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frostimochi · 1 month ago

Text

resolutions

(logan howlett x reader)

summary: You and Logan attend a New Years party hosted by Wade. With the countdown to midnight, you both get caught up in the moment and share an intimate moment with each other.

word count: 2.4k

author's note: i unironically had a dream about this the other night, so of course i had to share with the class, days earlier than planned. this takes place a year after deadpool & wolverine. enjoy! :>

find it on ao3 here

. . .

New Years was awfully unpredictable for you. Every year seemed to bring a different mix of highs and lows, leaving you wondering whether the holiday was even worth celebrating. This year, you didn’t even plan to—until Wade showed up with an invitation to his apartment against your will, promising the "social event of the decade." Against your better judgment, you agreed, dragging Logan along as your buffer for whatever insanity awaited. After all, how bad could it be?

It turned out, predictably, to be very bad.

The party was chaotic, as expected when Wade was involved. Streamers hung haphazardly from the ceiling, balloons were scattered across the floor, and someone had already popped open a bottle of champagne—two hours early. The stereo blasted a mix of '80s rock and whatever Wade had decided was "party music," which helped to create an unforgettable experience. And not in a good way.

Surrounding the room, couples were unable to keep their hands to themselves, unflatteringly in your direction. One group of friends were drunkenly laughing as they took selfies under a sagging strand of broken lights, while others swayed together to the mismatched beat of Wade’s horrendous playlist. You watched everything unfold, while Dogpool sat on your lap, constantly begging you for more cuddles.

Logan sat on the couch beside you, opening a bottle of beer, his expression a mix of irritation and mild amusement. He never wanted to come, but you’d convinced him. And of course, how could he say no? The promise of decent company and free booze was enough to get him to tag along. And though he wouldn't say it out loud, he also secretly loved spending time with you.

As Wade danced dramatically in the corner among the rest, Logan shot you a look that said, "This is your fault."

You laughed at his expression, your hands still on Dogpool as you nudged his arm.

"Come on, admit it. You’re having a little fun."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Watching Wade do... whatever the hell that is? Sure, a riot."

"It’s interpretive dance," Wade called out, spinning in a circle before collapsing dramatically onto the floor. "I’m expressing the tragedy of running out of nachos."

Logan rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a barely there smile. You caught it and grinned.

“Come here, Mary Puppins! Daddy has a surprise for you!” Wade shouted, diving toward you and grabbing Dogpool out of your lap before you could protest.

You blinked, hands still frozen in mid-air. "What the hell, Wade? She’s comfortable!"

Wade cradled Dogpool dramatically, making kissy faces at her. "Oh, but I have something better," he said in a sing-song voice. "A little treat she’ll never forget."

Logan raised an eyebrow from where he sat, grasping onto his beer bottle while watching the scene unfold. "Oh boy.”

You sighed, already knowing this wouldn’t end well. "I swear, if you try to feed her something weird—"

"Don’t worry," Wade interrupted with a grin. “I made her something special, to dedicate my first year with Puppins here, of course.”

"Let me guess," you said, crossing your arms. "You’re feeding her leftover pizza crusts and ranch dressing?"

Wade’s face lit up. "Are you shitting me? I’ve got something way better than that!" With that, he dug into the pocket of his absurdly tight pants and pulled out a tiny, half-melted sandwich. You swore that you could see a tiny bit of mold in it.

"Behold, a hot dog sandwich! You know, for dogs, because they deserve the best."

Logan stared at the sad creation in disbelief. "That’s just a hot dog in a bun. For you."

"Fuck no!" Wade grinned, holding the sandwich up like it was the Holy Grail. "This is an exclusive Dogpool meal—made with delicate care!"

Logan let out a low chuckle as Dogpool tried to squirm free from Wade’s arms, clearly more interested in anything but what her own owner had in store for her.

You grinned at Logan. "It’s a shame. This could have been a bonding moment for the two of them.”

Wade, completely unfazed by Dogpool's lack of enthusiasm, tried to coax her into taking a bite, which ended up with him chasing her around the apartment.

"Come on, sweetie! You can’t say no to this!”

"Guess Dogpool's smarter than all of us," Logan muttered, taking a swig of his beer as Wade continued his one-dog food fight.

You chuckled to yourself as you watched Wade flailing around the place, bumping into others without a care in the world. Logan’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile, something that only appeared when he knew you were genuinely amused.

"Well, looks like I haven’t completely ruined your night," Logan remarked dryly, leaning back into the couch and taking another sip of his beer. His eyes stayed on you, still holding the faint smile on his face.

You nudged him gently with your elbow. "You’re enjoying this more than you thought you would."

His gaze flickered away for a moment before he gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching again. "Maybe a little," he muttered, clearly not wanting to give you the satisfaction of admitting it outright.

. . .

As the night rolled on, a few more guests trickled in, and the energy of the room continued ebbing and flowing. Wade was missing for a bit, which kept things steady for a while. Logan stayed close to you, content to observe rather than participate. You didn’t mind; his dry commentary on the festivities kept you entertained.

You checked your watch for a moment. It was 11:48 pm. Leaning back in your seat, your eyes drifted back to Logan, wanting to start a conversation amidst the awkward silence.

"So, what’s your resolution?" you asked him as the clock neared midnight.

Logan’s gaze flicked to you. "Don’t do resolutions."

"Why not?"

"What’s the point? People make ‘em and break ‘em in the same week."

"Not everyone," you said. "Some people actually stick to them."

"You?" he asked, tilting his head. "What’s yours?"

You went into thought for a moment. You? A new year's resolution? Every time you’ve attempted to stick with one, it always ended up blowing up in your face. If there was anything you wanted more than anything to succeed in, it would probably be to get with Logan. Of course, the concept of it was foreign, but you fell for him the minute you met him. You knew that under the circumstances of what the two of you have been through, there was no chance you could tell him how you felt, or know if he reciprocated the same way.

But maybe it was time to put that all behind. A new year was approaching after all.

There was a long pause before you responded.

"To... take more risks, I guess."

Logan’s lips quirked. "Risks, huh? Like coming to a party with this crowd?"

"Sure," you said with a laugh. "Your turn."

He shook his head jokingly. “Same as you.”

Before you could press him further, Wade appeared, clapping his hands loudly. "Alright, people! Ten minutes to midnight! Time to get your New Year’s smooch plans in order. No shame in making deals, folks."

Everyone around the room had somebody close to them for the big countdown. It made you glance back at Logan. "You got a lucky someone?"

He gave you a look that made your stomach flip, but he said nothing. Instead, he took another sip of his beer, shaking his head.

A heavy sigh escaped you as you stood up, glancing around one last time. It seemed like nothing was going to change tonight. You made your way towards the kitchen, grabbing a drink to settle the quiet disappointment that had settled in your chest.

. . .

As the countdown began, the room filled with excitement. People paired off, others grabbed sparklers from a box Wade had inexplicably found, and you felt a small pang of awkwardness as you realized you didn’t have a plan for the midnight kiss. You hadn’t thought much of it; you’d figured it wasn’t a big deal.

"Ten!" Wade’s voice boomed over the music, causing the entire room to erupt into excitement.

People cheered and clinked glasses as the countdown began in full force. You could hear the muffled echo of it coming from every direction, but your focus remained on the drink in your hand, the sudden unease gnawing at you.

"Nine!" Wade continued, getting even louder. You shifted uncomfortably, your eyes darting to the couples already pairing up, lips ready for the tradition. It was just a kiss, right? A simple tradition, nothing more. But why did it pang your heart this much?

"Eight!"

The countdown sped on, the crowd growing louder, more energized. Your heart rate picked up in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Seven!"

You turned your head, glancing over your shoulder to the bar, then to the group by the windows, still holding your drink. But your mind was far from the surroundings. You hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t thought much about it until now. The idea of a midnight kiss had always felt trivial before, but tonight it seemed to matter for some reason you couldn’t grasp.

"Six!"

You looked around for something to distract you, anything to break the tension building in your chest. But as your gaze shifted around the room, you realized that Logan had somehow made his way closer to you, inching his way through the crowd, his quiet presence unnoticed by you as you remained lost in your own swirling thoughts.

"Five!"

The countdown ticked on, but your awareness narrowed to just the space between you and Logan. You felt a presence beside you, and for a moment, you didn’t even realize it was him until you looked up—his steady, unreadable eyes meeting yours. The air felt different, and you couldn’t tell if it was just the alcohol or something else entirely.

"Four!"

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. You felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach, but there was a softness in his eyes that made everything else fade. The crowd continued to cheer, to count down, but all you could hear was the steady beat of your own heart, drowning out the noise.

"Three!"

Logan's hand brushed against yours. Deliberate, yet gentle, and the contact sent a small spark racing up your arm. You couldn’t help but look at him, a question in your eyes. Was this... real?

"Two!"

Logan’s face was in front of you, his hand reaching up to your face, his touch warm and steady against your skin. You couldn’t breathe for a moment, your heart racing at a pace you hadn’t expected. His thumb gently brushed over your cheekbone, a tender gesture that only made everything feel more overwhelming.

The countdown faded into the background as his face inched closer. Your thoughts scrambled, but there was only one certainty you understood. The way Logan was looking at you, the way everything seemed to quiet around you.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t need to. For the first time that night, you felt grounded.

“One!”

The room erupted in cheers, but all you felt was Logan’s lips on yours. Warm, firm, and completely unexpected. The kiss was brief, but it lingered, a moment suspended in time.

When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, an expression of quiet uncertainty mingled with something more. His lips were slightly parted, as if he was trying to process the same rush of emotions you were. Neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, close enough to feel each other’s breath, the world around you seeming to slow down even further. His gaze softened, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But he didn’t say anything—not yet.

The noise of the room swirled back into focus, but it felt distant, like a muffled backdrop to what you both were experiencing in that exact moment. Logan’s hand was still resting against your cheek. Warm, like it had always belonged there.

"Didn’t think I’d be here, doing this," Logan muttered under his breath, his eyes still locked onto yours. There was something vulnerable in his voice, and it made your heart beat faster.

Before you could respond, he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as though trying to dismiss the weight of the moment. "Wade’s probably gonna never let us live this down," he added, the ghost of a grin curling his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. "You don’t have to worry about him. I’ll take the blame," you said, the tension between you easing slightly.

Logan looked at you, his gaze more serious now, though there was still a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. "I’m not so sure I mind…”

There was a pause of silence, but neither of you moved.

“Guess this is what happens when I let you talk me into things,” he said, his voice teasing but warm.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “I’m not complaining.”

He gave you a half-shrug, a small, hesitant smile pulling at the corner of his lips. " I’ve been thinking about this. Longer than I should’ve."

A mixture of surprise and warmth flooded through you. You could feel your cheeks flush, but the sudden honesty in his words was enough to settle the fluttering nerves in your chest.

"I’ve been thinking about it too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the truth coming out more easily than you'd expected. "Longer than I realized.”

His thumb gently traced the edge of your jaw, a gesture both comforting and intimate, as he let out a smirk.

"Guess we’ve been a little slow on the uptake, huh?"

“Let’s leave that for last year.”

You smiled, a soft, genuine thing, and his gaze softened in return. Neither of you needed to say more. You were here now, standing close, hearts open in a way they hadn’t been before. And maybe that was enough.

As the noise from the crowd picked up again, people shouting and celebrating the turn of the new year, Logan leaned in a little closer, his voice just for you.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured.

"Happy New Year," you replied softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. The rest of the world seemed to fade away again, the cheers and music just background noise.

And you were right where you needed to be.

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #x men #x men imagine #logan howlett imagine #wolverine imagine #reader insert #marvel #marvel imagine #logan x reader #fic #ao3 #new year #holiday season #festive #fluff

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month ago

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📖"A Family for Christmas"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem. reader/"you"

Tags: Christmas fluff, kid fic, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, a/b/o, adoption, infertility struggles, pregnancy, breeding kink, fluff & smut, somnophilia, "Daddy/Momma" kink, actual Daddy kink

Word count: 8400

Summary: On Christmas Eve, you and Bucky plan a special surprise to tell the girls you want to adopt them. Little does Bucky know, you have a special surprise for him, too.

Bucky wakes early that morning to a bedroom suffused with the faint light of pre-dawn, the sun not yet having risen high enough to creep past the edges of your bedroom's south-facing windows.

When the girls first came to live with you, he'd made sure that their bedroom was the one with the west-facing windows—on a bit of advice from Sam, who claims that it can occasionally buy a little extra kid-free time in the mornings. That advice seems to be bearing out, as Bucky closes his eyes again and feels the stillness of the house, and then your quiet breathing in the bed beside him. He uses his enhanced hearing to listen for any sounds of movement outside the bedroom—an only recently acquired habit of necessity, and one which he'll never in a million years complain about. His heart is full, now that he finally has to listen for the pattering of little feet before he can reach for you.

The edges of his mouth curl up when he doesn't hear any sign of rustling from the girls, and just like that, he's suddenly twice as aware of his morning erection as he was before. He stretches his spine without moving his limbs and inhales deeply, blinking his eyes open. One hand comes up to stifle a yawn as the other one trails down over his stomach, between his legs, and curls over the achy line of his cock. He gives it an absentminded squeeze where he's half hard from sleep. "Hmm."

To his right, the bedroom windows are frost-kissed, the world outside covered in a blanket of white. And there are big, fluffy flakes still falling steadily. For a very split second, he forgets about his cock as his chest fills with warmth at the thought of how excited the girls are going to be. It hasn't snowed yet this year. Hasn't been cold enough. But the temperature took a dive over this past weekend and has remained below freezing ever since. Win had come home from her preschool class last week having learned a "snow dance," which she's been faithfully repeating each morning, noon and night, in hopes of getting a white Christmas. Being from Florida, the only place she’s ever seen snow is in a very particular Disney movie. Bucky's mouth twitches at the buildup he can see through the frosted windows. Looks like all the dancing paid off. It's the first snow of the year and it's a heavy one—thick and powdery, like an image off a postcard. And right before the holidays, too.

A white Christmas, Bucky thinks. God, could this year get any better? He answers his own question with an emphatic 'yes', when he catches your scent on his next inhale.

Oh. Right.

It's probably indecent to hold thoughts of Christmas and the kiddos in such close proximity to the baser ones of arousal and sex that sidle up right alongside them, at that first good lungful of your scent. But if it is, Bucky's too shameless to care. His cock twitches against his palm as more blood rushes south.

He gives it one more, indulgent squeeze before turning over in your direction and sidling up behind you. His hand slips over your waist and his hips snuggle up against your bum. You're still asleep, he can tell from your breathing and the laxity of your body. He smiles and hums beneath his breath, enjoying the moment for himself. He nuzzles against your hair and the back of your neck, taking in the scent of your shampoo, your skin, and a growing secret. The best kind of secret. A Christmas miracle.

You haven't told him yet. Either from nerves or from wanting it to be a perfectly-timed surprise, you’ve kept it to yourself for weeks. Bucky thinks it’s adorable that you think he doesn’t know. You’re his whole heart, but every time he re-remembers that you're carrying his child, he swears he falls impossibly more in love with you. He's impatient and eager to be able to talk about it, to gush, to “nest,” as the baby books call it nowadays. But he doesn't want to ruin the surprise that he’s sure you’re planning. He's being patient so that you can have that special moment of the big reveal. He won't spoil that for you by letting it slip that he knows. Lord knows you may never get the chance again.

The two of you have tried for so long. Years and years. So long that you’d actually stopped trying and accepted that “God had a reason for everything,” and that a family would have to come some other way. Bucky doesn’t have as deep of or as dogmatic a faith as you do—he’s always been open to trying IVF or surrogacy, but you’ve been adamantly against it, calling it selfish, wasteful, and greedy. He doesn’t necessarily agree with that, but he’ll never argue against it, not when it’s what brought the girls into your life.

He listens carefully for any noise beyond the bedroom door again, but still hears nothing. He hums in pleasure and lets his erection press up against your behind, nuzzling the scent rich crook of your neck as he starts up a lazy roll of his hips. He’s expecting you to wake, but as the seconds tick by and you remain asleep, a naughty little thrill grows inside his gut; one that goads him on and makes him wonder how much he could get away with before you wake up. Grinning, he kisses lightly over your bond mark, only letting his tongue slip out to taste your skin after another moment. His right arm curls over your waist, hand sliding over the softness of your lower belly in a way that makes his cock throb. God, he thinks as he holds you there, a repressed groan aching in his throat. Right there. It’s right there inside of you, growing day by day, little by little. A piece of you and him.

Sweetheart, he thinks, wanting so badly to praise you, to kiss every inch of your body and tell you what a magical, wonderful creature you are, his omega, his wife, his mate. For a split second he almost loses control, as a surge of lust and possessiveness rolls through him. He manages to quell it though, forcing it back with clenched teeth and tensed abdominals. He keeps his touch on your belly soft and gentle because he doesn’t want you to wake, not yet. Carefully, he lets his fingers splay wide to cup where you aren’t yet showing—not by much, at least. You’re nowhere near needing maternity wear, body not having changed enough for anybody to tell the difference when your clothes are on. But naked, he can tell the difference.

There are always tons of cookies and pies around the house this time of year, the both of you putting on a little seasonal pudge most winters. Bucky likes it. It’s why December through January are his favorite months to fuck you, funnily enough. By the time you start talking about dieting and hitting the gym again every February or March, he’s always forced to say goodbye to that extra softness. He’s never told you any of this, lest you bite his head off for saying he prefers the weight—or “fluff,” as he calls it in his head. He’d probably have attributed the weight gain to the time of year, if he didn’t have your scent to know better. He’s got no clue how far along you are, but he’s been able to smell it clearly for half a month now. These past two weeks have changed you, your scent stronger and sweeter, carrying notes of yeasted dough and pancake syrup underneath your usual juniper and vanilla scent. Your normally flat belly fills out his palm a little better now, and it does things to Bucky, to touch it like this, to feel the place where he knows there’s life inside of you, a baby that he put there. He can’t wait to watch you grow, to see it, to feel it.

He has to hold himself back from the rumbling growl that wants to form, stifling it in his throat and grinding his cock against the plush swell of your ass for relief. You make a sweet little hum of a noise in your sleep, and he thrills with that gleeful naughtiness again as he smooths his hand back up your stomach and waits for you to calm. You do, remaining asleep, and Bucky sets his mouth to your shoulder so he can look over and watch the trajectory of his hand as he brings it up to cup your breast.

So soft.

He’s always amazed at how incredibly soft you are all over. Low body fat and toned muscles seem to be what’s in these days, but Bucky will never understand. How could he ever want anything but this? This feminine, accommodating softness that gives so beautifully to his touch? Fuck. He lets his thumb swipe out against your nipple, whisper-soft, back and forth, until he feels it pebble underneath his touch. The feeling makes him smile against your skin. Such a good girl, he thinks. You’re always so responsive to his touch, even when you’re fast asleep.

He gives the tip of your breast a little press between his fingers. Not even a pinch, not really. Only as much as he knows he can get away with without drawing you from your slumber. Then he slides his hand back down to explore between your legs. He skims his fingers as far as your closed legs allow, but it isn’t far enough, so he eases his thigh forward against yours, encouraging you to part your legs, holding his breath as he waits to see if it’ll wake you. But to his delight it doesn’t. You barely even stir, making a soft little sigh in your sleep and smacking your lips before settling again, and fuck, why does that turn him on so bad? Maybe it’s the thrill of getting away with something, of having you all to himself, not having to share you with anybody else—not even you.

That’s what it is, he thinks, cock aching and leaving sticky trails of precum on your ass where he’s just barely rubbing off against you. It’s that you’re so perfect, so perfectly sweet and all for him, responding just like you should even without meaning to. And he’s the only one who gets to do this, to see this, have this. The only one who gets to experience you this way. It’s so thrilling to see how far he can push it, how much acquiescence he can coax from your perfect body without you knowing it. He holds his breath and lets the pad of his forefinger graze your clit, just barely, applying almost no pressure as he moves it infinitesimally back and forth in little, nudging motions, pushing your delicate skin this way and that. Awakening that spot gradually enough that it won’t wake you.

He lets his tongue trace over the scar tissue of your bond mark while he does it, giving you a line of heat and sensation from your two most sensitive erogenous zones. Bucky woke up hard, so he’s had a head start on you in the arousal department from the very beginning, but he can feel it as your body sends blood south, your clit growing puffy and swollen, lips blooming open, wetness greeting his fingers on the next pass he makes over your entrance. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he breathes, not even a whisper, pleased and even more turned on when you give a little shiver in your sleep. Subconsciously, your hips begin to move, chasing the pleasure that you aren’t even aware you’re feeling. Bucky chuckles and lets the tip of his finger dip into your entrance, just to the first knuckle, over and over again to tease and coax more of that sweet nectar out of you. “Atta girl,” he praises softly, dragging his slicked fingers back up through your folds, spreading it around. “So fucking sweet.”

In your sleep you make a low, whining sound, your hips chasing his hand. He gives your body what it’s instinctively seeking, flattening his fingers and starting up a slow, gentle motion over your clit. He rubs in lazy circles, hoping that the steadiness of the pressure will be enough to keep you from waking. He doesn’t want you to wake. Not yet. He stops touching you for a brief moment to take his cock in hand and drag it back and forth through your soaked folds, coating himself in you with another stifled curse. Just this, he thinks, as he lines himself up at the right angle and starts to push inside. Just this, just the tip. He just wants to get inside while you’re still asleep, wants you to wake up and have it be the first thing you feel, wants to hear the hitch of emerging consciousness in your breath and feel you clamping down on him as you wake.

He pushes in, your body tight enough that he needs to go slowly to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. It helps that you’re wet. God, so incredibly wet. And all for him. Yes. He grits his teeth through the push, overcome by the exquisite feeling of your body opening up to him, all that tight, velvet fucking heat. Fuck. He groans and pulls you back against him as he bottoms out and grinds a little, his hip bones up against your chubby little ass. His fingers dig a little more harshly into your waist than he means for them to, and he can tell that that’s exactly when you wake up, because your body suddenly stiffens in awareness … and then shivers loose as you moan. “Hey, Sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your neck and continuing to grind deep inside. His hand on your waist slides back over your belly and down between your legs. He starts pressing gentle circles over your clit again while he fucks you with slow, shallow thrusts.

You whimper and let out a soft, “Ohn,” that just about does him in, a sleepy, aroused and confused, “Bucky?” following right after.

“M’right here.” He kisses a line up your neck, all the way to the shell of your ear. “Right here, Doll. How’s that feel? You don’t mind that I put it in, do you baby? Just couldn’t stop myself. M’sorry. You looked so good lying here, all soft n’ sweet. Just had to. Had to feel this sweet pussy on my cock. Couldn’t wait. Wanted to see you wake up feeling good.” Your vulnerable little whine makes his cock throb, and he coos along with you. “Shhh, I know, I know. It’s okay, Sweetie. Just enjoy it. Gonna make it so good for you, I swear. Gonna make you cum. You don’t even gotta do anything, okay? Mm mn, promise. I’ll do all the work. Gonna make you feel so good, babygirl.”

“M'kay daddy …”

He’s ninety percent sure you say it without meaning to, but it makes his mouth curl darkly anyways, as he slips his other arm underneath you and brings it up to your neck with a murmured, “Yeah Sweetheart?” Just like always, your cunt flutters madly the second he’s got his hand on your throat, holding you back against him as he kisses your bondmark and keeps working steady circles over your clit. He can feel your body beginning to tremble as you get close, and he purrs in encouragement, still fucking you languidly, being sure to angle it the way he knows gets at that spot inside. “S’that good?” he whispers, dragging lips over your skin and relishing the shudder he gets. He already knows the answer, he just wants to make you say it, because he knows how hard it is for you to say anything at times like this. You’re a typical omega in that way: quick to dissolve into sobs and babbles, unable to produce much coherent speech once you’re feeling good, half your brain offline for the focus that’s between your legs, too lost in your own pleasure to be useful for anything else. Bucky relishes it, every time. He prompts you again, giving a gentle squeeze to your neck to encourage you. “Tell me baby, c’mon.”

You give the sweetest little whine and nod your head, your heavy swallow felt against his palm. “Y-yeah.”

“Good girl,” he praises, hips working in time with the slow motion of his fingers. “What do you need? Want me to stay like this, or go a little harder?”

You shudder in his arms from the question alone, already reduced to a boneless puddle in his arms. “This,” you manage to eke out in between your needy whimpers. “Nnngh … th–this.”

“Okay, Honey. Okay.” He keeps fucking you like that: lazy, early-morning sex, hips rolling luxurious and slow, pressing up on your ass with each indulgent slide in, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, your cunt weeping so much that it’s obscene the way your slick gets all over his thighs and yours, his balls, his pubic hair. When you finally shudder and start to come, he hugs you tightly back against his body and stays buried, rubbing down on your clit and giving you deep-seated grinds to work you through it as he murmurs endless praise into your skin, telling you how good you are, how pretty, how perfect. “Ooh, that’s it, there it is. Just like that, huh? There’s a girl, just like that, ooh. You’re so good for me, Sweetheart. Fuck. So good.”

Your pleasured sob sparks something primal in him, and even though he wasn’t close before, he suddenly is, his belly spilling over with arousal at the sound of your cries and the feeling of your sweet cunt locking down on him in orgasm. “Fuck,” he grunts shakily, vision losing focus as his knot swells, growing inside you rapidly. You cry out at the feeling of it, and he quickly covers your mouth with his hand, muffling his own moan against your neck as his knot pops all the way and catches against the desperate lock of your body. “Ohfuck. Shh sh sh, Sweetheart, the—fuck—ohh, the girls,” he gasps against your skin, humping hard against your tie as he just barely remembers that the two of you have to be quiet these days.

You sob behind his hand, too lost in your instincts to obey. “Hmmph, mmm!” It’s muffled, your hot breath against his palm and straining body under his hold pulling a growl from his chest, though he fights to hold it in. He can’t help it, he loves it when you struggle.

“Fuck, baby, fuck. You feel s-so fuckin’ good …” You squeal as he tugs his knot against your tie again and again, triggering you into a second orgasm. You squirt this time because you’re knotted, the space between your bodies and the sheets getting wet from it. Bucky’s already in the middle of his climax, too lost in the pleasure to really notice, at least for that next minute or so. He always comes hard with you, his body recognizing its mate and knowing it’s safe to be lost to the world for those few, delirious moments. By the time the most intense part is done and he’s back in his head again, you’re crying, sobbing softly against his palm as he fucks a third, and then fourth orgasm from you. “Shhh,” he soothes, sucking over your bondmark to show you he’s back with you again. “M’here, ‘mega. I’m here. I’ve got you.” He’s still coming, balls contracting in slower pulses as he fills you with his cum. The thought of breeding you up makes him groan and close his teeth against your glands, even though logically he knows that nothing can take, not when you’re already pupped up. He groans all over again and puts his hand back over your lower belly, feeling that barely-there slope where you’re growing his baby.

Fuck, his fucking baby. He bites down without meaning to—hard enough to draw blood. Your squeal brings him back to his senses and he lets up, kissing the skin where he’s bitten in apology. “Sorry, Sweetheart, m’sorry, sorry.”

You aren’t upset, if the smell is anything to go by. He brings his hand back down to your clit and starts rubbing circles again. “Gonna cum again?” he rasps.

“Bucky, no. I c-can’t.”

“Sure you can,” he rumbles, pushing down hard on your clit and tugging his knot hard enough that it’s actually faintly uncomfortable for him. But he doesn’t care, he does it for you, because he wants another one out of you and he can feel your body getting ready for it even as you whine and grab onto his wrist where he’s rubbing your clit. “One more,” he husks against your neck, tasting the blood that’s pricked to the surface. “C’mon, one more baby. One more to make me a daddy.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, maybe it’s another way to try and get you to tell him the good news, even though he’s promised himself he won’t rush you into telling. All he knows is that your body shudders in his arms when he says it, your cunt quivering around him as you helplessly fall into another orgasm.

“There’s a girl,” he praises, wrapping both arms around your middle in a big hug to let you come down from it. “So gorgeous, Sweetheart. Feels so good.” He holds your body tight to his as he finishes coming, hips slowing down from a gentle roll into nothing as the both of you catch your breath. The room’s silence seems to shrink, as the both of you come back to your senses and he strokes softly over your stomach. He doesn’t let himself settle his hand on your belly again, knowing that it could tip you off that he knows, if he goes cradling you there too much all of a sudden. Instead he splays his hand out wide just beneath your breasts, pulling you tight to him and rolling onto his back. You huff a surprised little laugh as the move jostles you backwards with him, his knot tugging just a bit more from the angle once you’re resting on top of him.

“Bucky,” you huff, amused.

He tightens his arms around you stubbornly and stuffs his face in your neck. “Mmm, what.”

You laugh again, then ‘yip’ in surprise and fall into a fit of giggles when he humps up against you in retaliation. He growls playfully, though he’s grinning against your skin where you can’t see. “Mmm, hold still, ‘mega. I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what?” you laugh.

“Mmmr. Marking my territory.” He says it in a gruff voice that makes you giggle again, and he digs his fingers into your waist where you’re ticklish.

“Oof! Ha! Buck-ee, nooo!” You shriek, body heaving with laughter (and then a bit of a moan at the end there, too, when your squirming causes his knot to tug hard against your tie.)

He hums in pleasure at the way your breathless laughter turns back into that soft sound of pleasure, and some of his playfulness fades as he hugs you tightly back against him again, both arms wrapped snug around your middle as his mouth finds its way back to the crook of your neck. “Hmmm,” he sighs, feeling sated and almost incandescently happy. Without really meaning to, his one hand winds up resting lower on your belly, and he strokes the soft stretch of skin between your navel and your groin. “You lie here and be my good girl ‘n’ hold still now,” he purrs, deciding off the cuff to try and provoke a revelation out of you. “Might’a knocked you up, just now. Gotta make sure it takes.”

Your giggles fade completely and you go very still on top of him. He holds his breath, thinking that maybe, just maybe you’re about to say something, that you’ll finally decide it’s time to tell him that you’re pregnant. He busies himself with kissing and sucking your bondmark, feigning nonchalance while you work up the nerve. He hears you lick your dry lips, feels your delicate hands land on top of his at your waist and your belly. “Bucky,” you say, and his heartbeat quickens because he can tell from the tone of your voice that you’ve decided it’s time. “I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?” he acts unconcerned, even manages to think of saying dryly: “Please don’t tell me you forgot to get something for the cookies? The stores are gonna be nuts today.”

You huff in exasperation and he silently congratulates himself on an act well-played. “No, we’re fine on ingredients. … Babe, I’m—” Your words are abruptly cut off by the sudden sound of tiny feet ‘thwapping’ down the hallway. Bucky thinks, shit! just as you go rigid and squeak, “Oh no!”

You both grab for the covers in a mad scramble to cover up. You’re the one who actually manages to grab them, and you pull them up over the both of you in record time. Bucky grabs your hips and turns onto his side, dumping you back in front of him just as the doorknob moves. “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses, as the sudden change in position pulls on his knot. You make an adorkable little squeak of a noise and he starts kind of panic-laughing against your shoulder as you clutch the sheets to your chest.

“Shhh-sh-shh!” You’re slapping backwards at him, mostly hitting his thigh and falling into some contagious snickering yourself, when the door busts open and two little girls with bleary eyes, Christmas jammies, and some very messy hair come tumbling in.

“Mommeeee!”

“Buckeeee!”

“It snowed, it snowed, it snoooowed!”

Bucky’s still got his cock buried in you, and he can’t seem to stop cracking up against the back of your neck as you scramble for an explanation for the girls as to why you’re all sweaty and why they have to go back to their room for a few minutes before Mommy and Bucky can take them outside to play in the snow.

Lily is only twenty months old and doesn’t have her hearing aids in, so she’s really just following her sister’s lead more than what’s being said, the excitement of the moment making her squeal in joy as Winnie keeps asking over and over again if Santa has come, and if they can build a snowman like Olaf.

Bucky rests his forehead against your upper back and feels that liquid-gold feeling begin to fill his heart again, as he listens to Winnie’s excitement and Lily’s semi-coherent babbling, and you speaking to them both in your “mommy” voice, reminding them that Santa isn’t coming until tonight, when they’re asleep. Winnie is frustrated that she has to wait a whole other day, but you placate her with promises of all the fun things they’re going to get to do today, if only they stay patient for a few more minutes.

“How many minutes?” Winnie asks, and you stammer a bit as you try to think.

“Erm, um …”

“About ten,” Bucky murmurs against your back.

“Ten minutes, Sweetie,” you say, and Bucky chuckles again and humps against your tie once, just to be a jerk. You make a little sound of surprise, but to your credit you manage to cover it up with a fake cough, and more instructions for Winnie. “Um, now go on back to your room and, ahhm … just wait for me to come get you, okay? If you want to play in the snow today, you have to go and wait patiently. That’s the rules.”

Where most kids might whine and complain and stomp and beg, Winnie gets real quiet and serious and straightens her spine like she’s taking down instructions for a very important task. “Okay Mommy,” she agrees, her curls tossing as she nods her head. “Here we go. We’ll do a good job.”

Bucky’s heart breaks a little at how serious she sounds, because he knows that she honestly believes that her day of fun in the snow depends on it (just like he already knows that you’re already holding back a wince in front of him, regretful for having phrased it that way). Win still doesn’t yet fully understand that nice things won’t be taken away from her here, and that she doesn’t have to worry about making “mistakes” anymore.

“Okay, Win,” he hears you say kindly, though there’s a slight warble of sadness in your voice. “Good job. I’ll see you in a few minutes. You can play with your toys until I come get you.”

“Okay Mommy. Don’t worry. We’ll be quiet.”

Ouch. Bucky hides his wince against your shoulder, and your voice kind of cracks when you manage to eke out a halting reply of, “Oh. That’s … That’s okay, Win. You don’t have to be quiet, just play nice, okay? I’ll come get you soon. … Love you, Sweetie.”

No child should look like they’ve been given the keys to the kingdom, when they’re told they’re loved. It should be commonplace, an everyday thing that gets a smile and a thoughtlessly-chirped “love you too” in response, not a wobbling chin and big, watery, amazed eyes. But that’s how Winnifred still reacts, even after all these months. And especially with you, her Mommy. She hasn’t quite made it to “Daddy” yet, since men are scary to her still, but Bucky’s just glad that she’s been warming up to him this holiday season. His heart squeezes mightily as the little girl reaches down for Lily’s chubby hand and takes it in hers, just like a little grown up. “We’re gonna play bears,” she tells her sister, and tugs her along authoritatively. “C’mon Lily.”

Once they’re out of the room and the door is shut, the both of you release your breath in sync. “Ugh,” you say, and he nods against your back and groans softly in agreement.

“We gotta get a doorknob that locks,” he mutters. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for weeks, but he really means it now. This is a little bit funny and not at all sexy. Normally his knots take no less than ten to fifteen, and he can already feel himself ebbing. “M’gonna go to the hardware store,” he grumbles, hands returning to explore your body. He feels you huff in amusement more than he hears it. “I am.”

“Thought you said the stores would be crazy today.”

“Hmph.” He cups your lower belly again hopefully, but it doesn’t prompt anything out of you. “I’ll go after Christmas,” he decides, which makes you giggle.

“Sure you will.”

“I will! Right after.” The stores really will be nuts today, and with all the snow, he’s got zero intention of going anywhere other than out to build an Olaf. “Ugh,” he groans, as he remembers that you have a driveway now. And a property line with a sidewalk. “Blugh.”

“What?”

“Gonna have to shovel,” he mourns. He thinks fondly of how the two of you used to live in a nice apartment complex—complete with snow removal service and a heated parking garage. “Remind me why we moved out here again?” he says, kissing up to your bondmark and nuzzling there. “Was it something to do with a sudden acquisition of … little creatures?”

“Mmm. So the girls can have a yard to play in,” you say. It sounds like you’re smiling with your eyes closed, and it makes Bucky smile too.

He wraps both arms fully back around you again, sighing happily. “Right,” he says softly. “Now I remember.”

You’re secretly grateful for the girls bursting in that morning. They’d saved you from a moment of weakness. And you’ve been planning such a cute little way to tell Bucky the good news. The Amazon package of what you need for your surprise arrived yesterday, and now it’s Christmas eve, getting dim outside as evening approaches, and you’re finally about to get to do what you’ve dreamed of doing for years.

Tell your husband that you’re pregnant with his child.

You can’t seem to stop smiling about it, even as you face off against the aftermath of an afternoon of cookie making. Bucky must’ve grabbed every single variety of sprinkles off the grocery store shelves, you’re convinced. And some of them even wound up on the cookies!

The rest are decorating your table and the kitchen floor.

The zippers of the girls’ snowsuits ‘tick’ around in the dryer as they tumble through a cycle behind the laundry room door, a bit of comforting background noise to the holiday music Bucky’s got streaming for the girls. It’s a soundtrack from one of those stop-motion Christmas specials that always run on network tv this time of year—something about misfit toys. Your mouth ticks up where you’re crouched down on the floor with the dustpan, as you hear Bucky responding with the occasional happy comment from over in the living room. The girls are in there with him, bopping around on a sugar high, dancing to the music in their Christmas outfits. You hear Winnie squawk to Bucky to “watch! watch this one Bucky!” at something she’s doing, and shortly thereafter, a bit of clapping and Bucky saying, “aw good job, Win, that was a good one.”

He really loves those girls, you think warmly. Bucky prefers the old-timey Christmas songs from back in his day—Nat King Cole and Perry Como and Bing Crosby, that sort of stuff. But he’s been cheerfully putting up with the goofy kids’ music all afternoon. There’ve been so many little things like that, since you started fostering the girls; small ways that he’s changed for them, to be a good father. Despite the trepidation you’d both felt in the beginning, parenting just seems to have come naturally to the both of you. “Mommy” is a recent development, with Winnie only having started calling you that since around the end of October. You’d taken her trunk-or-treating with your local mom’s group, and you could see that it was her hearing all the other kiddos exclaiming “Mommy, mommy, mommy!” over their candy hauls that had tipped her over the edge, wanting to fit in and have a “Mommy” too.

With Bucky it’s a little different, and you both understand why. Every small moment of connection between him and the girls has been counted as progress, and he’s been so good with them, so patient. It even makes you tear up sometimes, when you catch him in a particularly tender moment with the girls. Winnie still keeps her distance from him in certain ways, but it’s been getting less and less, and Lily’s young enough that she doesn’t remember as much of her home life from before. She trusts Bucky completely. She’ll often put her arms out to be picked up, or want to sit in his lap. That’s what can really get the waterworks going for you. Especially these days. Pregnancy hormones are no joke.

You’re drawn from your musings at the sound of toenails clacking across the kitchen linoleum. “Oh. Hey Fred.” Normally sentient Fred has deigned to leave his spot by the furnace vent to help you in your clean up efforts. “Mighty generous of you, lazybones,” you say to the basset hound on his next snuffling pass-by. His ears seem to be picking up as many sprinkles as his actual tongue does. You roll your eyes and move onto another spot with the dustpan.

“Okay girls, big smiles. Win, why don’t you hold Lily’s hand for this one?”

The girls shuffle closer together where they’re sitting on the hearth, with Winnie obediently taking hold of Lily’s pudgy little hand. Just before Bucky snaps the picture, Lily giggles and rests her head of curls on Winnie’s shoulder. Bucky beams and gets the photo. “Great job, Sweetie! Oh gosh, that was a good one.”

Winnie’s already reaching for her halo that you made her take off for at least some of the pictures. Lily claps and picks up her Santa hat and yanks it back on her head. “ ‘Ta!” she says, her way of referring to Santa (it took a while to figure that one out.) She makes the sign for sleep, and you feel emotion well up behind your eyes again. You smile and sign no. “Not yet, Sweetie,” you tell her and sign. “But real soon.”

“We still have to put Santa’s cookies out,” Bucky says to get the girls excited. “And Elfie’s gotta turn on the outside lights.”

Elfie is currently on the wall, rock climbing up some Christmas bows. You’ve convinced Winnie that Elfie uses his Christmas Magic every night to turn on the colored lights that Bucky’s strung up on all the bushes outside. And anything Winnie believes, Lily automatically believes, too. The girls both gasp and run (well, Lily toddles) to the front window, where Winnie chant’s “Elfie, Elfie!” and Lily follows along with “fee, fee, fee!”

You reach for your iPad on the couch cushion, opening the garage’s app and tapping the control to turn the lights on, and Winnie and Lily’s delighted shrieks hit the air. They have their noses pressed up against the window, their gaping mouths making condensation form on the glass, which they keep giggling and wiping off. “Buckee! Mommee! Olaf got the lights!”

“Oh, wow. Isn’t that something?”

Bucky had snuck out while the girls were donning their costumes earlier and added a strand of lights across the newly-built snowman’s stick arms. You catch his eye from over top of your iPad, right at the end of rolling your eyes and grinning. He’s grinning too, and both of your smiles soften into something tender, the girls’ fuss over the lights outside fading to background noise somehow. Love you, Mommy, Bucky mouths.

Oh no. You blink your eyes rapidly to make the tears building up behind them go away, and Bucky chuckles at you because he knows what’s up. You wave your hand at him with a scoff. Damn pregnancy hormones. He probably thinks you’re turning into the biggest sentimental sap these days. If only he knew the real cause behind it. He will soon. “Okay okay, enough of that. Christmas lights aren’t going anywhere. Let’s get this tree decorated!” You clap your hands and wave the girls over, impatient to get to the box of ornaments waiting to go up.

You and Bucky have each chosen the holiday traditions that are most important to you, to share with the girls this year. Christmas is mostly foreign to them, every new thing you introduce extra magical in their eyes, because the closest they ever came to “Christmas” before you was a mall Santa that, according to Winnie, had hugged too much and didn’t smell very nice. So you and Bucky both want to make this year special for them. You’ve crammed as many winter activities into the last few days as possible, and already today you’ve made sugar cookies, decorated them, (cleaned up the friggin’ sprinkles), played in the snow, and built an Olaf. Attending the four o’clock mass with the children’s nativity play was your tradition, and now that evening is drawing in, it’s time for Bucky’s. His family always put up their tree on Christmas eve when he was growing up, which seems like a gigantic waste of twenty-six perfectly good tree days to you, but it’s meaningful to him. So, you figure what better way to sneak in a surprise announcement than with your husband’s favorite Christmas eve tradition?

Hidden inside the jumbled box of ornaments is a new, keepsake ornament: unglazed bisque in the shape of a stork, carrying a bundled baby with “coming in 2025” printed on the bundle. You’ve buried it all the way at the bottom, underneath the familiar ornaments that he’s expecting.

“Mommy can I wear my halo still for doing the tree?”

“Sure Win. Wear it all night if you want,” you laugh. “Except you have to take it off at bedtime.”

“I’m still gonna wear my Santa hat, too though,” she says, saying it in her mini grownup voice, but looking at you with big questioning eyes right after, just to check.

You give her a smile to reassure her. “Yep you can wear both.”

“Yay!” She rips her halo off and goes to grab her Santa hat.

Lil’ already has hers on, having refused to wear the halo you’d bought for her angel costume in the nativity play. You suspect that she didn’t like the way the plastic headband touched her hearing aids. But the soft fabric of her Santa hat seems to be fine, so the play had had one red-capped angel this year.

Bucky calls the girls over to where he’s kneeling by the ornament box and tells them about how every Christmas eve, they decorate the tree. “I’ve put the lights on it, but I probably need some helpers for the ornaments.” He levels Winnifred with a serious, grown-up gaze. “Do you think you could help me do that job?”

Bless her neglected little heart, Winnie nods seriously. “Yeah. I can do a good job.”

“I’ll bet you can, Sweetheart.” Bucky’s gaze goes soft on her, and then he peeks over her shoulder at you. “Mommy, should we make it a Christmas eve present instead?”

You nod and cover your mouth, barely holding your happy tears in (goddamn pregnancy hormones). “Mmhm. Yeah,” you manage to eke out, trying to keep your voice from warbling. You’ve got to keep it together for the girls. (It would’ve helped if your jerk husband hadn’t just called you “Mommy.”). “Yeah let’s do it tonight.” (God help you, when it comes time to try and get them to sleep).

Bucky grins and goes to get the two small gift boxes that have sat wrapped underneath the tree since not long after Thanksgiving. You and Bucky have more to be grateful for than ever this year. The adoption hasn’t been made official yet—you’ll need to go in front of a judge for that—but it’s been approved, and you have an appointment for the ceremony on New Year’s Day—If the girls want it. Bucky and you have both agreed that you’ll just remain fosters, if Lily or Winnifred seems uncomfortable with it.

“Here, c’mere,” Bucky says gently, sitting cross-legged in front of the tree and beckoning the girls over. Lily hurries to go and plop herself down right in Bucky’s lap, and Winnie follows along a little less surely, but she can’t help but be excited about getting her very first Christmas present (in life, not just this season, sadly). “These are your special Christmas eve presents,” he says, handing one box to Winnie and the other to Lily, who takes it with a happy squeal. Winnie looks up at Bucky with big, amazed eyes. “We can open them?”

“Yep,” he says. “And there’s a special message inside. So we’ll read that together, okay?”

“Okay!” Win’s enthusiasm has outshined her perpetual but waning nervousness around Bucky, and she sits cross-legged like him and scoots in close to him and Lily. “Okay Lil’,” she instructs in her little grown-up voice, pointing at the bow on her box and ripping the paper. “Like this! You gotta open it, see?”

You watch with a smile as Winnie rips open her package and Bucky helps Lily open hers. Once they’re open, the boxes reveal boxes, printed with pictures of little figurines. “What is it?” Winnie asks. “A dolly?”

“Nope not a dolly.” Bucky is grinning, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes, too. He wants the girls to be happy so much, and he wants Win to feel safe and want to stay with you. “Open the box,” he tells her, already helping Lily to open hers. You watch as Win’s small hand closes around the figurine and pulls it out. “They’re called Snowbabies,” Bucky tells her, smiling in that specific way you’ve come to recognize as nostalgia.

“Snow baby?”

“Yeah. Careful they’re breakable, so you have to hold them and not drop them.” Bucky turns Lily’s figurine over in his hand, and Lily reaches for it.

“Careful!” Winnie worries, but Bucky pats her knee reassuringly and smiles.

“S’okay, Honey. We’ve got it.” He helps Lily not to drop her figurine, which is a little cherubic child in a snowsuit, on a sled. Winnie’s is a similar one, but hers is building a snowman.

She gasps and holds it up to show you. “Look Mommy! Just like me!”

You laugh along (only a little watery, now). “Yeah, how ‘bout that?”

“These were popular when I was a kid,” Bucky tells Winnie, speaking close to Lily’s ear to make sure she hears clearly, too. “I’ve got some really old ones that my sister saved for me, but I thought it’d be nice to give you ones of your own. These are newer ones, and they’re special ‘cause they’re ornaments, see?” He holds Lily’s by the ribbon that’s looped at the top.

Win’s eye get wide, and she finds the ribbon on hers, too. “We can hang them on the tree?”

“Sure can cupcake, but hang on, hang on!” Bucky laughs and catches her sleeve where she’s about to get up, ready to hang her ornament immediately. “Wait. Look here. There’s a secret compartment where you can put a message, see?” He shows Lily the little spot by her snow baby’s hand, where a little slip of paper rests, rolled up. “Look for yours,” he tells Win, and she doesn’t miss a beat, quickly pulling out the little scroll of paper that’s tucked away near her snow baby’s hand.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So Mommy and me wrote a special message on these, for you two. Want to read them together?”

Winnie nods, her eyes back to being big and round. Bucky smiles at her, and you see something shift in Winnie’s expression. She seems to settle on something and scoots a little closer to Bucky. “Okay.”

Bucky visibly swallows, emotional, and it takes him a second before he’s able to continue. You come over and sit with them on the floor, too. Lily takes the opportunity to crawl over into your lap, and you let her sit there and kiss her curly hair. “Here,” you tell her, “Let’s give Bucky the paper, kay?” You help her to take the slip of paper out of her figurine, and Bucky unrolls the two pieces and places them on the carpet, one above the other.

Neither of the girls can read of course, but Bucky’s been practicing “reading” books with them for a while, as a bonding activity and to increase Winnie’s self confidence around him. She seems happy to help “read” along, and Bucky reads aloud and points to the words,

“Dear Winnifred and Lily, we are so happy to have you in our home with us”—Your heart squeezes as you spot Win’s little mouth moving along silently with the words, just a beat behind Bucky saying them—“We know it was new and scary at first, but we hope that you have had a nice time living here, and feel happy and safe. That is the most important thing to us, because we love you.” Bucky pauses and his eyes flit to Winnie, and then you.

You smile and nod, encouraging him to go on, but you can tell that he’s getting choked up, so you read from the second piece of paper, “We love you so much that we want you to stay with us always and be a family. Winnie, Lily, will you make us the proudest parents in the world, and let us be your Mommy and Daddy?”

You barely make it to the last word, your throat closing up there at the very end. And you use every ocular muscle in your possession to keep the tears from falling. Hold it together, hold it together.

Win blinks adorably with her mouth open in a little ‘o’ for a minute, as her little four year old brain processes it all. She gasps all of a sudden, and Lilly mimics her with a gasp, too. You can’t help it, you sob a little when your laugh comes out at that. “What do you think, Sweetie?” You ask Winnie, since she’s the one you’re really looking at for a reaction. Lily might not fully understand yet, but she seems interested in her sister’s reactions, and you know that whatever Win decides, Lil will follow her lead. You hold out your hand for Winnie to take, and she puts her little hand in yours and says,

“You gonna be my real Mommy?”

You sob again and smile and nod, giving her hand a squeeze. “Yeah, Sweetheart. If that will make you happy. I would really like to be your Mommy—Your real Mommy,” you add after a beat.

Win’s always been a very perceptive little girl. “She knows what’s up” as Bucky likes to say. And now is no different. Her eyes fill with wonder, like you’ve told her about Santa Clause and presents all over again, and she looks from you, to Bucky. He’s holding it together a little better than you, but his eyes are dangerously shiny, with tears threatening to break.

“You can be my real Daddy, Buckee?” she asks, and Bucky’s really nearing his breaking point it would seem, because he goes disturbingly red in the face and nods hastily, sniffling once and then croaking out a hoarse,

“Yeah, Cupcake. I can be your real Daddy. I would like that very much.”

“Forever?” she asks, amazed. You laugh-sob again and Bucky tells her yes, that you will be a family forever, if she wants. Then, heartbreakingly, Win gets a little frown of concern and looks at her sister again. “And Lily too?” she checks.

Bucky laugh-sobs like you, and he nods. “Yeah Hon. And Lily too.”

Winnie’s face bleeds from concern, to wonder, to joy in a few, glorious heartbeats as she figures it out. It’s the longest few seconds of your life, and you and Bucky are both holding your breath. “Oh wow,” Winnie says, and then, surprisingly, she moves quickly over to Bucky and buries herself against his chest with an excited little whine, her fingers digging into his sweater as she hugs him for the first time ever. “Daddy!” she cries happily. “You can be my real Daddy! And Lily too!”

Bucky loses it for real then, the tears breaking from his eyes. He wraps his arms around Win’s little body and hugs her back for the first time. He kisses the top of her head, then looks at you. You’re giving Lily a hug in your lap, and she’s making excited noises because she can tell that her sister is happy and excited. She laughs and babbles, and you look to Winnie, who spends a few long moments burrowing against Bucky’s chest before she squeals and pulls away to come over and excitedly give you a big hug, too, exclaiming, “Mommy!”

You laugh and give her a hug, kissing her cheek and getting your tears on her. “Love you, Wing-Ding. I’m so happy to be your Mommy.”

“My real Mommy,” She corrects, and you laugh-sob again and agree. Win pulls back in concern and looks at you. She reaches out to touch your face. “Mommy, why you crying?”

That certainly doesn’t help the tears, but you’re laughing, too, and you tell her. “Because I’m so happy, Honey. Sometimes people cry when they’re very, very happy.”

Her face splits in a smile. “Me too!” She looks at Lilly and grabs her hand joyfully. “Lily too!” Lily agrees with a happy little squeal, and then Win jumps in an excited circle, clapping her hands and saying “Wow!” a bunch of times, the ball on her Santa hat bouncing along as she goes.You and Bucky meet each other’s eyes and share a lovestruck smile. This has to be it, you think. This has to be the happiest a person can feel.

“Love you,” Bucky murmurs.

You nod tearfully and murmur back, “Love you.”

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💖Snow babies were a very popular decorating item for the holidays, back in the 1920s/30s/40s

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❄️Fluffcember (@fluff-cember): Day 25 - "the perfect gift"

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❄️Bucky Boy Bingo (@buckyboybingo) : B1 - caught in the act [card: Sarah-writes-Stucky]

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❄️December Daze Challenge (@the-slumberparty): "the first day of snow."

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