from his era had been raised to fix things, woodwork, electrical circuits, even their own cars. Bucky had learned early, growing up in a home where hiring someone for repairs wasn’t an option. These days, people needed a specialist for almost everything, since it seemed the knowledge was lost at some point.

He knew what she meant, but his traitorous brain took those words and ran with them, and suddenly, he needed to find something else to focus on.

Before he could come up with a response that didn’t make him sound like an idiot, Thomas was already tugging her toward his bedroom, babbling about his favorite toys.

The child’s room was small but cozy, with a collection of toy cars lined up neatly on a shelf, a well-loved Captain America plush tucked on his bed -courtesy of Steve- and crayon drawings taped to the walls. She listened attentively, nodding and asking little questions.

After that, he dragged her to the bathroom for a brief look before moving toward the final stop.

“Thomas,” she laughed, digging her heels in slightly. “I don’t need to see-”

Too late. He was already pushing open the door to Bucky’s bedroom, revealing a neatly made bed, a simple dresser, and -predictably- not much else.

Bucky exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as he leaned against the hallway wall. “Alright, kid, I think she gets the picture.”

Thomas hummed, scanning the room as if double-checking that he hadn’t forgotten anything. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened. “Oh!”

Before either of them could ask, he bolted across the living room, yanking back a curtain near the kitchen with a dramatic flourish.

“Here’s where we dry our laundry!”

He gestured proudly toward the small balcony beyond, where a drying rack full of underwear was receiving the sun rays.

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, now that I’ve been properly familiarized with the space, can I…?” She waved her hand in a vague gesture, asking for permission to do what she was here for.

Bucky huffed. “By all means.” He seemed to think about something. “I, uh… I’ll be in the bedroom for a while,” he added, rubbing a hand down his face.

She nodded without question, already turning to Thomas with a smile. “Alright, kiddo, wanna wash the strawberries and then eat them as we play?”

Thomas practically beamed. “Can I wash them? I have a wooden box to step on when I do the dishes!”

“Oh yeah?” She arched a brow, intrigued. “And what exactly do you do with it?”

“I wash my plastic plate and cup! And the veggies.” His little chest puffed up with pride.

She grinned, giving him a playful nudge. “Wow, sounds like Papa’s got a real helper.”

Bucky heard her words as he retreated into the bedroom, listening to the soft, delighted chatter that followed, and smiled.

It was nice.

He exhaled deeply as he shut the door behind him, rolling his shoulders as he flopped onto the bed. Just an hour, he told himself. He probably wasn’t going to sleep, but a quick rest before he had to be up again would be awesome.

Or so he thought.

The soft knock at his door roused him, pulling him from the depths of sleep. His body felt heavy and his limbs sluggish as he blinked against the dim light filtering through the blinds.

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, still thick with sleep.

“Dinner’s ready,” came her muffled voice from behind the door.

Dinner? So early?

His brows knitted together as he reached for his phone, flipping it open. His eyes darted to the screen.

Damn.

He’d dropped dead for five fucking hours.

More tired than he wanted to admit. More exhausted than he’d let himself believe.

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he pushed himself upright.

The moment he opened the door, the scent of roasted meat and potatoes invaded his nose. His enhanced senses dialed it up to eleven, and for a second, just a second, he nearly moaned.

Dragging his feet toward the bathroom, he rubbed a hand over his face, already knowing what kind of disaster awaited him in the mirror. And sure enough, his hair was a damn mess too, tousled and curving in every direction. With a tired sigh, he splashed cold water on his face, smoothing a hand down his beard before grabbing a comb and pulling his hair back into a ponytail. Presentable enough.

The pull of hunger led him straight to the source of that heavenly scent.

The table was set with two places arranged neatly, one with an adult set of cutlery, the other with a plastic fork and spoon for Thomas. At the center, the food was sliced and presented, and the steam rose gently from the roasted potatoes and perfectly seared meat.

His eyes flicked to her just as she was hanging the timeworn apron on the oven handle, and he felt something in his chest, something warm, something dangerously close to comfort.

“You’re not staying to eat?” The question slipped out before he could think better of it.

She turned, shaking her head with a small, polite smile. “No, it’s time for me to go. I need to catch the bus.”

Bucky felt a faint flicker of disappointment but shoved it down. She was right. This was her job, nothing more. He nodded, exhaling softly. “Alright.”

Without thinking much about it, he walked her to the building door, standing there for a moment as she stepped out into the evening air. She gave him a final nod, a quiet see you tomorrow before heading off.

Back inside, he sank into his chair at the table, rubbing his face before finally digging in.

The first bite had him pausing.

The flavors hit him all at once and God -perfectly seasoned, tender meat, crispy, golden potatoes. He chewed slowly, then took another bite, and another, eating more than he had in days. Damn. He hadn’t realized how much he missed a home-cooked meal.

Thomas, sitting across from him, happily munched on his food, swinging his legs under the chair. Between bites, Bucky glanced at him. “So… you like having her here?”

Thomas nodded enthusiastically, a little bit of mashed potato on his cheek. “Yeah! We washed the strawberries, and then we made a fort with the couch cushions, and she read me a story about a dragon that was actually nice but everyone was scared of him anyway -oh! And we played hide and seek, but she wasn’t very good at it.”

Bucky smirked, scooping up another bite. “Yeah?”

The kid nodded again, happily stuffing his face.

Bucky leaned back slightly, tapping his fork against the plate as he mulled it over.

It was just the first day but maybe, this could work.

----

One afternoon, Bucky found himself at the grocery store, scanning a list that wasn’t his. Well, not entirely.

She had written it up, a much more heterogeneous version of his usual one. Where his consisted of the bare essentials -milk, eggs, bread, whatever Thomas needed- hers had an actual structure. Ingredients for meals, fresh produce, spices he hadn’t thought to stock in years. It reminded him of when his mother used to send him on errands as a teenager. He could still remember himself at fifteen, rolling his eyes when she handed him a list for the general store. Complaining that it was a woman’s chore, that Rebecca could go instead. His mother’s brow had shot up so high he thought it might touch the ceiling. Oh, really? she’d said, arms crossed. And what happens when you’re out on your own, James Buchanan? You gonna starve?

Now here he was, decades later, buying groceries for his home, for his kid.

Life had a funny way of proving his ma right.

Shaking his head, he adjusted the bags in his arms as he made his way upstairs.

When he stepped into the apartment, he found them sitting on the kitchen floor in front of one of the lower cabinets. He was listening attentively, nodding along as they discussed something that had the kid completely engaged.

“-and that way, it’ll be easier for you to grab your plate and cup when it’s time to eat. What do you think?”

Thomas nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! And for snacks, too!”

Bucky set the grocery bags on the counter. “What’s going on?”

She glanced over her shoulder, tilting her head toward the open cabinet space. “If it’s not a problem, I was thinking about putting Thomas’ dishes down here so he can reach them himself. Just to give him a little more responsibility, you know?”

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly. He hadn’t really thought about it, had just always grabbed the kid’s stuff himself, not minding. But it made sense.

His gaze flicked to Thomas, who looked so damn pleased at the idea of having his own designated spot in the kitchen, resting his small hands proudly on the cabinet door like it was his.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Thomas beamed, already reaching for the dishes she had stacked nearby, and Bucky let out a slow breath, watching the familiar way they worked together.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened, when the apartment started feeling less like a place they were just occupying and more like a home. But he suspected it had to do with her.

----

After more than a month of having her there, things ran smoothly for Bucky in a way he hadn’t experienced in maybe… ever.

He could go to training and briefing without constantly checking the clock, leave for short missions without scrambling to find someone to watch Thomas, and -perhaps the strangest luxury of all- he finally had time for himself.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he could sit down with a book and actually read instead of skimming a few pages before the exhaustion won out or Thomas claimed his attention. He caught up with some of the series people kept referencing, finally understanding half the memes Sam sent him. He ran just for the sake of it, without a schedule pressing down on him.

And… he napped.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed it until it started happening. Maybe because he knew Thomas would be accompanied if he drifted, maybe because his body had been running on fumes for too long, but the afternoon sleep became a petty compensation for his restless nights. Not perfect, not enough to erase the years of exhaustion, but it helped.

And he felt it.

His body ached a little less. The tension in his shoulders wasn’t as unbearable. His mind wasn’t always running on edge, he was less moody.

Apparently, everyone else noticed it too.

“Damn, you seem younger,” Sam had quipped one day, eyeing him suspiciously over a coffee. “What the hell happened? You finally discovered moisturizer?”

Clint, never one to let an opportunity pass, smirked. “Nah, man. He’s finally getting laid.”

Bucky had rolled his eyes, flipping them both off before taking a sip of his coffee.

Well, he was getting laid.

Not in the way they meant it, obviously. But honestly? Right now, that was just as good, if not better than the other option.

Unfortunately, his face must have betrayed that stupid thought because the next thing he heard was-

“Oh my God, he is!!!”

Bucky’s head snapped up, catching the way Sam’s eyes widened in delighted horror, while Clint nearly choked on his drink, already laughing.

His first instinct was to shut it down immediately.

But then… the pride.

Not the normal kind. The stupid, old-fashioned, masculine kind.

Because really, what was worse? Proclaiming to the entire room that his sex life was less than pathetic, or letting them assume he was in fact, as Sam kept saying, getting some?

He scoffed, shaking his head, neither confirming nor denying it, leaving the door wide open to interpretation.

Sam gaped at him, looking downright offended. “Oh, hell no. Who?!”

Bucky just took another sip of coffee, smirking behind the rim.

----

It was late, and the kitchen was warm with the scent of a simmering sauce and freshly made gnocchi. She stood at the counter, rolling out the dough, guiding Thomas' small hands as he pressed the tines of a fork into each piece to create the signature curl. His face was scrunched in concentration, tongue peeking out at the effort, and she laughed softly, brushing a stray bit of flour from his cheek.

Bucky had convinced her to stay for dinner, mentioning -almost offhandedly- that he remembered her saying gnocchi was her favorite dish. She hadn’t expected him to remember that, but the thoughtfulness of his words had convinced her. And the gnocchi, of course.

Everything was fine. Comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

A sudden, sharp thud sounded behind her. She turned quickly, and Bucky was on the floor.

His body jerked violently, and his muscles locked and released in uncontrollable spasms. His metal arm flexed sporadically, twitching his fingers like a misfiring machine, while his flesh hand curled into a claw, grasping at nothing. His jaw was clenched too tight, and the veins in his neck were straining against the skin.

“Daddy!” Thomas’ voice was small, panicked.

She barely heard him over the rush of blood in her ears.

Without thinking, she moved, dropping to her knees beside Bucky, reaching-

The moment she touched him, his forearm snapped outward. She wasn’t prepared for the force of the hit. The solid weight of his arm collided with her ribs, sending her sprawling onto the floor with a startled gasp. Pain bloomed through her side as she coughed, trying to suck in air, mind scrambling to process what had just happened.

Right. Enhanced strength.

Her pulse pounded, but she shoved down the shock, forcing herself up. This wasn’t about her.

“Thomas.” Her voice was firmer now. “I need a cushion. Fast.” The boy hesitated for only a second before bolting to the couch, with his little feet pattering across the floor.

She turned back to Bucky, this time more carefully, waiting for the next jerking movement before reaching in again. His body was still seizing, his back bowing slightly before slamming back down, rolling and tugging on the hard floor.

Ignoring the dull ache in her ribs, she braced his shoulder with one hand and pressed the other against his side, using her full weight to turn him onto his side. Thomas returned, shoving a small pillow into her hands, his eyes wide, scared.

“Good job, sweetheart.” She slid it under Bucky’s head, adjusting his position just enough to keep his airway clear.

She quickly moved behind Bucky instead of beside him, in case he turned. The last thing she needed was another hit or for Thomas to get too close and get hurt. The boy was still hovering nearby, shifting anxiously on his feet, hands curled into little fists. She forced her voice to stay calm. “Hey, sweetheart, listen to me.” She reached out, gently guiding him away from his father’s reach. “Daddy’s going to be fine. But I need you to do something for me, okay?”

Thomas nodded quickly, still darting his eyes between her and Bucky.

“Go to the kitchen and turn off the burners. Can you do that for me?”

Another small nod, and then Thomas ran off, his tiny hands fumbling with the knobs until the soft clicks echoed through the space.

She exhaled, turning her attention back to Bucky. His body was still tense, and small tremors were running through his limbs, but the worst of it was fading. His muscles slowly uncoiled, and his breathing evened out into deep, ragged inhales.

A long minute passed, and then, a heavy exhale. His body stilled.

He rolled onto his back with a groan, dragging his flesh hand up to press against his temple, pinching his brows as if trying to chase away the lingering haze.

“Daddy!”

Thomas bolted back to him, dropping to his knees and wrapping small arms around his torso, burying his little face against Bucky’s side.

He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment before his arm came up weakly but still managing to rest a hand against his son’s back.

A gentle but firm hand pressed onto his shoulder. “Are you alright? What can I do for you?” she asked.

Bucky tried to answer, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. His body still wasn’t fully cooperating, so he just shook his head, signaling no.

He lay there for a while, with his eyes half-lidded, waiting for the heavy fog in his head to clear. The worst had passed, but the usual exhaustion that accompanied these episodes clung to his body, weighing down every limb.

She noticed it, obviously.

“Why don’t you go to bed until you feel better?” Her voice was soft, careful. “Thomas and I will finish dinner, hm?”

Bucky’s jaw tensed as he tried to push himself upright. “I’m fine-”

She cut him off. “Bucky, you just had a seizure.” Her tone was firm now, brooking no argument. “You are not an Avenger here. You’re just a dad who has nothing to prove inside these walls.”

His nostrils flared, and the instinct to argue bubbled up, even as his body betrayed him. But she wasn’t done. “Go rest while I stay with him. That’s why I’m here. To help in these scenarios, too, remember?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

He hated this. The weakness. The way his body forced him to stop when all he wanted to do was push through. But… she was right.

So he swallowed the lump in his throat and gave her a slow, reluctant nod. “Thanks.”

She returned the nod, shifting closer and helping him as he struggled to sit up, with her hand firmly pressed against his back.

It took him too much effort to stand, but with her help, he finally did it.

Thomas looked up at him, worried but trying to be brave, and Bucky ruffled his hair with a tired half-smile. “Be good, alright?”

The boy nodded eagerly. “I will! We’re gonna make the best gnocchi ever!”

He let out a breath, glancing back at her before mumbling, “Wake me if you need anything.” And then, finally, he forced himself toward the bedroom, with his body impossibly heavy, and his mind already sinking into exhaustion.

-----

She stayed in the kitchen with Thomas, finishing the gnocchi together. By the time they cooked them, the whole apartment was filled with the rich scent of home-cooked food. She made sure to set aside a large tupperware for Bucky, either for tomorrow or for when he inevitably woke up in the small hours of the night. He would be hungry.

She and Thomas ate together, and she kept the conversation light, gently steering it toward fun topics to keep his mind occupied. The kid was resilient, but she could tell the evening had rattled him, the way his eyes flicked toward the hallway every so often, as if expecting his father to appear.

After dinner, they washed the dishes together, and when everything was clean and put away, she checked the time. She should have left already.

But she didn’t.

As expected, Bucky succumbed to sleep, and she let him.

She stayed in the kitchen with Thomas, finishing the gnocchi together, rolling and shaping the dough, pressing tiny curls into each one with a fork. By the time they cooked them, the whole apartment was filled with the rich, warm scent of home-cooked food. She made sure to set aside a large Tupperware for Bucky—either for tomorrow or for when he inevitably woke up in the small hours of the night. He would be hungry.

She and Thomas ate together, and she kept the conversation light, gently steering it toward fun topics to keep his mind occupied. The kid was resilient, but she could tell the evening had rattled him, the way his eyes flicked toward the hallway every so often, as if expecting his father to appear.

After dinner, they washed the dishes together, and when everything was clean and put away, she checked the time. She should have left already.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she peeked toward Bucky’s bedroom since the door was slightly ajar. The room was dark, but she could hear it, a heavy, soft snoring, the unmistakable sound of sleep. He was out.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair before making a decision.

“Alright, kiddo,” she said, turning to Thomas. “Go put on your pajamas.”

His face lit up. “You’re staying a little longer?”

“Yeah, just a little,” she smiled. “How about two rounds of Avengers memory tiles?”

The game was familiar and easy territory. They sat on the floor, flipping over cards, matching faces, some of which she had actually seen in real life, which still blew her mind.

When they finished the second round, she patted the child’s knee. “Alright, time for teeth brushing.”

He groaned but obeyed, dragging himself to the bathroom.

By the time they settled into his room, he was already yawning, curling up under his blanket as she pulled a book from his small shelf. She read to him, but he barely lasted five pages before his breathing evened out, his little body completely relaxed. Satisfied, she tucked the blanket around him and quietly stepped out, closing the door halfway.

The apartment was silent now. Peaceful.

She wandered into the main area, glancing toward the hallway. She hesitated, glancing toward the door. She should leave. It was already past the time she normally did. But the thought of stepping out into the cold night, of leaving Thomas alone with only his sleeping father after everything that happened—it didn’t sit right with her.

Her eyes flickered toward the bookshelf, scanning the spines. Bucky didn’t have many books, he had an interesting mix. War accounts, history, and fantasy novels. She pulled one out, flipping through a few pages before exhaling softly.

Grabbing the blanket draped over the back of the couch, she settled, curling herself up against the cushions, with the book resting on her lap. She’d just stay for a little while. Read a few chapters. Make sure everything was truly settled.

But as the warmth of the blanket that smelled like him wrapped around her, her eyelids grew heavier, and her body relaxed against the couch. She blinked slowly, trying to focus on the words in front of her, but they blurred together as her brain slipped into that hazy space between wakefulness and sleep. The apartment was too quiet, too comfortable, and the exhaustion of the evening’s unexpected events finally caught up to her.

She shifted slightly, curling deeper into the cushions, inhaling the scent of clean soap and something distinctly Bucky lingering in the fabric.

She’d leave soon.

She just needed a minute.

Just… a minute.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira@technicallytinyheart@put-trash-here@chinggay85-blog@tulippix@dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100

[crazyunsexycool]

Awww poor Bucky!! 🥺🥺🥺 he just needs some love!

Foundations (#3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 5.1.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter

Bucky's gaze dropped to his hand as he was about to bring the cookie to his lips.

His flesh hand.

Dirt was caked under his nails, and streaks of dried blood were smeared across his knuckles. An angry, jagged cut ran along his index finger, with darkening edges where the wound started to scab.

Shit.

He muttered a curse, tensing up. He promptly set the cookie on the counter, and moved to the sink, twisting the tap sharply.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, rougher than he intended. “Didn’t realize…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, too focused on the water running over his hands. It was hotter than he expected, but he didn’t flinch, scrubbing his skin with almost too much force. His back was rigid, and his shoulders drowned tight as he worked, moving his fingers with mechanical precision. He hated this, feeling so grimy, so dirty. He could feel the grit grinding into his skin, the faint sting of the cut as the water seeped in.

It was stupid, really. He’d been covered in worse before, blood, dirt, and other things he didn’t want to think about. But the contrast was jarring in this warm, clean kitchen.

Bucky gritted his jaw as he scrubbed, working his fingers almost obsessively over his skin. He watched as the dirt swirl down the drain, and the faint pink tinge of blood as he rubbed too hard, lifting the soft scab on his finger, making his cut worse. It stung, but he didn’t stop. His metal fingers scraped over his knuckles, digging into the creases, clearing the grime, erasing every trace of where he’d been, what he’d done.

He should’ve taken a shower before picking up Thomas. Should’ve gone back to his empty apartment and scrubbed himself clean before-

His fingers kept digging into his skin, the wound bleeding freely now, red swirling into the hot water. He gritted his teeth, as the anger started to simmer beneath his ribs. Stupid. He knew was being stupid-

“Um… I think it’s okay now.”

Her voice, soft and hesitant, cut through his spiraling thoughts. “Why don’t you change the water to cold? So the finger…”

He froze, with the water still running over his hands.

He looked over his shoulder.

She was standing closer than before, all wide eyes, with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She looked… worried.

Shit.

He turned back to the water, quickly twisting the tap to cold, and he relaxed a little.

She moved closer, just a step “I… I can get a bandage,” she offered, gently. “If you want.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s- It’s fine. Just a scratch.”

Silence hung between them again, heavy and awkward.

He could feel her gaze on him, lingering on his bruised knuckles, on the fucking cut that just wouldn’t stop leaking. Maybe he’d scrubbed too hard. Dammit.

Then he thought of Thomas, of how the kid would react to seeing his hand like this, bloodied and raw. The boy was sensitive, always worried whenever Bucky came back looking less than okay.

“You know what? Yeah, I forgot… Thomas…” He exhaled, his shoulders sagging just slightly. “Do you know where Steve keeps the first aid kit?”

Her expression softened with relief. “Yeah, he told me where everything was… just in case.”

He nodded. “Right. Makes sense.”

She came back a moment later, with the first aid kit tucked against her hip glancing over her shoulder to check on Thomas, who was still glued to the TV, completely absorbed by the cartoon on the screen. Then, set the kit on the counter, flipping it open. “Alright,” she mumbled as if she were taking charge of the situation. “Let me see.”

Bucky straightened, squaring his shoulders. “I got it, you don’t need to stain your hands.”

She stilled, flicking her eyes up to his. “I work with children,” she said, soft but firm. “I’m used to all kinds of stains.”

And before he could protest, she reached out, curling her fingers around his wrist, guiding his hand toward her.

His breath caught, and his body tensed on her gentle grip. It was firm but warm, her skin felt so soft against his rougher hand. She didn’t seem to notice the contrast -or maybe she just didn’t care- as she angled his hand under the light, her brows furrowing in concentration.

She sighed as she took a clean cloth, dabbing it gently against the cut. She did it with such confidence, that he found himself… relaxing. Just a bit.

Against his better judgment, he watched her, tracing his gaze the way her hair fell forward, a few loose strands brushing her cheek. She was close, so close he could see the soft curve of her lashes as she blinked in concentration. His throat went dry. He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to letting people take care of him, to feeling someone’s touch without the instinct to flinch, to pull away. She didn’t seem to realize the effect she was having on him. Or maybe she did, and she was just good at pretending she didn’t.

She reached for a bandage, still cradling his hand as she carefully wrapped the gauze around his knuckle. Her touch was light, almost soothing, and his chest tightened even more. She was so damn close, her head bowed, and her lips slightly parted as she focused on her task. He could feel her breath, soft and warm, brushing against his skin.

He swallowed, his mouth dry, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He didn’t know where she found the nerve to touch him like this. But a part of him was secretly glad that she did.

She looked at the jagged wound on his finger, knitting her brows together in concern. “This one looks nasty… How did you hurt yourself?”

He hesitated, dropping his gaze to the angry red gash, and the blood seeping through the edges of the makeshift bandage she’d wrapped around it. “I… don’t remember,” he admitted.

Her eyes flicked up, surprise flashing across her face. “You don’t remember?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t. Things got… messy, and I just… I don’t know.”

She didn’t press further. She gently tilted his hand, examining the wound closer. “I think this needs a couple of stitches.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t heal like everyone else. It’ll close up. No need for stitches.”

She raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leveled him with a look. “What, so you’re just going to walk around with your finger open until it magically closes? Even if it’s quicker than us mere mortals?”

His lips twitched at her words, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through. He could feel her eyes on him, searching. She wasn’t buying his nonchalance, wasn’t buying his half-hearted attempts to shrug it off.

He looked down at his hand, the way it rested in hers. So delicate compared to his. He should take care of this himself. Probably do a half-assed job of stitching it up in his empty apartment, hunched in the dim bathroom light as always.

She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. “Are you scared of needles?”

“What?” He blinked, startled away from his spiraling thoughts. “No. That’s not-”

She tilted her head. “Then what is it? What’s stopping you from letting me stitch you up?”

“It’s just… not necessary,” he muttered. “It’ll close on its own. I’ll… figure it out.”

Her expression softened, “You don’t always have to figure it all out on your own, you know.”

He swallowed, the greedy, selfish part of him wanted this. Wanted her to take care of him, to touch him, to look at him with something different than fear. Wanted to keep feeling his hands on him, sensing her smell for a little longer.

His throat closed, and he looked away. “…I don’t want to bother you.”

She let out a quiet breath, maintaining her grip firm and warm. “You’re not.”

He closed his eyes. Damn her.

Before he could say anything else, she reached for the kit, with decisive movements, leaving no room for argument. “Come on. Sit down, James. Let me do this.”

“Bucky,” he corrected, as he moved to sit on the kitchen stool.

“Uh?” She blinked, pausing her hands mid-movement.

He cleared his throat, looking away again. “You’re not Thomas’ teacher anymore. You should… you can call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widened, and she felt the heat rise on her cheeks, “Oh… um… alright.” Her voice wavered, a little too soft. She quickly looked down, busying herself with the first aid kit. “Alright… Bucky.”

His name on her lips did something stupid to his chest, but he stayed quiet, forcing himself to keep his posture relaxed.

She gestured toward the stool, her eyes flicking up just enough to meet his. “Sit tight. I’ll be right over.”

He watched her move, trying to look more composed than she probably felt. He caught the faint tremor in her fingers as she arranged the supplies, pressing her lips together in concentration. But then, her fingers moved, threading the needle swiftly and fluidly. “This might sting a bit,” she warned, almost apologetic.

Bucky just grunted. “I’m sure I’ve had worse.”

The cut was a mess, jagged and uneven, but she handled it with confidence, and it was over faster than he expected. She tied off the last stitch, pressing her lips together in satisfaction. “There. Good as new.”

Bucky exhaled. “Thanks… for this.”

Her fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary on his hand before she let go. “You know-“

Before she could say more, the sound of keys jingling at the door broke the moment, followed by the familiar squeak of the hinges.

It was all it took for Bucky to stiffen and snap his head toward the noise just as the door swung open.

Steve walked in, with his usual smile plastered on his face. “Hey, kiddo, how’s my favorite little-”

He froze, with his smile still plastered on his face, and his eyes widened as he took in the scene painted in the kitchen.

This was not how his plan was supposed to go. They were supposed to meet tomorrow, on the second day of the arrangement. Steve had meant to be back before Bucky showed up, to smooth things over, to maneuver the encounter as the host, keeping tension at bay, guiding the conversation smoothly, and not make things… awkward.

He definitely hadn’t meant for Bucky to show up still in his tactical suit, looking like he’d just crawled through a sewer. He was supposed to be cleaned up, composed, and prepared, since he was going to warn him about her before the arrival. But judging by the way Bucky’s eyes were narrowing, that ship had sailed.

He cleared his throat, forcing his smile to stay where it was as he closed the door behind him. “Hi, Buck. Didn’t expect you so soon.”

“I bet you didn’t,” Bucky replied, curtly.

Steve winced, scratching the back of his neck as he took a cautious step forward. “I, uh… thought you’d be back tomorrow.”

“Finished early.” Bucky’s eyes were cold and his posture rigid as he watched Steve with that piercing, unblinking stare. “Figured I’d come to pick up my kid. Didn’t know you had… company.”

Steve’s eyes flicked to her, catching the way she shifted on her feet, fidgeting with the bandage, her eyes darting nervously between the two of them.

Yeah. This was definitely not going according to plan.

Steve tried for a casual pose, leaning against the doorframe like he wasn’t sweating under Bucky’s icy glare. “Well, you know… something came up. Needed someone to watch Thomas for a bit.”

The words hit her like a slap.

It all clicked into place, like puzzle pieces snapping together in her mind.

So Bucky didn’t know.

He didn’t know she was coming. He didn’t know Steve had asked her to babysit.

Steve had lied to her.

And then, Bucky had lied too, covering for him, saying he forgot that Steve asked for her number. She’d felt relieved when he said it, stupidly relieved. Her fingers stopped fidgeting. A cold, uncomfortable weight settled in her chest, and her heart sank as she realized just how badly she’d been played.

She made her face go blank, smoothing her expression into a composed mask, hiding the sting of embarrassment burning under her skin. She’d been thrilled when Steve called her, her heart had skipped at the idea that Bucky wanted her to watch Thomas, that he’d thought of her, and trusted her.

But that wasn’t the case. She’d been pulled into this mess without even realizing it, a pawn in whatever was going on between them. And it hurt. More than she wanted to admit.

The moment Steve walked through that door, Bucky’s demeanor had shifted, hardened somehow. His eyes grew colder, and his voice sharper. The tension between them was thick, like an electric charge in the air.

She felt stupid. Embarrassed. Caught in the middle of something she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. Before Bucky could respond, she stepped forward.

“You know, Steve,” she started, her voice calm, more controlled than she felt, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t appreciate being used for whatever this is between the two of you. Whether it’s a bet, a stupid joke, or… whatever.”

Steve’s face fell and opened his mouth, but no words came out. Bucky’s head snapped toward her then, and his eyes widened like he was now registering she was there.

She didn’t look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on Steve. “I’ll text you my bank account. Make me a deposit.”

“Wait, no, I know this looks weird, but-”

She cut him off, cold, sharper than he’d ever heard it. “You know, for being heroes, you sure lack a big portion of decency.” Her gaze was hard. “I hope you were entertained, at least.”

Steve looked stricken, “No, you see… that’s not… it wasn’t like that. I just… I thought-”

But she was already turning away, curling her fingers into fists, digging her nails into her palms. She wouldn’t stand here and listen to more excuses.

Bucky snapped off his haze and moved then, stepping forward, reaching out to her with his hand instinctively. “Wait. It’s not that I don’t w-”

She stopped but didn’t turn around. Her voice was cold, even, terrifyingly controlled. “Save it. Both of you.”

Her heart was thudding painfully with anger and humiliation. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how much this hurt. She squared her shoulders, and looked at Thomas, still watching the tv, “Goodbye, kiddo. Be good, okay?”

Thomas looked up from the couch, his little face lighting up with a smile. “Okay! Bye-bye, Miss Y/n!”

She reached the door, and her fingers trembled as she gripped the handle. She hesitated for half a second, just long enough for Bucky to take a step toward her, his voice low, rough. “Wait, I-”

But she didn’t. She pulled the door open. “Don’t.” It took every ounce of strength she had to keep walking, briskly, along the hallway.

----

“You know, Steve, if I didn’t love you like a brother, I’d rip your head off right now.” Bucky growled.

Steve had the decency to look guilty, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the doorframe. “Maybe you should make things right with her before killing me?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

Steve nodded toward the door. “You can still catch her, you know.”

“And tell her what?” Bucky snapped, frustrated.

Steve’s lips curved in a smug smirk. “Oh, well, you said you didn’t need my help-”

The punch landed squarely on his forearm, hard enough to make him wince. “Ow!”

But Bucky was already storming off, striding long steps as he yanked open the door and disappeared down the hallway. He bolted through the stairs, his boots thudding heavily on the concrete steps as he descended two at a time.

His mind was racing, replaying the look on her face, the hurt in her voice. He should’ve stopped her. Should’ve said something. Should’ve done… anything other than standing there like an idiot while she walked out.

He reached the ground floor just as the elevator dinged above him. The doors slid open, and there she was, stiff shoulders and glassy eyes her face a blank, emotionless mask.

She saw him and her eyes widened before narrowing sharply. Without a word, she tried to walk past him quickly.

Bucky moved on instinct, reaching out and curling his fingers around her wrist. “Wait-”

She gasped, and her eyes flashed with anger. “What are you-”

But before she could finish, he pulled her back, stepping into the elevator and guiding her inside with him. He hit the button to lock the doors, and the metal slid shut, sealing them in.

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes went wide with shock. “Oh my God, are you kidnapping me now?”

He released his grip instantly, flying his hands up in an appeasing gesture. “No. No, I just… I need to tell you something. Then you can go.”

She folded her arms. “It sure sounds like kidnapping.”

He winced. “I… okay, yeah, maybe it looks bad, but that’s not… I’m not-” He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “Just… hear me out. Please.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back against the elevator wall, with her arms still crossed protectively over her chest. “Fine. You’ve got two minutes.”

Handsome bastard.

Bucky swallowed, his throat tight as he tried to get his bearings. His brows furrowed as he struggled to gather his thoughts.

“Okay, first of all, there wasn’t a bet or… or whatever you’re imagining,” he started. “I swear. It’s not like that.”

Her expression didn’t change, but he saw a faint flicker in her eyes.

He took a breath. “My life is… a mess. It’s always been the last eighty years.” He tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. “I’m dealing with… things. A lot of things. And I’ve been told I need to seek help. Objectively, I know it. But it’s… it’s hard for me to do that.”

Her gaze softened, just a fraction, but her posture didn’t relax.

He looked down at his hands, curling his fingers into fists before he forced them to relax. “It’s been hard taking care of Thomas on my own,” he admitted. “I end up relying on Steve or… or a couple of other people. But the reality is, I should hire someone to take care of things at home. Not just when I’m away, but… in daily life, too.  And I’m too damn proud and… distrusting to do it.” He let out a bitter laugh, sagging his shoulders. “I just don’t let people into my life. I don’t… I don’t trust. And I thought… I thought I could still handle things.”

He swallowed, and his voice became rougher as he continued, “When you told Steve about babysitting until you found another job, he thought it would be perfect. Because you already know Thomas. You’re a teacher, and I…”

His words faltered, as he realized just how close he was to saying too much.

He looked away as he forced himself to finish. “…And I know you. At a certain level.”

He left out the part about how much he wanted to know more about her.  About how she’d been in his thoughts for weeks, how he’d caught himself wondering if she missed Thomas and if she ever thought of him.

“I didn’t know Steve was going to call you, yes. He didn’t tell me. And when I saw you there, I panicked. Because I was… I was glad to see you. And I didn’t know how to handle that.” His words tumbled out before he could stop them and his gaze dropped to the floor, “And… I was mad at Steve,” he continued. “Mad at him for going behind my back and… and I was out of line bringing it up in front of you. It was… it was horrible of me. But I couldn’t help it. I just… I didn’t know how else to react.”

His hand moved as he spoke, curling his fingers, and her eyes flicked down, catching sight of the bandage, the white gauze now tinted with crimson, a fresh spot of blood blooming through the fabric.

He saw her gaze drop, and he stiffened. Shit.

Maybe he’d ripped the stitches when he punched Steve.

He clenched his hand into a fist, pulling it close to his chest as if to hide it from her. He swallowed, forcing himself to keep his eyes on her. “I just… I wanted you to know that you weren’t some pawn in a stupid joke.”

She looked up, slightly parting her lips as she took in the rawness in his voice and the way his body seemed to curl in on itself.

“That’s not what this was.” His voice cracked, his chest tightening. “You got caught between a friend stupid enough to pull… whatever this was… to help me, but it was never about making fun of you.”

She sighed, relaxing her shoulders just slightly, dropping her arms to her sides. “You know, all of this feels like a cheap afternoon soap opera.”

His lips twitched, just a little. “Yeah. Not exactly my style, but here we are.”

She huffed, and a small, bitter laugh escaped her lips. Her gaze softened, “I… felt stupid,” she admitted. “I thought… I thought you wanted me there.” She shrugged, trying to play it off, but he could see the hurt lingering in her eyes. “Guess I got that wrong.”

His eyes dropped and he ran a hand through his hair, catching on the tangled ends. “I’m not great at… this.” He gestured vaguely. “People. Being around them. Asking for help.” His mouth tightened, his voice dropping. “I don’t do that.”

Her gaze softened, her posture easing. “Yeah… I noticed.”

His shoulders hunched. “So, really, you just got caught up in something that… wasn’t your fault.” His eyes flicked to hers. “And you shouldn’t have been.”

Her expression wavered, but in the end “…Okay.”

He looked at her with surprise. “Just like that?”

She shrugged, with a faint, tired smile curving her lips. “I don’t have the energy to stay mad.” Her shoulders dropped. “Not after all that.”

A loud thud echoed from the elevator doors, followed by muffled voices, people outside wondering if it was stuck. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the door, They were running out of time.

He looked back at her. He didn’t want to ask this. Didn’t want to expose himself further but he had to.

“…I know this is a lot. And you’re probably sick of being dragged into my mess.” His fingers flexed, and then his hands tightened into fists. “But… would you consider being my nanny?” His voice wavered, the words almost sticking in his throat. “…Thomas’s nanny.”

Her eyes widened, “You… you’re serious?”

His eyes dropped. “Yeah.” He forced himself to look at her. “I trust you. And he… he likes you.” His voice dropped, and his words were gruff, guarded. “Not a lot of people he does.”

She hesitated, pressing her lips together. “…I’ll think about it.”

His pulse thudded. “Yeah… of course, that’s fair.” He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze again. “Take your time.”

The thuds came more insistent now.

“They’re probably ready to break down the door,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Bucky sighed, settling his face into a grumpy scowl as he raked his vibranium hand through his matted hair, metal glinting under the elevator lights.

Without another word, he pressed the button to open the sliding doors. They slid open with a mechanical hum, revealing two guys standing outside, with their hands still mid-motion as if they were about to knock.

They froze, and their eyes widened as they looked at him -disheveled, blood-stained bandage on his hand, grimy tactical suit, and his face set in a hard, unwelcoming glare- and whatever they were about to say died on their tongues. They immediately took a step back, dropping their eyes to the floor, and muttering something under their breaths.

They walked down the hallway in awkward silence. He stayed a step behind her, with his hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the floor.

When they reached the building door, he stepped forward, pulling it open and holding it for her.

She hesitated, parting her lips as if she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. Instead, she gave him a small nod, slightly curving her lips.

“Well, goodbye,” he muttered. “And… sorry.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a second longer before she stepped outside. He stayed there, standing in the doorway until she was out of sight.

----

That night, she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in her mind, on an endless loop.

More precisely, Bucky’s words in the elevator.

His voice had been rough and guarded, but honest. At least, it had felt honest. Thinking back, more than half the time she’d seen him dropping off or picking up Thomas, he’d looked… drained. Exhausted, with shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders sagging just a little more each time she saw him.

She sighed, rolling onto her side, and curling her fingers into the pillowcase. Steve’s little stunt was… uncomfortable, to say the least. And she wasn’t ready to forgive him for the embarrassment of being caught in the middle of whatever macho, emotionally stunted drama was going on between them.

But… she understood why he did it.

He was trying to help his friend. Trying to coax him into getting help in the only way he knew how, by forcing his hand.

She huffed, drifting her eyes to the window. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to work under him, at least until she found a spot at another institution.

Thomas was a sweetheart. A bright, gentle boy who just needed a little extra care, a little extra patience. She’d loved having him in her class.

And Bucky…

Her cheeks grew warm. Him.

She buried her face in the pillow, groaning as the memory of his rough, low voice echoed in her mind. I was glad to see you. And I didn’t know how to handle that.

She felt the giggle bubbling up before she could stop it, a stupid, giddy sound that escaped her lips as she curled in on herself. Like a damn teenager.

But she couldn’t help it. Because still with his grumpiness and his guarded words… he’d been vulnerable with her. Real.

And perhaps, that was enough to make her reconsider.

Really… it wasn’t too much to think about.

----

The next morning, Bucky was returning from dropping off Thomas when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He almost ignored it, preoccupied with the list of things he had to do that day. But the second buzz made him huff, flipping open the old clamshell phone irritation.

His body went rigid as he saw the sender’s name on the screen.

Her.

He swallowed, and his fingers clenched around the phone.

That was fast.

His mind spun. That could be good… or it could be really bad.

His heart thudded painfully. She’d said she would think about it. Had even smiled at him before leaving. But clearly, she didn’t need much time to come to a decision.

His thumb hovered over the button to open the message. She’d probably made up her mind right after leaving. Hell, probably while she was still standing in the elevator with him. After the disaster of the day before, she must’ve been just trying to be polite by not giving him an outright no to his face.

After the scene in the kitchen… after he’d cornered her in that elevator, all disheveled and bloodied. Yeah. She must’ve felt threatened. Uncomfortable.

Why the hell wouldn’t she?

He snapped the phone shut. His fingers tightened around the device, and his shoulders stiffened as he shoved it into his pocket.

He couldn’t read it. Not now.

His boots felt heavy as he walked out of the building, and his body was already tense as he climbed onto his motorcycle. He gripped the handles, and the leather creaked under his fingers.

He knew. He knew that procrastinating wouldn’t change the message’s contents.

The words were already there, waiting for him. Whether he read them now or later, they wouldn’t change. They wouldn’t magically turn into the answer he wanted.

When did he become so… mentally weak? He exhaled through his nose, as he started the engine, feeling its roar vibrating through his chest.

The ride felt shorter than usual, as the streets blurred by while his mind churned, with the weight of the unopened message pressing against him like a physical force.

Before he knew it, he was pulling up to his building, moving on autopilot as he cut the engine, grabbing Thomas’ little helmet and striding inside, fumbling with the keys.

He barely noticed the climb up the stairs. Once inside, he tossed the helmet aside, slumped on the couch, and started to bounce his knee, tapping his fingers restlessly against his thigh.

Fuck it.

He fished the phone out and opened it, hovering his thumb over the button.

Just do it.

His eyes scanned the words.

Good morning. Tell me the days and the chores you need, and I'll pass you the fee. If it’s okay with you, I can start when you need it.

Bucky blinked, flicking his eyes over the message again, as his brain struggled to process the words.

He re-read it. Once. Twice. Three times.

She said yes.

A little… detached, maybe. Straightforward. Professional.

But she said yes.

His shoulders sagged as he let out a long, unsteady breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

She said yes.

His thumb hovered over the keypad. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Thanks? Great?

His fingers curled around the phone as his lips pressed into a tight line.

She was treating this like a job. Like a professional arrangement. Clearly, she wasn’t holding the other day against him, wasn’t dragging all that baggage into this.

He swallowed hard. Of course she wouldn’t. She was better than that. Better than him.

She. said. yes.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira @technicallytinyheart @put-trash-here @chinggay85-blog @tulippix @dumblani

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[crazyunsexycool]

Foundations (#2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.7.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

Previous Chapter

From Monday to Wednesday, Bucky didn’t take Thomas to kindergarten. He had been away on a mission with Clint, retrieving classified data from a transnational drug dealer organization in Canada before it could disappear for good. It had been a tense operation that required more patience than Bucky liked to admit, but they got the job done.

By Thursday, despite the pounding migraine drilling into his skull, he took Thomas to school. He was exhausted, but after three days away, he wasn’t about to keep the kid out of his routine any longer, and he didn’t want to burden Sam and Steve any longer.

As they approached the entrance, his gaze landed on her. She was holding several small gift bags, and just as he got closer, he saw another parent handing her a neatly wrapped package.

“…Really, thank you so much for taking such good care of Flore. We’re going to miss you,” the man said warmly.

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Goodbye gifts.

It made sense. That was the polite thing to do, a simple gesture of appreciation. Good manners, acknowledgment of familiarity.

And yet, he had neither thought of it nor had the time to get her anything.

When he finally reached the door with Thomas, she greeted him with the same smile as always, showing no sign of expecting anything from him.

“Well aren’t you popular” he tried to joke.

“Being popular doesn’t pay the rent, but is nice.” She high-fived Thomas, ruffling his hair slightly before he ran off to join the other kids. Bucky watched him go, blinking a couple of times as he watched the child merge with the others.

When he turned back to her, she was shifting her weight slightly, grazing the strap of her bag with her fingers as if debating something.

Then, with a quick breath, she asked, “Are you alright?”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“Mr. Rog- Steve mentioned you were working when he dropped Thomas off these past few days, and-” she hesitated, scanning his face. “No offense, but you look a little… drained.”

His lips parted slightly, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. For a moment, he just looked at her, and she felt the creeping sense that maybe she’d overstepped.

“I’m sorry if-”

“Um, no.” He ran a gloved hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly. “It’s alright. I just have a migraine and I just…” He trailed off, as if even speaking was an effort.

Her expression softened, and before she could think twice, she was already rummaging through her jacket pockets. “Oh, that’s the worst. Here-“

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and held them out to him.

Bucky squinted slightly at her, blinking like he wasn’t sure if she was serious.

“Do you have photophobia right now?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied him.

His mouth opened, then closed. “…What?”

“The light,” she clarified, nudging the glasses toward him. “Is it making it worse?”

A beat. Then, reluctantly, “Yeah.”

She stepped just a little closer, enough that he caught the faintest trace of something floral on her scarf. “Take them,” she said. “I won’t be using them until later, and you can give them back when you pick up Thomas.”

Bucky glanced down at the sunglasses hesitatingly.

“They’re unisex,” she added, a small teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You won’t look weird.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he finally took them, and neither of them moved away for a second too long.

“…Thanks,” he murmured, slipping them on.

----

Bucky lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pills to kick in. A blister and a half. He needed his damn metabolism to cooperate for once. Just this once.

He shifted to his side, his landing his gaze on the sunglasses resting on the nightstand.

You look a little drained, she had said.

And he was.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have fought it. He would’ve just rotted in his apartment, letting time blur, barely moving, barely breathing until the serum forced his body to reset. He wouldn’t have eaten, wouldn’t have showered, wouldn’t have cared. Just waited it out in silence, in the dark, until the worst of it passed.

But that wasn’t an option anymore.

Not with Thomas in the house.

He didn’t want the kid worrying about things he shouldn’t have to. He’d already seen how distressed Thomas got when Bucky was too hurt, how his small hands would clutch at his sleeves, how his big blue eyes would fill with silent fear when he witnessed one of Bucky’s episodes.

So, he sucked it up.

He couldn’t rely on Steve or Sam every time. If he was here, he was the only one responsible for Thomas’s care. That was the job. That was what mattered.

Which meant that in the few hours Thomas was at kindergarten, Bucky would do the only thing he could, lie here, breathe through the pain, and hope that by the time pickup rolled around, he’d be functional.

----

By the time pickup rolled around, Bucky had already forced himself out of the apartment. The migraine had dulled into something manageable, not gone, but tolerable. He could function. That was enough.

Still, instead of walking straight up to the gate, he lingered nearby, half-hidden as he watched the other parents pick up their kids, exchanging smiles and small talk. He let the minutes slip by, waiting until only a handful of them remained before finally making his way forward.

He lifted a hand in a small wave, keeping his distance. Thomas spotted him instantly, and his little face lighted up as he ran toward him.

She, however, hesitated. Her brows pulled together slightly as she noticed Bucky wasn’t approaching fully, like he was deliberately keeping himself at the edge of things. But, instead thinking too much into it, she turned back to say goodbye to the remaining children.

Eventually, she moved toward the entrance, ready to grab her things and head out, until Thomas’s voice rang out behind her.

She barely had time to turn before the kid came bounding up to her, gripping a slightly wild but lovely bouquet of daisies.

“These are for you!” he announced, a little breathless from the run.

Blinking in surprise, she knelt down. “For me?”

Thomas nodded eagerly, holding the flowers out with both hands. “We’ll miss you!” Then, with great importance, he added, “Daddy says that if you put an aspirnin-  aspren- aspirine in the water, they’ll stay fresher for longer.”

She let out a soft, surprised laugh before her gaze caught on something tucked between the stems. A small card, slightly crumpled from Thomas’s grip.

Thank you for everything. Barnes Family

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, pulling Thomas into a warm hug. The boy giggled, squeezing her back before darting off toward his dad.

She swallowed, glancing past Thomas toward the gate.

Bucky was still standing back, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses she had lent him that morning. When he noticed her looking, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

She smiled, tightening her fingers gently around the bouquet. Then she watched them go, and turned to walk inside, with slower steps.

The flowers had moved her more than they should have.

Almost every parent had given her a small farewell gift: a box of chocolates, a scented candle, a handwritten note. All sweet gestures, all appreciated. But somehow, this felt different. More personal. More thoughtful.

Maybe it was because Thomas had delivered them with such excitement, his little hands gripping the stems like they were something important. Maybe it was that it’s been ages since someone gave her flowers.

Or maybe… it was because he was the one who bought them. And, she liked the idea more than she was willing to admit.

----

Friday morning, it was Steve who arrived at the kindergarten gate with Thomas.

The boy clung to his uncle’s hand, his usual energy was dimmed, and when he saw her, he only offered a small wave instead of his usual eager greeting.

She crouched slightly, offering him a gentle smile. “Good morning, Thomas.”

He mumbled a quiet “Morning” back, shifting on his feet.

Steve exhaled, giving her an apologetic look as he handed over the sunglasses she had lent Bucky the day before. “He wanted to stay home with his dad,” he explained. “Bucky’s… indisposed. If he seems a little off today, that’s probably why.”

She took the sunglasses, brushing her fingers briefly against the frame before slipping them into her pocket. “Oh, is he sick?”

Steve hesitated, a fraction of a second too long. Then, with an tight smile, he nodded. “Still dealing with that migraine.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.

The truth was more complicated.

Since coming back from the mission with Clint, Bucky had suffered a couple of seizures, probably triggered by stress and fatigue. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Just another mark Hydra had left on his body, a collateral damage from years of forced resets in the chair.

The migraines, the memory lapses, the muscle spasms, Bucky had learned to live with those. But the seizures were the worst. They left him wrecked afterward, his body aching like he’d been through a fight he didn’t remember.

So no, he wasn’t just indisposed.

But Steve wasn’t going to tell her that.

Not when Bucky would rather chew glass than let people see him vulnerable.

----

Thomas was quieter than usual that day. He followed the routine, sat in his usual spot during storytime, and played alongside his classmates, but there was a certain way in his movements, like his mind was elsewhere.

During free play, as she helped a group of kids build a tower with wooden blocks, Thomas suddenly looked up at her, furrowing his little brows in thought.

“Um Miss…?”

She smiled. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do adults get more hurt than kids when they fall?” he asked, tilting his head. “Because they’re sooo tall?”

She chuckled at the logic. “It’s about the same for everyone,” she explained gently. “Sometimes kids bounce back quickly, and sometimes adults do, too. It just depends on how they fall.”

Thomas pursed his lips, considering that. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Oh. That’s good. I was afraid Daddy was hurt.”

Something in her chest tightened.

She kept her voice even. “Why’s that, honey?”

Thomas didn’t seem to think much of the question, busy stacking blocks on top of each other. “’Cause sometimes Daddy falls a lot.” The words were so casual, so absentminded, that it took her a second to process them.

Her grip on the wooden block in her hand tightened slightly. “He does?”

Thomas nodded, completely unaware of the weight his words carried. “Not all the time,” he added quickly, as if to reassure her. “Just sometimes. And then he gets really tired after.”

She swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “I see.”

Thomas hummed in response, satisfied with her answer, and went back to his building, already distracted by something else.

But she wasn’t.

She watched him for a moment longer, as her mind quietly turned over what he’d just said. Something about Thomas’s words unsettled her, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t really her business.

It would be weird to ask Steve, and even if she did, what could she say? Hey, Thomas mentioned his dad falls a lot, should I be worried? No. That wasn’t her place.

So she let it be.

But the thought kept occupying her mind. Especially because today was her last full class with the kids. The festival was over the weekend, and then that was it. Monday would come, and Jane would take over.

Maybe that was why, glancing around to make sure the other kids weren’t watching, she pulled two lollipops from her pocket. With a little wink, she placed them in his small hands. “Make sure your dady gets one, okay? And… I hope he feels better soon,” she said gently.

Thomas nodded, tucking the candies into his pocket. “Thank you, me too.”

----

Steve arrived to pick up Thomas just in time, jogging to the gate to greet the boy and ruffle his hair. Then he turned toward her. “How’d he do today?”

She smiled, though there was something… sad in it. “Pretty good, considering he was feeling a little down. I uh- hope James is recovering well.” she stuttered a little. Then, with a small smile, she added, “It’d be wonderful to have you both at the festival. Steve smiled. “But in case you can’t make it, and we don’t see each other again…” she fidgeted lightly with the strap of her bag before she continued, “I just wanted to thank you for helping us with the booths.”

Steve quirked a brow, puzzled.

That’s when she realized, he didn’t know.

Of course, why would he? It’s not like Thomas’s father would go out of his way to mention her to his friend.

“Oh, um… I’m just the substitute teacher,” she explained, suddenly feeling awkward. “The titular returns on Monday.”

Steve’s jaw ticked slightly. “Oh. Bucky didn’t- that’s a shame. After all these months, the kids must be super attached.”

She exhaled a little, nodding. “Yeah, it’s tough to leave them.”

He tilted his head. “Do you… have another school lined up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m still looking for openings. In the meantime, I mostly fill the idle time nannying.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly like he was filing that information away. “Makes sense.” Then, with an easy smile, he clapped Thomas on the back and said, “Well, ma’am, I’ll definitely be coming tomorrow for those pies, Bucky or no Bucky. And who knows? Maybe I’ll bring some people along.”

There was something in his tone that made her blink, like he was already planning something she wasn’t in on.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Should I be worried?”

Steve just grinned. “Nah. Just keep an eye out.”

-----

Bucky shifted on the couch when Steve and Thomas entered the apartment,  resting his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forward. He offered the kid a tired smile. “Hey, bud. Go wash your hands and I’ll make you some cocoa.”

Thomas nodded obediently, padding toward the bathroom.

The second he was out of earshot, Steve dropped onto the couch next to Bucky. “So… Tommy’s teacher told me she’s leaving.” He stated casually.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and then grunted. A non-answer.

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You going to the event this weekend?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “I should take Thomas, yeah.”

The blonde continued to watch him with intent, almost without blinking.

Bucky looked up, tensing his shoulders. “What?”

“Are we going to pretend it’s not the last chance to see her?”

Bucky’s expression hardened and his posture turned rigid as he looked at his friend. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Steve didn’t even blink. “You know it's not my forte.”

Bucky exhaled sharply. “Look, I appreciate this… need you have to push me forward, but I don’t need it, Stevie. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” there was an edge in his voice, a weight that made Steve’s shoulders drop just slightly.

“I know you do,” he said, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “But maybe that’s why-”

“Don’t.” Bucky’s voice was firm and final. “Just… don’t.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. “Man, you are stubborn.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and his voice snapped low and controlled, careful not to carry to the bathroom where Thomas was washing his hands. “You’re overthinking something that isn’t even a thing.”

Steve’s calm expression didn’t change, which only made Bucky’s jaw clench tighter. “You know damn well my few attempts at dating were a disaster,” he continued, sharply. “And I only did it because you kept pestering me about it.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky didn’t let him get a word in.

“You don’t get it.” His voice dipped lower, rougher.

His shoulders hunched just slightly, his gaze dropping. “No sane person would look at me and think… and she’s not into me. I’d know.”

Steve’s face softened, as he took in the slumped set of Bucky’s shoulders, the way his hand stayed fisted at his side like he was holding himself together by only force of will.

“Bucky…”

But he just shook his head, standing up abruptly. “Just drop it, Steve.”

And with that, he walked off stiffly as he moved toward the hallway.

-----

Saturday arrived, and the festival was bursting with people.

The courtyard buzzed with laughter, music, and the scent of baked goods wafting through the air. Families crowded the booths, with hands full of cupcakes, crafts, and raffle tickets. The children dashed between the stalls, their little faces painted with colorful designs, excited.

And, of course, a noticeable crowd gathered around three particular men.

Steve had shown up with Sam and Clint in tow, and Sam -being Sam- had tweeted about it. That was all it took to draw in curious onlookers and eager fans who wanted to catch a glimpse of the Avengers in civilian mode. Some were bold enough to ask for selfies, which Sam graciously agreed to with his signature charm. Steve kept it low-key, smiling politely while Clint grumbled but still posed when cornered by particularly persistent fans.

The buzz from their appearance did wonders for sales. The bake sale sold out twice, and the raffle tickets were gone in record time.

She watched it all from the distance, with a pleased smile on her face. It was turning out even better than she’d hoped.

Then, she caught sight of Steve talking with the director, shaking her hand as he discreetly handed her an envelope. Even from afar, she saw the way the woman’s eyes widened before her hand flew to her mouth, clearly struggling to keep her composure. It didn’t take a genius to guess whose name was on that check. Things were going well, better than well, and that was good. The festival was a success, the kids were having a blast, and the school would benefit enormously from the donations.

She was happy. Truly.

But… she also couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt as the day passed by. She’d hoped to see him there. Maybe standing in a corner, lurking on the periphery with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, and shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun began to dip lower, she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t going to happen.

She wouldn’t see him again.

Oh well. It was just an innocent crush, after all.

Nothing serious. Nothing life-altering. Just a harmless infatuation from observing and interacting with him on a daily basis, the same way she did with any other parent.

With the little difference that she didn’t go to work every morning wondering if any other parent would be wearing that blue henley that suited him so well. Or if his hair would be left loose, or pulled back in that short, neat ponytail that made his sharp features even more striking.

Or if maybe she might find an excuse to have some trivial physical contact. A casual brush of fingers when giving him a paper, a brief touch on her arm to get her attention.

Stupid, she chided herself, shaking her head as she moved to straighten the crafts table. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that.

----

Eventually, she found herself chatting with Steve and company before they took their leave.

They were… surprisingly normal.

Mr. Wilson -Sam- had a warm, easygoing demeanor. He complimented the cinnamon rolls with genuine enthusiasm and asked questions about the neighborhood, curious about the local community.

Clint, on the other hand, was… well. He made a big show of browsing the crafts table, holding up a knitted cat plushie with a serious expression. “So, if I get this for my dog… how long before he tears its head off?”

She stifled a laugh. “Depends on the dog, I suppose.”

He nodded solemnly, turning the plushie this way and that. “Yeah… Lucky’s got a soft spot for cat toys. Rips ‘em to shreds out of love, y’know?”

Steve rolled his eyes, muttering, “Pretty sure he eats them out of spite.”

Clint gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you accuse him of malice!”

They were good people. Easy people. And for a second, she understood how Thomas could be so fond of his father’s companions.

As they said their goodbyes, she almost asked Steve about him. The words were right there, hovering on the tip of her tongue. How’s James? Is he… alright?

But she swallowed them back.

----

After the Avengers trio left, the festival slowly quieted down. Without the crowd magnet that was Sam’s tweet, the streets grew calmer, and the noise of conversation softened as people trickled out. The streetlights flickered on, casting warm glows along the sidewalks.

She was absentmindedly rearranging a set of crocheted coasters on the table when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

Low, a little rough.

“How much for the coasters?”

Her heart gave a startled jolt as she turned around.

There he was, hands in his jacket pockets, hair pulled back neatly, the streetlight casting a soft glow over his tired features.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I- uh…” She cleared her throat, her smile slipping out before she could stop it. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s already playing with that girl… Fiona, or Flora,” Bucky replied, glancing toward the playground. “Apparently, she just got here. Same as us.”

She followed his gaze, watching the children chase each other, laughter echoing through the yard. “They get along well.”

“Yeah.” His eyes softened, lingering on the kids before he looked back at her. “Thank you for the sunglasses, by the way.”

Right. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I get migraines, too, so I know how it can be sometimes.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Yeah. They helped.”

She rocked back on her heels, brushing the edge of the table behind her with her fingers. “I’m glad.” He nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment. “And-” She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her face, “thank you for the flowers.”

His lips twitched, just enough to soften his expression as he lifted his gaze toward her. “Not too old-fashioned, I hope.”

Her eyes widened. “No, I… loved them,” she declared, almost too earnestly. She felt a little silly, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “The last time I got flowers was… well, a friend brought them when I was in the hospital for appendicitis… like five years ago.” She chuckled lightly, brushing the edge of the table again, a nervous habit she didn’t even realize she had.

There it was. The opening he should have ignored.

But he didn’t.

“And… what presents do your boyfriend give you on special occasions then?”

The question came out more casual than he felt. He kept his posture relaxed, like he didn’t really care about the answer. But his eyes were locked on her, sharp and unwavering.

Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened as heat flooded her cheeks. She looked down, fidgeting with the table’s edge again. “Oh, um… I’m not… I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

Bucky’s jaw shifted, and his teeth clenched before he relaxed them. His body unconsciously leaned just a fraction closer. “Oh.”

She looked up then, and their gazes met. His were piercing, framed by dark circles that spoke of exhaustion, but seemed to intensify the blue.

So, not seeing anybody. His throat bobbed, and his shoulders stiffened. He hadn’t expected to get this far. He exhaled, slowly and measured. “Right.”

Her gaze flickered down, suddenly finding the space between their feet very interesting. A strand of hair slipped from behind her ear, falling across her cheek, and she pushed it back again.

Before either of them could say another word, Thomas came running, voice loud and cheerful as he yelled. “Miss Y/n! Look!”

They both turned, and the spell broke as the child waved a giant cookie with excitement. “Flora’s mom gave me this!”

She forced herself to laugh. “Wow, that’s huge! You better save some for your dad.”

Thomas grinned, already taking a big bite. “No way!”

Bucky huffed, as a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. “Figures.”

The kid then scampered off, cookie half gone before he even made it back to the playground.

The moment gone, Bucky shifted, and his body tensed when he realized how close he was standing. He took a step back, squaring his shoulders. “I, uh… better keep an eye on him.”

She nodded, finally letting go of the table. “Yeah… of course.”

Before he walked away, she hesitated but found her voice. “I’m glad you came.”

His posture stilled and he straightened himself before slowly turning to face her. His gaze softened, his always-present guarded look slipping just for a moment.

“…Yeah. Me too.”

----

After their conversation, Bucky found himself hovering on the edges while keeping an eye on Thomas, his gaze instinctively drifting back to her as she moved between the booths, helping kids pick out treats, chatting easily with parents, her laughter blending into the warm evening air.

He lingered longer than he meant to, always just a few steps away but never quite close enough. Every time he tried to approach her again, something got in the way.

A parent pulled her aside to thank her. A kid called out her name, needing help. Another teacher waved her over, asking her opinion on where to store the leftover banners.

Bucky’s mouth would open, half-formed words on his tongue, but then he’d shut it again, stepping back, tensing his shoulders as the opportunity slipped away. Time slipped by, and the evening grew cooler as the crowd began to thin. Booths were closing up, the parents gathered their kids, and the buzz of excitement slowly winded down.

Eventually, Thomas tugged at his sleeve, his small voice pulling Bucky from his thoughts. “Daddy… I’m bored.”

Bucky blinked, looking down at him.

The kid’s eyes were drooping, since the day’s excitement clearly caught up to him. “Can we go home now?”

Bucky exhaled, resigned. “Yeah, kiddo. Let’s go.”

Thomas nodded, and then looked back toward the crafts booth, scrunching up his face. “Wait… I wanna say goodbye to Miss Y/n.”

His throat felt dry. But he swallowed it down, nodding as he squeezed his son’s fingers back. “Alright.”

He straightened his posture, forcing his shoulders to relax, willing himself to push past the stupid, adolescent feeling twisting in his gut. This wasn’t about him. It was for Thomas. Just for Thomas.

So he took a breath and walked toward her.

She was at the crafts booth, boxing up leftover yarn and packing away the crocheted coasters. When they approached, she looked up, and her eyes widened before a warm smile softened her face. “Hey, Thomas.” Then her gaze flicked to Bucky, lingering for a second too long on him before she looked back at the boy. “And James.”

Bucky’s chest tightened again, but he gave a curt nod, unconsciously squeezing Thomas’s hand just a bit tighter.

Thomas stepped forward, and tilted back his head to look up at her. “You’re really leaving?”

Her smile faltered, and she crouched down, “Yeah, buddy. I am.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his lips curled into a sad frown. “But… who’s gonna read the stories now?”

Her eyes shimmered, but her smile stayed firm. “Miss Jane will. And she’s really good at funny voices, too.”

Thomas’s nose wrinkled. “But I like your voices better.”

A laugh broke through her lips, soft and warm. “You’re gonna be just fine, kiddo. And hey, maybe I’ll come visit sometime, okay?”

Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Thomas beamed, stepping forward and wrapping his little arms around her neck. She stiffened, just for a moment, before hugging him back, closing her eyes as she held him close.

Bucky’s chest ached. He looked away, trying to ignore the sting of it all. This was just for Thomas.

When she finally pulled back, she ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourself, okay? And be good for your dad.”

Thomas nodded, his smile wide and sincere. “I will!”

She stood up, drifting her gaze back to Bucky. “Well, again, I’m glad you two could make it.”

His shoulders tensed, and he flicked his gaze to the side. “Yeah. Figured Thomas would want to… y’know.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, a shadow crossing her face. “Of course.”

For a second, the words were right there. The things he wanted to say, the things he knew he should say.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just gave a stiff nod. “Take care.”

Her smile faltered, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of the box. “You too, James.”

Thomas tugged at his hand, his little voice breaking through the moment. “Come on, Papa. I’m tired.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Bucky murmured. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, guiding his son away.

He didn’t look back.

Not even when he wanted to.

-----

A couple of weeks passed, and their daily life settled into a certain rhythm. Thomas adjusted well enough to the new teacher. According to him, she was “nice” and “funny,” but then he’d always add, with a little pout, “But Miss Y/n was better.”

Bucky didn’t have much to say to that. He just ruffled his son’s hair and changed the subject, pretending like the kid’s words didn’t affect him.

He felt drained again. It was getting harder to balance parenthood, missions, and the neurological bullshit that seemed determined to make his life a living hell. The migraines were more frequent, and the muscle spasms in his shoulder were more stubborn. And there were days when the exhaustion sank so deep into his bones, that he felt like he was drowning.

His temper was shorter. His mood was broodier, and that was saying a lot.

Not in front of Thomas, of course. He forced himself to keep it together around the kid, to push down the irritability and the tension coiling under his skin. But that meant the rest of his social circle got the brunt of it.

Steve noticed. They all did.

And Steve -being Steve- decided to stage an intervention ambushing in his living room.

“You need to find a nanny,” he said one evening, firmly.

“No,” Bucky snapped, not even looking up from his coffee. “I’m not letting a stranger into my house.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Buck, you can’t keep this up. Eventually, you’re going to have to do something about it.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, tightening his grip around his mug.

Steve’s voice softened, but his resolve didn’t waver. “We’re all here for you. But we’ve got our own responsibilities, too. Our own missions, our own lives.” He paused. “You’re not a burden. You’re not in this alone, but you’ve got to figure out a way to make things work, not only for Thomas, for you too.”

The words settled like stones in Bucky’s gut.

He knew Steve was right. He knew he was leaning on the team too much, burdening them with his fucked-up life and his chaotic mind. But hearing it out loud stung in a way that made him feel like a failure all over again.

----

That week, he had to travel with Clint to Canada for a mission. He had made arrangements with Steve for Thomas to stay at his place. It felt like another burden to drop on his best friend, but he didn’t feel he had another choice.

Things ended a day earlier than expected, and Bucky didn’t bother going back to his apartment first. He was bone-tired, dirty, and stiff from travel, but he just wanted to see his kid. Make sure he was okay.

He called Steve, but there was no answer. Not unusual, but still irritating.

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to his place and rang the doorbell twice before he heard footsteps approaching.

The snarky remark he’d been ready to throw died in his throat the second the door swung open.

Because it wasn’t Steve standing there.

It was her.

Wearing a floral apron, hands dusted with flour, and a faint streak of it on her cheek as she blinked up at him in shock. Her mouth opened, then closed, her eyes wide.

Bucky’s brain shut down. His body locked up, as he looked at her, so familiar and yet so impossibly out of place. He barely managed a croaked, “What… what are you doing here?”

She blinked again, then straightened her pose, wiping her hands on the apron. “Oh- um… Hi, James.”

Hearing his name on her lips again made him feel things, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, glancing over her shoulder. “Steve had to run an errand, and he asked me to watch Thomas for a while.” Her eyes flicked back to his, “I… didn’t know you’d be back today.”

Bucky stood there, frozen in the doorway, his tired mind struggling to catch up. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t understand. “Yeah. Came back early.”

She shifted her weight, playing nervously with the edge of her apron. “Right… well, Thomas is inside. We… we were making cookies.” She hesitated, then added, “He said they were your favorite.”

Bucky’s heart did something stupid, something he didn’t like, and he had to clear his throat to shake it off.

“Yeah. He’s… he’s right.”

She smiled then, soft and warm, relaxing her posture. “Well… come in, then.”

He stood there for half a second longer than he should have, as his brain still struggled to process the fact that she was here, in Steve’s house, baking cookies with his kid.

“Where’s Thomas?” His voice came out rougher than intended, low and gravelly as he moved past her, already unfastening the straps on his tactical vest.

She blinked, momentarily stunned before she managed to answer, “In… in the bathroom.”

Bucky grunted, not even looking at her as he pulled a knife from his thigh holster, the blade catching the light before he tucked it into an old cupboard by the hallway. Then came another knife, a handgun, and an extra clip, all disappearing behind the tiny wooden doors.

She knew it was rude to stare. She knew it.

But it was the first time she’d seen him like this.

The tactical suit made his broad shoulders seem impossibly solid, and the black fabric hugged his body, emphasizing the lines of his arms, as the curve of his biceps strained under the worn seams. The vest molded against his chest, doing nothing to hide the muscular expanse beneath it, or concealing just how strong he was.

His thick thighs were framed by those dark cargo pants that clung to him as he moved. Even weighed down by holsters and utility belts, he moved with a lethal grace. And his hair -God, his hair- disheveled and muddy, framing his face and somehow softening the hard cut of his jaw.

There was dirt smudged across his cheekbone, and a faint bruise along his jaw, evidence of whatever fight he’d been in. His lips were pressed in a thin line giving him an edge of danger.

Danger.

That was the word. He looked dangerous. And damn, if that wasn’t… hot.

He ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?” He turned to her, his blue eyes sharp and piercing. “Where’s Steve?”

She straightened, nervously brushing her fingers against the fabric of her apron before she crossed her arms, tightening her posture. “I don’t know, sincerely. He said he had things to do and asked me to babysit for a couple of hours.” Her chin lifted just slightly. “I told him the last time we saw each other that I’d be doing this until I found a spot in another kindergarten.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed.

“He said he asked you for my number,” she added, just a touch defensive.

He shifted his posture, narrowing his eyes. “Did he now?”

She tilted her head, pulling her brows together. “Didn’t he?”

He didn’t answer and flicked his gaze to the side, jaw working as he realized what happened. That punk.

Steve must’ve swiped her number from his phone at some point since he hadn’t deleted the contact yet.

His teeth clenched, and his body went rigid. Of course, he had planned this. He could practically hear that self-satisfied voice in his head, calling him out for being stubborn.

“Um… is everything alright?”

Her voice broke softly through his thoughts. Her arms were still crossed, and there was a crease of concern on her brow, as she pressed her lips together while she watched him.

Bucky exhaled slowly, relaxing his stance just a fraction. “…Yeah. Everything’s fine.” For a second, he didn’t know what to do. How to stand. What to say.

Silence.

Awkward, heavy silence.

She shifted her weight from one foot to another, nervously twisting the apron’s hem. “Well, I’m… I’m going to check on the cookies.”

He gave her a stiff nod.

The moment she rounded the corner and got out of sight, he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His shoulders sagged, and his head dipped forward as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Fuck.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t fantasized about the possibility of seeing her again. Hell, the way his chest stuttered when she opened the door was proof of that. But the fact that Steve had the nerve to call her without letting him know bothered him.

He knew this wasn’t accidental. Not by a long shot. Steve didn’t do accidental when it came to him. The punk knew very well about the nightmares. About the shitty migraines and the episodes that left Bucky feeling like his body was betraying him. About the way he was falling behind, failing to balance it all.

He had been on his case for weeks about getting a nanny, and now… this? Her of all people?

His fingers curled into fists.

Damn it, Steve knew. He knew, and he’d gone behind his back, meddling in things he had no right to touch. He’d give the punk a piece of his mind for this.

Just as soon as he could breathe normally again.

“Daddy!”

Bucky’s head snapped up just in time to catch Thomas barreling toward him, flinging his little arms around his waist with all the force his tiny body could muster.

The impact made Bucky stumble back half a step before kneeling and wrapping his arms securely around his son.

He let himself sink into the moment, holding Thomas close, shutting his eyes for a second longer than necessary. The kid’s head was buried against his chest, warm and solid, real.

He stayed like that, resting his chin on the child’s messy hair until the boy started chattering excitedly.

“Daddy, we made cookies! Y/n let me mix the dough and everything!” Thomas pulled back just enough to look up at him, with bright eyes. “Uncle Steve was busy, but she came, and it was so much fun!”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to smile, nodding along as Thomas continued to recount his afternoon. His little voice was so cheerful, that Bucky couldn’t help but soften, brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair.

“I’m glad you had fun, buddy.” His voice was calm, even if his thoughts were anything but.

Meanwhile, she was still in the kitchen, apron in hand, tracing absentmindedly the floral pattern with her fingers as she leaned against the counter.

She didn’t know how to face him. Not after that awkward, clipped conversation. Not after the way his body had stiffened, and his eyes had narrowed as he realized she was there.

There was definitely something going on.

When Steve called, his voice had been chirpy and casual. He’d said he remembered her mentioning she was open to babysitting, and he asked if she was available for a few hours.

She’d said yes without a second thought.

They set a day and time, and she showed up expecting to watch Steve’s kid, or maybe a relative’s. She never imagined that Steve lived alone in his apartment and she’d walk in and find Thomas there.

He had been vague -really vague- when she asked who she’d be watching. He hadn’t lied, exactly. But he’d definitely led her to believe it would be his responsibility she was taking on.

When she arrived, Steve explained to her that Bucky was away, and he was in charge of the kid for some days. But then, some important things came up -again, he’d been vague about the details- and he couldn’t leave Thomas with just anyone.

“So I remembered what you told me,” he’d said with a disarming smile. “and asked Bucky for your number. He instantly agreed to it, he was so thrilled when I told him you were the one watching after the little guy.”

It had made sense at the time. He’d seemed so sure, so confident when he’d explained it all. And of course, it felt good to see Thomas again.

But then Bucky showed up at the door, tactical suit half undone, weapons dropping from his holsters, and she realized he didn’t look thrilled.

His expression had been guarded, his body was totally tense and his words clipped and cold. Not exactly the reaction of someone who had agreed to this arrangement. But then again… why would she suspect anything when Captain America himself had stood there, looking her straight in the eye with that earnest, honest gaze of his, and told her everything was fine?

And now here she was, hiding in the kitchen, debating whether she should leave or stay until Steve came back, since, technically, he was her employer for the day.

And, well… she needed the money.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Perfect. Just perfect.

How the hell did she get herself into this?

She looked toward the hallway, hearing Thomas’s cheerful voice as he babbled to his father. She could just make out the low, rumbling sound of Bucky’s replies, his tone softer and calmer than when he spoke to her.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she started to transfer the cookies from the cooling rack to a tray, arranging them with a precision that bordered on obsessive. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid thinking about the man who was currently standing just a few feet away.

Bucky heard her curse under her breath, quiet but unmistakable, and something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

None of this was her fault.

He exhaled through his nose, raking a hand through his grimy hair, wincing as his fingers caught on a tangle. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed to not be in this position, trying to smooth over a situation Steve had thrown them both into.

But here they were.

Steeling himself, he walked toward the kitchen, feeling ridiculously out of place in his tactical gear against the warm, homey scent of cinnamon and sugar.

She was still standing by the counter, transferring the cookies onto a tray, tense. So tense. He hesitated for a second before clearing his throat.

“Hey.”

She startled slightly but didn’t turn around.

He stood in the doorway, blocking some of the fading daylight, with his broad body.

“I, um…” He scratched at the back of his neck, brushing his fingers through tangled hair, already regretting how awkward this was. “Can you pass me a glass?”

Finally, she looked at him and nodded, moving to the cupboard and reaching up on her toes, grabbing one and handing it over without a word. Her fingers brushed his, soft and warm, and his grip tightened on the glass just a little too hard.

He filled it from the tap, taking a slow sip, using the seconds to gather his thoughts.

“I forgot…” He sighed, rolling the glass between his fingers. “Steve asked me for your number when I was out of the country. My mind was… elsewhere.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her expression eased just a bit. Were her eyes a little glassy?

Oh, he was definitely going to strangle Captain Jerk the minute he saw him.

“Yeah… so, sorry if I was rude back there.” He exhaled heavily, setting the glass down on the counter. “I know it’s by no means an excuse, but I’m tired-”

“Don’t worry,” she cut in softly, with a gentle voice as she shook her head. “Really. It’s fine.”

His lips parted slightly, surprised at how easily she let him off the hook.

“I can’t even imagine…” She waved her hand up and down, gesturing at his disheveled state. The dirty tactical suit, the bruises blooming under his jaw, and his wild, tangled hair.

Her gaze lingered a little too long on the way the fabric stretched over his chest. Luckily, he didn’t notice since his gaze drifted toward the tray of cookies.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Want one?”

He looked up, his gaze met hers, and for just a second, she forgot how to breathe. His blue eyes were softer now, warmer.

“…Yeah.” His lips twitched, just slightly. “Yeah, I do.”

Her heart skipped, and her fingers trembled just a little as she tilted the tray toward him.

He hesitated just for a second like deciding which one to choose, then his eyes flicked again to her face. And there, sensing the warmth of his body standing so close to her, and his scent -sweat and leather, dust and something distinctively him- filling the small kitchen, she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was in so much trouble.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira

[crazyunsexycool]

This was so good!!

Foundations (#1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 8.1.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Next Chapter

Two years ago.

Steve crouched in the snow-dusted ruins of the Hydra facility, surrounded by the faint hum of outdated machinery and the occasional creak of the aging structure. The air in the base carried a mix of metallic tang and decay as if the building itself was holding its last breaths. He ran his gloved hand along a table coated with frost and dust before stopping in front of a row of cryogenic chambers.

Each pod told a story of Hydra’s grotesque obsession with human experimentation. Steve’s sharp gaze scanned them uneasily and when he reached the last chamber, he froze.

Encased in cryogenic suspension, there was a small boy, no older than three, with his delicate features eerily serene within the frosted glass. The sight made his stomach twist.

Natasha’s voice crackled through the comms. “Steve, what did you find?”

He pressed a hand against the glass. “It’s a boy. About… two or three years old. Cryostasis. We need to get him out of here.”

His eyes darted to a nearby desk, where he eyed a weathered folder with its corners curled with age. Flipping it open, he scanned the documents, and his stomach churned with every line. “This- he is not a kidnapped normal human boy… they’ve been using fertilization methods here. Thirty samples and only this child lived after birth. The mother died in labor. Nat-” Steve’s voice got strained. “He’s… he’s Bucky’s son.”

The line remained silent for a moment before Natasha answered cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. There’s… documentation here, DNA confirmations. God, he doesn’t even have a name. Just a designation: A-25.”

A beat of silence passed again, heavy with the implication before Natasha’s voice softened. “What do you want to do?”

Steve exhaled slowly, his breath clouding the icy air. “We can’t just leave him here.”

-----

Back on the Quinjet, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The cryo-pod rested in the cargo bay, its faint orange light casting an otherworldly glow over the steel walls. Steve sat on a bench, with his elbows rested on his knees and his hands pressed on his face, wrestling with the enormity of the decision he’d just made. Across from him, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood stiffly, with palpable apprehension.

“Captain Rogers,” one of them began, breaking the tense silence. “Moving him to the tower isn’t viable. We don’t know what kind of conditioning Hydra implemented, or if the kid is enhanced. He could be dangerous.”

Steve’s head snapped up, pinning the agent in place with his gaze. “He’s a child. And from what I read; he didn’t inherit the serum properties. Whatever Hydra did to him, it’s on us to undo it. Leaving him here or handing him over to a government lab isn’t an option.”

The agent shifted uneasily. “And if he’s unstable? Wha-”

Steve set his jaw, leaning back against the cold metal wall with determination. “Then I’ll handle it,” he cut firmly. “But we are not abandoning him.”

----

Two nights later in the common room, Steve, Natasha, and Tony gathered to discuss the next steps. The atmosphere was heavy. Tony leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a skeptical expression.

“Look, I’m not saying we keep this from Barnes,” he pointed out with a little hesitation. “But you’ve seen him, Steve. He’s barely keeping himself together most days. Throwing a kid into the mix?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and he hardened his gaze. “That’s not your call to make. He deserves to know.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Even if it sends him over the edge?”

“He’s stronger than you think,” Steve countered firmly. “And he’s not alone, even if sometimes he thinks he is. If he decides to step up, we’ll help him. All of us. That boy is his only family, Tony. Bucky deserves the chance to decide what kind of relationship he wants with him.”

----

Present.

Two weeks into the new school year, she stood at the kindergarten’s gate, greeting the kids with a warm smile. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves, and shades of orange and gold framed the cheerful faces of the kids as they laughed and ran to their friends. Each day, they’d formed a routine, walking together through the small park leading to the school hall.

Nearly everyone had arrived when, just as she was about to close the gate, she noticed a figure approaching. Her gaze landed on a tall man with strikingly beautiful yet tired blue eyes. His hesitant steps betrayed a certain nervousness. Beside him walked a boy, the spitting image of him, with the same dark hair and soulful eyes. They were unfamiliar to her, but she knew immediately who they must be.

Thomas Barnes and, presumably, his father.

The director had informed her about the new student, explaining that, for personal reasons, the boy would start a bit later than the others. Now here they were, standing on the threshold of a new chapter.

She stepped forward with a warm smile. “You must be Thomas,” she said gently, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s gaze. Then she looked up at the man, her voice equally kind. “And you must be his dad. Welcome.”

The child hugged his father’s leg when he realized he had to go in alone. Bucky bit his lip, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Kiddo, we talked about this. I’ll pick you up at three, and then we’ll go to Uncle Steve’s,” he said softly.

Then he gave her an apologetic look. “Also, what do we always say? Manners. You didn’t even greet Miss...”

Oh. She got so distracted by the pair that her clouded mind didn’t even consider the basic introductions. “Sorry! I’m Miss Y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you two.”

The boy separated one hand from his father’s leg and, straightening his posture but with a quivering lip, offered his hand like a little gentleman. “I’m Thomas. I’m five years old, and… and I will be in your care.”

She shook his hand, surprised and delighted. “Well, aren’t you a little gentleman,” she said warmly.

The bell rang, and she straightened up. “Well, that is our cue. Would you like to come inside? There are lots of boys and girls who would love to meet and play with you,” she reassured. Then she looked at Bucky. “And, as your papa -Mr. Barnes- said, he’ll be here when we finish.”

“James,” Bucky said promptly, stretching out his hand firm but gently to shake hers. She felt a traitorous warmth rise in her cheeks when their gaze met at closer range. His tired blue eyes held more than exhaustion; something softer and more vulnerable lingered there, though it was quickly masked. Apprehension, perhaps? He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and yet, somehow, he was effortlessly handsome.

“Nice to meet you, James,” she managed, keeping her tone calm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, your little one will be fine, you’ll see.”

Bucky nodded once, briskly but slightly hesitant. “Yeah, I-I know. Alright, Kiddo,” he said, crouching slightly to Thomas’s level, in a low and encouraging voice. “You listen to your teacher and... have fun, alright? Just like we talked about.”

Thomas clung to his father’s jeans for a moment longer, small fingers clutching the fabric as if it were a lifeline. His lip quivered, and he glanced back at her with uncertain eyes. For a brief second, she wondered if he might refuse to let go, but then, slowly, he released his grip. The boy stepped toward her, tentative but brave, and positioned himself by her side.

She crouched again, offering him an encouraging smile. “You’re going to have a wonderful day, Thomas. I’ll be right here with you.”

The reassurance seemed to help. Thomas nodded shyly, though he didn’t speak. When she stood again, she noticed Bucky watching his son with an expression that tugged at her heart, equal parts pride and pain.

With a single nod of acknowledgment toward her, he straightened and turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. She couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer than she should have, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders as he disappeared down the path. She exhaled softly, turning her attention back to Thomas.

“Shall we?” she asked gently, holding out her hand.

Thomas hesitated, but then his small hand slid into hers. Together, they walked toward the classroom, the sound of children’s laughter welcoming them into a new day.

----

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he strolled along the sidewalk, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. Two years. It had been two years since Thomas came into his life, and now, for the first time, he was entrusting his care to someone else’s hands, strangers, no less. It might have seemed like an ordinary milestone for any other parent, but ordinary wasn’t a word that had ever described his life.

Normalcy was a foreign concept in their household. From the moment Steve had walked into the tower with that cryo-pod and the revelation of Thomas’s existence, everything had shifted. Even in the haze of his own self-doubt and fucked up brain, Bucky had known there was only one choice to make. Despite the murmurs of alternatives offered to him -guardianship through S.H.I.E.L.D. programs, adoption options- he hadn’t hesitated.

Responsibility. He owed the child that much, even if the idea of raising him terrified him to his core. How could he possibly be a parent when he was barely figuring out how to be himself? A walking mess trying to navigate a world he no longer fit into, burdened by guilt, memories, and nightmares. But Thomas wasn’t just a child, he was his child, a fragile thread tethering Bucky to something tangible and real.

The first months had been the hardest. Thomas, scared and silent, flinched at shadows and refused to speak more than a handful of words. A traumatized child by his earliest experiences, molded by Hydra’s cruel hands, and burdened with a fragility that made Bucky’s heart ache almost everyday. He could barely bring himself to imagine what might have happened if Steve hadn’t found him in that lab.

It wasn’t a journey he could have managed alone. Living at the Avengers Tower, he had been reluctant at first to accept help from the team. Steve, of course, had been steadfast and supportive, as expected. But what surprised Bucky the most was how the others had stepped in. Natasha’s guidance when words failed him, Wanda’s ability to soothe the boy, and even Tony’s seemingly endless stream of resources, like the top-tier child therapists he’d hired without hesitation.

Thomas was lucky, in a way, that Hydra’s experiments hadn’t left him with the serum’s super-soldier effects. The organization had tried, forcing serum-adjacent treatments to awaken something dormant, but to no avail. It was a relief Bucky carried deeply, though it did little to soften his guilt for not being there to stop it sooner.

Over time, they found a constant rhythm in their lives. Bucky wasn’t perfect -far from it- but he learned how to be there for Thomas. He showed him that food wasn’t a reward to fear, that adults could offer love instead of pain, that bedtime stories were for comfort and not to kept teaching lessons until he closed his exhausted eyes. Slowly but surely, the child started to blossom, inching out of his shell, exploring the world with a tentative kind of hope.

Still, Bucky knew they couldn’t stay in the protective bubble of the tower forever. Thomas needed more: kids his age, a chance to experience life outside their small, cloistered world. It had taken time, but Bucky finally worked up the nerve to rent an apartment for the two of them and begin the daunting process of finding a kindergarten.

The search was harder than expected. On paper, the process was simple: call, inquire, and enroll. In practice, things unraveled quickly. Many schools initially expressed enthusiasm, but the moment they learned Thomas was the son of that James Barnes, things changed. “Administrative errors” cropped up, classes mysteriously filled to capacity, or calls simply went unanswered.

When Tony offered to pull strings, Bucky refused. He wasn’t about to force his son into a place where the only motivation was Stark’s money. He didn’t want Thomas in an environment where whispers followed him down the hall, or where teachers tiptoed around him out of fear or prejudice.

So, he kept searching. Two weeks into the semester, he finally found a place. It was modest, tucked into a quiet neighborhood, with no interest in his past beyond the necessary paperwork. No judgment. No lingering stares. Just a promise to give Thomas a chance, and that was all Bucky needed.

As he walked away from the schoolyard, leaving Thomas in the care of his teacher and her warm smile, he tried to shake the tension in his chest. Rationally, he knew it was the right step. Thomas deserved to experience childhood, and this was the first of many milestones.

Still, the ache of leaving was sharper than he’d expected.

----

Thomas’s first day could have been better, but it wasn’t terrible either. As expected, the transition wasn’t easy. He seemed overwhelmed by the number of children around him. Though the school was small, nine energetic five-year-olds in one room was a stark contrast to the quiet, adult-dominated environment he’d grown up in.

The morning began with a formal introduction, as she guided Thomas gently to the front of the room. “Everyone, this is Thomas. Let’s all say hello!” she announced with her ever-patient smile.

A chorus of cheerful voices greeted him in unison, and Thomas blinked, wide-eyed, shifting closer to her side. Throughout the day, he stuck to her like a shadow, quietly observing the other children. His curious gaze darted from one group to another, watching how they played together, laughed, and squabbled.

The first hiccup came when two boys got into a brief tug-of-war over a toy truck. Thomas visibly tensed, his small shoulders stiffening as he clutched the hem of her skirt. She quickly diffused the situation and offered Thomas a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Thomas, sometimes there are quarrels, but nothing to worry about,” she said softly, her voice soothing as she rested a hand on his shoulder. He nodded but didn’t move from his spot.

Flora, one of the more outgoing girls in the class, made several attempts to coax Thomas into playing with her. Each time, she would approach with a bright smile and an outstretched hand, only to be gently refused as he shook his head and clung to his teacher. “Thomas is feeling a little shy today,” she explained kindly to Flora. “But I bet he’ll join you soon.” Flora nodded enthusiastically, skipping back to her friends, undeterred.

When the day finally wound to a close, the children were picked up one by one, their parents ushering them out with cheerful waves and chatter. Soon, the classroom emptied, leaving only her and Thomas. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past pick-up time. Not late enough to be alarming, but enough to notice the change in Thomas.

The boy sat stiffly on a bench near the gate, his small chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. She crouched down in front of him, “Hey, Thomas, it’s okay. Your dad will be here soon, I promise. While we wait, want to learn a game?”

The child blinked at her, with glassy eyes by unshed tears and then nodded hesitantly.

She held out her hands and showed him a simple clapping game. The rhythm seemed to distract him, his and his breathing slowed down as he focused on mimicking her motions. They repeated the sequence a few times, and she rewarded him with a bright smile each time he got it right.

Then, footsteps approached the gate, and she looked up to see James Barnes hurrying toward them, with a concerned expression.

“I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, his blue eyes flicking from her to Thomas. “Traffic was worse than I expected-”

“Papa!” the small voice broke through as he bolted toward his father, tears streaming down his face now that the wait was over.

Bucky crouched and scooped him up immediately, cradling him close with his gloved hands. “Hey, hey, I’m here,” he murmured with guilt. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I won’t be late again, I promise.”

As he held his son tightly, he turned toward her, ready to apologize again. But when he met her gaze, something in his chest shifted, just a flicker, something too fleeting to name.

She was smiling, kind and patient, with a softness in her expression that made it painfully obvious she wasn’t upset about waiting.

That shouldn’t have stood out. But it did.

“I’m sorry for making you wait and... taking up your time. It won’t happen again.”

She shook her head with a kind smile. “It’s alright. He was fine, really. And the game helped. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky gave her a grateful look, softening his features just enough to show how much he appreciated her patience. “Thanks... for everything.”

She was about to respond when something crossed her mind. She hesitated briefly before speaking. “Um, Mr. Barnes -James- do you think we could schedule a meeting sometime this week? I usually interview families during the first days to get to know them better, but since Thomas started a bit later, we haven’t had the chance. If you’d like, we can arrange a time that works for you.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and she quickly added, “Of course, if you need to check with Mrs-”

“It’s just me,” he interrupted, firmer than intended but not unkind.

She blinked. “Oh.”

Just him.

Her expression didn’t change much, she simply nodded, adjusting quickly, but something about her expression made his throat go dry.

“Alright,” she said smoothly, “how does tomorrow at 1 PM sound?”

Bucky knitted his brows, working through something in his mind. She took the hesitation as doubt and quickly reassured him, “The interviews take place during school hours. Another teacher covers my class while I meet with parents. It’s all planned out.”

He nodded after a moment, letting the arrangement settle.

“Then it’s a date.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Silence. His own brain screeched to a halt.

Shit.

The second the words left his mouth, he froze. Why the hell did he have to use that word? He shows up late on the first day, and instead of keeping his shit together, he throws that word in her face like some creep. What is she going to think? That he’s hitting on her? That he doesn’t take this seriously? His mind started spiraling as always, and he glanced at her, waiting for her reaction, expecting something-anything- that signaled she’s offended or uncomfortable.

But she only smiled. Not a smirk, not teasing, just… warm. Like she hadn’t even registered the slip, or worse, like she had and found it endearing.

“Alright, Mr. Barnes. See you tomorrow. Bye, Thomas! Have a wonderful afternoon!”

He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the gate with Thomas in his arms. The tension in his shoulders was killing him, and his mind kept spiraling. Why couldn’t he have just said meeting like a normal person?

-----

He arrived five minutes early. Pressing the doorbell, he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, exhaling quietly as he waited.

A moment later, a soft buzz hummed from the side gate, signaling that he should push to enter. The latch clicked open under his touch, and he stepped through, strolling into the modest front yard where tiny footprints were imprinted into the damp soil, remnants of an afternoon spent playing.

As he neared the entrance, the building’s front door swung open, and there she was, standing at the threshold to receive him.

She hadn’t expected him to be so… put together.

Her breath hitched for half a second as she took him in, her brain momentarily short-circuiting before she caught herself. He was overdressed for a simple parent-teacher chat. His hair was neatly tied into a short ponytail, keeping the strands away from his sharp, striking features. The crisp black shirt he wore, fitted just right, framing his broad shoulders like a second skin, the mother-of-pearl blue buttons subtly gleaming under the soft afternoon light. The contrast of the dark fabric against his fair skin only made his blue eyes stand out even more.

She blinked, suddenly aware that she had been staring, like an absolute idiot, at that.

Her own reflection in the glass door made her painfully self-conscious. She had thrown on a comfortable jumper that morning, warm and practical, paired with an open wool jacket she hadn’t given much thought to. Now, under his gaze, she felt underdressed.

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, she straightened her posture and smiled, keeping her voice even. “Mr. Barnes, right on time.”

His lips twitched slightly, almost a smile, but not quite. “James. Figured I shouldn’t be late twice in a row.”

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “Come on in. Would you like some tea or coffee before we start?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Tea, if it’s not a hassle.”

“No hassle at all,” she assured him, leading the way inside.

As he followed her down the hallway, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. This was just a meeting, a standard conversation about Thomas. That was all. She led him into the small office and closed the door with a soft click.

With him inside, the space suddenly felt even smaller, almost claustrophobic. As he settled into the chair, she turned toward the small counter, flipping on the electric kettle. With her back to him, she absently tugged at the neckline of her jumper, then glanced down, frowning as she noticed a faint smear of green tempera near the hem. Great. Just great. She tried to rub it away discreetly, but the stain refused to budge.

Forcing herself to move on, she turned around, offering a professional -and hopefully not too flustered- smile. “So, Mr. Barnes.”

“James is really alright,” he repeated. Then he asked himself if there was a rule to use the last name, and she was trying to make him notice that fact politely by still addressing him with formality.

She nodded. “Alright, James.” The name felt different on her tongue, more personal somehow, and for some reason, it flustered her to use it. She cleared her throat, refocusing. “I’m going to ask some questions about Thomas’s daily life and family status so we can start building his file.”

At that, she caught the way his gloved hands tensed over his knees. It was subtle, just the smallest tightening of his fingers, but she noticed. His expression, however, remained unreadable: calm, polite, the perfect picture of an agreeable parent sitting through a standard school procedure.

But she knew better.

Not wanting to push too soon, she offered an alternative. “Also, if you’re interested, I can tell you briefly about yesterday and today’s steps in his integration.”

Something shifted in his posture at that. Not much, but enough. A small breath in, a glance toward her, like a man bracing for news he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding. “I’d like that.”

----

Bucky felt little beads of sweat trickling down his spine. Was he trying too much?

He shifted slightly, flexing his fingers over his knees as he stole a glance at himself, just a quick, discreet look. Then, at her, and then, at the tiny office around them, shelves stacked with colorful folders, walls decorated with cheerful crayon drawings.

Back in his time, people dressed better. If a parent had to meet with a teacher, for whatever reason, it was treated as a formal occasion. A suit, a tie. The respect was shown in one’s presentation. So, naturally, he thought the right thing to do was clean up good.

Now, sitting in that too-small, squeaky green chair, with that attractive lovely lady making him tea, he felt like a goddamn wedding cake doll.

Her jumper was slightly wrinkled, her open wool jacket practical and cozy, and there was that stubborn little stain on the hem that she’d tried to wipe away when she thought he wasn’t looking. She belonged in this space, warm and natural, while he looked like he had an appointment with a boardroom, not a kindergarten teacher.

He swallowed, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Too late to do anything about it now.

"Alright," she said, settling across from him with a patient smile. "Where do you want to start? The interrogation about personal matters or how Thomas is adjusting to his partners and environment?"

Bucky barely hesitated. "The second one."

She smiled knowingly as if she had expected that answer. “He was a little introverted at first, which is completely normal for a child his age in a new group. Most of the kids already knew each other, so he’s still figuring out where he fits in.”

Bucky nodded, listening intently.

She hesitated for a second before continuing, careful but warm. “He’s also a bit… dependent.”

That made something in Bucky’s chest tighten.

“Which, again, is perfectly normal,” she reassured quickly, reading the shift in his expression. “Especially considering his background. I have no problem giving him the comfort and reassurance he needs throughout the day. But maybe, with time, we can work on building his independence a little.” She offered him a gentle smile. “But overall, James, he’s a lovely kid. Really.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. Lovely. Not a problem. Not difficult. Just… lovely.

She turned to retrieve the tea, and as she was about to place his mug on the table, the sleeve of her wool jacket caught on a rough splinter in the wood. The movement sent the cup tipping, and a small splash of hot liquid spilled onto her hand and the table.

“Oh, fuc-” She caught herself just in time, trading the curse for a flustered, “Oh, dear.” She hastily set the mug down, shaking her wrist slightly as she clutched her burned fingers.

Before Bucky even registered the thought, his body moved on instinct. Old chivalry, muscle memory, -maybe both- he reached out, pulling off his glove in one swift motion and gently cradling her injured hand in his own. He wrapped his cool metal fingers around hers, as an automatic attempt to soothe the burn.

She tensed.

The reaction was so small that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But he did. The slight stiffening of her shoulders, the way her breath caught, the way she froze beneath his touch for a fraction of a second.

His brain caught up with his actions.

Shit.

This was something he did all the time with Thomas, an instinctive, unconscious movement, one that made sense when it was his son crying over scraped knees or bumped elbows. But this wasn’t Thomas. This his son’s teacher. A stranger, technically. And here he was, holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He winced inwardly, twitching his fingers slightly as if preparing to pull away, to apologize, to-

But then, she relaxed.

Just enough for him to notice. Her grip eased slightly as her fingers rested in his palm, still warm from the tea. And then, to his utter surprise, she let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Well,” she murmured, “I guess that’s one way to handle it. Thank you,” she said, sincerily.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He wasn’t accustomed to people thanking him. Hell, he wasn’t accustomed to people wanting to share a space with him. The proof of that was in how damn difficult it had been to find a school willing to take Thomas in without judgment.

Was it always so hot in here?

The stupid shirt Steve had lent him to look presentable felt glued to his skin, clinging uncomfortably as a fresh wave of heat crept up his neck. He let go of her hand -reluctantly- and with a quick movement, he popped open a couple of the top buttons, trying to breathe. His fingers ran absentmindedly through his hair in the process, loosening a few strands from the short ponytail.

She blinked.

Hard.

His deep voice cut through the charged moment. “Don’t mention it. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He murmured the words as he hastily pulled his glove back on, as if reestablishing some invisible boundary he had accidentally crossed.

It took her a second -maybe two- to remember how to speak after that sight.

“Oh, not at all,” she finally managed, waving her hand nonchalantly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, so you are perdoned.”

“Oh, good,” he added promptly.

“Yeah, good,” she echoed.

And then- silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The kind that stretched for just a few seconds too long, making the air feel thick and awkward. It was ridiculous, really. She was supposed to be having a professional conversation, and yet here she was, staring at him like a flustered schoolgirl while he sat there, stiff and unreadable, probably wondering if she had a single functioning brain cell left.

Snapping herself out of it, she straightened in her chair, clearing her throat as she grabbed a folder and a pen. Professional. Focused.

“Let’s start with the questions,” she stated, determined to get back on track. “How is the family group composed?”

A faint tick appeared in his jaw. “Just the two of us.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “Do you receive any kind of support from extended family members or close friends?”

Bucky hesitated. “I have… friends.” A pause. Then, a little softer, “Oh, um… my friend Steve is like an uncle to him.”

She froze for half a second, pen hovering above the paper. Steve.

As in Steve Rogers.

And suddenly, the fact that James Barnes -Bucky Barnes- was sitting in her tiny office, answering questions about kindergarten pickup times and playtime habits, felt almost surreal.

But she pushed past it, nodding as if it was just any other answer. “Tell me about a normal day in Thomas’ life. From the moment he wakes up until bedtime.”

The questions continued, one after another. But to his surprise, none of them were invasive.

Nothing about him. Nothing about his past. Nothing about the child’s mother.

She was only interested in Thomas, his routines, his favorite activities, the people who cared for him. What made him happy, what calmed him down, what sparked his curiosity.

And he just felt… like a normal Dad.

She tapped the pen against her lower lip, scanning the notes she had just taken, furrowing her brows slightly in concentration.

Bucky tried to keep his eyes anywhere else; on the folder, on the damn splintered table, but somehow, his gaze flickered back to her.

Her lips were slightly parted. Soft. That translucent lip gloss she wore caught the autumn light just enough to glisten innocently. She didn’t seem aware of it, of the way the movement drew attention, of how effortless it was.

He clenched his jaw. Pathetic.

Maybe Sam had a point. Maybe he really did need to -what was how he had said it?- "get some." Because sitting here, staring at his kid’s teacher like the virgin Steve used to be back in the day, was not normal.

Especially when she was just… there. In a damn tempera-stained jumper, flipping through papers, completely unaware that his brain had short-circuited over something as simple as the way she absentmindedly pressed the tip of the pen to her lip.

He shifted slightly in his seat, making the little chair squeak under his weight. He needed to get a grip.

She looked up then, extending the forms she had just filled out. “Here, read it, and if it’s fine for you, please sign it, and we’re done.”

He reached for the papers, his fingers briefly grazing hers. She was already moving, sorting through more documents, rummaging inside what looked like her purse as he scanned the form.

A moment later, he signed it, handed it back, and stood up.

The room somehow felt even smaller with him standing.

She tucked the papers into a folder, then hesitated for the briefest second before extending something toward him. A small, brightly wrapped raspberry lollipop.

He just looked at it.

She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, um- it’s just a thing we do,” she explained, feeling a little ridiculous. “Teachers give a sweet to the parent who comes in for the visit. A friendly token.”

Bucky glanced at the candy, then at her.

Slowly, he reached out, taking it from her hand.

“If you feel too old to try it, give it to Thomas,” she teased lightly. “Though I must say, they’re pretty good.”

Bucky barely managed to keep his expression neutral as an entirely inappropriate image flashed through his mind involving her slightly parted lips against the bright red lollipop, swirling her tongue over the slick, glossy-

Nope. Absolutely not. He shoved the thought into the darkest corner of his brain and slammed the door shut.

Clearing his throat, he glanced at the candy in his palm. He was pretty sure the last time he had something like this was in the ‘20s, running through cobblestone streets in short, ragged pants and scraped knees. It felt oddly foreign now, a relic of a time buried long ago.

“No, it’s… it’s alright,” he muttered, tucking the candy into his jeans pocket, trying to expel the compelling thoughts swirling at the back of his mind.

Her smile lingered a moment as she straightened the papers, and again, the moment stretched just enough to make the air feel heavier than before.

She cleared her throat. “Well, the institution will be asking for another meeting in about three months to give you an update on how he’s doing. It’s the same for all the kids,” she explained, slipping back into professional mode.

Bucky nodded, adjusting his stance slightly, like he was grateful to have something to focus on.

“I’ve also added you to the parents-teacher WhatsApp group," she continued, "as a way to communicate news, the things kids should bring, upcoming events, that kind of stuff.” She hesitated, glancing at her notes before adding, “Um… it says you don’t have the app installed, so it would be great if you could download it.”

And then, silence.

Bucky barely moved, but something in his posture changed. His gaze flickered toward the small table, where his old clamshell phone rested near his keys.

She noticed.

That was not a smartphone, and it was definitely not suited for a parent-teacher chitchat group.

Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “It’s a policy here, since, well… it’s assumed everyone has it.” She smiled, small and reassuring. “But don’t worry, I can send you a normal text separately with the same information. Just… without the cool emojis, I’ll have to stick to ASCII.” She winked.

That got something out of him, a faint huff, not quite a laugh, but close. His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Appreciate that.”

----

After a couple of months, Bucky was relieved -no, grateful- to see Thomas flourishing in his new environment.

The once-quiet, wary boy had slowly started to open up. He was more talkative now, his voice no longer a whisper but something steadier, stronger. He laughed more, flinched less. When he came home from school, he actually talked about his day, about the games they played, about Flora and Matthew, about how Miss Y/n read the best stories and always did the funniest voices.

Bucky didn’t know if she realized just how much of a difference she had made.

One afternoon, while Thomas was scribbling dinosaurs at the kitchen table, Bucky’s old clamshell phone vibrated against the counter.

He flipped it open. A general message from her number.

Dear families, our annual fundraising event is coming up! Each grade and nursery group will participate by preparing goodies to sell, baked treats, crafts, and more! We encourage everyone to take part and help make it a great day for the kids!

Bucky was already closing the phone when it binged another time. It was her again.

Don’t know about your culinary expertise, but we could really use some strong dads to help build the booths this saturday ;)

He blinked.

A just-for-him message.

For a second, he only stared at it, like his brain needed to catch up. The winking face at the end nearly made him short-circuit.

Clearly, she was recruiting him for his enhanced strength.

It wasn’t like the other parents would be thrilled to have him around. He rarely talked to them, never lingered after pickup, never engaged in small talk about school trips or birthday parties. The most interaction he got was a nod or a hesitant smile. Acknowledgment, but never an invitation.

And he understood why. He wasn’t the kind of dad people naturally gravitated toward. He wasn’t friendly like Steve, or charming like Sam. He was… him. Quiet. Intimidating. A man with too much history and too little practice in fitting into normal spaces.

So why would anyone want him there?

He exhaled sharply, glancing at the message again. Maybe she’d sent the same thing to a few others. Maybe it wasn’t just for him.

But… she had sent it. With a winky face.

And despite the self-doubt crawling at the back of his mind, he couldn’t ignore the small, reluctant warmth blooming in his chest.

Because for whatever reason, she thought to ask.

-----

When the Saturday came, Bucky was sharp on time at the open kindergarten gate, with Steve.

Not that it had taken too much to convince him. Steve, being the charitable man he was, never missed an opportunity to help. But Bucky also knew his friend well enough to recognize the other reason he had agreed to come so quickly, curiosity. Curiosity about the place Thomas spent his days. And curiosity about the “winking emote teacher.”

Bucky had two reasons for bringing Steve.

One: With two super soldiers on site, setting up the booths would take a fraction of the time.

Two: He didn’t want to come alone. Not that he’d admit it outright, but walking into a social setting full of parents and staff -people he knew saw him as an outsider even if they tried to mask it- felt a little too exposed. At least with Steve there, the focus will be put elsewhere, and he knew his level of self-consciousness will drop.

Of course, Steve suspected as much. But to his credit, he had the courtesy of not saying anything.

They hadn’t been there long enough when he spotted her across the yard, balancing a few wooden planks in her arms as she walked toward the setup area. She was focused, navigating carefully, until a rogue Lego piece nearly sent her sprawling.

In an instant Steve was there, supporting her before she could hit the ground.

She let out a startled gasp, gripping his forearms instinctively. And then, the realization showed all over her face. Because holy shit, Captain America was in the kindergarten.

“Uh- thanks,” she said, letting go of his forearms, looking a little flustered.

Steve, ever the gentleman, just smiled. “No problem.”

Then, as if remembering there were other people present, she glanced over his shoulder, and finally noticed Bucky, standing just a few steps behind, looking slightly out of place.

Her face lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey! You made it. and with backup! That adds points, you know” She grinned, tilting her head playfully. “More help means more credit when it’s time to take home the leftover cakes and pies.”

Bucky blinked. “That’s a thing?”

“Absolutely.” She crossed her arms, pretending to be serious. “Hard work should be rewarded. And what better prize than free dessert?”

Steve chuckled, throwing Bucky a look. “See, now that’s motivation.”

Bucky shifted slightly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah. Um I thought some extra hands would come in handy, anyway.”

She nodded, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Well, I’m glad you did. We can definitely use the help, some of these booths have been in storage forever, and let’s just say… they’re not in peak condition.”

Steve smirked. “Don’t worry ma’am, we’ll make sure they stand up straight.”

She snorted. “That’s the bare minimum we’re hoping for, yeah.” Then she proceeded to give them a quick rundown of what was needed: booth assembly, structural support, and general heavy lifting. After making sure they understood, she left them to it, moving to a shaded corner where a group of teachers and moms were busy painting banners.

As Bucky grabbed a plank, Steve picked up another, glancing over his shoulder toward her. Then, with a knowing half-smile, he turned to Bucky.

“So… I assume she is Tommy’s teacher?”

Bucky didn’t even look up. Just gave a curt nod, with an unreadable expression.

Steve hummed. “She’s cute.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just kept his gaze firmly on the plank in his hands, jaw tightening just a fraction.

Steve pressed a little more. “Real cute.”

This time, Bucky gave him a noncommittal grunt. No eye contact. No reaction.

"Do you think the teachers might do a kissing booth?" Steve asked nonchalantly, setting a plank into place like he hadn’t just thrown a live grenade into the conversation.

That got a reaction.

Bucky’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he shot him a side glance. “…Is that still a thing nowadays?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Dunno if it’s as chaste as it was in our time, Buck, but it’s still runnin’. Clint told me sometimes they have them at his kids’ school.”

Bucky pressed his mouth into a thin line, gripping the hammer a little tighter.

Steve chuckled, sensing an opening. “I mean, it makes sense, you know. A lot of divorced dads…”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Bucky cut him off, hammering a plank into place with maybe a little too much force. The loud crack of wood echoed through the yard.

Steve just smirked. “Touchy subject?”

Bucky ignored him, grabbing another nail.

"You know, Buck, I think you should ask her out."

"Shut up, punk."

"I'm serious. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Bucky turned to him, giving him a look so dry it could’ve drained the Atlantic. His next words were slow, like he was explaining something to a mentally impaired person.

"Let’s see. First of all, she’s my child’s teacher. It’s unethical."

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky steamrolled right over him.

"Two, I can barely deal with myself most days. I can’t trust my own mind sometimes. I’m trying to put my shit together because of Thomas, but you know there are days I can barely get out of bed. So adding another person into our lives right now?" He shook his head. "I don’t think that’s a good idea."

Steve stayed quiet, watching him.

"And three," Bucky exhaled, returning to the plank, "I don’t think she’d be interested, damn I even don’t know if she is seeing someone. And I don’t want to make our interactions weird."

Steve tilted his head, giving him a look that was both skeptical and amused but, to Bucky’s relief, he kept his mouth shut didn’t press further.

-----

After a couple of hours, Bucky and Steve eventually split up, taking on different tasks. As expected, Steve had a small crowd of parents ‘casually’ gravitating around him, helping with his station while subtly asking for pictures and sneaking in questions between hammering and measuring.

Bucky, meanwhile, retreated to a quieter corner, bending some metal pipes to straighten the framework. It was a stark contrast, really. Steve walked into a place and illuminated it, drew people in without even trying. And Bucky… well.

He worked alone, unnoticed. Or so he thought.

A sudden hand on his shoulder broke his trance, and he startled just slightly.

“Sorry!” she promptly removed her hand. “I called your name, but you didn’t seem to hear.”

Bucky just blinked, “It’s fine.”

She smiled, holding up a thermos. “Thought maybe you’d want some coffee?”

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he tried to shake off the momentary stiffness. “I, uh… yeah. That’d be nice. Thank you.” His voice came out a little rough, and his eye contact was fleeting at best.

Fucking Steve. Bringing up his nonexistent love life like an asshole, and now Bucky was hyperaware of her presence. Every small shift of her stance, every little tilt of her head. It was funny -no, it wasn’t- how their roles had completely reversed.

Once upon a time, Steve had been the one fumbling, awkward, struggling to find his footing with women. And now? He was Captain America, confident and magnetic, while Bucky was… whatever the hell this was. A fucking mess.

“Thank you for coming, James. Really,” she said as she poured coffee into a small cup.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

“And thanks for bringing help with you,” she added playfully. “It seems everyone is livelier since you two got here.”

He grumbled something under his breath, bending the pipe back and forth absentmindedly, like someone fidgeting with a strand of grass.

She caught the movement and grinned. “Showoff.”

Bucky huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line to stop the small, unwilling twitch of amusement threatening to surface.

“I’m going to miss this,” she said suddenly, looking at the thermos handle. “The community here is really nice. Luckily, I’ll still be around for the event.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to her “What?”

She blinked. “I said, I’m going to miss-”

“Are you taking a vacation?” he interrupted, unable to stop himself.

Her brows furrowed slightly. “What? No-” Then, she realized. “Oh. James… Jane is coming back.”

Bucky just stared at her, the words not quite clicking in his brain. “Who?”

She tilted her head, looking almost apologetic. “Jane. The actual teacher. I thought you knew, I’m just a substitute. The real teacher was on medical leave, but she’s ready to return now.”

The words settled like a slow drop of ink into water, spreading, tainting something that had been perfect moments ago.

“I didn’t- didn’t know,” he admitted, quietly. Maybe because Thomas had entered late in the school year, they’d missed that little piece of information.

She seemed to notice the shift in him, the way his grip tightened around the empty cup. There was a certain distress in his expression, subtle but there.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently, trying to reassure him. “Jane is an excellent teacher and person. Thomas will be thrilled to have her in the class.”

Bucky nodded, curtly, handing the thermos cup back.

In all the interactions he’d had with her, the drop-offs, their little conversations, the parent meeting, the fact that she was just a substitute had never popped up.

"When’s your last day?" he asked, suddenly very interested in the twisted pipe in his hands.

“The Friday before the event,” she replied. “I’m still going to participate since I helped organize it, but by Monday, Jane will be here.” She paused, as if anticipating his reaction. “I can assure you, It won’t be a sudden change for the kids. This week, she’ll come for a couple of hours every day to introduce herself so they can get used to her.”

Bucky gave a slow nod, gripping the metal a little tighter than necessary.

It shouldn’t have really mattered. It shouldn’t have made him feel anything at all.

And yet, the news bothered him.

Because things had been fine. He wasn’t close to her, not in any significant way, but she was a constant. And if there was one thing Bucky Barnes wasn’t fond of, it was change.

It wasn’t like he had been expecting anything more than what he already had, which wasn’t much. Just crumbs, really. Small moments of connection. Casual chats, occasional teasing remarks that made something in his chest pull in a way he ignored. The way she talked to him like any other parent—like a man, not a reputation.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

There were other things, little details that had wormed their way into his awareness without permission. The way her voice softened when she spoke to Thomas. The way her soft body looked like it would fit perfectly against his if he just- no. The way her eyes lingered on him just a second longer than necessary sometimes, making him wonder if…

Bucky exhaled sharply, straightening his pose, forcing the thoughts back.

It was comfortable. And, somehow, warm.

And now she was going to leave.

And maybe it was stupid, but it affected him more than he wanted to admit.

Chapter 2

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[crazyunsexycool]

😭😭😭 I love them so much!!!

Terms of Attraction

Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Some fluff. Slight Angst. Mutual Pinning. Mention of sexual activities.

Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.

Word Count: 13.2k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "CEO AU".

Also, this piece is to participate in Grem's 20 Characters with 20 Questions for 20 Tropes Challenge by @gremlin-girly Using Bucky Barnes' character, "When were you going to tell me about this?" question, and mutual pining trope.

Bucky Barnes never wanted to be here.

He never wanted to be in this office, suit, or life. But fate had a funny way of forcing people into the things they swore they’d never become.

The room was dim since the heavy curtains were drawn shut to block out the midday sun. The only light came from the glow of his monitor, casting long shadows over the polished surface of his desk. He sat hunched over it, resting his forehead against his crossed arms.

A soft sigh broke the silence.

“Again?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He already knew who it was.

“This is the fourth migraine this week,” she continued, with an edge of exasperation. “I’m making you an appointment with a neurologist. You like it or not.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, mixing a scoff and a tired chuckle. “You’re overstepping.”

“Oh, it is not in your best interest to start talking about overstepping,” she shot back, arching a brow. “Want me to make a list? Ten years under you, since you were a manager, mind you. It will take a couple of pages.”

Bucky grunted in response, looking for the right words, but she was already moving, pushing the coffee table aside and clearing a space on the plush carpet.

“Come on,” she said, glancing at the clock. “You have the meeting with Schwarz in forty minutes. You know, the one I had to postpone twice already?”

Yeah. He knew. He just didn’t care.

He stayed put for a second longer, staring at the dark wood of his desk. His head throbbed, and the pressure behind his eyes seemed to crush everything. He could still hear his father’s voice in the back of his head “Headaches? You think I got to where I am by whining about a fucking headache?” but right now, George Barnes could go to hell.

With a slow, resigned sigh, Bucky pushed himself to his feet. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to the open space she’d cleared. Lowering himself onto the rug, he sprawled out on his back, letting his arms rest loosely at his sides. As the exhaustion dragged him down like quicksand, he closed his heavy-lidded eyes for a moment.

She knelt behind him, pressing her cool fingers into the pressure points at the base of his skull. He tensed on instinct, prepared to anticipate pain, even from something meant to help.

“Jesus,” she muttered, working her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his neck. “You’re tense as concrete again.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, letting her hands do their work. The pain sharpened for a moment before it started to dull, releasing the pressure just enough to make his migraine a little more bearable.

“Speaking of overstepping,” she continued, “you should really hire a professional masseuse, Bucky. Have them come in three times a week and-”

“I don’t want a stranger rubbing me up and down while I’m ass-up and vulnerable on a pansy cot.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t bother correcting her. If she was talking, it meant she wasn’t hovering with that worried look in her eyes.

She worked his knots, kneading the tension from his neck and shoulders before her fingers traveled upward. With a gentler touch, she started rubbing slow circles into his temples, easing the pressure that had settled deep in his skull.

“Rebecca called, again.” She said casually, but he could hear the warning under her words. “Says you had her bloc-”

“Not now,” he groaned.

She sighed but didn’t stop. “I know you don’t want to, but just meet with the guy for ten minutes, and you’ll get her off your back.”

“I won’t waste even five minutes listening to her new fucktoy ramble about some ‘revolutionary’ idea for industrial inputs,” Bucky muttered. “I know it’s going to be some half-baked high school powerpoint with stock photos and shit. That’s the kind of man she likes to have around.”

She scoffed, still working her fingers against his scalp. “He is cute, though.”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t move or say anything right away, but his gaze was locked on her now, sharp, unreadable, and just a little too intense. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way she said it.

“Is he, now?” His voice came out pretty even, but there was something underneath it. Something edged.

She smirked, unbothered. “Not my type, but I can see why she’s… fond of him.”

His jaw ticked, and he exhaled slowly through his nose before letting his eyes fall shut again, but the tension in his body didn’t relent in the way it had before.

Yeah. The headache wasn’t going anywhere.

Just as he was starting to relax again, the door creaked open without so much as a knock, and a head popped inside: the new intern. The kid was his father’s friend’s grandson or something, which meant he had about three functioning brain cells and the audacity to use them in the worst ways.

“Sorry to interrupt your… erm-”

“Get out,” Bucky muttered, not even opening his eyes.

“But I just wanted to know-”

Bucky sat up so fast that the guy flinched. “Get the fuck out and close that door before I send you to count staple hooks in a basement, kid.”

The intern squeaked, stumbling back before the door shut behind him in a not-very-subtle way.

"Moody, aren’t we?” she sighed, shifting her weight as she sat back on her heels. “You’re still a Sarge at heart, it seems. Poor kid almost pissed his pants.”

His jaw worked slightly at the title, but he ignored it.

“The door is there for a reason. Besides…” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, shifting his gaze away.

He didn’t say what else he was thinking, but didn’t have to. She already knew. The way the intern had found them -he sprawled out on the floor, and she knelt behind him, hands on his body- it was enough to set off the office rumor mill.

“Don’t worry. Even if you don’t get out of your dungeon very often,” she mused, stretching her arms over her head, “you do know there’ve been rumors for a couple of years now, don’t you?”

Bucky turned fully toward her, narrowing his gaze. “What?”

“Come on, like the one where I was sucking your cock on that video call with that Japanese exec from the thermoplastics deal? With the guy watching it all because the camera was badly angled?”

His face twisted, and he waved his hands. “You weren’t even there that-”

“Or, my personal favorite” she continued, “that a window cleaner saw us on full display as you rammed my ass against the glass one afternoon?”

Bucky’s expression darkened into something truly menacing. “Bullshit. The cleaning crew comes on fucking weekends-”

She snorted. “People who gossip don’t care much about facts, Bucky. That’s just how things are.”

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” he asked with irritation.

She smirked, unfazed. “What for? It’s not like it was going to change anything. And you firing people left and right over some rumor no one even knows where it started… Not a good look.”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek, ready to argue with her, but before he could, she glanced at the clock.

“Ten more minutes, and Schwarz will be here.” Her tone was all business now, but then her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and assessing. “How’s your arm?”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line.

She sighed. “That bad, huh? Lemme see.”

“You don’t-”

“I do,” she cut him off, already shifting. “It’s probably one of the things that’s got you so moody lately. And the reason I’ll probably have to send the Germans a very nice basket of goodies after you mistreat their guy.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, but when she just stood there on her knees, arms crossed, waiting, he reluctantly popped open a few buttons of his expensive shirt. As he slid it off his shoulders, the scent of his cologne -warm, woodsy, with an edge of spice- assaulted her senses.

Beneath, he wore a pristine white tank top. And, his bad arm.

Irregular scars marred the skin in a twisted canvas that sprawled up to his shoulder, a reminder of the Syrian shrapnel that had nearly cost him the limb entirely. Inside, a lattice of titanium plates and screws that held together shattered bones and torn muscle.

Bucky exhaled sharply as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the familiar grind of metal and bone, and the fucking pain. Most days, he could push past it. Ignore it. But some days, like today, it devoured him, made everything sharper, his patience thinner, and his temper shorter.

She reached out. He could see the way her gaze softened slightly as she took in the limb, hovering her fingers just above the scars. She was softer, yes, but never pitied him.

He let his head tip back against the edge of the couch, closing his eyes as her hands worked their magic over the worst knots of his upper arm, easing some of the strain. He hated how easy it was for her to do this, to get him. To handle him. It should piss him off. Maybe it did.

But he didn’t tell her to stop.

As she gently rubbed on the offending limb, his mind drifted to the hospital bed, to his suspended arm buried in a mix of cast, pipes, and pulleys.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. The sharp sting of antiseptic, the cold bite of metal restraining his ruined arm, the dull pain buried beneath layers of medication. His mother crumpled at the foot of his hospital bed, clasping her hands in silent prayer. And his father… standing rigid, arms crossed, and a voice edged with finality.

"Well, now that you’ve had your share of independence and adventure, I assume you understand that you are meant to be with us. To serve the family the way we prepared you to."

Not a “You’ll be ok”. Not a “We’re glad you made it home alive”. Just “You’ve learned your lesson.” A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched as he stared at the ceiling, willing the memory away.

Her fingers pressed into a tight knot near his bicep, bringing him back to the present. He exhaled through his nose.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, softly.

His lips parted, with the instinctive lie ready on them -Nowhere-. But when he turned his head to look at her, he caught the way she was watching him, with that usual awareness, so he let out a breath and closed his eyes again. “Nowhere important.”

She hummed and started pulling his shirt back into place, her touch lingering a second too long on him as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.

“Well, master,” she teased, the title laced with mockery, “it’s almost time to see the Germans.”

Bucky huffed, dragging his hands down his face before starting to button his shirt. She moved to stand, but before she could, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Firm, warm, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She swallowed, willing her face to stay neutral, to ignore the way warmth curled in her stomach at the roughness in his tone.

“You know there’s no need,” she said, carefully measured, as if saying anything more might give too much away.

His grip loosened, and she pulled back, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. If he noticed the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers, he didn’t say a word. Once she finished straightening her clothes, she turned on her heel and strode toward the office door.

“I’ll let them in in ten, okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulder once more before nodding. “Yeah.”

----

She had suspected it wouldn’t go smoothly, but even so, when the heavy wooden door finally clicked open, the Germans’ expressions were unreadable, stern and tense.

She cursed inwardly.

Even if the meeting had been rocky, she hoped they’d at least reached an agreement. Otherwise, in ten minutes, her phone would be ringing with George Barnes on the other end, barking at her because Bucky refused to pick up. And, as always, she’d have to endure his tirade until he inevitably demanded she put his son on the line.

With a sigh, she pulled open a drawer, curling her fingers around a blister pack of Tylenol.

Then, smoothing her expression, she knocked gently on his office door.

A low, muffled groan was the only response she got before she stepped inside.

The sight wasn’t unfamiliar. Bucky sprawled on the couch with his shoes off, covering his face with a cushion like it could somehow block out the world. She knew how this went. If the headache was bad enough, it wouldn’t be long before he was hunched over the bathroom sink, pale and nauseous, cursing under his breath. And, as she suspected, he hadn’t brought anything to help.

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Should I expect a call from Barnes Senior in the next few minutes, or can I focus on other chores?”

Another groan. “I think he won’t call, but who the fuck knows? Nothing’s ever enough for him. Maybe he has a few things to say about the deal, things even a fresh graduate should know.” His voice was thick with irritation, but there was something else underneath. Resignation.

She tsked. “Good thing you don’t listen to him. Much.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped forward, holding up the blister pack between two fingers. “Here. I bring an offering that might change your mood.”

“Whatever it is, leave it on the desk. And don’t give me any calls.”

“Are you really rejecting Tylenol?”

A single half-lidded eye peeked out from behind the cushion, scrutinizing her like she’d just asked him to sign over the company. Then, he muttered, “Fuck, what would I do without you?”

She smirked. “Probably chomp the heads off the few people who still have the balls to speak to you.” She leaned against his desk, watching him sprawl across the couch, with the cushion still covering his face. “Speaking of your stellar social skills,” she said, The signing for the Research & Development Collaboration deal with Prescott got moved from Tuesday to Friday. You still haven’t told me which day you want your plane ticket booked.”

Silence.

She frowned. “Bucky?”

He exhaled sharply against the cushion before finally shifting it just enough to mutter, “About that.”

That tone set off a flicker of suspicion in her chest.

“I know a couple of the board members are going just to play court jesters,” he continued, voice still thick with exhaustion. “But…I want you there.”

Her brows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

He let the cushion fall away just enough to glance at her. “I want you there.” A beat. “I need you there.”

Something in her stomach twisted. Not at his words -no, she was used to being indispensable- but at the tone he used.

“I need to see-”

“You handle logistics, and you filter out unnecessary conversations. I'd rather not waste my time listening to a bunch of suits trying to kiss my ass. You keep people in check.” He sighed, tilting his head back onto the couch.

She raised a brow. “So you need me as a buffer?”

He shot her a dry look. "I need you to make sure I don’t tell the wrong person to go fuck themselves."

A flicker of something -something warm- stirred in her chest before she pushed it aside.

“Fine. I’ll book my ticket too.” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “But I want juicy compensation for being away from home in non-working hours. And, I won't babysit you the whole trip".

Bucky huffed a laugh, still sprawled on the couch, with the cushion resting against his temple instead of covering his face. “You’ll do it anyway, even when it’s not part of your job.” He gestured vaguely toward the blister of Tylenol still sitting in her hand. “You’re like a mother hen.”

And fuck, how did he like that? How much did he like her, always two steps ahead of him, anticipating his worst moods and dealing with them before they could ruin his day completely? It should drive him insane, how easily she handled him, read him, but instead, he was perfectly fine with it. He craved it.

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Well, this time mama is getting a compensation, James,” she shot back, drawing out his name like a warning. “Because I had plans for Friday night.”

He schooled his expression, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah? With who?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant.”

Just like that, something in his chest twisted, sharp and possessive.

“Must I remind you that you signed an availability clause two years ago?” His voice was measured, but there was an edge beneath it. “You agreed to be available if the firm needed you.”

If I need you. His eyes seemed to say it, even if he didn’t.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. This is the first time you’ve ever thrown that in my face. But don’t worry, I don’t need the reminder.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m pretty sure availability doesn’t mean ownership, Bucky. But it’s fine, I’ll see my godson another day.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the cushion.

Her godson.

He exhaled through his nose, and his voice came out controlled. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know, you could’ve just asked nicely instead of throwing corporate fine print at me.”

He pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the dull ache still throbbing behind his eyes. “I know.” A pause. His fingers dragged over his temple. “Sorry, I… this is killing me.”

She hesitated for a beat, caught off guard by the unusual admission.

“I’ll approve the extra compensation,” he muttered, reaching for the Tylenol she still hadn’t handed over.

“Nah,” she waved him off. “As you said, it’s already covered in the clause. That’s why my salary was increased in the first place. I was just messing with you.”

Bucky quirked a brow. “Not many people can get away with that, you know.”

“Oh, but this mother hen knows she can.” She smirked. “Just a little.”

He huffed, watching as she poured a glass of water and handed him the blister pack.

“None of that scotch after taking these, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, amused despite himself.

She squeezed his good shoulder before heading for the door, and the warmth of her touch persisted where her fingers had pressed against him.

----

The lobby was a mess of tired travelers and frazzled staff, as the storm outside cast long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The wind howled, rattling the glass as Bucky ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “A place with this many stars and a price tag that could feed a small country, and they can’t even keep track of reservations?”

She sighed, rubbing at her temple. “It’s just one night, Bucky.”

He shot her a look. “That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is that we’re exhausted, it’s almost midnight, and I’d rather not spend the next hour arguing with the poor guy at the front desk when we both know they’re fully booked because of the storm.” She gestured toward the rain hammering against the glass. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the lobby, in which case, be my guest.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the key card off the counter with a glare, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the elevator.

She sighed again, following. This was going to be a long night.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching as she took in the room with wide eyes. The Renaissance-style decor, the heavy carved furniture, the ridiculous four-poster bed with actual curtains… it was over the top, even for a place like this.

“Well, this is… something,” she murmured, slowly turning in place before making a beeline for the bathroom.

He heard her sharp inhale, then -God help him- a pleased little hum that was dangerously close to a moan.

His bad mood tempered just a little.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stepped further inside, glancing at the coffee table stacked with neatly packaged luxury treats. He had no doubt they came with a price tag steep enough to make even him scoff.

She poked her head out from the bathroom, grinning. “You think they’d notice if I just sat in the tub and refused to leave?”

For the first time since the airport delays, he almost smiled. Almost. Then he sat in an oversized armchair. The long flight, the delays, and the cold air outside had worsened the stiffness in his arm.

She eyed him knowingly, arms crossing. “Speaking of the tub, why don’t you take a shower? Or an immersive bath? Heat those bones a little. You’re tensing the arm a lot, you know.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, rolling his shoulder slightly. But then he shook his head. “After you. You’re cold too. Ladies first.”

She arched a brow. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you need it more-”

“All I hear right now is a hen clucking.” He cut her off, smirking as he kicked off his shoes and sank deeper into the chair.

Her eyes narrowed. “Endearing.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, since you offered,” she huffed, “I’m going to test the tub. And don’t expect me to be out in less than thirty minutes because I won’t. If you need the bathroom, I don’t know, use a vase or something.” She said as she started to rummage on her suitcase, looking for her nightgown.

Bucky snorted, “So regal, just what this place needs.”

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, she let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped as she finally dropped the facade. Out there, she had to keep up the usual push and pull, the teasing deflections, the confidence that made it seem like sharing a room with him -sharing space with him- was just another minor inconvenience.

But alone in here, she could let herself feel the weight of the situation.

She set her nightgown on the counter, running her hands over the silky fabric before reaching for the faucet. The deep tub groaned as steaming water rushed in, the sound filling the room as she braced herself against the edge of the sink.

This shouldn’t be affecting her so much. It wasn’t the first time they’d traveled together, and it wasn’t even the first time she’d seen him this exhausted, this raw from the day. But something about tonight, about his request for her to be here, about the way his voice softened when he said he needed her there -it’s killing me- stirred something deep and restless inside her.

She swallowed hard and reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly. He didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. He never did.

She reminded herself of that fact as she slipped the blouse from her shoulders, shivering slightly at the rush of cooler air against her skin. Bucky was… Bucky. Intense. Guarded. Possessive, sometimes, in ways he didn’t even realize.

But never hers.

She sighed, pushing down the stupid, persisting ache in her chest as she reached for the zipper of her skirt. This wasn’t new. She’d spent years training herself not to hope for something that wasn’t there. And yet, every now and then, he’d let something slip -a look, a word, a need- and it would take everything in her not to lean into it.

The tub was nearly full now, and the steam curled in soft ribbons toward the mirror. She inhaled deeply, letting the warmth settle over her body, soothing and distracting all at once.

Bucky wasn’t doing any better.

He sat in the oversized armchair, socked feet planted firmly on the carpet,  drumming his fingers idly against his knee. The tension in his shoulder hadn’t eased, not even a little. He rolled it again, flinching at the dull throb radiating from his arm.

Maybe he should’ve taken the damn bath first. Maybe the heat would’ve helped more than sitting here, stewing, staring at the closed bathroom door like some lovesick idiot.

Not that it mattered. She wasn’t into him.

He knew that much.

Women who wanted something more -who wanted him- they left hints, like breadcrumbs leading straight to their intentions. He’d seen it a thousand times in the circles he frequented. The way they gravitated toward him, playing coy with soft laughs and lingering looks. Subtle touches under the table, fingers tracing patterns on his thigh. The way they’d beam at the expensive gifts, their smiles slipping the second he showed more interest in his bed than in whatever designer bag they were parading around.

And then there was her.

She didn’t play coy. She didn’t bat her lashes or leave accidental touches to test the waters. Instead, she petted him. Nursed him. Brought him Tylenol like it was her goddamn job -which, technically, it was-. And he liked it. At first, it had been enough, her dependable presence that kept him from losing his mind when everything else was chaos.

But eventually, it wasn’t.

Eventually, he started watching for the crumbs, the hints, waiting for something, anything, that told him she saw him as more than just her boss or her friend.

And he found nothing.

Because a woman who wanted something more wouldn’t massage the knots from his arm like it was second nature, without hesitating, without blinking. Wouldn’t press her fingers into the scarred muscles like she wasn’t touching the part of him that made most people flinch.

He huffed, rubbing his palm over his face.

She was comfortable with him. Too comfortable.

And fuck, it was funny, in a twisted way, how every other woman he’d been with tried not to look at his arm -careful not to let their revulsion show- but she touched it like it was just another part of him.

Because that’s all he was to her. Just another favor.

Nothing more.

----

After exiting the bathroom in her red silk nightgown -a gift from her friends- she thanked her past self for not just throwing in an old cotton camisole.

“Well, I emptied the tub and started filling it again,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Maybe you should go check the temperature. It’s one of the last things I don’t know about you.” She tried to keep it light, casual.

Bucky stared at her longer than necessary. He had seen her in professional clothes, casual clothes, even bundled up in thick sweaters during late nights at the office, but never in something like this. It wasn’t even that revealing, but the way the silk fell against her body, catching the dim light, made his thoughts go places they shouldn’t.

He forced his gaze away, scoffing.

“Bucky, don’t tell me you didn’t even unpack pajamas.”

“Don’t use ’em,” he said, watching her expression shift.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

His smirk deepened. “Nope. I’m more of a… natural type of guy.”

She pressed her lips together, visibly trying to suppress a reaction. Interesting.

“Well, I hope you at least brought sweatpants or-”

“Wasn’t supposed to be sharing a room, remember?” He shrugged, stretching out in his chair. “Didn’t think about it. But don’t worry, I still have underwear. Are boxers still scandalous to you?”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I can manage a slutty pair of boxers, thank you very much”

Bucky huffed a chuckle, turning to his suitcase. He rifled through his things, pulling out the garment in question. “Relax. I was planning on wearing a robe -there are always robes in these places- to protect your maidenhood.” He smirked, but his fingers tightened around the fabric.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.

“Take the bed. You’ll probably be dead asleep by the time I get out.” He suggested.

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand in a dismissive tome. “That couch is too damn small for you. You take the bed.”

Bucky frowned, standing up straight. “How the fuck could I send you to the couch? It’s irritating that you could even consider me capable of that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t be stubborn, your body-”

His expression darkened, and his voice cut in sharp. “I’m not crippled, doll. I let you play mama all you want, but at the end of the day, I’m a grown man who can sleep on a damn couch without whining like a bitch.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He saw her expression shift. Surprise, hurt, and something more guarded sliding into place. He had sounded exactly like his father just now, and the realization made his stomach churn. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Just… don’t be stubborn, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

And as soon as he was alone, he cursed himself.

----

As she slipped under the covers, feeling the crisp hotel sheets' cool against her skin, her mind replayed the moment over and over.

The sharpness in his tone. The way his eyes darkened, his jaw set tight like he was bracing for a fight that wasn’t even there. She had only meant to be practical; his body did take more strain, whether he liked it or not. And yet, the way he snapped felt like she had crossed some invisible line she hadn’t even known existed.

She stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. I’m not crippled, doll. Had she made him feel like that? She had never pitied him, and he knew it. Bucky was the strongest person she knew, even when he was constantly grumpy and in pain.

Maybe that was why she did it. The taking care of him. Because no one else did. No one else noticed the stiffness in his shoulder after long days hunched on his desk or the way he rubbed at his temple when a migraine was creeping in. People either feared him, admired him, or wanted something from him. But who was actually in his corner, making sure he was okay without expecting anything in return?

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe, to him, she was just another person putting him in a box he didn’t want to be in. She had assumed he liked it, the way she doted him, the way she noticed him. But what if, in his mind, it only confirmed that she didn’t see him the way he wanted to be seen?

----

The water lapped at his collarbones as he sank deeper into the tub, letting the heat work through the persistent tension in his muscles. His head tipped back against the cool porcelain, and he closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have snapped at her. She hadn’t meant anything by it; she never did. She was just looking out for him, the way she always did, and he’d thrown it back in her face like an ungrateful asshole.

With a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, water dripping from his fingertips and wetting his scruffed face. He wasn’t mad at her, had never been mad at her. He was mad at himself. Mad at the way the frustration curled in his gut over things that weren’t her fault. She didn’t deserve that. He’d make it up to her in the morning. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would.

----

At 3 a.m., she stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. Her gaze landed on his silhouette, sitting rigid on the couch, outlined by the streetlights below.

She frowned, pushing the covers aside and padding toward him. “Hey.”

He startled slightly as if he hadn’t heard her coming, too lost in his thoughts. “Hey.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Rough night?” she asked, quirking a brow, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glanced at her, then quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah.” A beat passed before he exhaled heavily. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Normally, she would’ve brushed it off, waved away his apology like she always did. But this time, she stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my tantrums,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “Seems like it’s becoming a habit lately, having to apologize for them. But really, doll, I’m sorry.”

Something in her chest softened. It was unfair how easily those simple words soothed the discomfort that had been eating her since their argument. She wanted to reach for him, reassure him. “I know you’re nervou-”

“No.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “I’m nervous and frustrated by this deal, yeah, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole. At least not with you.” He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face. “So don’t do that. Don’t… justify me the way my mother did with my father when he beat her up on a weekly basis.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, you were kind of an asshole, if that’s what you want to hear.”

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head, but she wasn’t done.

“But you also know we have the kind of relationship where I call you out when that happens. How many times have I told you to fuck off?”

His lips twitched. “Never.”

“Okay, not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. Don’t be a smartass now.”

Bucky bit his lip, letting her continue.

“I know you’ve been working on this deal for over a year. I also know your father’s been breathing down your neck about it, just waiting for you to slip up so he can shove his twisted version of ‘tough love’ down your throat. And on top of that, I know this damn weather is making your arm and shoulder miserable. So, I’m letting it pass. You already apologized; why wouldn’t I accept it?”

His face was unreadable now, all traces of amusement gone as he nursed his glass of scotch.

She quirked a brow, aiming for levity. “Or what? You got some kind of kink? Want to be punished for being a bad boy?”

Bucky choked mid-sip, coughing as the liquor went straight up his nose.

“Oh my God, you do!” she gasped, grinning like she’d just uncovered some deep, dark secret.

“No!” Bucky spluttered, still coughing, his face red as a beet. He barely managed to set his glass down without spilling it.

She knew he was probably telling the truth, but she also knew how easily he embarrassed over certain things, and there was no way she was letting this pass.

“You couldn’t sleep because you were craving a spanking? A little pinching, maybe?” she cooed.

His head snapped toward her, eyes wide with horror. “My God, woman, stop it.”

She smirked. “Tell you what: I’ll stop if you take the bed.”

“I told you I-”

“I’m still taking it too.”

That shut him up. He blinked at her, clearly thrown back.

“It’s so big my whole damn living room could fit on it,” she pointed out. “We can share, so you don’t have to hurt your masculine pride, and mother hen here gets to be happy knowing you’re not miserable on that fancy couch.”

Bucky exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know…”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Tell me one good reason why this is a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and there’s enough space on that mattress to fit two more people between us.” She raised a brow. “I promise I won’t steal your virtue.” She winked, and he nearly groaned.

Oh, but he wanted her to take it, not his damn virtue, but something else. And that was the problem.

He couldn’t even use the excuse of propriety, he was already sitting there in just his boxers, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before. Hell, she’d been massaging his arm and back for years without batting an eye.

So, really, what was he holding onto?

“Will you shut it if I say yes?” he muttered.

“Just for tonight.” She grinned.

----

She climbed into bed, doing her best to act casual, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like she wasn’t hyperaware of the fact that Bucky was standing just a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, no robe in sight.

“We have to be there at nine,” she said, adjusting the blankets around her. “So we’ve got, what… maybe four hours of sleep?”

The mattress dipped as he sat down, and she felt the shift beneath her. She told herself not to look. But when he moved to lie down, she turned her head, catching his gaze, and ended up on her side.

He hesitated for a moment before mirroring her, rolling onto his side so they were facing each other in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Even with the shadows softening his features, she could still see it, the stress in his brow, the weight pressing down on him. The doubt.

So she leaped.

Hesitating, she reached across the space between them, palm up. “You’ve got this, Bucky,” she said, in a soft but firm tone. “You’re going to do great.”

His eyes flicked to her hand, and surprise flashed across his face, but it only lasted a second. Without hesitation, he reached out with his scarred hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, and gave a small squeeze. “Thanks.”

----

The deal with Prescott went just as expected, some rough patches here and there, but overall, both sides walked away satisfied.

As requested, she had sorted through the attendees beforehand, making sure Bucky knew exactly who he could afford to ignore and who required his attention. Not that he always followed her lead, but to her surprise, he was in a much better mood than the night before.

Maybe it was the decent night’s sleep. Maybe it was the fact that, despite his nerves, he had handled the negotiations flawlessly. Or maybe it was just that he finally let himself lean on someone for just a little.

Bucky stepped out of the conference room, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension from the negotiations. His gaze landed on her instantly, curled up in one of the lounge chairs, with a coffee cup in her hands, looking perfectly calm. She raised a brow when she noticed him watching her.

“We have a cocktail party tonight,” he announced, coming to stand beside her chair.

She took a sip before answering. “We?”

“Me. The board jesters. A bunch of industrial guys.”

“Right. So, you,” she corrected, setting her cup down.

He huffed. “I want you to come.”

She frowned, caught off guard. “Are you sure it’s not just for you and the board members?”

“I’m sure.”

She leaned back, studying him. “Bucky, I don’t exactly have cocktail-party-appropriate clothes lying around.”

He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

That made her snort. “Yeah, somehow, I doubt that.”

“No, really,” he said. “I didn’t pack for this, which means I gotta go get something to impress a bunch of snobs. You might as well come with me.” He caught the hesitation in her body language instantly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “That’s your only reason for doubting, right?”

She exhaled, knowing there was no way to wiggle out of it. “Yeah, that’s the only reason. But…” She opened her mouth, then hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that their budgets were galaxies apart? That the tie he’d pick out probably would cost as much as her monthly groceries?

“But what?” he pressed.

Fuck it.

“But, we are almost at month’s end, and I still have to pay the-”

“Wait. No, no,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I’m not expecting you to buy a fucking dress, doll. The company will.”

She frowned. “Bucky, I don’t think that’s appropriate-”

“I, the director, am the one making you attend this shitty event,” he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously, it’s a company expense that my secretary looks good there, because if she doesn’t, the company image looks bad too.”

She gave him a flat look. “Did you just say I dress poorly in a roundabout way?”

His jaw dropped. “That is not what I said.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Mmhmm.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you just let me do something nice without fighting me on it?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Great,” he said, already dialing a number. “We leave in an hour.”

----

The last thing she expected when he said they were going shopping was to find herself standing inside a Prada store. She had anticipated something fancy, sure, but Prada? This was a whole different level. She was almost afraid to breathe too hard, worried she’d somehow stain or break something just by existing.

A perfectly dressed clerk approached them, and the moment the woman’s eyes landed on Bucky, her posture shifted: poised, interested, appreciative. She on the other hand, might as well have been invisible.

“What can I do for you?” the clerk asked, with a voice all smooth with professionalism and something more.

Bucky barely glanced at her. “We need a cocktail dress for her and a suit for me.”

Immediately, the woman waved over a co-worker, passing her off while keeping Bucky’s attention firmly on herself.

“Were you looking for something specific?” the second clerk asked her while signaling her to follow.

“Uh, yeah. I was thinking an empire dress with a V neckline.”

“Let me show you what we have.”

----

After trying on two options that didn’t feel quite right, she slipped into the third dress. The fabric hugged her in all the right places, elegant but not over-the-top, and when she pulled the curtain open, she froze.

Bucky was standing there, dressed in a black suit so well-fitted it might as well have been tailored for him on the spot. His ivory dress shirt contrasted against his sharp features, and there was something about the way he wore the suit -confident and powerful- that made her stare.

What she didn’t realize was that he was staring right back, caught off guard as he discreetly bit at his bottom lip.

“Guess that’s the dress,” he said, his voice just a little rough.

“You think so?” She did a slow spin, letting the fabric swirl around her.

“Definitely.” He managed to say.

She grinned. “Guess that’s the suit?”

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a pleased half-smile that sent warmth curling into her chest.

After purchasing the medium heels and the purse that she tried hard not to think about the cost of, they had lunch at an upscale restaurant.

----

By the time they reached the hotel, she was still reeling a little from the whole shopping trip. The Prada bags felt almost radioactive in her hands, she could barely process the fact that she now owned something so expensive, let alone the fact that Bucky had made the entire thing seem as casual as buying a cup of coffee.

As they approached the front desk, the receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. We have the second room available now if the lady would like to move in.”

Before Bucky could respond, she beat him to it. “Good. Can I take it now?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the receptionist said, eyes flickering to Bucky for a moment, then back to her. “I’ll send someone up to move your belongings.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” she replied quickly, trying to play it off with a small smile. “It’s just a small suitcase and is already upstairs.”

“Very well, ma’am. Please enjoy your stay,” the woman said, giving her the magnetic card.

As the elevator ascended, Bucky crossed his arms and shot her a dry look. "That was fast."

"Huh?" she blinked, shifting the shopping bags in her grip.

"You practically threw yourself over the door card." He chuckled, but there was something almost edgy beneath it.

"Well," she shrugged, "I was supposed to be there from the start, Bucky. Now you won’t have to miss my… how do you call it? Clucking?" She winked.

Bucky scoffed, but his jaw worked like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. And maybe he was. Because the truth was, he would miss it.

He had no business getting used to her presence, to the way she looked after him. But those few hours they’d shared in the same bed? Dreamless. The first time in a long time his mind had given him peace. And now, standing here, the thought of losing that -even just the simple comfort of her being near- felt… wrong.

He glanced at her and found her watching him with an amused tilt of her head. He swallowed down whatever mess of thoughts he was having and shrugged instead. "I’ll survive."

----

The message came through: "Ready?"

She took a breath, smoothing her hands down the dress that still didn’t feel entirely real. "Yeah, coming out now."

Stepping into the hallway, she turned and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky stood there, waiting, a few doors down. The same suit from earlier, yes, but now fully put together. His hair was neatly combed back, his scruff freshly trimmed, and the addition of a sleek watch and cufflinks only added to the devastating effect. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a high-end catalog, the kind of man people turned to look at the moment he entered a room.

Her pulse stuttered.

He caught her staring, but he didn’t call her out for it, probably because he was doing the exact same thing.

She looked stunning. That dress had already been perfect in the store, but now, with her makeup done, her hair styled just so, and the soft glow of the hotel lighting catching on her skin? He was fucking dying to close the space between them, to inhale and find out which perfume she’d chosen tonight. Would it be the one he liked the most?

His eyes briefly dipped to her neckline before he could stop himself, and his traitorous cock twitched in interest. Damn it. He forced his gaze back up, schooling his face into something composed just as she started toward him.

"You look good, sweetheart," he managed to say.

She smirked, sliding her hand into the arm he offered. "You cleaned up good yourself, boss."

----

The ride in the limo was... interesting.

The board members who had come along were in high spirits, congratulating themselves and Bucky on the deal, clinking their glasses of expensive whiskey as they rehashed key moments from the negotiation.

And yet, somehow, she was left out of the conversation entirely.

Not just the business talk, that she understood. She wasn’t part of the board. But even the petty, circumstantial chatter, the kind of polite small talk that people filled silence with, never once included her. It was as if she were just there, a piece of decoration beside Bucky, an accessory rather than a person.

Of course, to them, that’s exactly what she was.

Just his secretary. The one everybody knew he was fucking.

Now, he’d simply taken it a step further and brought her to the cocktail party, dressed up in Prada and heels, just like a good mistress should be.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He was fully engaged in conversation with the others, discussing projections, potential expansions, and other things that weren’t meant for her ears.

She knew this would happen. The moment he asked her to come, she’d known she’d feel out of place. And yet, some naïve part of her had thought -hoped- it wouldn’t be this bad.

She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way the man across from her kept glancing up from his phone, barely acknowledging her except for those quick, assessing looks, made her stomach turn. His fingers moved smoothly over the screen, typing something, then pausing -another glance, another smirk- before resuming.

She forced herself to sit still, to smooth her dress over her lap, to ignore the creeping feeling at the back of her mind that something about this moment would come back to haunt her.

----

As they stepped into the reception, they blended seamlessly into the elegant crowd. The board members exchanged greetings with familiar faces, shaking hands and making small talk. A few acquaintances took notice of her, flickering their gazes between her and Bucky before curiosity got the better of them.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” one of them asked with a polite smile.

Bucky barely hesitated. “My dutiful secretary.”

There was always a beat after that -just a split second of realization- before the inevitable, knowing oh followed.

If he noticed the shift in people’s expressions, he didn’t show it. Either he was oblivious to it or, more likely, he just didn’t care. He was too used to these circles, to their assumptions, to their judgments. But she felt it. Every curious glance, every subtle flick of the eyes that said, so, he finally brought her along.

At some point, he made a passing joke “Ten years dealing with me, just for that, someone should give her an award,” which earned a few chuckles from the men around him. She mustered a polite smile, but inside, she could already feel the exhaustion creeping in.

She needed a drink. Or a few.

Slipping away, she made her way toward the bar and ordered a Gancia cocktail, sitting in one of the fancy stools.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still deep in conversation when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. His brows furrowed immediately -he wasn’t fond of being touched- but as he turned, his irritation sharpened into something heavier.

His father.

George Barnes stood there, exuding effortless charm as always, but he knew better. He braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Good job, son.”

For a moment, it almost sounded… honest, proud. But then, just as predictably as the sun rising, he leaned in ever so slightly, voice lowering so only Bucky could hear the next part. “You managed not to ruin it.”

Bucky's jaw ticked. But he exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his expression neutral.

George straightened, turning back to the small group with a practiced smile. “Gentlemen, if you don’t oppose, I’d like to steal my son for a moment.” The group murmured their good-natured agreements, stepping aside as the older man clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder again, making his muscles coil with irritation.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked, words laced with aggression but softened enough to avoid drawing attention.

His father’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a corporate party. Why wouldn’t I be here?"

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and his tone grew colder. "Because it's three states away, and you have no business here."

George chuckled lightly, as if this conversation was little more than a minor inconvenience. "Oh, but you are wrong, I do have business here. I have shares in Prescot & Co. Surprised?"

"In the bare minimum," Bucky replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took a flute of champagne from a passing waitress, keeping his expression carefully neutral, tightening his grip around the delicate glass as his eyes remained fixed on his father.

George’s lips quirked into something like a smirk, clearly unfazed by the tension. "I know I gave you the industrial input branch to play with, James. And you’ve been doing a decent job. But it’s never bad to be aware of what’s going on there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered momentarily to the crowd around them, trying to gauge how much of this was being overheard. He wasn’t sure if his father’s presence here was meant to make some kind of point or just another round of his usual subtle power moves. Either way, he hated the feeling that his every step was being watched and scrutinized.

"Well, I’m doing just fine without your input," Bucky said, taking a sip of his champagne, trying to sound controlled.

His father’s eyes never left him, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "Hm, and speaking of knowing what’s going on the firm..." George drawled, glancing toward the bar where she sat. "When were you going to tell me about this?" he asked, with a casual tone but loaded with implication.

Bucky’s body went rigid at the mention of her. His eyes shot toward her, but he quickly masked the tension creeping through his body. "What is it to tell?" he shot back, trying to downplay the situation.

George sighed, like he was explaining something to a child. "Some little birds keep me informed about your affairs on the firm, son. And they’ve been signing songs about you two for years now." His gaze flickered over to her, still perched at the bar, before he looked back at his son with a smug expression.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He could feel the familiar sting of being patronized, and it fueled his growing irritation. He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice calm but laced with the growing sharpness of his frustration. "It’s all bullshit, Dad. Maybe you’ll need to pick better your little spies." He hated the insinuations, the familiar condescension that George always slipped into conversations like these. The man always had a way of making his son feel small, of making everything seem like some petty game.

George didn’t flinch. His smirk only deepened. “Oh, I know about your escapades, James. Those bimbos you dated, the ones you dared to bring home. That last one, Mandy, or Marney...” he waved a hand. “But always, always, the songs about you and that ‘secretary’ of yours remained.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he fought to keep his composure. “Jesus, Dad. It’s my fucking secretary. At this level, it’s like having a work-wife. We never asked or told you anything about Esther in what, forty years working with her?” his voice was tight, defensive.

The old man quirked a brow, looking almost amused. “Exactly.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ve been fucking Esther on my desk for the last thirty of those forty years, and no one had said a word or suspected anything. Why? Because I have brains, son.” His expression hardened. “It seems I keep overestimating you, thinking you could mask an office affair as it should be.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted.

“You don’t know shit about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

His father smiled. “I know more than you think.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Then you’d know that if we were a thing, I wouldn’t hide her,” he stated in a low but firm tone. “I’d parade her at every opportunity, make damn sure everyone knew she was mine.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, more like a warning. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you one day.”

George scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be the talk-”

Bucky cut him off with a sharp smile. “Your last name would be the talk. And that’s what concerns you, isn’t it, Father?” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “But since you know me so well, you already know that I couldn’t care less about the tabloids, your social circle, and, lastly, your opinion on this matter.”

His father’s expression flickered, and something dark flashed in his eyes, but Bucky didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he drew on that well-practiced smile, the kind that could fool any onlooker into thinking this was just a polite conversation between father and son. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the crowd, leaving George standing alone in the wake of his words.

----

As she nursed her drink at the bar, she became aware of someone approaching. A tall man with a confident, almost cocky stance settled beside her.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, flagging down the bartender without even glancing at her.

She turned slightly, taking in the sharp suit, the perfectly styled blond hair, the smug air about him. John Walker. She recognized him from a few previous company functions, one of George Barnes’s people. He wasn’t part of Bucky’s branch of the company, but he had enough pull to be a nuisance when he wanted to be.

“Well, here I am,” she replied coolly, lifting her glass to her lips.

John smirked. “Must be nice. Traveling in style, all expenses paid…” His gaze flicked briefly to her dress, then the Prada bag she’d set down by her feet. “Guess it pays to be the boss’s favorite.”

Before she could respond, another voice cut in.

“There you are.”

Bucky.

His presence was commanding. He stepped between them, close enough that John had to shift back, barely masking his irritation. Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes were only on her.

“I need you to reschedule the Montgomery call for next week, now.” he said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue easily. A perfect excuse, a simple reason to pull her away.

She blinked, catching on quickly. “Of course, boss.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, Barnes. You really don’t let her out of your sight, huh?” He took a slow sip of his drink, then added, “You should loosen the leash a little.”

Bucky went still.

It was subtle, the tic on his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides but she could feel the shift in the air.

John had no idea how close he was to getting his teeth knocked in.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking about tightening yours.” His voice was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it.

John’s smirk faltered, but before he could respond, Bucky turned to her and offered his elbow. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t hesitate.

He barely spared Walker another glance as he guided her toward one of the balcony doors. The noise of the party dulled as they stepped outside, and the cool night air contrasted with the heat simmering beneath his skin.

"What did he tell you?" His voice was low and measured, but she knew better. He was seething.

She let out a small sigh. "Ah, just some silly banter we usually have," she tried to deflect, stepping closer to the railing.

Bucky stayed near, and his gaze flicked to hers. “Which consists of…?” he pressed, his voice quieter now but no less sharp.

She sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to let it go. “God, Bucky, it’s just stupid.”

“If it’s stupid, you can tell me.” He pushed.

She hesitated, but under the weight of his stare, she relented. “Some stupid thing about being the boss’s favorite.”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair, and the muscle in his jaw ticked again. "That fucking bastard," he muttered. He started to turn back toward the party, and she recognized the intent in his posture. He was going to find Walker and probably, without subtlety, give him a piece of his mind.

She reached out instinctively, wrapping her fingers around his inner elbow. "Don’t you dare cause a scene over some juvenile taunt."

"He disrespected you," Bucky bit out with restrained anger.

She exhaled, trying for humor. "Did he lie? Am I not your favorite employee?"

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “You know what he meant by that.”

She smiled a little. "I do. But I just don’t care, Bucky." Her fingers lightly curled against his arm. "I know who I am and the place I occupy. John Walker’s opinions are not relevant to me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The place you occupy?"

“Yes. As your secretary, as a friend.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest truth. “You and I both know there’s nothing between us. It’s just so stupid. He’s seen the women you associate with; how could he even presume-”

Bucky’s chest did something stupid. He wasn’t sure what, only that it felt tight and hot and made him irrationally irritated. “What kind of women?”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, come on, Bucky. The Vogue cover type.”

Bucky stared at her. “The Vogue cover type?” he echoed, like he was tasting the words and finding them bitter.

She let out a small laugh. “You know what I mean. The ones with the perfect hair, the designer wardrobes, the endless legs-” She gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. “The ones people expect a man like you to be with.”

Bucky scoffed. “A man like me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re rich, successful, powerful, and on top of that, handsome. It’s not exactly shocking that you’d go for-”

Bucky let out a sharp breath. “For what?” he interrupted, voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. “A goddamn mannequin?”

She blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Bucky, that’s the only kind of woman I’ve ever seen enter or exit your office in ten years. The only kind you arrange dates with. The only kind you send flowers to,” she pointed out, her tone laced with incredulity. “Did you never notice a pattern in your partners?”

He said nothing. Because she wasn’t wrong.

He couldn't deny it. Couldn’t, because that was the kind of woman that always approached him. The kind of woman that fit neatly into the world he operated in. The kind of woman he was expected to have perched on his arm. The kind of woman who made sense.

And the kind of woman who was so different from her.

Because he couldn’t dare to be with someone who even resembled her. To be what? A cheap replacement for the luscious body and sharp tongue he really wanted in his bed? No. That would’ve been pathetic. Even for him.

And maybe he was delusional, but he could’ve sworn there was something there, an edge in her voice when she spoke about his so-called type, as if she had already decided for the both of them that they could never be a thing.

And God, he was tired.

So tired of this stupid dance that had lasted years of what-ifs, blurred lines, untold truths, and all the office gossip that never seemed to die.

His patience snapped.

“What, do you think it’s so impossible for us to be something more?”

She froze, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Well, I never perceived anything resembling -um- interest from you,” she stammered.

Bucky let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you think I would let anyone touch me the way you do if I didn’t feel something?”

She went speechless for a second, parting her lips, scrambling for an answer. “Well, maybe-”

“No,” he cut her off, low and heated. “And you know it. Tell me one person you’ve seen me with who has that level of intimacy with me. One person who can approach me, who can touch me, who can nurse me like a fucking child and I let them.” His chest rose and fell with the force of his words, the frustration thick in every syllable. “You won’t find anyone.”

Because there was no one else. Only her.

Bucky moved in, crowding her against the cool balcony railing, his body was a wall of heat and tension. His hands weren’t on her -yet- but he was close enough that she could feel his breath, the scent of his cologne mixed with champagne, wrapping around her like a slow burn.

His voice was low, almost rough. “The question here is… do you feel anything else besides ‘friendly’ empathy when you touch me?” His blue eyes were searching, desperate for something he wasn’t sure she could give. “Have you ever wanted this to be something more?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “Am I the only one who thinks that- fuck.” His head dipped for half a second, as if frustrated with himself, before he looked at her again, with a dark, unreadable gaze. “The only one of us that feels like us could be a thing?”

His words were a shock to her system, leaving the air thick, charged between them. His hands found the railing on either side of her body, bracketing her in without touching her.

And she was also tired, so goddamn tired.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of thinking about what was proper.

Tired of believing she could be nothing more to him than his dutiful secretary.

Tired of swimming through dates and relationships that, even with effort, never felt fulfilling.

She looked up at him, the man she had spent endless hours working for, hours that seemed to pass in a blink. The man marked by scars, both physical and psychological. The ruthless wolf who ruled a company he never truly wanted, yet refused to let go of. The man who, in the deepest corner of his mind -even if he never admitted it- wanted to be seen by his father.

The man she had learned to read so many years ago, whose moods, silences, and tells she knew by heart.

The man she couldn’t stop caring for because no one else did. Not even himself.

The man she was in love with.

And she couldn’t deny him.

"You are not the only one who feels all of those things," she heard herself say, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She averted her gaze quickly, suddenly aware of the distant noise of voices and clinking glasses behind them. But before she could step away, he leaned in, still caging her against the balcony railing.

Bucky turned his head slightly, scanning their surroundings. There was no one. And fuck if he cared if there was.

His intense gaze snapped back to hers. "Do you mean it?" His voice was low, almost rough. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply and took a fraction of a step back, and his hands ghosted over her arms as if forcing himself to give her space. "Aren’t you feeling pressured right now? By my position? By our… dynamic?"

She scoffed, shaking her head, "You know me well enough to know I don’t let myself be pressured. I think my first week under you made that clear."

A dry chuckle left his lips. "God. You dared to lecture me about not being a servant just for asking for a coffee."

Her lips parted in disbelief. "Oh, don’t you dare play the victim here," she shot back, jabbing a finger lightly against his chest. "You barked at me to walk eight blocks in those fucking heels just because you wanted that petroleum filth they called gourmet espresso. You had five excellent coffee shops between here and there, but no, you had to have that one, which charged you double for dirty water."

Bucky let out a low, amused hum, catching her hand before she could retreat. His grip was firm but soft, and his thumb glided absentmindedly over her knuckles. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

"I thought of firing you on the spot," he admitted, almost reflectively.

Her brows lifted. "Oh, how gracious of you not to."

His smirk deepened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his other hand, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb.

"But then I realized," he murmured, tilting his head, "I got so fucking turned on when you didn’t cower and spoke your mind."

Her breath caught as his fingers slid back, cupping lightly the base of her neck.

"It’s so goddamn rare," he continued, dipping his voice into something huskier, "to find someone in these circles who actually says what they mean. Who doesn’t just… bend."

His grip tightened at the back of her head, and his fingers fisted in her hair, undoing part of her hairstyle as he tugged just enough to tilt her face up toward his. His pupils were blown wide, dark and consuming, the pale blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the heat behind them.

"But I'd be lying," he murmured, as his breath brushed against her lips, "if I said I haven’t thought about bending you in other… more pleasurable ways."

A tingle ran down her spine, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The heat rushed to her face, completely unaccustomed to this side of him, this raw, unveiled hunger. The daily life they shared, the comfort they had built over years of working side by side, had nothing to do with the way he looked at her now.

Like a predator.

A handsome, fucked-up predator, ready to consume her whole.

And she was going to let him.

Far in the back of her mind, the worries of what this would mean, of the implications of crossing this line, of the scandal and gossip if anyone found them like this, all of it faded into irrelevance. The only thing that mattered was the way his fingers tightened in her hair, the way his body crowded hers against the railing, and the way his gaze locked her in place like she was something he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers.

She tried to feign a little nonchalance. "Is this your pickup line for fancy cocktail parties? Telling a lady you want to bend her?"

His low chuckle rumbled against her, his amusement laced with something far more dangerous. He didn’t pull away when she tried to call him out. No, he attacked.

"Oh, I think this lady enjoyed it very much," he murmured, brushing the shell of her ear with his lips, his voice thick with satisfaction. "The way she squirms under my gaze tells me everything I need to know."

The warmth of his breath made her shiver as his manicured stubble grazed her cheek, rough against the softness of her skin. Strands of his loosened hair tickled under her chin as he slowly turned his face, skimming his lips over hers, just the ghost of a touch, but it set her entire body on fire. Without thinking, she pressed the softest peck to the corner of his mouth.

And that was all it took.

He let go.

To hell with the party. To hell with his father, the endless charade of appearances, and whoever might walk through those balcony doors.

His other hand fisted the fabric at her lower back, yanking her against him as his lips crashed onto hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, deep, possessive, and unrelenting. His expensive suit wrinkled under her desperate grasp as her fingers clawed at his lapels.

Her purse tumbled from her shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when Bucky was pressing her against the railing, caging her in, one large hand tightening its grip on her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted.

He kissed her like he was trying to ruin her for anyone else. Like he was sealing something between them, something untold but inevitable. His tongue parted her lips and swallowed the soft gasp that escaped her own.

Her knees weakened, but he was there, securing his grip as if daring gravity to try and take her from him. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated against her mouth as she arched into him, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Without even thinking, he pressed a thick thigh between hers, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips.

Bucky felt it, her body’s reaction, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers tightened their hold on him. His grip on her waist grew firmer, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to make sure she felt him everywhere.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, his lips barely leaving hers as he spoke. "I can feel how much you want this."

His thigh flexed, pressing up against her just right, and she bit down a whimper, tilting back her head against the railing. Bucky took advantage, latching his mouth onto her exposed throat, scraping over the delicate skin with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

Her hands fisted his suit, wrinkling the pristine fabric even further, but he couldn’t care less. Not when she was trembling against him, not when she was letting him take control, letting him push, pull, and claim in ways neither of them had dared to acknowledge before tonight.

His breath was uneven when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide, hunger and something far more dangerous swirling in that stormy blue. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he growled, his grip constricting on her waist as if he might just drag her away.

For a moment, she teetered on the edge of saying yes, of letting him whisk her away and finish what they started. But then reality seeped in: the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation just beyond the balcony doors, the weight of eyes that could turn at any moment.

She swallowed hard, forcing her hands to press against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. “We��� we can’t.”

“Like hell we don’t,” he countered, as he dragged his thigh between hers again. The friction made her bite her lip, shifting her hips instinctively toward him, betraying her resolve.

“Don’t be a brat,” she murmured. “You’re here to make connections, to pretend you give a damn about these people. Not to mention your father’s just waiting for you to slip.”

“I don’t give a fuck-”

“Bucky.” She exhaled, calming herself. “This is good for you. A couple of hours, and then we can go.”

His exhalation was sharp, and his grip faltered for just a second before his forehead came to rest against hers. He felt dejected. She let her fingers trail down his lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles she had put there.

“Honey,” she murmured, softer now, “I want this as much as you do.”

His lips parted, ready to argue, but she pressed a finger to them, shaking her head. “No. You told me you wanted me on this trip as a buffer, to help figure out who you can be a dick to and who you can’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Maybe I just wanted you close.”

Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. Instead, she dragged her hands down his arms, squeezing his wrists before stepping back just enough to force some distance. “Shush. I’m doing what I’m supposed to.” She smirked, playful now, tilting her head. “Don’t be stubborn. Be a good boy and talk to those people. We have plenty of time for ourselves once this ends.”

His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought he might argue. But then, with one last lingering touch along her waist, he huffed a quiet curse and pulled away.

She was right. He knew she was right. But seeing her all disheveled against the railing, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in uneven little gasps, none of it helped his restraint.

Which was exactly why, instead of stepping back into the party like a man with self-control, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward a darker corner of the balcony.

“Bucky! What-”

She barely had time to protest before her back met the cool stone wall, and his body caged hers in, shielding her from view.

“I’m being a good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You failed to perceive how you -and probably I- look right now.” His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, tilting her chin up, and his eyes swept over her face and down her neck, to where her dress was slightly askew from his hands. “We can’t walk back in there looking like two horny teenagers who made out while the adults were talking,” he said, ghosting his lips over her temple, in a teasing but firm tone.

She swallowed, barely suppressing a shiver as his hands roamed her body, smoothing over the wrinkles in her dress and fixing his own tie with a frustrated sigh.

“And whose fault is that?” she muttered, smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket before reaching lower to straighten the part of his shirt that had somehow come untucked during their little ordeal.

Bucky chuckled, watching her fuss over him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare throw this on me when we both know you were pretty damn excited a minute ago,” he teased.

Her hands stilled, lips parting in protest, only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as one of his hands abandoned its pretense of decorum and slid down to cup her ass, squeezing with deliberate firmness.

She yelped, smacking his chest, but his smirk only widened.

“Now stop being so bossy and help us look mildly demure,” he murmured, all mock innocence, though the way his hand rubbed slowly at her rear said otherwise.

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she batted his hand away, not that it did much, considering he was still crowding her against the wall like he had every intention of misbehaving again, and his scent clung to her like a second skin.

“Demure? After what you just pulled?” she scoffed, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles on her dress. “The nerve you have,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair, trying futilely to regain some composure.

Bucky chuckled, slow and smug, brushing a thumb across his lower lip as he watched her. “And yet, you let me and enjoyed it. And… you’re still here,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

She exhaled, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “For now.”

His eyes darkened, and his amusement flickered into something deeper as he leaned in, fanning his warm breath against her temple. “For good.”

Taglist: @civilbucky

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[crazyunsexycool]

Edging him until he’s completely delirious and when you tell him to “say the magic words” he accidentally says “I love you”

[crazyunsexycool]

😂😂😂😂😂 poor Bucky and the fact that he didn’t even think of looking up a YouTube video on how to do hair… this old man!!!! 😂😂😂

hiiii i hope you are doing well. i was thinking abt maybe reader is away on mission or something so bucky takes care of abby and he’s trying to do her hair/pick a cute outfit and he thinks he’s done amazing, (abby does too) but steve sends reader a picture of bucky and abby and it is the most atrocious hair style and outfit but they both have the biggest smile and reader is happy 🧹

My favorite anon! Thank you, I'm hanging in there.🙂 I switched this a lil bit to make it a collaborative effort between Mama's favorite people.

"Papa, is you wakes?" Bucky was awake as soon as Abby stepped into the room, but he pretended to be asleep because Abby is so entertaining when she tries to wake him up. "Pu'a and I done sleeps." She waits a few seconds, "I tinks my pig is hungwy," squashing Pu'a belly against Bucky's ear. "You hears it? His tummy is gwowing."

"I heard it," pulling away from her stuffed animal.

"You's up, Papa!'

"How can I stay asleep when Pu'a's belly is rumbling so loud?"

Abby gives him a smile, "Mine tummy maybe gwowing too."

Bucky quickly sits up lifting Abby's belly to his ear, making her giggle. Her giggle has become one of his favorite sounds. "Is it?" rubbing his head into her belly, tickling her. She wiggles and curls up, kneeing Bucky in the face. Bucky groans falling back on the bed.

"Papa!! I's sowwy!" Abby crawls over to check his face. "I ouch you? I's sowwy! I takes care you. It ok, ok?"

"I'm ok. I'm fine."

Looking relieved, "You'd fine?"

"I'm an Avenger. I'm fine."

Then Abby frowns, "Yous make my heart so scared. Don't ticko me! I don't wikes it."

Bucky rubs his cheek, "I'm sorry. I learned my lesson. I won't tickle you."

Abby nods and gives him a beautiful smile, which reminds Bucky of yours. "But you knows what?"

"No, tell me."

"My tummy is still gwowing."

*****

You're in Washington DC with Director Fury to attend conferences and committee meetings with him. You're only supposed to be gone 3 days and Bucky said he'll bring Abby to the Tower, knowing if he needs help the team would jump in.

Brushing teeth and washing Abby's face was easy enough. Brushing her tousled bed head was another story, but once it combed out, "Ok, are we good?"

"No, Papa. I need pigtails. One over here & one here," patting the sides of her head.

Bucky gets to work, "Ta-da! How does that look?"

Papa tried his best but the pigtails were lopsided and uneven. He didn't make sure the part was straight and there were so many fly away hairs, and Abby didn't want to hurt his feelings. "Uh ..um...I so pwetty! Yay, Papa?"

"Cool, let's find something to wear." As Bucky leaves, Abby takes another look in the mirror & shakes her head. Mama never lets leave looking like this. She gives a little giggle thinking about Bucky.

Abby waddles into the bedroom to find Bucky going through her packed clothes. "Is you finds my scoon cwothes?"

"Yea, sure. What do you want to wear?"

"You's let me picks it?"

Bucky shrugs, "Why not?

Abby jumps up and down, "Okies!" Mama never lets her do this. She looks through her selection and picks out a flowered top and some cheetah leggings. "Dis! I wike dis! It my favwit! I'll feel pwetty."

Bucky tries to be supportive, "Wow! Um ...good choice. You're always pretty, Abigail Baby. He dresses her & boy is she a sight. Both of them look at each other with so much love. Trying to support the disaster each of them created.

*****

Steve just started making coffee when Abby skips into the kitchen, "G'morning Uncle Steve!" She runs to rest of the way to hug his leg.

"whoa! What...did you? You did that to yourself, Abs?

Giving Steve a twirl, "You wikes it? Papa did my hairs, but I picked-ed my cwothes."

Steve looks at Bucky and he's got a huge smile on his face. Taunting him, "Yea, Uncle Steve. Don't you wikes it?"

Steve kneels down to Abby's level, "You know who would also like this?"

"Who?"

Steve looks up at Bucky while he answers Abby, "Your Mama! I think we should sent her a picture." The smile slowly slides off Bucky's face.

"Maybe we shouldn't..."

"YES! Mama wants to sees me!" Abby strikes a pose, "Take my piture!" Steve cracks up laughing but does as he's told. Abby runs to Bucky, "Now one wit Papa!"

"C'mon, smile Buck."

"Is you smiles? You happy to be's wit me?" Abby looks hopefully up at Bucky.

"Of course Abby Baby!" He pulls her closer and they both giggle and give the biggest smiles.

"Yay! Send to Mama.

"Sent."

"Uncle Steve? Can you make me pancakes? My tummy is gwowing! I hungwy."

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unax @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

"I think I can, Abs." As Steve and Abby walk to the fridge, Bucky's phone lights up with your photo on his screen.

[crazyunsexycool]

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[crazyunsexycool]

pathetic men make me go fucking feral.

like yes baby, keep whimpering and moaning like the bitch you are. you’re so fucking cute when you try to buck into nothing. mommy’s desperate little slut.

[crazyunsexycool]

literally him

[crazyunsexycool]

Aaww thank you so much!!! I didn’t even realize that I didn’t add the link for chapter 41 so here it is it’s their honeymoon!

My Little Love

Chapter 40

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

word count: 7.2K

Warnings: Fluff city baby, happy tears, Henry and Charlotte being cuties

A/N: My lovely people we have made it to the wedding and Chapter 40.. isn't that insane??????? I thought this series would be at least 20-25 chapters tops. So to make such an important event we have the wedding chapter. I really hope you guys like it. I researched wedding ceremonies and everything hahahahah

Series Masterlist

“Mama no mo seeping.” Charlotte whispered in her usual sing-songy way. “We gets mawwied today.” 

You knew she was standing right in front of you on the edge of the bed. But you opened one eye and took a peek at her smiling face before groaning and turning around. Lottie giggles before climbing on the bed and over you. Her foot slips on the bedsheet and she falls with a soft ‘oof’.

“Mama no mo seeping.” 

“Just five more minutes.” You mumble while covering her with the blanket and pulling her in. Lottie is all giggles as she wiggles her way out of your hold. 

“Wake up mama.” 

“Ok, ok. I’m up.” You sit up as Lottie straddles your thighs and leans into your chest for a hug. “Good morning my sweet Angel. Are you ready to be the cutest flower girl ever?” 

“Mmhmm. Gonna do the bestest job.” 

“That’s my girl. Let’s get ready for the morning.” You give Lottie a big hug and some kisses on her cheek before you head into the bathroom. 

You can’t wipe the smile off your face. It’s your wedding day and you’re so excited. When you get downstairs Nat, Wanda and Sofia are dressed comfortably and ready to go. They all have matching shirts that say ‘I do crew’. Nat held up a white shirt for you that said ‘bride or die’ and you couldn’t help but laugh as you put it on. 

“I’M GETTING MARRIED TODAY.” You screamed as you all jumped for joy. 

“Ok, we have to go or we’ll be late.” Wanda starts pushing you towards the door. “Sam already told me the guys were getting ready to leave.” 

“We have everything packed, all you have to do is get your butt in the car, Mrs. Barnes.” 

Your smile gets bigger when Sofia calls you Mrs. Barnes. All this giddiness has you floating on air. 

“One more thing.” Wanda stops you and hands you a pair of white heart shaped glasses that have been bejeweled. The top of the glasses say ‘wife of the party’. Lottie is wearing flower shaped glasses that say ‘flower girl’ and her name. Each of the bridesmaids have matching bejeweled glasses as well. 

“Now we can go.” 

The drive to the venue is fast, but that’s what happens with Nat at the wheel. You have music on blast and you’re singing along without a care in the world. Everything starts to feel more real as you stop in front of the mansion. 

“Alright, now let’s get you married.” 

As soon as you open the car door Olivia is waiting for you. She has a clipboard and a headset as she gives you an initial report. Everything was going according to plan. The photographer and videographer are also there waiting for you to get started, their partners are already off with Bucky and the guys. 

Olivia ushers you in and up to the room where you’ll be getting ready. Lottie is a little ball of excitement as she chatters happily about how she can’t wait to wear her dress and look like a princess. When you get to your room it’s already set up with breakfast and the hair and makeup stylists are ready to go. You all change into robes so it’s easier to get dressed later.

“Who’s going first?” The makeup stylist asks with a smile. 

“I will.” Sofia says as she walks out of the bathroom in a blue bathrobe. 

“Ok ladies, let’s get this party started.” 

There’s more music as you chat with Nat. Lottie plays with some toys you had packed the night before. You all watch as Sofia gets her makeup done and Wanda gets her hair done. Everything is according to plan, the day is beautiful and you couldn’t be happier. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Steve sits on the couch in the room the groomsmen are all getting ready in. It’s just on the other side of the mansion. 

“Yes, I want to look my best.” 

“But she loves the look.” Sam adds as he joins Steve. “As best man I advise against it.” 

Bucky looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. “I’m sure.” 

“Do I have to do that too?” Henry asks.

“Not at all.” 

“Ok.” 

While Bucky gets a haircut and cleans up his beard the rest of the guys sit around and relax. Clint gave Bucky advice while Steve, Sam and Joshua joked around. Bucky was the most relaxed he’d ever been. He knew you were down the hallway getting ready too. Excitement bubbled in his chest the closer it got to the actual ceremony. 

“Gentlemen, you should start getting dressed.” Olivia says as she walks in. “We will be starting to get some group photographs soon.”

Everyone started gathering their clothing while Olivia walked up to Bucky. 

“Are you ready for today?” She asks with a smile.

“More than ready. Could you do me a favor though?” 

“Of course.” 

“Could you give this,” Bucky pulls out a small black velvet box from his bag and gives it to Olivia. “To Y/N?” 

“Interesting, she asked me if I could give you this.” Olivia gives Bucky a box too. 

“Thanks.” 

“You have 45 minutes gentlemen.” Olivia calls out before leaving. 

Bucky looks down at the box, curious as to what it could be that you have given him. He takes the top off to find a vintage watch but it’s the note underneath that gets his attention. It’s a simple ‘for your eyes only’ scribbled in your handwriting. Bucky looks around before pulling out the other gift you’d sent him. 

His jaw dropped when he saw the polaroids you’d sent him. You were in several different stages of undress. Bucky had to look around again to make sure no one would sneak up on him. He flipped through what you had sent him until he got to his favorite. You were dressed in red lacy lingerie and the jacket of his military uniform from the 40s. 

Bucky couldn’t wait until he got you alone.

****

“Your love has sent you this.” Olivia gives you a black velvet box. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Now ladies please start getting dressed, there's only 45 minutes left before you are needed downstairs.”

You were sitting and getting the last touch up on your hair when you decided to open the gift Bucky sent you. It’s a beautiful gold bracelet. By the looks of it, it’s been well loved. There’s a simple note in his handwriting, explaining that it used to belong to his mother. That she wore it on her wedding day and so did his sisters. Now that you were becoming a Barnes, the bracelet was yours and one day you would pass it down to Charlotte. He also told you there was no pressure in you wearing it, he just wanted you to have it. 

“Mrs. Barnes, are you ready to get dressed?” Sofia called out. When you looked up she was holding the garment bag your dress was in. 

“I’m more than ready.” 

The guests had arrived. Everyone was moving through the venue to the garden. The wedding party was dressed to perfection. You were nervous but excited.

 In one of the many large rooms Eddie stood in the middle. At the direction of the photographer he had his back turned to the entrance. You walked in and stood just behind him. 

“Ok dad, turn around.” The photographer instructed while taking many photographs. Eddie did as he was told. 

“Oh wow.” Eddie choked out when he saw you in your wedding dress. His eyes immediately filled with tears as he looked at you. He had to take a deep breath before he could say a word. “You look beautiful, kitten.” 

“Thanks dad.” 

He held his hands out for you and you two stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s comforting presence before Eddie pulled you in for a hug. You were both smiles, completely forgetting the presence of anyone else in the room. 

“I can’t believe my little girl is getting married.” He murmurs, trying his best to not cry. 

“Me either.”

“You’re happy right?” 

“So happy, dad.” You say while wiping away a stray tear from his cheek. 

“That’s all I want for you.” 

“Me too.” 

Olivia walks in, telling you that Henry is just out in the hallway. She gives you a moment before she lets him in. 

“Wow mama, you look so beautiful. Like a princess.” Henry says as he gives you a hug. 

“Thank you my sweet boy. You look so handsome. Are you ready for today?” 

“I’m a little nervous but I think I can do it.” 

You smile down at him. “You’re so brave bubs. I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Bubba!” Lottie calls out excitedly. They hadn't seen each other since the night before so they were more than happy to reunite. 

“Hi baby. You look like a princess too.” 

“Thank you bubba. You wook so nice.” Lottie compliments her brother as they hug. 

“Alright everyone, places. We are starting in just a few minutes. Charlotte here is your basket full of flowers. Henry, here are the rings.” Olive gives them each what they’ll be taking down the aisle.

“Ready?” Eddie walks up next to you and offers you his arm. 

“More than anything.” 

He escorts you down the hallway where you can see the wedding party. The groomsmen hoop and holler as they see you walking down. 

“Damn Y/N, you look amazing.” Clint says with a cheeky smile. 

“Thank you Clint.” 

“Places everyone.” Olivia says as she walks up. There are assistants moving around while you wait to walk down the aisle. 

The music starts and you feel the butterflies in your tummy. You watch as Sofia and Joshua walk out first. Then it’s Wanda and Clint. After them it’s Nat. At the door Henry hesitates as all eyes fall on him. He starts to become invisible before he turns to look at you. 

“It’s ok sweet boy.” You tell him. “Do you want to walk out with Lottie?” 

“Yeah we can do it.” Lottie is already moving to stand beside her brother. 

You watch as Henry takes a deep breath. “I can do it.” 

You smile at him. He turns back around and takes a few tentative steps outside. You can’t see him anymore but you’re confident that he’s doing ok. 

Henry keeps his eyes on Bucky who is giving him an encouraging smile. With every step he takes, Henry feels more comfortable. When he gets to the front Bucky gives him a hug and the groomsmen give him pats on the back. 

Lottie smiles at you before she walks out of the double doors. She takes a few petals and tosses them in the air with a flourish. She’s all smiles until she gets halfway down the aisle. When Lottie looks up she sees Steve and Bucky and she couldn’t be more excited.

“Hi daddy. Hi Steebie.” She yells from her spot. “Wook at my dwess.” 

“You look beautiful, Doll.” Bucky says with an easy smile and tears in his eyes. 

“Steebie you wike my dwess?” 

Her innocent questions had the guest laughing.

“Of course I do. You look beautiful, sweetheart.” 

Lottie giggles before she starts throwing more flower petals around and waving at the guests. When she finally gets to the front she walks straight up to Bucky and they hug. 

“You did great, Doll.” 

“Tank you daddy.” 

“Now we get to see mama walk out here.” 

“Kay.”

At the back you laugh as Olivia tells you what’s happening. 

“That girl is a riot.” Eddie comments.

“You know she didn’t let Bucky see her dress because she said it was bad luck.”

Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. 

“Ok, you’re next.” Olivia comments with a smile. “Here is your bouquet.”

You take the flowers and wait for the music to change. Eddie places a hand over yours on his arm. The smile he gives you is warm and soft and you can’t help but give him one back. 

“Hey guys.”

You heard Wanda’s voice in your head. 

“Wanda?” You thought, not knowing Bucky was doing the same.

“Yes, I’m talking to both of you at the same time.”

“Is something wrong?” Bucky asked as he looked over at Wanda standing just behind Nat.

“Nothing is wrong. Do you remember the day that Charlotte started walking? She had a vision that day.”

“Yes.” You both think in unison.

“She saw you getting married. In fact her vision was this exact moment.” Wanda says and you can hear the smile in her voice. “You were always meant to be together.” 

Bucky had been fighting back tears but this revelation breaks his resolve as the music changes.

You take the first step towards the rest of your life. The garden is decorated beautifully. Flowers in different hues of blue with pops of white line the aisle. Vases in different shapes and sizes fill the space as well. The sun is shining brightly, there is not a single cloud in the sky. As you get to the top of the aisle all the guests stand. 

Your eyes immediately fall on Bucky. He’s smiling and shedding tears freely. You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest the closer you get to him. Out of the corner of your eyes you see your friends and family looking at you lovingly. 

This feels like the longest and the shortest walk at the same time. 

“Edward, do you support the marriage between Y/N and James today?” Steve asks.

“I do.” 

Bucky steps forward and shakes Eddie’s hand before the latter pulls him in for a hug. 

“You keep taking care of her for me like you have, son. And make her happy. That’s all I ask.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Eddie pulls back and turns to you. He’s on the brink of crying which makes you want to cry, but happy tears. Eddie gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and tells you how much he loves you before taking a seat. 

Bucky offers you his hand and you take it happily. He brings your hand up to his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. As he pulls away Bucky notices that you’re wearing the bracelet that once belonged to his mother. He can’t help but run a finger over the gold bracelet.

“You look breathtaking, Sugar.” 

“You look so handsome. And you cut your hair.” You whisper as you look at him in his dark blue suit. Somehow it made his eyes pop even more. 

“You didn’t have to wear it.” Bucky says as he looks at the bracelet again.

“I wanted to wear it. Now she’s here in some way.” 

You smile at each other as you take your place in front of Steve. He sends a wink your way as he stands taller. Nat steps forward and takes your bouquet.

“Dear family and friends, don’t worry this isn’t a mission briefing.” Steve starts.  

You and Bucky as well as the guest laugh. 

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of James Buchanan Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N.” Steve continues his speech. “If you’ve ever doubted the existence of soulmates I’d like you to take a moment and look at this man and woman standing before us. Two people that should have never met have come together against all odds. I believe that James and Y/N were made for each other and nothing could stand in their way. Not time or war or enemies. Maybe a little bit of stubbornness because they don’t like to listen to advice. But we’re here now so I guess it all worked itself out in the end.” 

You and Bucky smile at Steve as he continues.

“I’ve known Bucky since childhood. He’s been an extraordinary friend. He’s someone you want in your corner when things get tough. Bucky is a great example of what a good man is. He’s loyal to a fault and will always put the people he loves first.” 

Steve looks over at Buck with a smile before turning to you. 

“I’ve had the privilege of meeting Y/N shortly after waking up in this new world. She is one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met. Y/N doesn’t give up on people. When Bucky was able to join the team she was the first one there to welcome him. They are two of the most caring, loving and wonderful people I know. It’s been an honor to watch them go from strangers to friends to partners. They would do anything for each other. A love like that is not easy to find but definitely worth fighting for. And their closest friends and family have seen them fight for each other, for their family and for their love.” 

Bucky gently squeezes your hand. The two of you lovingly gaze into each other’s eyes as Steve transitions to the next part. 

“Do you James, take Y/N to be your wife? To live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold from this day forward as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Bucky replies immediately and then Steve turns to you.

“Do you Y/N, take James to be your husband? To live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold from this day forward as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” You reply just as quickly.

“James and Y/N have decided to write their own vows. James will go first.” 

You could see how nervous he was. Bucky takes a deep breath but looks into your eyes. 

“When I was younger I knew I wanted to be a husband and a father. When the war started that dream was ripped away from me. After I was saved I thought that I didn’t deserve those things. But then I met you, Y/N.” Bucky starts. You know that it’s not easy for him to talk about his emotions like this in front of so many people, which makes it so much more special. “I was still in a very dark place when I met you the night I arrived at the compound. You were caring and compassionate. From the first moment my heart was yours. It still amazes me that you love me the way you do.” 

You smile at him as he takes a moment to calm his nerves. 

“You always saw the best in me even when I was at my lowest. You didn’t think twice about stepping up and taking care of Charlotte when we first found her. Or risking your life to get Henry to safety. Seeing you become a mother to our kids has been the greatest gift. Being able to be by your side has been my biggest joy. I promise to work hard every day to be the man that you and our kids deserve. I promise to love you with all that I am and to protect you and our kids with my life. I love you more than words can express and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life by your side.” 

Both you and Bucky were blinking back tears by the time he was done. You even saw Steve get a bit teary eyed. 

“Y/N, you’re next.” 

“How am I supposed to follow that?” You ask no one in particular. Bucky chuckles and sends a wink your way. “I love you so much. Being with you has been the happiest I’ve ever been. I never thought that I’d find someone that would accept me completely until I met you. You make me feel safe and loved and seen. Being by your side as you stepped into the role of fatherhood has been the most special experience. I promise to be there for you in the good times and the bad. I promise to remind you how good you are even when you don’t think you are. I love you so much and I can’t wait to experience the rest of my life next to you.” 

Bucky couldn’t help the tear that rolled down his cheek. One you were quick to wipe away.

“Henry, please bring the rings forward.” Steve says. Henry steps up with one ring in hand and two small metal beads, one black and one gold. “A ring has no beginning and no end. It is two sides joined in an endless path. These rings represent your unconditional love and respect for one another. James, take the ring, place it on Y/N’s finger and repeat after me.”

Bucky takes the ring from Henry and slides it on your finger. He smiles when he sees the set he bought you complete. Then he repeats what Steve is saying.

“Y/N, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and fidelity. I promise to love you today, tomorrow and forever.” 

“Y/N, now it’s your turn.” 

You turn to Henry and take the two small vibranium beads, one black and one gold. In your palm you manipulate them, creating an intricate design of gold within the black. On Bucky’s left hand, you make a small indentation. You place the ring on Bucky’s left finger and it falls perfectly into the groove you created and then you fuse it together. It had been Bucky’s idea that his ring should be incorporated into his finger. He never wanted to take it off. 

“James, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and fidelity. I promise to love you today, tomorrow and forever.” 

You look up into his eyes. Both of you with smiles that were brighter than the sun. 

“By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Steve announced proudly. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Bucky had been fighting the urge to pull you in for a kiss the moment you stood in front of him. Before Steve even finished the sentence he was already pulling you in by your waist. Neither of you can help but smile into the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck. The sound of your guests clapping and cheering fade as your lips meet in your first kiss as a married couple. It was familiar but different, new. Maybe it was just the excitement of finally getting married that made the kiss so much sweeter. The thought of spending your life next to Bucky and getting to see the kids grow up made you pull Bucky in just a little bit tighter. You didn’t want to let him go.

“Yay, we mawwied now!” Lottie announced loudly as she clapped. Her excitement had people chuckling and you and Bucky finally pulling away. 

“I’d like to present to you for the first time, Mr. And Mrs. Barnes.” Steve said as music started playing. 

Nat gave you back your bouquet and you took Bucky’s arm. The two of you started walking back down the aisle. Eddie was in tears as he watched you walk by but so was Molly and Luke. Behind you, Henry escorted Lottie out. They were followed by the rest of the bridal party. 

“Congratulations.” Olivia says as you meet her just inside the hallway. “Come this way. I prepared a room just for the four of you so that you have some time together.” 

“Thank you.” 

Bucky opens the door for you. Inside there’s a couch and some refreshments. You sit as Bucky ushers Lottie and Henry in. 

“Would you like a drink, Mrs. Barnes?” Bucky smiles cheekily at you.

“I would love one Mr. Barnes.” You smile before turning to the kids. “Henry, I'm so proud of you, sweet boy.” 

“Thank you mama.” 

“And you did great my sweet angel.” 

“Tank you mama.” Lottie smiles before turning to look at Bucky as he hands you some champagne and hands the kids a plate with something to snack on, then something to drink. “Oh tank you daddy.” 

“You’re welcome, doll. You looked so beautiful, baby. Just like a princess.” 

Lottie giggled and hid her face behind her hands.

“And our sweet boy looks so handsome. Just like a prince.” You add with a smile.

Bucky sits next to you, holding his own glass of champagne. An arm rests on the back of the couch behind you and you lean into him. 

“Hi Sugar.” 

“Hi baby.” You lean up to give him a quick kiss. “We’re married.” You whisper against his lips. 

“You’re stuck with me now.” 

“I wouldn’t want anyone else.”  You raise your glass and Bucky does the same. Henry and Lottie, not wanting to be left out, raise their juice boxes to ‘clink’  them together with you and Bucky.

“To the Barnes family and our future.” 

You take a sip of champagne, cringing slightly at the taste. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know, it tastes weird.” 

“It tastes fine to me.”

You just shrug. “It’s no big deal. We have something different picked out for the reception.” 

Bucky finishes his drink and takes yours as you lean against him. The kids are sharing their snacks and having their own conversation. You were sure this was heaven. 

“Did you look at your watch?” You ask.

“Yeah, it’s great. I love it.” 

“You have to look at it again.” 

Bucky shifts and pulls up the sleeve of his suit and shirt to look down at the watch. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees a small ‘I do’ carved on the bezel, next to the time you’d both said those words. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Bucky says while still looking down at the watch. 

You smile while accepting another kiss from him. After about fifteen minutes of your alone time, Olivia knocks on the door to inform you that you’re needed for pictures. The four of you head out to meet the wedding party and your family. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Mr. And Mrs. Barnes.” The DJ announces and all the guests cheer as you and Bucky walk hand in hand to the reception. 

The room was decorated beautifully. Just like the ceremony there were flowers and cases all over. Candles were lit along the tables and the lights above were very soft to give the room a romantic feel. Everything was perfect.

“The lovely couple will share their first dance as husband and wife.” 

Music slowly started to play once Bucky escorted you to the center of the dance floor. He pulls you by your waist and leaves his hands there. 

🎶 I met you in the dark, you lit me up.🎶

“I love this song.” You tell Bucky as he leads you around the dance floor.

🎶then you smiled over your shoulder. For a minute I was stone cold sober. I pulled you closer to my chest. 🎶

“And I love you.” Bucky whispers into your ear. You smile as he pushes you away and spins you before pulling you back.

🎶 and I’ll take the kids to school, wave them goodbye.🎶

As those lyrics ring out you and Bucky can’t help but turn your heads at the same time to find the kids. Henry and Charlotte are at the edge of the dance floor, both of them with bright smiles and stars in their eyes as they watch their parents dance. 

While you kept looking at the kids Bucky turned to look at you again. He was sure his heart was going to give out at any moment. There was just no way that he could be so happy, most of the time he thought he never deserved it. But you were always there to drive the doubt away. 

“I wanna live with you even when we’re ghosts.” He sings just for you. “‘Cause you were always there when I needed you most.” 

“I’m gonna love you ‘til my lungs give out. I promise ‘til death we part like in our vows.” You sang back. 

This time you couldn’t help the few tears that escaped. This was so much more than you could have ever dreamed of. 

🎶now everybody knows, that it just you and me until we’re gray and old. Just say you won’t let go.🎶 

The final notes of the song played as Bucky dipped you and then met you halfway to give you a sweet kiss. When he pulled you back up, his lips still connected to yours, the room filled with cheers and applause from your guests. You only pulled apart when you heard Henry and Lottie running across the hardwood floor towards you. 

The four of you move to your table and sit down. Dinner is served almost immediately and you enjoy your time next to your husband.

****

Bucky leads you around the room, making sure to stop at every table. His family, well your family now too, all congratulate you and wish you years of happiness. Bucky’s nieces and nephews start to call you aunt Y/N and you can’t help but giggle. 

You’re almost done with the tables so you head to the next one. 

“You look absolutely radiant.” Ramonda says with a huge smile on her face. She opens her arms, inviting you into a hug before moving on to Bucky. “I am so happy for both of you. May you have many wonderful years together.” 

“Thank you Ramonda.” 

“My second favorite white boy.” Shuri moves to stand right beside her mother.  “Congratulations to the happy couple.” 

“Second favorite?” Bucky looked offended.

“Of course. Henry has the top honor.” 

“It was a beautiful ceremony and we are honored that you invited us.” T’Challa congratulated both of you. “A gift from us.” He holds out an envelope out to you and you take it. “Please open it now.” 

Bucky looks over your shoulder as you read the note. “A house? In Wakanda?” You look up at T’Challa with wide eyes. 

“You are family now. We want you to have a place to come visit whenever you like.” 

“And it can always be expanded if the family grows.” Ramonda adds with a sly smile. 

“Thank you so much T’Challa.” You give him a quick hug. 

“Oh and we made sure to include a goat pen. I hear Charlotte loves goats.” 

“We might have to move to Wakanda permanently when she finds out about the goats.” 

You chuckle because you can already imagine her trying to sneak goats into her bed or her sneaking out to play with them. After a few minutes of conversation you move on to the last table. Tony, Pepper, Bruce, Duckie, Thor and Loki are all sitting together. You go around the table greeting everyone before heading back to your own table. 

****

The speeches had started. Sam was currently speaking and he had everyone in stitches. As the crowd quiets down he turns to Bucky. 

“In all honesty I was surprised but touched when Bucky asked me to be his best man. There is a genuinely good man under all the scowling and glaring. I’m proud to be his friend and to be able to watch him become a father and a husband. To the happy couple.” Sam raises his glass and everyone follows.

Nat and Wanda decided to work together on a speech. You had been surprised at how touching it was. They spoke about the friendship the three of you had created. The good, the bad and the ugly the three of you had faced not only as avengers but as friends. 

“We love you both very much.” Wanda says, ending their joint speech. 

In a surprising move you saw Henry get up from his chair and extend his hand to Lottie. They walk hand in hand towards Wanda and Nat. Henry takes the microphone but hesitates as everyone keeps their eyes on him. You turn to look at Bucky but he’s just as surprised as you are. 

“Hello everyone.” Henry’s voice is small as he addresses the room. “I’m Henry.” 

“An am Wottie.” Lottie adds when Henry holds out the mic for her. “Am so happy we gots mawwied today.” 

“Daddy and Mama, you are our favorite people ever.” 

“You awe-ways so nice.” 

“Mama and daddy saved baby and me from the bad men. They showed me and baby kindness. They are always patient and show us lo-” Henry fails to blink back tears of his own. “Love.” Lottie reaches up and wipes a few tears away. “I promise I’m crying because I’m happy.” 

Henry’s confession received a chorus of ‘awws’ from the guests. You and Bucky stood and went to your kids. 

“My sweet boy.” You whisper as you hug Henry, pulling away just enough to wipe his tears away with a handkerchief Bucky had given you. 

“They love us and I want us to be a family forever.” Henry says into the microphone.

“We will be bubs. No one will ever get in between us ever again. I promise.” 

“I promise too.” You look at Lottie who was tucked into Bucky’s shoulder. “What about you? What do you want?” 

Without missing a beat Lottie takes the microphone from Henry and announces, “I want a baby sissy.”

Again Lottie caused all the guests to laugh while you hid your face behind your hands. With Henry and Lottie the speeches come to an end it’s time for some more dancing. 

“And now ladies and gentlemen it’s time for the father/daughter dance.” The DJ announces.

Eddie comes up to your table and offers you his hand. You follow him to the middle of the dance floor. Eddie moves with you and you can’t help but laugh as you follow his lead. Halfway through the DJ announces that all fathers should join you and Eddie on the dance floor. Bucky and Lottie are first. Then you slowly see Clint and his daughter join. Luke twirls Olivia with one hand while keeping his other hand over Molly’s growing belly as he dances with his three girls. T’Challa even pulls Shuri out of her chair. Even if she protests you see a little hint of a smile on her lips. 

The song ends and the DJ then announces the mother/son dance. The dance floor clears out quickly. The plan was that you would share a dance with Henry so he wouldn’t be left out. What Bucky didn’t expect was for Ramonda to walk up to him and hold her hand out. Bucky took it without question and they started to dance, just the two of them on the floor. 

“I know I am not your mother but I am very fond of you.” Ramonda says as they sway from side to side. “Your mother would be very proud of you, James.”  

“Thank you Ramonda.”  Bucky takes Ramonda’s hand and places a kiss on her knuckles. “I don’t think I’ll ever have the words to explain how much it means that you would dance with me. But I believe you have another dance partner.” Bucky steps away as T’Challa takes his place. 

As the song plays on, Bucky looks over to see you pulling Henry so that you can dance with him. You’re leaning down so that he can give you a kiss on the cheek. Other mothers and sons joined the dance. It was lovely to see Sarah take turns with A.J. and Cass. Laura dances with Cooper and Nathaniel. Even Peter dances with his aunt May. 

“Having fun?” Bucky asks when you make your way over to him after the dance is over. 

“Absolutely, but I’m gonna grab Lottie and change our dresses.”

“Why?” Bucky looks you up and down. “You look perfect.”

“Thank you, babe. But I have a more comfortable dress so that we can dance more and it feels so tight around my chest now. If I stay in this dress any longer my boobs going to hurt a lot.” 

“I can help with that.” Bucky smirks.

You roll your eyes before leaning in to kiss him. Bucky wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in. 

“I’ll be back.” 

****

You were back about half an hour later. First Sofia helped you get changed into your second dress. It was something easier to move in. Then you helped get Lottie changed. She had chosen a champagne colored sequin jumpsuit, mostly because she liked the way it sparkled. 

The two of you made your way back to the reception just as the DJ was announcing that the dance floor was open for everyone. Lottie excuses herself and makes her way to Steve in order to share a dance with him. 

Sofia takes your hand and pulls you towards your bridesmaids, Molly, Laura, Sarah, Maria and Pepper. You all dance and laugh together. 

“May I steal my wife?” Bucky comes in just as one of the songs ends. He’d taken off his suit jacket, bow tie and rolled up the sleeves of his button down shirt.

“Certainly.” Laura pushes you gently towards him. 

With one hand Bucky takes yours with the other he offers you a glass of wine but you shake your head. Bucky downs the wine in one gulp and leaves the glass behind on a table. 

A slower song starts to play and Bucky pulls you in close. His hands sit at your waist while you wrap your arms around his neck. You gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes, not needing to exchange words to know you both are overwhelmingly happy and so in love. 

“Oh my god.” You gasp as you and Bucky turn slowly. 

“What? What is it?” Bucky went to turn his head but you stopped him. 

“Ok, slowly turn me around and then look over my left shoulder. I can’t believe this.” 

Bucky does as you ask. He lets out a small gasp too as he sees what you saw. It then sports a proud smirk. Across the room Steve is holding his hand out for Duckie to take. There seems to be a little hesitation on her part but she ultimately takes his hand. Steve stays at the edge of the dance floor. Duckie awkwardly holds onto Steve’s biceps and looks everywhere but at Steve. 

“Now it will only take another year before he asks her out.” Bucky murmurs.

“But hey, it’s progress.” You reply with a smile. “Besides, it’s not like you can talk. We had a kid before we even dated and then another before you proposed.” 

“Do you want a third before our one year wedding anniversary? Because I can make that happen.” 

You laugh. “Shut up.” 

“That wasn’t a no.” Bucky smiles before he kisses you again. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“One dance Woki Poki.” Lottie held up one finger.

“I will not dance with you or anyone else for that matter.” 

“Pwease.” 

“No.” 

Lottie pouts as she looks up at him. Her big blue eyes silently pleading that he would do as she asked. Loki crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. Just one dance.” 

“Yay.” Lottie claps and takes Loki’s hand, pulling him up from his chair. 

One by one Lottie would dance with the whole team and a few other people.

Across the room Henry was hanging out with Clint’s and Sarah’s boys. All of them eying the dessert table. They were planning a little heist in order to get some treats before they were served to everyone else. 

“I have to go alone.” Henry says as he looks around to make sure no one is listening. “If one of you goes with me then I won’t have my hands free to carry the plate.” 

“Fine, we’ll wait by the door and we can go out to the garden.” 

“Ok, I’ll be back.” Henry says and turns invisible. 

The boys watch the table, seeing a plate disappear. They ran towards the door, yelling to their parents that they were going to go play outside. 

Henry meets them just outside with the plate of sweet treats held high. The group of boys laugh as they move away from the reception. Cass congratulates Henry on doing a good job. They sit together and joke while sharing the desserts.  

The reception is almost over. You stand with Bucky and the kids in front of the cake Henry chose. Bucky holds up the knife and together you cut two small pieces of cake. You and Bucky feed each other a small piece while Lottie swipes some frosting and smears it on Henry’s cheek. She lets out a full belly laugh before running away with her brother following close behind with frosting on his finger. 

****

There’s time for one last dance. So you and Bucky choose to dance together with the kids as the guest exit to give you some privacy. This is it. Just the four of you, ready to face the rest of your lives together.  Nothing could be better than that. 

You exit the mansion through the main doorway. All your guests are lined up, cheering and waving sparklers as you, Bucky and the kids make your way down towards the waiting car. At the end of the makeshift aisle you stop and hug your dad and closest friends. Lottie and Henry go with Steve since he offered to watch them during the honeymoon. 

“We’ll be back before you know it, doll. And we’ll call everyday.” Bucky kisses Lottie’s cheek. 

“Habe fun daddy.” 

“I will, you have fun and behave.” Bucky squints his eyes making Lottie let out a sleepy giggle. “You too bubs.” Bucky turns his attention to Henry who is leaning into you. 

“I will. I’ll miss you.” 

“We’ll miss you both, sweet boy.” 

After a few more hugs for the kids, Nat and Sam push you towards the waiting car. Bucky opens the door to the passenger’s side and helps you in. Bucky doesn’t waste time as he gets in and turns the car on. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh Bucky speeds away. 

Bucky still wouldn’t tell you where you were going. Even as you climbed the stairs to Tony’s private jet. Your luggage was already put away and there was an overnight bag with everything you’d need during your flight. Bucky had made sure to pack comfortable clothes for you to change into. 

It really didn’t matter what Bucky had planned. He could take you to the most boring place ever and you’d be ok with it just because you were by his side. You snuggle up to him after take off. The excitement of the day was finally catching up to you.

“C’mon Sugar,” Bucky pulls you into his chest. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.” 

“Love you, Mr. Barnes.” 

“I love you too Mrs. Barnes.” 

You smile, Mrs. Barnes had a nice ring to it.

Ch. 41

The wedding outfits:

The picture of the wedding dress is just to show the dress not what I think Sugar looks like!!!!

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[crazyunsexycool]

tall subby men are so cute to me. how are u 6 ft and desperate to get on ur knees. like oh im sorry? u can pick me up and snap me like a twig but u wont cause? what?? u want ur mouth used as a clit rest???? ok? stick ur tongue out then. lmao. bitch