[buckyscaptain]

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋  𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇'  𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽  𝗌𝗈  𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍... 

𝗂  𝗆𝖾𝗍  𝖺  𝖻𝗈𝗒,  𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗓𝗒  𝖿𝗈𝗋  𝗆𝖾

─ ⋆˙⟡ bucky barnes' controversially young girlfriend , chris beck enthusiast!

psa! most of my fics are sfw but the ones that aren't are tagged appropriately so make sure you read the warnings! main masterlist! | misc masterlist | requests (open) | rules

now playing! ⋆˙⟡

↪ fireflies and summer nights (newest) college steve rogers x fem reader

↪ we’re working on it tj hammond x best friend reader

[buckyscaptain]

I come here whenever I want a snack 👀

It's Mickey Henry....he's the snack 🫪

i fear a certain mr henry might be about to extend his stay around here 🤫 (theme was only supposed to be for summer but i’m in love with it)

[scottxlogan]

Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Episode 2)

[palladicannoneaccesa]

SEBASTIAN STAN in THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER 2021. Dir. Kari Skogland.

[paigepie213]

Just Jane - Dr. Robby x Female Reader

Request - Hello hello Miss Paige! I'm not quite sure if your requests are open but if they are I was wondering if I could request a dr Robby x wife reader they've been trying to get pregnant but she's infertile then one day he actually adopts baby Jane doe as their own! I just loved they way he was with that baby girl and I couldn't help but think of your fics🩷

never had a request like this 🫶

Masterlist

******************************************************

The alarm would go off at six. You would groan dramatically, tugging the comforter over your head while Robby muttered something unintelligible into his pillow beside you. It happened every weekday without fail. He worked twelve-hour shifts saving lives in one of Pittsburgh’s busiest emergency departments, and yet somehow the trauma attending who could bark orders through a mass casualty incident became an absolute menace whenever his alarm clock dared interrupt his sleep.

“Michael,” you’d mumble.

“No.”

“You have to go to work.”

“I’ve thought about it. I don’t.”

You’d laugh into the pillow before reaching over him to silence the alarm yourself.

“You have patients.”

“They’ll understand.”

“I don’t think they will.”

He’d sigh theatrically before finally rolling onto his back, rubbing both hands over his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side. My side just also likes having electricity.”

That would earn you one sleepy glare before he reached over, caught your wrist, and tugged you back against him for one more minute.

“Five,” he’d negotiate.

“One.”

“Four.”

“Two.”

He kissed you.

“Deal.”

Those two extra minutes always turned into ten. By six-thirty the house smelled like coffee instead of sleep. You stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing one of Robby’s old Pitt Medical Center hoodies while scrambling eggs, your hair twisted into a messy clip that never survived the morning. Robby wandered in freshly showered, smoothing his black scrub top over a blue undershirt.

“You stealing my clothes again?” he asked.

“I married you. They’re community property.”

“I don’t think that’s how marriage works.”

“It is in Pennsylvania.”

He snorted, pouring himself coffee before leaning against the counter to watch you.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve got that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’re about to ask me to do something.”

You smiled innocently. “The museum’s getting a Roman exhibit delivered today.”

“Mhm.”

“And the shipping company insists everything has to be unloaded before eight.”

“Mhm.”

“And I might’ve volunteered to help move a two-thousand-year-old marble bust.”

“…Absolutely not.”

“It only weighs—”

“I don’t care if it weighs two pounds.”

“It weighs…” You hesitated.

His eyebrow rose.

“…One hundred and forty.”

He stared at you.

“Sweetheart.”

“I wasn’t going to carry it by myself.”

“You weren’t going to touch it.”

“I am literally the curator.”

“You’re literally five-foot-seven.”

“I am capable.”

He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of you, one hand wrapping around your waist while the other brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I know you are.” His voice softened. “But I also know you throw your back out reaching for cereal on the top shelf.”

“I did that once.”

“It was last month.”

“It was embarrassing enough the first time.”

“I carried you downstairs.”

“You laughed.”

“I absolutely did.”

You smacked his chest. He kissed you anyway. It was easy. That was your favorite thing about loving Michael Robinavich. Nothing between the two of you ever felt forced. Not after five years together. Not after nearly three years of marriage.

Life wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t some grand romance full of extravagant gestures. It was grocery lists on the refrigerator. It was him bringing home the good sourdough because he’d remembered you’d mentioned it three weeks earlier. It was you texting him reminders to eat something besides coffee and vending machine pretzels. It was ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Except…

For the calendar hidden inside the junk drawer. After Robby left for work, you stood in the kitchen for a long moment before quietly opening it. A small planner. Nothing fancy. Just dates. Tiny circles. Little hearts. Doctor’s notes. Ovulation windows. Expected periods. Pregnancy tests.

Six months. Six months of timing dinners around fertile windows. Six months of joking about how unromantic phone reminders could be. Six months of buying tests in bulk because somehow that hurt less than buying one. You’d promised each other you weren’t going to obsess. You were failing spectacularly.

******

The museum was quieter than usual that afternoon. Children wandered through the dinosaur exhibit while a retired couple asked thoughtful questions about an upcoming Impressionist collection. Normally, the work grounded you. You loved watching people discover something they’d never noticed before. History had a way of reminding everyone that time kept moving. Today, though your phone buzzed.

Michael ❤️

How’s Caesar?

You smiled despite yourself.

Roman exhibit survived. Curator still alive.

His reply came almost immediately.

Good. I would’ve hated explaining to your parents that you lost a fight with Julius Caesar.

It was Augustus.

History nerd.

Trauma nerd.

Three bouncing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came one final message.

Don’t make plans tonight.

Your stomach fluttered.

Why?

Because I’m taking my wife to dinner.

Special occasion?

There was a pause before his answer came through.

No. Just miss you.

Your eyes stung unexpectedly. Not because anything was wrong. Because everything was still so right. Even with the quiet disappointment that arrived every month, he had never let this become about obligation. He still flirted. He still stole kisses in the kitchen. He still reached for your hand whenever the two of you crossed a street.

He never made you feel like your marriage was becoming a checklist. And somehow that almost made the ache worse.

******

Dinner ended with the two of you sharing cheesecake because Robby insisted ordering two desserts was “financially irresponsible.”

“You make more than enough money to buy two slices.”

“That’s exactly how rich people become poor.”

You laughed.

“You have absolutely no evidence to support that.”

“I have vibes.”

“You have anxiety.”

“I have both.”

When you got home, the evening settled into its familiar rhythm. You changed into pajamas. He stretched out beside you on the couch. Some terrible reality competition played in the background that neither of you was actually watching. Eventually your head found his shoulder. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles across the back of your hand.

“Hey?” he said quietly.

“Mhm?”

“When does your period start?”

You looked down at your intertwined fingers.

“Tomorrow.”

Silence. Not awkward. Just…heavy. He squeezed your hand once.

“Maybe this month it won’t?”

You smiled. Not because you believed it anymore. But because he still did.

“…Maybe this month.”

Neither of you noticed that neither answer sounded quite as hopeful as it had six months before.

******

The pregnancy test sat face down on the bathroom counter. Neither of you had touched it in nearly twenty minutes. There wasn’t any reason to. You already knew what it said. You had known before you’d even taken it.

Negative. Again.

You leaned against the vanity with your arms folded tightly across your stomach, staring at the white subway tile on the opposite wall as though if you looked long enough, it would somehow rearrange itself into different news. Behind you, the bedroom remained quiet. Robby hadn’t come in. He never did. Not unless you asked. It wasn’t avoidance. It was respect.

The bathroom had become your space every month. Your place to breathe, to process, to cry if you needed to without feeling like someone was trying to make the disappointment disappear before you were ready. A soft knock came against the door.

“You okay?”

His voice was gentle. You closed your eyes.

“…No.”

The door opened just enough for him to peek inside. He didn’t ask about the test. He didn’t have to. His eyes found yours before they drifted briefly toward the counter. One glance. That was enough.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

He crossed the room slowly, giving you every opportunity to tell him to stop. Instead, you stepped into him. His arms wrapped around you automatically, one hand settling against the back of your head while the other rested low against your back.

Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been said during the last six months.

“I’m tired,” you whispered into his T-shirt.

“I know.”

“I’m so tired of hoping.”

“I know.”

“It feels stupid now.”

“It isn’t.”

“It does.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“No,” he murmured. “It feels human.”

Your breathing hitched.

“I keep thinking…” You swallowed hard. “Maybe I did something wrong years ago. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe—”

“No.”

His answer came immediately. Firm. Certain. You pulled back enough to look at him.

“No,” he repeated. “We’re not doing that.”

“But—”

“We’re not.” His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes. “You don’t get to blame yourself for biology.”

“I just don’t understand.”

“I know.”

“I’ve done everything.”

“I know.”

“I track everything.”

“I know.”

“I stopped drinking wine.”

“I noticed.”

“I even switched shampoo because some woman online said—”

His mouth twitched despite himself.

“You switched shampoo?”

“It had three million views.”

“You let TikTok make medical decisions?”

“It was a vulnerable moment.”

That earned the smallest laugh from both of you. Tiny. Fragile. But real. Robby rested his forehead against yours.

“We’re making an appointment.”

You nodded.

“I think…” you whispered. “I think it’s time.”

******

The fertility clinic didn’t smell like a hospital. It smelled like lavender. Someone had clearly decided soft lighting and watercolor paintings would somehow make difficult conversations easier. You weren’t convinced.

Robby sat beside you in the waiting room, one knee bouncing almost imperceptibly. Most people assumed he was unshakable. You knew better. His tells were microscopic. The bouncing knee. The way he rolled his wedding band around his finger. The fact that he’d read the same magazine page three times without turning it. He looked over.

“You want to leave?”

You almost laughed.

“You think we’d make it to the parking garage?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

He reached across the armrest, quietly intertwining your fingers. When the nurse finally called your names, he didn’t let go.

The appointment lasted just under an hour. There were questions. Medical history. Blood work. Imaging. Follow-up testing over the next several weeks. Life carried on around those appointments.

You curated exhibits. Robby worked shifts. You still laughed. Still made dinner together. Still argued over whose turn it was to fold laundry. But beneath everything…There was waiting. Until one rainy Thursday afternoon. The doctor’s office overlooked downtown Pittsburgh. Gray clouds pressed against the windows while traffic crawled several stories below. The physician sat across from both of you with a folder resting on her lap. She wasn’t rushed. You appreciated that.

“We have your results.”

Your stomach dropped. She explained everything carefully. The findings. The diagnosis. The statistics. The possibilities. She talked about specialists. IVF. Egg donation. Embryo adoption. Surrogacy. Future conversations. Words continued filling the room.nYou heard them. You just couldn’t seem to hold onto them. Because one sentence kept echoing louder than the rest.

“The likelihood of conceiving naturally is extremely low.”

The office became impossibly quiet. You looked down at your hands.

“…Okay.”

It came out barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically.

“I’m very sorry.”

You smiled automatically. The same polite smile you’d perfected through years of museum galas and donor dinners.

“Thank you.”

Beside you, Robby asked thoughtful questions. The kind he always asked. Clarifying. Respectful. Professional. You barely registered the conversation.

The drive home was silent. Not uncomfortable. Rain tapped softly against the windshield while Pittsburgh blurred past in streaks of gray. Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel. The other rested quietly between the seats. Palm up.

Waiting.

You slipped your hand into his halfway across one of the bridges. He squeezed once. Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t make dinner. Neither of you was hungry. The takeout containers sat unopened on the kitchen counter while evening slowly settled over the house. You changed into one of Robby’s old sweatshirts before wandering into the living room.

He found you sitting on the floor. Your back leaned against the couch.nYour knees hugged tightly against your chest.nHe didn’t ask permission. He simply sat beside you. Close enough that your shoulders touched. For several minutes…

Nothing. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily. Cars passed outside. Rain continued falling.

“I feel broken.”

His eyes closed.

“…Don’t say that.”

“I do.”

“You aren’t broken.”

“I can’t do the one thing my body’s supposed to—”

“Baby, stop.”

His voice wasn’t loud. It was pleading. You looked over. His eyes were already wet.

“I need you to listen to me for a minute.”

You nodded silently. He turned toward you completely.

“I married you because you make me laugh when I’ve had the worst day of my life.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

“I married you because you can spend forty-five minutes explaining why one painting belongs in a different room, and somehow I end up caring.”

Another tear followed.

“I married you because you dance in this kitchen while you’re making grilled cheese.”

You laughed through your tears.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I sway.”

“You choreograph.” His own voice cracked. “I didn’t marry you because I thought you’d give me children.”

He reached up, brushing away another tear with the pad of his thumb.

“I married you because you’re my favorite person.”

Your lip trembled.

“If our family ends up being just us…” He shrugged gently. “Then I won.”

You broke. Not quietly. Not gracefully. The sob tore out of your chest before you could stop it. You buried your face against his shoulder while he wrapped both arms around you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you cried.

“So am I.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head immediately

“For everything.”

He gently cupped your face until you had no choice but to look at him.

“There is nothing—” his voice caught before he steadied it, “—nothing for you to apologize to me for. We lost something today. We did. You’re not alone in this.”

Your tears kept falling.

“I don’t know what happens next.”

He smiled sadly.

“…Neither do I.”

The honesty of it settled between you. No promises. No false hope. Just truth. After a long silence, he rested his forehead against yours.

“We don’t have to decide anything tonight.”

You nodded.

“Not IVF.”

Another nod.

“Not adoption.”

You closed your eyes.

“Not fostering.”

His thumb stroked your cheek.

“We’re allowed to just…be sad for a while.”

You reached for his hand, weaving your fingers through his.

“…Okay.”

He kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Then your cheek. Finally, he whispered the only promise he knew he could keep.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Outside, the rain continued to fall against the windows. Inside, two people sat on the living room floor grieving the future they had imagined, completely unaware that, months from now, a tiny little baby with no name, no family, and nowhere else to go would quietly change both of their lives forever.

******

The museum had closed nearly two hours ago. You’d spent the evening cataloging a recent donation—a collection of handwritten Civil War letters that had somehow survived more than a century tucked inside an attic trunk. Usually, work like that settled your mind. It required patience. Precision. Quiet.

Tonight, though, you couldn’t focus. Your eyes kept drifting toward the clock hanging above your office door.

9:17 p.m.

Robby should’ve been home an hour ago. You knew better than to worry immediately. The emergency department didn’t run on schedules, and Michael Robinavich certainly didn’t leave simply because the clock told him he could.

Still…You sent a text.

You: Alive?

No response. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your purse before locking your office and making your way through the empty museum. Outside, the July air was warm, the city humming softly around you. By the time you reached home, the sun had disappeared completely.

The house was dark. You kicked off your shoes, changed into leggings and one of Robby’s old T-shirts, and started making grilled cheese sandwiches. One for you. One for him. You’d learned long ago that after difficult shifts, he almost never admitted he was hungry.

He’d simply wander into the kitchen and steal yours. You smiled to yourself. Some habits never changed.

******

It was nearly midnight when headlights finally swept across the living room wall. You looked up from the couch.

“…Jesus.”

You hurried to the front door before he’d even reached it. When it opened, the first thing you noticed wasn’t the infant carrier sitting beside his feet. It was him.

His shoulders sagged beneath his jacket. His hair was flattened in odd directions from repeatedly dragging his hands through it. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked…

Empty. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone had quietly taken pieces of him throughout the day and forgotten to give them back.

“Michael…”

His eyes found yours. For a second…you saw them soften with relief.

“Hey.”

His voice was hoarse.

“You okay?”

He gave a tired shrug.

“I don’t know.”

Your heart cracked. Then your eyes drifted downward.

“…Honey?”

He followed your gaze.

“Oh.”

As though he’d forgotten.

“There…there’s a baby.” You blinked. “…Michael.”

“I know.”

“…Michael.”

“I know.”

You stared at the infant carrier. Then back at your husband.

“…Whose baby is that?”

He scrubbed both hands over his exhausted face.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“…What?”

He stepped inside, carefully lifting the carrier before nudging the front door closed with his foot. The little girl inside couldn’t have been more than a few months old. She was asleep. One tiny fist tucked beneath her cheek. Dark eyelashes resting against impossibly round little cheeks. Your entire body instinctively softened.

“Oh…”

Robby carefully set the carrier on the living room rug before crouching beside it. He didn’t look at the baby. He looked at the floor.

“It was a hell of a shift.”

You quietly sat beside him. He took a long breath.

“They found her.” You waited. “Wrapped in a blanket.”

Another silence.

“No identification. No diaper bag. No note.” His jaw tightened. “Nothing.”

You reached for his hand. He accepted it immediately.

“CPS has been trying to locate family all day.” He swallowed. “Nobody’s come.”

Your eyes drifted back toward the sleeping infant.

“So…”

“So hospital policy allows temporary emergency placement with qualified caregivers when…” He rubbed a hand over his eyes again. “When there isn’t an immediate placement available.”

He laughed once. It wasn’t amused.

“They asked if I’d take her overnight.”

“You said yes.”

“I didn’t even think.”

His voice sounded almost apologetic.

“I just…” He looked at the baby. “…I couldn’t leave her there.”

You smiled sadly. His shoulders slumped even further.

“I know that’s insane. I have absolutely no business bringing an infant home after today.”

“You brought her somewhere safe.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“You keep premature babies alive for a living.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“They leave. They go home.”

The words escaped before he could stop them. Silence settled between you. He immediately regretted saying it.

“I’m sorry.”

You shook your head.

“No.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You scooted closer until your shoulder rested against his. “I know what you meant.”

He nodded once. Barely. After another long silence, he finally whispered…

“I lost three people today.”

Your breath caught.

“I had to tell an old friend he’s got cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And then…” His eyes landed on the baby’s again. “…There she was.”

The tiny baby stretched in her sleep, making the smallest little sigh.

“I kept walking past her room all day.” His voice cracked. “Every time I walked by…”

He laughed bitterly.

“She’d just…look at me.”

You listened.

“I don’t know why.” He shook his head. “I’d stop for thirty seconds. Talk to her. Make a bottle. Rock her. Then I’d get called away again.”

His fingers curled tightly together.

“I don’t even like pediatrics.”

That earned the tiniest smile from you.

“I know.”

“I barely tolerate healthy adults.”

“I definitely know.”

“But…” He stared at the sleeping infant. “…She didn’t have anyone.”

His voice broke completely on that sentence. You’d seen Michael cry exactly three times in your marriage. This wasn’t quite crying.nIt was something quieter. The exhaustion of a man whose heart had simply reached capacity.

Without saying a word, you wrapped both arms around him. He leaned into you immediately. His forehead rested against your shoulder. For several minutes neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the baby’s tiny, steady breathing. Eventually, Robby exhaled shakily.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this forever.”

You knew he wasn’t talking about the baby. He was talking about the emergency department. About the endless losses.nThe impossible expectations. The depression he’d been carrying for months. You kissed the top of his head.

“You don’t have to figure that out tonight.”

“No?”

“Tonight…” You glanced toward the little girl sleeping peacefully between you. “…Tonight we just keep her safe.”

He looked over. Really looked. At the baby. A faint smile touched his lips for the first time all day.

“Yeah.”

He reached into the carrier, carefully sliding one finger into the baby’s tiny hand. She wrapped all five little fingers around it instinctively. Robby froze.

“…Well,” he whispered, sounding almost awestruck.

“I think she likes you.”

He let out the softest laugh.

“I’ve had tougher patients.”

You grinned.

“That’s a bold statement. She hasn’t even had dinner yet.”

Almost as if on cue, the baby’s face scrunched. One tiny whimper escaped. Then another. Robby looked at you. You looked at him. Neither of you moved.

“…Do you know how to make a bottle?” you asked.

He blinked.

“…Do you know how to make a bottle?”

“…No.”

“…Huh.”

The baby’s whimpers quickly escalated into full-fledged cries. You both sprang into motion at exactly the same time, bumping shoulders before staring at each other. Despite everything…Despite the grief. The infertility. The horrific shift. The depression weighing on his shoulders. You both started laughing.

It wasn’t because anything was funny. It was because for the first time in months…The two of you weren’t thinking about what your future might never be. You were simply trying to comfort a tiny little girl who, for one night at least, had somehow found her way home.

******

Three days.

It was only supposed to be one. You’d both known that from the beginning. One night. Then Child Protective Services would find an emergency foster placement, and Baby Jane Doe would continue whatever uncertain journey had begun before either of you ever met her. Except…the emergency placement had fallen through. Then another. Then another. Paperwork. Background checks. A family illness. A home that suddenly couldn’t accommodate an infant. Every morning someone called. Every afternoon they apologized. Every evening the baby was still there.

******

By the fourth morning, she had quietly become…

Jane.

Neither of you remembered when you’d stopped calling her Baby Jane Doe. It had simply happened. Like calling a stranger by their first name after enough conversations.

“You spoil her.”

You looked over from the kitchen. Robby stood in the living room with Jane tucked against his shoulder, slowly pacing barefoot across the hardwood floor while she chewed determinedly on the collar of his T-shirt.

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I’m preventing emotional distress.”

“She’s asleep.”

“I’m preventing future emotional distress.”

You laughed.

“I don’t think she understands your preventative medicine.”

“I don’t think you understand babies.”

“I have books.”

“I have a baby.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” He smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. “…you married me anyway.”

The smile looked different now. Lighter. Not because everything in his life had suddenly become okay. The emergency department was still exhausting him. Some mornings he still sat in his car for several minutes before walking inside. Some nights he came home quieter than usual. The depression hadn’t disappeared. But…Jane seemed to interrupt it.

She gave him something that didn’t ask him to save the impossible. She only asked for a bottle. Or a diaper. Or someone to hold her. For the first time in months, you watched your husband care for someone without the weight of wondering whether they’d survive until morning.

Later that evening, Jane finally fell asleep after what felt like an hour of determinedly refusing to admit she was tired. You laughed quietly as Robby tiptoed out of the nursery you’d hastily assembled in the guest room.

“You know she weighs maybe twelve pounds.”

He nodded solemnly.

“And?”

“You walk like she’s made of glass.”

“I think she’s offended by your tone.”

“I think you’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve accepted that.”

He followed you into the living room. The television played softly in the background. Neither of you paid attention. The baby monitor rested on the coffee table between two mugs of tea. Robby stared at it. Longer than necessary. You noticed.

“What?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead…He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The silence stretched.

“I got a call today.”

Your stomach tightened.

“About Jane?”

He nodded.

“CPS.”

You instinctively looked toward the hallway. As though someone might already be there to take her.

“They’re still looking.”

You swallowed.

“Oh.”

“No family has come forward.”

You nodded once.

“They’re expanding the search.”

“Okay.”

“They’re beginning discussions about long-term placement if that doesn’t change.”

Your heart started pounding. You knew where this conversation was going. Or maybe…You hoped you didn’t. Robby rubbed both hands together.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“So have I.”

“I know.”

Silence settled again. He looked at you. Really looked at you.

“…Can I ask you something?”

“You never have to ask.”

He smiled faintly.

“I think I do.”

You reached across the couch, taking his hand.

“Ask.”

He took a slow breath.

“…What if we tried?”

Your eyes immediately filled.

“You mean…”

“I mean…” His voice softened. “…What if we asked if we could become her permanent placement?”

The room became impossibly quiet. You looked toward the hallway again. Toward the tiny little girl asleep in the next room.

“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been telling myself she’s only here temporarily.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been telling myself not to get attached.”

“I know.”

Another tear slid down your cheek.

“I think I failed.”

His thumb brushed the back of your hand.

“I failed too.”

You laughed through your tears.

“I love her.”

“So do I.”

“I shouldn’t already.”

“I know.”

You wiped quickly at your face.

“But…” Your voice trembled. “I’m scared.”

His expression softened immediately.

“I know.”

“No…” You shook your head. “don’t mean scared of being a parent.”

“I know what you mean, baby.”

“I’m scared they’ll take her.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“I’m scared her mother will come back.”

Another tear escaped.

“And if she’s healthy and safe and ready…” You swallowed hard. “…then they should.”

He nodded immediately.

“They should.”

“I’m scared we’ll fall completely in love with her…” Your voice cracked. “…and then we’ll have to hand her to someone else.”

He closed his eyes.

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I can survive losing another child.”

The words hung between you. Raw. Honest. He shifted closer until your knees touched.

“I’ve thought about that every single day.”

“You have?”

He nodded.

“Every day.” He looked toward the hallway. “I also think about the possibility that she doesn’t have anyone.”

You followed his gaze.

“What if…” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…what if we’re supposed to be her someone?”

You covered your mouth. Immediately, tears spilled over.

“I can’t promise you this works.” He reached up, gently pulling your hand away so he could hold it. “I can’t promise CPS says yes.”

You nodded.

“I can’t promise her biological family won’t be found.”

Another nod.

“I can’t promise we won’t get hurt.”

You squeezed his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“But…” He smiled sadly. “…I’d rather have my heart broken trying to love her than spend the rest of my life wondering if we should’ve.”

You stared at him. The man who had spent months reminding you that your worth had never depended on having children. The man who had quietly carried a little abandoned girl through your front door because he couldn’t bear the thought of her spending another night alone. The man who still came home haunted by the emergency department and somehow still found enough gentleness left inside himself to rock a baby to sleep. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.

“…I want to try.”

His breath caught.

“I know it might not happen.”

“Right.”

“I know we could lose her.”

“Right.”

“I know this could absolutely destroy us.”

He smiled through eyes that had begun to glisten.

“It could.”

You laughed softly.

“You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve been picturing teaching her how to ride a bike.”

Your heart shattered all over again.

“I’ve been picturing taking her to the museum.”

He chuckled quietly.

“She’ll probably hate museums.”

“She’ll pretend to like them because I love them.”

“And then she’ll beg me for ice cream afterward.”

“Which you’ll absolutely buy.”

“Obviously.”

You smiled through tears.

“So…”

He squeezed your hand.

“So…”

“We ask?”

He looked toward the hallway one last time before looking back at you.

“We ask.”

Neither of you realized it then, but that simple decision made on a quiet evening over cooling cups of tea while a baby monitor hummed softly between you, would become the moment your family truly began. Not because the paperwork had been signed. Not because the law had changed.

But because, for the first time, the future you were imagining had a little girl in it. And neither of you could imagine it any other way.

******

The courthouse was smaller than you’d imagined. After months of paperwork, home studies, interviews, fingerprinting, reference letters, background checks, meetings with social workers, sleepless nights, impossible waiting, and more than one phone call that had left both you and Robby convinced everything was about to fall apart, it somehow came down to an ordinary brick building tucked between a law office and a coffee shop in downtown Pittsburgh. It felt underwhelming.

The biggest day of your life had fluorescent lighting. You adjusted Jane’s little cream-colored cardigan for what had to be the tenth time that morning. She immediately tugged it crooked again.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

You laughed quietly, trying to smooth it back into place.

“You know I’m going to keep fixing that until we go inside.”

Jane looked up at you with the enormous brown eyes that had somehow become capable of melting every ounce of stress from your body. Then she grinned. Not a polite smile. Not a baby smile. One of those giant, uninhibited grins that showed every tiny tooth she’d managed to grow over the past year.

“Mama!”

Your chest tightened. Every single time. She’d started calling you Mama nearly four months ago. Not because anyone had taught her. Not because you’d encouraged it. One morning while you were making blueberry pancakes she’d simply crawled into the kitchen, wrapped both arms around your leg and announced—

“Mama.”

You’d cried so hard that Robby had nearly burned breakfast. Even now It still didn’t feel real. You scooped her into your arms, pressing a kiss against her soft curls.

“Hi, baby.”

Tiny fingers immediately found the necklace around your neck. Her favorite game. You let her play. Across the room, Robby emerged from the courthouse hallway with two cups of coffee balanced carefully in one hand.

He’d traded his scrubs for a navy suit that looked as though he’d forgotten how to wear anything besides scrubs. His tie sat ever so slightly crooked. You smiled.

“You know…”

He handed you one of the coffees.

“…you’re the only trauma attending in Pittsburgh who somehow still can’t tie a Windsor knot.”

“I can.”

“You absolutely cannot.”

“I choose not to.”

“You called Langdon this morning.”

“…I did.”

“To tie your tie.”

“He has surprisingly useful life skills.”

You laughed.

“He also showed up thirty minutes early just to make fun of you.”

“I regret asking.”

As though summoned by the conversation, Langdon appeared from farther down the hallway carrying a gift bag with cartoon dinosaurs printed across the side.

“I heard my name.”

“You usually do,” Robby muttered.

Langdon ignored him entirely, crouching down in front of Jane.

“And who is this beautiful little troublemaker?”

Jane immediately reached for him.

“Nope.” Langdon stood back up. “I changed my mind.”

Robby smirked.

“Smartest thing you’ve said all year.”

“You’ve been changing diapers for six months.”

“I have.”

“And you’re judging me?”

“I absolutely am.”

“You’ve become unbearable.”

“I’ve become a father.”

The words slipped out so naturally that none of you reacted at first. Not Langdon. Not you. Not even Robby. It wasn’t until several seconds later that his own expression changed. His eyes blinked once. Then twice.

“…Huh.”

You looked at him. He looked back.

“I guess I have.”

The smile that spread across his face wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t accompanied by tears. It was simply…Peace. A kind of quiet peace you hadn’t seen in him for a very long time. The emergency department still exhausted him. Some shifts still left him sitting in the driveway with both hands on the steering wheel before he found the energy to come inside. There were still difficult days. Still nights where the weight of everything he’d seen settled heavily across his shoulders. But there was something different now.

He came home. And Jane came babbling down the hallway mumbling, “Dada!”

Every. Single. Time. No matter what kind of shift he’d had. No matter how broken he felt. There was always one tiny human being who believed he had just hung the moon.

It hadn’t cured his depression. It hadn’t erased the hospital. But it had reminded him that life existed outside those walls.

******

The courtroom itself was intimate. No jury. No spectators. Just a judge, your attorney, the county representative, your social worker, and a handful of people who loved the three of you enough to take time away from their own lives.

Dana sat in the second row with tissues already in her lap. Jack was openly crying before anyone had even spoken. Langdon leaned over.

“I’ve got twenty bucks that Robinavich cries first.”

“You don’t have twenty dollars.”

“I could.”

“Your broke ass would never.”

The judge looked over her glasses.

“Gentlemen.”

Langdon immediately straightened.

“Sorry, Your Honor.”

Robby didn’t even pretend he’d been participating. The hearing wasn’t long. Questions. Confirmations. Paperwork. The social worker smiled as she spoke about your home. About Jane. About the stability she’d found. About the way she’d blossomed over the previous time with you and Robby.

The judge asked you both why you wanted to adopt. You answered first. Your voice trembled.

“I spent a long time grieving the family I thought we’d have.”

You looked toward Jane, happily stacking blocks on the courtroom floor while Dana helped her.

“And then she walked into our lives.” A tear slipped free. “I don’t believe she’s replacing anything.”

You smiled.

“I think she’s simply become something completely her own.”

The judge nodded before looking toward Robby.

“And you, Doctor Robinavich?”

He sat quietly for a moment. Anyone who knew Michael knew that silence. It meant he was searching for exactly the right words.

“I’ve spent most of my career meeting people on the worst day of their lives.”

The room grew still.

“I fix what I can.” His fingers found yours beneath the table. “And I carry what I can’t.”

His thumb brushed across your wedding ring.

“The day Jane came into the emergency department…” He glanced toward the little girl laughing with Dana. “…she needed someone.”

His voice grew quieter.

“I thought I was saying yes for one night.” He smiled. “Turns out…”

He looked at you.

“…I was saying yes to the rest of my life.”

There wasn’t a dry eye left in the courtroom. Not even the judge’s.

The final signature looked…ordinary. Ink on paper. Nothing more. The judge smiled warmly before sliding the documents across the desk.

“Congratulations.”

She looked toward Jane.

“As of this moment…” She tapped the paperwork once. “…she is officially your daughter.”

Silence. For one suspended heartbeat…No one moved. Then you heard tiny slaps pattering across the hardwood floor. Jane had abandoned her blocks. She crawled straight toward the two of you with complete confidence.

“Dada!”

Robby bent instinctively, scooping her into his arms before she could even come to a stop herself. She laughed. One of those loud baby laughs that filled every corner of the courtroom. Then she looked over at you. Tiny hands reached.

“Mama.”

You stepped beside them, wrapping one arm around Robby’s waist while the other settled gently against Jane’s little back. She fit there so perfectly. As though she’d always belonged between you. Robby looked down at her. His jaw tightened. You recognized it immediately. The tears.bHe was fighting them. Hard. You smiled softly.

“You don’t have to hold it together.”

“I know.”

“You’ve earned this.”

“I know.” His voice cracked anyway. “I just…”

He swallowed.

“I kept thinking someone was going to tell us no.”

Your own tears spilled freely now.

“So did I.”

He rested his forehead against yours, Jane giggling happily because she was suddenly trapped in the middle of a hug. Neither of you cared.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

He looked down at Jane.

“And I love you.”

Jane’s response was immediate.

“Dada!”

Robby laughed. A real laugh. Not the tired chuckle he’d forced through difficult shifts. Not the dry sarcasm everyone at the hospital knew. A full, genuine laugh that reached his eyes. Langdon clapped dramatically from behind you.

“Well…” He sniffed loudly. “This is disgusting.”

Dana elbowed him.

“You’ve cried through the entire hearing.”

“I have allergies.”

“In February?”

“Very aggressive allergies.”

Everyone laughed. Even the judge.

******

Outside, Pittsburgh greeted you with one of those perfect spring afternoons that made the city glow. Someone suggested lunch. Someone else suggested pictures. Jane decided she’d rather scream at pigeons across the courthouse steps. You watched as Robby carry her, hands half-outstretched. Not because he thought he’d drop her, but because that was simply what fathers did.

She squealed with delight as birds scattered into the air. He laughed again. You stood there for a long moment, committing the image to memory.bA year ago, you’d sat on your living room floor believing your family might never grow. A year ago, Robby had walked through your front door carrying an exhausted little girl in an infant carrier after the hardest shift of his life. Neither of you had understood that hope sometimes arrived quietly.nNot with grand announcements. Not with certainty. Sometimes it arrived wrapped in a faded hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully through the chaos around her.

Robby turned back toward you, Jane balanced securely on his hip. She stretched one tiny arm toward you.

“Mama!”

He smiled.

“Think she’s looking for you.”

You walked over, slipping your hand into his. Jane immediately wrapped one tiny hand around your finger. The other closed around Robby’s. Satisfied, she sighed dramatically.

“Yesh.”

Robby chuckled.

“Yes?”

She nodded with absolute conviction.

“Yesh.”

You looked at your husband. At your daughter. At the little hand linking the two of you together. And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something to mourn. It felt like something waiting patiently to be lived. The three of you started down the courthouse steps together.

Not because every question had been answered. Not because life would suddenly become easy. But because, after everything you’d lost, everything you’d feared, and everything you’d survived…you were finally going home.

Together.

[skyrimhusbandmaterial]

[bucksangel]

two hearts in one home

pairing: soft!dom!bucky x sub!reader

summary: you and bucky move in together.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: a whoooole lot of fluff bc of course, minor anxiety if you squint, use of 'daddy' as a title, bucky being a natural gentleman, allusions to masturbation so 18+, bucky finds princess' vibrator, lots of teasing, steve and natasha being good bro's

series masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar | ao3

a/n: this was suggested by @fictionalfloozy <3

soft!dom!bucky who is the definition of "gentleman". he always walks you to your apartment after date night, won't even think of walking to his own until your door fully shuts and he hears the lock click. even if you're just leaving his apartment, he'll walk you to your door. does it matter that you're only two doors down from him? no. because anyone could be out in the halls waiting, and bucky doesn't play about his princess' safety. you tease him for it all the time, then soothe him with assurances that you'll text him when you survive the 'treacherous walk home', but he doesn't take the bait. he'll smile and let you joke but at the end of the day, he's getting up off the couch and taking your hand in his, leading you down the hall and kissing you at your doorstep.

soft!dom!bucky who starts dreading taking you home. don't get him wrong, he would never feel comfortable with any woman walking home by herself (there was even one instance where you both were at a bar and spotted a younger woman clearly alone, and, with her approval, bucky insisted on both of you accompanying her home so that she wasn't walking alone at night), and he will be dead the day you are left to walk home without your man there. but, taking you home means that you're not with him anymore. it means that he doesn't get to hear your laugh whenever he trips over the corner of the rug. it means he doesn't get to fall asleep with you wrapped around him like a koala while also somehow stealing most of the blankets. it means he's alone with his thoughts.

soft!dom!bucky who is hanging out with his friends one night, all gathered in his apartment, when you run to the bathroom. you've been dating for almost a year and a half, but any outsider would think you're still in the honeymoon phase with how, frankly, obsessed you are with each other. steve seems to notice the fallen look on bucky's face when you head down the hall, and just blurts out so, when are you moving her in? bucky was surprised at his bluntness, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't stick with him for the rest of the evening. even after you came back from the bathroom, the thought was swirling around his head. if you noticed the spaced out look in your eyes whenever he looked at you, you were kind enough to not point it out in front of everyone.

soft!dom!bucky who can't stop thinking about living together even days later, and decides that, yeah, he wants to live with you. he already knows he's going to spend the rest of his life with you, and he knows you feel the same, but living together is a big step. granted, bucky has already cleared out a drawer in his dresser for your clothes, and you do have a toothbrush and some bath products in his bathroom; bucky's also cleared off a shelf in his pantry for your favorite snacks, so it wouldn't be too much of a change. not to mention the fact that you spend nearly all of your free time together, and it's more common than not that you'll spend the night at each other's apartment. so, it's an easy decision to ask you to move in, but that doesn't mean his mind doesn't play tricks on him, trying to convince him that you'll say 'no' and he'll be devastated.

soft!dom!bucky who doesn't mean to blurt it out the next time you see each other. you made a mild complaint about wearing the same two pajamas every time you sleep at his place, and he couldn't stop himself from saying I mean, you could always keep more clothes here. you'd responded with but then I'll have less clothes to wear at my place. and, well, bucky had basically no choice other than to say what if you just move in? your back was still facing him, freezing in the middle of rifling through your drawer for a different shirt. turning to him, your eyes remain wide for merely one second before they soften, a small smile making its way onto your face.

soft!dom!bucky who has never felt more relieved than when you crawl onto the bed with your smile growing more mischievous by the second. you want me to move in? you asked, batting your eyelashes and placing a hand on his knee, squeezing it comfortingly to let him know you're not opposed to the idea. more than anything bucky mutters back, resting his hand over yours. I just... I miss you when you're not here, and you know how much I love seeing you on my couch whenever I get home from work. plus, all your things will be in one place, so it'll be easier than going between apartments whenever you need anything. I - you shut him up with a kiss, swallowing his words until they taper off and he melts into your embrace. of course I will, daddy you mumble against his lips.

soft!dom!bucky who starts moving you in the very next day. he packs up your things for you, and doesn't know whether or not to text you in the middle of your shift to let you know that he found your vibrator in your nightstand. while you have plenty of toys stored at his apartment, bucky knows you have needs even when you can't be with him, and accepts that he can't always be there with you to fulfill them, so he's not angry in the slightest that you have one. it's just... it's the thought of you using it on yourself when you're alone, probably whimpering and whining because your finger's can't reach as far as his, nor can your bullet lick you like he does, and he's suddenly aching and desperate to use it on you. even better, he wants to watch you use it on yourself. ultimately, he decides not to bring it up while you're at work, knowing you'll probably get embarrassed, and that's the last thing he wants. you shouldn't be ashamed for your needs or how you take care of them, so he waits.

soft!dom!bucky who has the next day off from work, though you still have to go in, but you'd given bucky the keys to your apartment so that he could begin the moving process. not only do you trust him to not break your antiques (something which makes bucky proud of himself), but he insisted that he wasn't going to let you move anything. he's fully capable of carrying boxes, and even calls steve for help moving your furniture (something that steve was all too happy to do, considering he's already been waiting for the wedding invitations for a couple months) and his princess shouldn't have to worry about overworking herself. you're his princess, after all, and you deserve to relax at any chance you get. and if bucky decides to move the heavier boxes when you come back from work, so what? it's just coincidence; it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his cock stays half-hard every time he catches you staring at him with that far-away look in your eyes, gazing up at him like he's your savior who's come to take away all your problems.

soft!dom!bucky who has everything moved in before dinner. all that's left is to sell your various leftover furniture that bucky already has, but natasha informed you that she'd help in that department (she has also been waiting for wedding invitations). it's not until after you've eaten that bucky decides to celebrate your relationship milestone by bringing out your vibrator, not letting the look of embarrassment linger on your face for more than a second before he lets you know that he's the exact opposite of offended. he wants you to always be satisfied, and he assures you that you'll never have to want for anything, because he'll always provide anything you need.

tagging: @onyx8514 / @thevillainswhore / @goldylions / @curledpagesspilledink / @abschaffer2 / @calzone-d / @gentlelimerence /

[beckie-letitia-deactivated20210]

This blog is pro tits and anti Nazi

[stevefightmerogerss]

[buckyscaptain]

spirtitually identifying as a haunted house with how creaky my bones have been lately

[nikodidthat]

bucky moodboard or whatever ^_^ "

[unearthlydust]

CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR (2016)

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as GUY MORATZ

➤• A DIFFERENT MAN (2024) DIR. AARON SCHIMBERG

[buckyscaptain]

hypothetically speaking if i put out a wandanat x reader fic, are y’all fucking with that or am i getting dragged out of here in a straitjacket

[sheriff-bodecker]

to be loved is to be changed

pairing: bucky barnes x reader summary: after his daughter, winnie, ripped the arm off her beloved stuffed doggy, bucky takes the day off to take care him, subsequently figuring some things out while doing so - or, bucky sews up a new arm for his daughters favourite teddy . . . warnings: fluff, dad!bucky, mom!reader, domestic fluff, some angst, written with congressman!bucky in mind, bucky wears glasses while working, bucky's daughter is called Winnie (win, pea, sweetheart, baby, babygirl...), Nat, Tony, Sam and Steve mentioned, aunt!nat and uncle!sam lol . . . word count: 4k a/n: wow a fluff thats crazy. im aware im not the best at these but i got this idea a week or so ago while going to work and it hasn't let me alone since so, i tried !

bucky m.list || masterlist || navigation

The plastic laundry basket rattles and creaks against your hip. Tapping your finger on the handle without a real rhythm, humming inquisitively and melodically, floorboards groaning under your feet as you pass down the hallway, and into the sun-warmed bedroom where stickers plastered yay high on the door, just below the painted calligraphy of dusty green you had tasked yourself on, even though you'd started waddling and huffing at every sprig of movement at the time. Winnie.

It's oddly quiet, not too unusual for a school day, but even so the padding of socked feet thumping around, excited squeals and giggles and tight little arms latched around your calf fill your days up so full and bright, the few hours of emptiness never fail to have you staring at the unmade bed and sigh with a smile.

Placing the basket down to your feet, you lean down to straighten the linens. Uncurling the stripes of red, tucking them in at the corners, folding at the pillows before starting on those next. Fluffing and placing them carefully to the wall, gathering her favourite blanket she'd pulled to the centre of the room for a late night reading session by the bonfire (her bedside lamp she had also moved) to drape across the foot of the bed.

Once done, straightening up only to stretch out the achy kinks in your muscles, you turn for the finishing touch. Dusty, Winnie's companion. The kind of teddy you must pry out of a child's hand — or at least try and swap it out with a similar weight like a Mission Impossible movie — but your little Win had a sixth sense for her darling dog. Matted fur from bone crushing (or pellet crushing, in Dusty's case) hugs, colour dulled from the years, and eyes wobbled from the thread. He may have been living up to his name, but he carries her love like no other.

But in recent days, you've noticed a difference in Dusty's appearance. His front left leg was simply… missing.

It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Your husband, brooding eyes and tired sighs, Bucky Barnes, had spent the good part of Winnie's first years acclimatising both Win, and himself, to his arm.

Holding her comfortably against his chest, in the crook of his right arm, as so his left — all shiny vibranium and gold veins — could pat and caress. Holding it up, wiggling his fingers while cooing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star just to see her chubby cheeks round out and gargle a laugh through a gummy smile. Bucky had even found himself soothing her by gently wiping the bridge of her nose with the smooth tip of his index finger, shushing down her cries, murmuring praises into the air, smiling softly as her eyes droop shut and soft croons from the back of her throat quieted into yawns, dribble on ironed work shirts and sweet, even breaths.

But Dusty and his three limbs were nowhere to be seen.

Not on the bedside table, or made as a suspicious lump underneath your neat origami of bed sheets. Not using the bunting hung from the corners as a makeshift swing set, or gathered around the lamp-made bonfire.

The laundry sat forgotten as your feet darted down the hall and down the flight of stairs, all to have been halted once you found yourself in the dining room. Your hair flew back as you caught yourself, hand holding the doorway.

Bucky sat at the table, button up shirt open at the collar, sleeves shoved to his elbow, hair the same colour as his daughters mussed back from fingers, and glasses slipping to the tip of his nose. Before you could fully appreciate the sight before you, you realised the scene. A sewing needle poked out the corner of his lip, held in place by his teeth, a large enough sheet of fabric, black with soft gold accents, laid out on the surface next to the project, cut in meticulous patterns, chalk lines fading off. And the main event was Dusty himself, and the appendage of dark cloth, sewn haphazardly with the kind of skill a boy on a mission would have, into a similar shape to the dog's right leg.

"Jesus," you exhale, holding your chest. "I thought you had work today?"

"I—Uh," He glances up at you over the top of his glasses where they perch low on the tip of his nose. Muffled by the needle in his mouth, he takes it out, leaning both elbows to the table, inhaling as if finding the correct answer. "I did. Have work."

You lean against the frame now. Arms crossed over your chest, smiling in amusement.

"But?"

"But," he imitates, looking back down at the work he's doing, holding the needle between two fingers and waving it slightly. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Oh yeah?" You push off and walk your way over, sliding into the chair adjacent to his, leaning your chin on the palm of your hand. "More pressing than paperwork and board meetings? Pressing matters meaning Dusty?"

He laughs once, an exhales huff paired with an easy smile, but he keeps working. His phone was still open, propped up on a vase of cosmos and baby's breath, a paused video tutorial on sewing. You pretend not to have noticed, pretend like your heart didn't swell ten times the size in that one millisecond your eyes flittered.

"I—ah… I may have hold Win, while tucking her in last night, that I'd take Dusty to the 'hospital' today while she was at school," he shrugged, momentarily pausing to run a hand through his hair to keep it back, only for the strands to fall back over his face. "Was tired of finding stuffing on the floor."

"Tired of stuffing on the floor?"

"Mhm," he drags out, tight lipped, looping the needle through the two meeting points of the inside out fabric, pulling until slight resistance, before going again. "I also wanted to surprise her. Got up early to go out lookin' for some stuff, just to close up the hole, but I… saw the fabric, and… I mean, I understand why she—she'd take the arm off," he sighed again, looking back up at you over his glasses. When he sees you already smiling, he loosens up, smiling too, cheeks pinkening under the dusting from his beard.

"I think she'd like it."

"She'll love it, Buck," you reassure, reaching out to draw a knuckle over the back of his hand. "Didn't know you could sew, though."

The chair groans under his weight, stretching out, leaning back. "It's been a long, long time, sweetheart. Used to watch my momma when I had nothing better to do, sometimes she'd make me help her out until my fingers were all sore and poked raw, and, uh, you pick up some shit out in the field. Clothes get ripped, you know the gist," you do. He waves a dismissive hand. "Did have to remind myself though, but don't tell Winnie, I wanna look smart."

You giggle, easing up from the seat to make your way over. "You are smart, and Win already thinks the world of you,"

Leaning over, you drape your arms over his shoulders and rest your chin to his head, pausing the dismissive shake to your statement.

"It looks good. You're really good at this." You murmur into his hair with a kiss.

Bucky hums, pushing his glasses back up with a knuckle. "M'not."

"Hm, you are. And Winnie loves you, and I love you, and she's gonna love you more after this," you peck his head again.

"You know, everyday I think that theres no way I could love you more? You do all of these amazing things, you've done amazing things — things I can't even fathom — and yet you keep going above and beyond," before you could finish your words, Bucky tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, and you move. Legs walking, mind filing through memories, to the comfortable, organised mess of the living room.

When you come back, standing behind your husband, you clip the strands of hair that have been bothering him back with two tiny butterfly clips, one pink, the other green. He makes no protest, only smiling down at his work, already understanding and thankful when he heard the little snap.

You kiss his head again, in the space between the clips and stay there a little longer. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, massaging your thumbs into the muscle and to the base of his neck.

"You're amazing. I dunno how I could keep up."

He makes a noise, humorous, slightly dismissive. "You don't need to keep up. Don't need to do anything," leaning his head back to your chest, he sighs again. "I fell for you the way you are. Beautiful, talented, funny, witty in a way I have always been kinda jealous of, and so terrifying sometimes, even I get nervous at parent teacher conferences."

You scoff, running your hands down to drape across his chest.

"I'm not that scary—"

"Oh, you are," he leans to the side and kisses your forearm, lingering his lips for a few seconds, rubbing the soft skin and the coarse hairs of his beard across the inside of your arm, before pressing another kiss and mumbling into you. "I remember years ago when you ripped Tony a new one. Dunno what, somethin' about a mission being sent out too early bein' dangerous. God, I remember walkin' in and I don't think I blinked,"

A laugh rumbled through your chest, pushing at the back of Bucky's head. He pauses for a moment, holding up the black and gold cushioned paw in his left hand. The plates whir as if smiling at his work.

"That was when I knew I wanted to marry you."

"Sap," You press another kiss to his scalp, and another, then another. "If I'm remembering correctly, cause Tony just loves to piss me off, we weren't even together at that time."

Shaking his head, you can feel the apples of his cheeks fill with a smile. "Nope. Had it all planned out from there on out. Even Steve could tell I was whipped after we left the room."

You tut, straightening up. "And it took you like, what, three years to actually ask me out?"

Before he could retort, already stuttering on an answer, pushing his glasses atop his head, hands curled on the edge of the table. You walk with a bounce in your step back towards the doorway.

"Okay, you've got about an hour or so til pick up so, it might be best to get that leg on. Meanwhile, I've got laundry to do and dinner to start."

As your footsteps thump up the stairs, Bucky calls up to you.

"It was a year!"

"If you say so!" You shout back, already passing back into the colourful, warm mess of your daughter's bedroom to stifle through the little clothes on the floor.

After tossing a pink pyjama set, two pairs of dirt stained socks and a pair of cherry red jeans stained green at the knees, his voice calls out again.

"I love you!"

You giggle. Big and bright, staring down at the messy clothes of your child's, stained with inquisitive wonder and whimsy. Pens thrown on the ground next to an opened colouring book, handmade crochet blankets in a box by the bed, pre-loved books on the shelf, fairy lights and garlands draped across corners.

"I know!"

-

Amongst the crowd of parents waiting on their kids — hulking them up and on their hips, taking their little book bags out their tiny hands to help straighten their clothes — Bucky stayed leaning against the far wall.

The sun still dripped down through the clouds, leaving a cool enough breeze to ease off uncomfortable warmth. It nipped up his bare arms, still clad in his 'work' clothes, white shirt still slightly unbuttoned and sleeves still rolled up, and Dusty stayed tucked inside of the pocket in his pants, covered by his hands.

Kids laughed, squealed at times whenever their parent would pick them up or bounce them, maybe even swing them from between the two. He stayed indifferent, watching the double doors swing open to a new wave of tiny heads, watching the teachers he's come to trust (reluctantly) wave enthusiastically or high-five if the kid asked for such. He stifled a growing smile as one child missed twice.

It wasn't until the sound of quick footsteps pitter-pattered against the asphalt his attention turned and was completely swallowed by the small shooting star about to plummet straight into him.

Brown hair tied into two low braids waved behind her as her little body came running the wavering crowd. Adorned in patchwork dungarees, a stripy shirt and little red boots Nat had gotten her for her last birthday because 'kids can be badasses too'.

"Daddy!" She giggled as she ran, smile so wide it looked like it hurt.

Dropping down to one knee, he just about caught the little cannonball of energy as she leapt into his arms. Little hands around his neck, feet barely touching the ground. The force of her impact made Bucky topple back into the wall with a groan, laughing into her hair as they both squeezed.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, muffled into the the crook of her shoulder, easing and patting the back of her head. "Geez, you've got a lot of energy, you had a good day?"

"Uh-huh! I found some caterpillars during recess, they were all fuzzy and climbing up a tree and I was their protector! Other kids kept tryin' to poke at them but me and some friends guarded them!"

"That's nice, Win." Bucky groaned as he pushed himself, and an energetic five year old, and her backpack up from the wall. Easing her to sit on his hip, she dangled her legs excitedly, grasping into the front of his shirt.

"And we got to play heads up seven up, but don't tell but I looked at their shoes whenever they got me so I won extra reading time, but i didn't do it all of the time! I only did it once in a while so I didn't look sus… suspi—shuss."

"It's 'suspicious', sweetpea, 'sus-pi-shush', and did Auntie Nat teach you that?"

Winnie shakes her head, still smiling, braids whipping to and fro. "Uncle Sam!"

His brows lower in defeat. "Of course he did."

Pebbles crunch beneath the soles of his dress shoes, bumping Winnie up higher on his side, she hums.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Is Dusty okay at the hospital?" She fiddles at the collar of his shirt, voice low as she asks.

"Oh, yeah. Hey, you just reminded me, I gotta… got a little surprise for you." he places her back to the ground, following her down to squat in front of her. Rummaging through his pocket, he kept one hand on her bicep to keep her close.

"A surprise?"

Once out, bucky holds out the old dog in his hands, elbows to his knees, cupping around his floppy torso carefully. At this angle, both Dusty and Bucky adorn the arms, and little Winnie watches bright-eyed as Bucky moved his fingers with a whir under Dusty's to greet with a little wave.

"You match!" She gasps before her dad could explain. "Daddy, you and Dusty match!"

He chuckles, "yeah, we do, don't we?" Holding the teddy up, he points out the new leg, nodding and playing along. "Took a little while, but he's good as new. Missed you terribly while you were out here — conning your way into more reading time," he murmurs under his breath as Winnie takes her companion from his hand to smother him in the tightest hug. "Wouldn't stop askin' for you after the procedure, he wanted to show you ASAP."

"He looks exactly just like you, daddy!"

He straightens up, taking her hand in his, making a slight face. "Well, I wouldn't say exactly just like me—"

"You both look so cool!" She exclaims, jumping in his hold excitedly, "Dusty has a cool arm like daddy now!"

His head knocks back in a soft flinch. Despite the slight tingle in his sinuses, the soft smile on his lips and the adoring look he glances down at his daughter, he doesn't cry — not yet, at least, he wont allow it. And while he wants to ask if she really means it, if his arm really is cool, if she did rip it off Dusty to be like him, if she really did love him, adore him, like you said she does; instead he keeps smiling and guiding her back to the car with his chest full of something akin to the cloudy, cotton feeling he got when he held her for the first time.

And he really did match Dusty.

"C'mon, Pea," he clears his throat, trying to hide the bundles of emotion, golden and honey thick in his chest. "Momma's probably wondering where we are."

With one last skip, she giggles, holding the dog up to her face. "Thank you for making him better, daddy."

Comically, his eyes twitch and his bottom lip just about juts out into a pout. Inhaling, exhaling, grounding himself — trying to, at least — he squeezes the little hand in his own once.

"Of course, baby."

And she squeezes back. Once around his hand, small yet mighty, and another around his heart.

-

"Momma!"

The door's barely open before the loud rapt of Winnie comes bounding over.

"In here!" You reply, voice echoing from the kitchen, stirring the pot one last time and easing the flame low on the stove.

"Ah-ah," Bucky tuts, clicking his fingers, whistling once, catching her just in the nick of time. "Shoes off and bag at the door, you know what momma's like."

With a dramatic groan — wonder where she gets that from — she copies Bucky. Toeing off her boots clumsily, before plopping her butt down on the floor to impatiently untangle the knots you had tied that morning, ultimately letting her dad pull them off her feet and place them neatly on the shoe rack.

As Bucky slipped off the last shoe, Winnie made a run for it.

"Momma!" She calls again. Bounding down the hallway, socked feet thumping off the floor. As he follows behind, Bucky wonders how such a small being can make so much noise.

"Hey, babygirl!" you beam, listening to the excited racket thud closer and closer, propping a lid on top of the pan.

A blow hits your legs, catching your breath as you laugh at her dramatics. Stroking the frizzy hairs down from her plaits.

"C'mere," you beckon, pulling her up for a hug, air constricting and tight as it might be, you reciprocate with wiggling from side to side and groaning with playful aggression. You believe you could photosynthesise on her giggles alone. "What did you get up to today, anything fun? Make friends? Change the world?"

"Look, look, look!"

Plastic beading rattles as she holds Dusty up in front of her for you to behold, pressing her little mouth to his head, copying the wave Dusty had greeted her with.

With a gasp, you wobble her happily. "Oh my goodness, Dusty's back!"

"His arm, momma, look at his arm!" She exclaims, kicking her legs happily.

"He had the best surgeon looking out for him, baby," glancing up at your husband's simper, you kiss her forehead. "Doesn't it look great?"

"It's amazing!"

Jumping her up a couple times on your hip, you hum. "Yeah? Did you thank daddy?"

Nodding her head with a beam, a smile bucky can only compare to yours with the way rooms seem to brighten when shown, she pulls her hands up for him to hold her next. "Thank you, daddy!"

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, holding her without a complaint, "you said that fifteen times in the car already, Pea."

The room settles easily, with the quiet simmer of food bubbling and stove searing, birds whistling in the garden and traffic humming, it's familiar and easy, and it's home.

It isn't long until Winnie's restless little body squirms in Bucky's arms, and he sets her free with a quiet 'go on', sprinting back up to her room with a chorus of high pitched giggles.

Propping himself against the worksurface, arms crossed over his chest, head on the cabinets, Bucky sighs. It's a sigh of ease, contentment. The kind he would let out once the streets filled with the orange of lampposts, and he got home to find you, warm and sleepy, tucked in bed as he stripped himself of button ups and tailored suits, and swapped it out with a bare chest and sweatpants — the sigh would only come once his arms wrapped around you and his nose buried into your hair.

A smile creeps on your lips, moving to take a place next to him.

"You know, apparently she cheated at heads up seven up today. For extra reading time. But only did it enough times not to look 'suspicious'." He squints his eyes, following the word with quotation marks.

Sucking in a breath, you click your tongue against the backs of your teeth. "Ooh, don't tell me," you whisper, patting a finger on your chin in thought. "Nat?"

He shakes his head, tight lipped, "Sam."

"So we're crossing him off the babysitting list."

"Hm, I think he's doin' it on purpose," he hums, tipping his chin up, moving his hands down to find the small of your back. "Keep him on, he's doing the next gig."

Pulling you closer until you stand between his open legs. He holds your hips, rubbing small circles through your pants, holding eye contact.

"I meant what I said today." You murmur, keeping your eyes on his, holding authority. To which Bucky loses with great pleasure, sneaking glances to your lips.

"I know."

"You're amazing," you mumble again, basking in the tiny looks he holds to your mouth, how he licks his own lips and the soft, humming feeling of his thumbs making patterns, and his fingers changing position to subtly bring you closer.

"I mean it. Truly," You rest your hands on his shoulders, squeezing, careful around the soft tissue that bumps around his left. "I love you. We both do. So, so much."

Your eyes hold his, and this time he doesn't sneak away, and he doesn't try to hide with a bashful look or a glimpse at your lips, right there. Though his eyes redden at the edges, the whites of his eyes glisten off the stovetop light, and you can just about see your reflection pool inside of his pupils.

"I know." He replies, quieter than the last, and he finally leans the rest of the way and kisses you. Because it hits, not like a blow but a final blossom. He does know, and he thinks he has known this whole time. From the moment the nurse placed a whaling, sticky, tiny thing in his arms and his body tightened and loosened all at once, his lungs stuttering, and mouth instinctively formed the awkward whispers of 'you're alright, I got you, I know, it must be so cold'.

It's just only now, in the soft warmth of a kitchen, being used and not feeling like mere decoration with takeout in the fridge, the love of his life in front of him, pecking at his lips until laughter gets in the way and dinner sizzles from next to them. With a daughter, who loves to guard critters and create extravagant blanket forts, who reads to her bears and kisses them goodnight, one by one. Who ripped off her favourite teddy's left arm so he can be 'just exactly like daddy' — he's finally let himself realise just how adored he really is.

taglist: @devililithh @buck-star @buckyfmd @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner @barnes-babydoll @kqtholins @wint3rbarnes @swimmingnightcolor @ilovestizzy @chronic-fangirl-222 @ornateglass @bucklesby-barnes @avgdestitute @demiebarnes @sunkissedspell @stanmarvelous @castielscaplan @ladymiseryy @phoenix-in-writing @layaflores @wherewinterblooms @sunday-bug @buckybunni @filthgf @angelryex @megsavengersslut @sassandscribbles @amidnightwish21 @goobers-mcgee @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelryex @iloveotters101 @venigrantrogers

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seb taglist: @slutdier @clover1004 @colettebarnes @metal-armed-muse @68ep @herejustforbuckybarnes @quantumbarnes @buckysdecaflove @erina00 @onyx8514

© 2026 sheriff-bodecker

[buckyscaptain]

girl dinner | bucky barnes x fem reader

authors notes: babies first smut is here!! this didn't start out as smut, it was supposed to be innocent and fluffy but i ended up in a mood and here we are. it's a little rough around the edges but we move. (will cry if anyone's mean about it x) did write this with beefy cw bucky in mind but this picture fit the moodboard better so it's up to you really.

warnings: 18+, mdni!!, oral (f receiving), fingering, smidge of degradation in the middle, pussy pronouns (blink and you'll miss it), smidge of a praise kink, hair pulling, not proofread so all my mistakes are my own, i think i've got everything?? please feel free to let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.4k

summary:

a lazy day ends with girl dinner and you trying to explain the concept to bucky, who decides to put his own spin on it.

it was a lazy day, the kind where time seemed to slip through your fingers like sand no matter how hard you tried to hold onto it. at some point it had started to rain, beating against the glass as the smell of fresh earth filtered in through the window and mixing with the candles you'd lit. bucky had claimed one corner of the sofa, blanket half draped over him as he read his book, you'd taken the other side, scrolling mindlessly through your phone until you'd gotten up to go and grab dinner.

which was simple enough.

until it wasn't.

"the hell is that?" his book dropped into his lap as he watched you walk back in like you weren't carrying a plate of whatever that was. you shrugged as you sat down next to him and balanced the plate on your lap. "okay, so… the last of the cake we got from the farmers market, string cheese times two, goldfish crackers, and some strawberries." you pointed out each thing, perfectly arranged so none of it would touch and contaminate anything else because god forbid. "girl dinner." you smiled as picked up a strawberry and took a bite, the juices staining the corner of your lips.

he blinked at you once before he looked down as your plate and then back up at you. "girl dinner… that's not—none of that goes together." he thought that he'd seen everything the modern world had to offer at this point, every tiktok, every trend—until this one sneaked up on him in his own living room. "is that even legal?" you snorted as you fed him a cracker, shaking your head. "you lived through the great depression, bucky, you've probably seen worse than this." he just shook his head as he watched you explain it all completely seriously.

"this is like girl math all over again." he was still minorly traumatised by the fact you confidently believed that things were free if you used cash instead of your card or the fact you were actually saving money by buying more things to get free delivery. "eh, not really. this is better than girl math because you get whatever you want for dinner. you should try it sometime, it's not that hard. dinner is just a concept made up society anyway."

he laughed at that, properly laughed as he bumped his shoulder against his. "hey!" you protested, looking utterly offended which was diminished by grin spreading across your face. "it's true! why should we stand around for hours to make something that we're going to eat in like ten minutes, when this does exactly the same thing, y'know?" he nodded solemnly like you'd just handed him state secrets instead of an opinion. "you say the same thing about matcha." you rolled your eyes as you shuffled closer, worming your way under his blanket and curling yourself against his side. "matcha is different. matcha tastes like grass and i'm convinced that it's some kind of brainwash of the masses thing. no offence." you were guilty of having opinions on a lot of things—one of the things he loved the most about you— but matcha was high up on that list because it made no sense at all.

"none taken." he huffed as he snaked his arm around you shoulders, metal hand rubbing circles against your shoulder as you carried on eating. "you do have a point, though. it's like blended up grass that people pay for the privilege of. what's wrong with a normal cup of coffee, huh? kids these days. but…" he reached over and plucked the plate from your hands despite your protests, setting it down on the coffee table.

"i can think of something else i'd rather have for dinner, for the record." he lay you down against the couch, hands warm against your sides as they slipped under your t-shirt. a whine left the back of your throat as your back arched up off the couch as you tried to chase his touch—heat already brewing between you thighs. "not fair…" you breathed softly as his fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down slowly. he pressed a kiss just above your navel, using his nose to nudge your t-shirt up. "who said anything about fair? life's not fair." he murmured against your skin as his kisses trailed lower and lower until he reached the waistband of you underwear, pulling back just enough to look up at you.

you were wrecked already, an effect that only he'd ever managed to have on you. he put his hands on you and suddenly your brain turned to mush and you'd never had a cohesive thought in your life, and you were okay with that. your hands flew out on instinct, fingers curling around his hair and tugging as your underwear joined your shorts somewhere on the floor. "bucky…" you whined as he nudged your legs apart with his shoulders as he settled between them. "just trying to see my girl, look at her. so wet for me already, you're so easy sometimes."

your hips jumped up as dived in, his tongue flattening against your clit as his way of easing you in before he really started, circling and sucking and teasing as you turned into a trembling mess underneath him, hands still tugging at his hair. the way your thighs tremble around his head feels like a reward, paired with the moans and whines spilling from you freely. it's almost like a game for him, seeing how much he can pull from you. "fuck—you can't—oh god, don't stop, please…" you were vaguely aware of the words that were spewing out from you as his hands come up to your hips, vibranium cool against overheated skin as he pinned you down to try and stop the squirming.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his chin already dripping with your slick as a grin spread across his face. "you want me to stop, baby? you gotta use your words for that, c'mon. you're a big girl, or have you gone all shy on me?" he cooed as one hand slipped down from you hip, brushing past your thigh. "poor baby, dumb already. look at you." his words snapped something inside of you, the last of your restraint crumbling as your hips bucked wildly and he stopped trying to hold them down.

"please. please, fuck—i—" you whimpered as he slipped a finger inside, crooking it just right but it wasn't enough. it was never enough. you needed the stretch, needed to be fuller. "more. you need—i need more." you pleaded, and who was he to deny you? he slipped another finger inside, moving them rhythmically as he hit that spot that had you seeing stars as you repeated his name over and over again like a prayer. you rutted against his hand shamelessly as you chased the friction—anything to get you over the edge.

when you did reach it, it felt like a live wire running straight through you.

every muscle in your body seized up as it burst like dam, your climax washing over you as you saw nothing but white for a couple of seconds as you lost yourself in the pleasure. it tore through you in waves and for a minute, you thought it was never gonna end. "that's it, baby. that's it. you did so well. look at how good you were for me. good girl." he murmured as he guided you through it, sitting back on his heels as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. everything softened as he looked down at you underneath him, panting and writhing—your skin flushed from exertion. "hey, look at me." he reached down and tipped your chin up until your eyes found his. "you good?"

you blinked at him slowly, your body shuddering through an aftershock, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. "can't feel my legs, you bastard." you huffed as your hands finally left his hair, shoving his shoulder weakly instead. he chuckled as his thumb traced lazy circles against the inside of your thigh. "it was all that talk about dinner." he teased. "made me hungry for my girl, can you blame me? you can keep your girl dinner, i'm good right here."

[superbassbuck]

american pie. | steve and bucky (18+) ᯓ★ chapter one. the dbf! mini-series masterlist.

⤷ dbf!steve rogers x f!reader x dbf!bucky barnes

⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, dad's best friend au, sexual tension, age gap, forbidden relationships, dips into taboo territory, jealousy, possessive behavior, size difference, they both have dad bods and big dicks bc I said so, mentions of alcoholism and recovery, love marks, groping, dry humping

⭐︎ word count: 10.9k

⭐︎ a/n: i've been wanting to write some sort of dbf fic inspired by the song "im on fire" by bruce springsteen, and what better way to do it then make it fourth of july americana themed? here goes the first part, and i hope you guys like it! link to the fic playlist if you'd like to follow along :)

synopsis: Your dad always kept his inner circle of friends small and close. Steve Rogers was one of them. He was respectful, kind, and someone you looked up to and trusted. What you didn't understand, though, was how your dad could also be best friends with a broody, grumpy man like Bucky Barnes. But when your dad leaves for a work trip over the Fourth of July, Bucky decides to remind you exactly why he’s so close with your father—except Steve keeps getting in his way to stop him.

← previous fic | main masterlist

You and your dad always had a plan for the Fourth of July weekend.

In the morning, you both would go to the 24-hour diner just a few blocks away in your pajamas and order the classic All American Breakfast. It was a tower of buttermilk pancakes with a side of bacon and sunny side up eggs cooked to perfection.

By noon, you’d be swimming with friends and family under the bright, burning sunlight while your dad took over the backyard. He would have the grill ready, making the best burgers— the kind that were a little burnt at the edges, and hot dogs that were charred and crispy on the outside but soft and juicy on the inside.

Beers and seltzers would already be chilled in the coolers, the ice nearly melted because it couldn’t keep up with the summer heat, and you’d crack a cold one just as the sun went down and the fireworks began to light up the sky.

Fourth of July weekend was the holiday you looked forward to most—so when your dad told you he wouldn’t be home for it, you could only imagine your disappointment.

You were lying in your bedroom with every intention of sleeping in since every plan for the weekend was out window, but the sun piercing through the glass window and the sound of rustling in the living room downstairs woke you up.

Climbing out of bed tiredly, your bare feet padded softly down the wooden steps. You were still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes by the time you reached the kitchen.

“Dad?” you mumbled sleepily. “You’re home already—?”

Once the sleepy vision fog cleared, what you found in your kitchen was not your father, but rather...

“Not your daddy,” Steve said, turning to face you from the kitchen island. He set the mail he’d just picked up and his spare keys down on the counter. “But someone better.”

The spare keys.

The ones your dad had lent to Steve for ‘emergencies’—which he never actually used them for but instead used them to come over whenever he wanted, watch TV, and crash on the couch. But you didn’t mind, because you liked and respected Steve.

Plus, it had been a while since you had last seen him.

“Well, are you just gonna stand there and gawk? Or are you gonna give your good ol’ Steve a hug?”

You flashed a droopy, sleepy grin as you met him at the counter. Getting up on your tippy toes, you raised your hands to wrap them around his neck, and he returned the gesture with a tight hug around your waist.

“Mmm,” he hummed with a squeeze. “There she is.”

“What are you doing here, Stevie?” you asked as you pulled away.

“What? You don’t like seeing your dad’s favorite best friend over?” he asked with a playful grin and a matching head tilt.

You chuckled tiredly. “That’s not it, and you know it. It’s just… what brings you here? My dad isn’t even in town.”

“That’s the point, sweetie.” He leaned back against the counter, folding his large arms over his broad chest.

You swore he was too old to be wearing shirts that were always one size too small for him.

“I know how much celebrating the Fourth of July means to you—and since he’s out of town… well… I figured I’d take over the celebration.”

You crossed your arms and raised a brow, half suspicious yet half amused. “Did he make you do this?”

“What? No. I’m doing this out of the kindness of my old heart,” he chuckled lightly. “And besides, I wouldn’t want to celebrate my birthday alone this year. So… how ‘bout it? A fun weekend with just you and me?”

Hanging out with Steve on the Fourth of July weekend was far better than doing nothing all alone. And by hanging out with Steve, it meant he’d pay for everything—breakfast and all. You knew you couldn’t turn him down—not that you wanted to—but you still wanted to try and pull his leg.

“I don’t know,” you sighed dramatically, running a finger along the tile of the counter. “You should’ve asked me a lot sooner. My friends already planned something this week.”

You didn’t even need to look up to see Steve’s frown.

“But it’s also my birthday,” he said pathetically. “You wouldn’t leave me all alone on the Fourth of July now, would you?”

You had to bite back a smile. He looked like a kicked golden retriever. It was never a question of how or why your dad became friends with Steve Rogers—he was just too much of a likable guy all around.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—I guess I’ll spend it with you.”

His smile was so wide it was contagious.

“That’s my girl.”

Steve swiped the keys off the counter and twirled the keychain around his rough finger. “Your dad told me all about your guys’ adventures over a beer one time. Wouldn’t shut up about it. So the only right way to do this is by starting off with breakfast at a diner, right?”

Your lips quirked into a half smile as you bit your lip. “Not just any diner. It’s Mama Joann’s, just a few blocks away. And not just any breakfast, either. We get the—”

“—All American,” Steve finished with a smug grin. “I know. Your old man talks a lot.”

He pocketed his phone and wallet into his jeans and nodded towards the front door. “I’ll get the car started. Go on and get dressed now.”

When you didn’t move an inch, he paused and raised a brow at you.

“Guess my ‘old man’ forgot to mention during his ramblings that we actually go in our pajamas,” you explained, waving a finger at him. “So technically—you’re the one who isn't dressed.”

Steve’s face was unreadable as he scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“Honey, if you wanted to see me in nothing but my underwear, you should’ve just told me.”

Your face immediately warmed at his bold statement. “Y-you—! What—!”

But before you could even stammer out a coherent sentence, Steve was already walking out the front door to wait for you.

A red 1966 Ford Mustang was parked at the curb of your house. It was an old thing that made more odd sounds than it did distance.

It was Steve’s pride and joy—that typical man project he was always working on in his garage. He rarely ever took it out, occasionally driving it around the neighborhood just to keep the engine breathing. You guessed he had actually planned on spending time with you this weekend before today, because he’d gotten it all fixed up and ready just for you.

The car creaked and groaned as it made its way to Mama Joann’s, the radio connected to an aux cord playing Bob Dylan—his favorite.

He had the top down, leaving your hair to whip wildly in the wind. You caught him glancing at you through the side mirrors.

“What are you staring at, Stevie?” you asked without looking at him.

Steve held the wheel with one hand, while the other rested casually on the gear shift. “Nothin’,” he said, a grin evident in his tone. “It’s just… your pajamas.”

“And what about them?” You looked down at yourself, peering over the rim of your sunglasses. You were wearing a soft white tank top and a pair of light pink plaid sleeping shorts. “Did you take me out to breakfast just to make fun of my sleeping clothes?”

He chuckled—deep and raspy. He glanced over at you, blue eyes dancing over the rim of his own dark sunglasses as they traced the curve of your bare leg up to your tank top. You realized just then that you weren’t wearing a bra, since you never slept in one and hadn’t bothered to put one on.

“Not making fun of you, sweetie,” he said, pinning his focus back on the road. “Just think the shorts are cute and all.”

Despite the wind blowing in your face, you still felt warm.

Finally pulling into Mama Joann’s busy parking lot, Steve stepped out of the car.

When riding with Steve, he never let you open the doors yourself. He would quickly park, scramble over to your side, and hold the door open for you. Every time he did it, your dad would always say, “See what Uncle Stevie does for you? This is why I won’t let you settle for anybody less.”

“Thank you,” you said with a smile, grabbing his hand. “But you know you don’t have to do that when my dad’s not around, right?”

“When has your dad being here ever mattered?” he asked genuinely, raising an eyebrow as he shut the door behind you and locked it.

You shrugged. “You know how he is—he’ll always be like, ‘Look at Steve! When you get a boyfriend, make sure he respects you like Steve does,’ yadayada.”

A short snort left his lips as he held the diner door open for you. “Honey, I don’t think there’s any man out there who’ll be respectable enough for you anyway. It’s best you save yourself from the disappointment and stay single.”

You raised a brow at that. Sometimes, you found him acting more paternal than your actual father did with how often he lectured you.

The bell chimed with a welcoming jingle, and Steve stepped in right behind you.

As always, Joann was walking around with a black apron wrapped around her waist, refilling the coffee cups of everyone seated at the booths. The bell chiming caught her attention, and she smiled upon seeing you.

“There you are!” she greeted so loudly it caused the customers to look up at you and Steve. “You had me believin’ for a second that you’d be missin’ out on a yearly tradition.”

She set the pot down, motioning to the booth by the window that she always gave to you and your dad.

Speaking of which…

“Now, this handsome man next to you ain’t your daddy,” she said, nodding to the six foot two man standing right beside you. “Who’s this? And is he single?” she asked shamelessly.

Steve chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m Steve—a good friend of her dad’s.”

“Hey, Joann,” you waved with a smile. “My dad is out of town for a work trip, so Steve insisted on taking me out for the Fourth of July weekend.”

You two slid into the booth as Joann laid two menus over the sticky wooden table.

“Well, ain’t he sweet,” she cooed. “I know you and your dad always get the All American, but in case your friend here wants somethin’ different, I’ll give you guys some time to look over the menu.”

Then, before leaving, she threw a wink in Steve’s direction, though she was talking to you. “And if Mr. Steve wants to hang out with someone more… age-appropriate—just know that the folks in town call me Mama for a reason—”

“—Okay, thanks, Joann!” you quickly dismissed her with a burning face and an embarrassed wave of your hand.

Steve chuckled, lifting the menu and leaning back in the booth. It looked way too small for a man his size with the way he filled the space.

“She’s a sweetheart, isn’t she?” he joked.

You blew a raspberry and gave him a look, glancing at your own menu despite already knowing what you were going to order. “Should I invite her back over to have breakfast with us, then?”

Steve grinned wolfishly. If he didn’t know any better, he might’ve assumed you were jealous. His eyes raked over the menu. “So, the All American, you said?”

You nodded enthusiastically, looking giddy as you smiled brightly over the top of the menu. “It’s the best thing here. Joann’s buttermilk pancakes are the best—better than anything you can get from a chain.”

You pointed to where it said ‘with a side of bacon and sausage’ on the menu, and tapped on the bacon text. “And make sure to get the bacon extra crispy.”

“Geez,” Steve huffed a laugh, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling up handsomely. “Sounds like you and your dad know what you’re doing.”

You laughed at the fond memory of your father taking you to this same diner since you were a little girl. The fact that he wasn’t here to celebrate was saddening, but you couldn’t have asked for a better man to spend it with than Steve.

You watched as he reached for his coffee mug, his large hands cradling the ceramic. It looked tiny and weightless in his grip, the tight hold emphasizing the veins and roughness of his hands. He lifted the mug to his lips, blowing on it gently before swallowing in slow gulps that made his Adam’s apple bob.

You swallowed hard and tried to avert your gaze so he wouldn’t catch you staring. But instead, your eyes trailed lower to his built chest and the way his stomach slightly pushed against his tight shirt.

He set his mug down and glanced up.

He caught you staring, and he smiled.

You quickly tried to save face.

“Yeah, um—I bet the calorie intake will probably throw off your entire game,” you stammered out with a chuckle that sounded awkward and nervous. Jesus. What were you saying?

‘Nervous’, however, wasn’t in Steve’s vocabulary.

Awkward? Probably.

“What?” he frowned.

Steve glanced down at himself, noticing his slouch and the way his belly seemed… a bit softer as of late. He had one too many steaks and far too many beers.

He looked back up at you, his grin turning slow and lazy. He rested his large forearms on the edge of the table, leaning in just enough to make himself look even more imposing.

“What’s the matter?” he murmured, his voice dropping deep and gravelly in a way that made your nerves dance. “A girl like you doesn’t like a man with a little meat on his bones?”

Your breath hitched and your eyes widened. Before you could even stammer out a response, he continued.

“Besides,” his blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he maintained eye contact, “don’t you think I need a little extra fuel if I’m gonna keep up with you all weekend? Unless you’re planning on keeping me busy enough to burn it all off, that is.”

It was way too early for Steve fucking Rogers, of all people, to be making you feel this way.

This unexpected, flustered and butterflies-in-your-stomach type of feeling caused by your own father’s best friend.

You had never seen Steve in any light other than as your father’s highly respectable, closest friend. At this point, you couldn’t tell if he was just taunting you like he normally did, or if he was actually flirting. But with the way he was looking and smiling at you—no.

Surely, he wouldn’t take that risk.

Then again, with your dad out of town, maybe there was a side to Steve he usually kept hidden—one you knew nothing about, but was now curious to unravel.

Desperate for a distraction, you grabbed your own coffee mug, which had cooled down enough for you to swallow it in big, hasty gulps.

“Easy, girl.”

“Just…” you wiped your lips, “…thirsty.”

Steve grinned. “Coffee is a diuretic, silly goose.”

And there was the taunt. You mentally groaned, wanting to kick yourself for even entertaining the possibility that Steve would ever blur the line between himself and his best friend’s daughter.

“It’s too early for you to be teasing me like this, Stevie,” you mumbled shyly, tracing your finger along the wooden table.

Steve wore a wolfish grin, resting both of his large arms on the table as they crossed over each other, taking up even more space in the tiny booth. “Sorry, I can’t help it,” he snickered. “Especially when you react the way you do.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean—” you started to say, but your words died in your throat as a large presence that was hard to ignore fell over the booth.

“What do we have here?”

The voice was gruff and deep, lacking the playful warmth you and Steve had just been exchanging. You and Steve both froze, staring up at Bucky, who stood at the edge of the table holding his own coffee mug. His expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you as you sat there completely dumbfounded.

He raised a brow at your silent, wide eyed stares. “There a party going on that I don’t know about?”

While your father was best friends with Steve, you didn’t know how your father also managed to become best friends with a man like Bucky Barnes.

Growing up, Bucky had his share of good moments—he helped you learn how to drive, despite snapping at you impatiently whenever you hit the curb. He picked you up from parties whenever you were too drunk to get yourself home, and he would often spoil you with sweet treats or something he found at a store, always with a simple, “Saw this running errands, thought you might like it.”

But, in return, Bucky also had plenty of bad moments.

He was incredibly specific about how he liked things. If you ever tried to help him or your dad with something—like the grill or fixing a drink— Bucky would already be over your shoulder, nudging you away and taking the tongs right out of your hands.

“I got it. You’re just making a mess.”

There were times where you would be dressed up to go out with friends, and he would be sitting on the porch with your dad for a smoke. He would look you up and down, eyes lingering, and say something like, “You’re really going out looking like that? Go put a jacket on.”

Or sometimes, when your dad was away and you needed a hand around the house whether it be checking on the locks or fixing a leak, Bucky would show up, but he’d be short tempered the entire time. He would constantly scoff while he worked, acting like he had a million better places to be.

Your dad always told you that Bucky was part of the family—that it was just how he was, and that was how he showed his love.

But you didn’t buy it.

You felt like he had something personal against you.

And… it also felt like he might have something personal against Steve, too.

“Bucky,” Steve greeted, though it sounded more like a warning.

Or maybe, it was Steve that had something personal against him.

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to meet Steve’s, holding his gaze for a long moment. “Steve.”

While the two men stared at each other in a silent competition, you took this opportunity to take in Bucky. He wore a dark leather jacket that had seen better days with a white tank top—that strained against his thick lower belly—tucked beneath his belt and jeans.

Bucky tore his gaze away from Steve to look down at you.

“Well?” Bucky’s lips tugged into a lazy, tired smirk. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There were times when Bucky would disappear, going M.I.A. for weeks at a time. It had gotten to the point where even your father had gotten involved, leaving late at night, scrambling out the door with nothing but a hasty, “Don’t wait up for me, okay? Uncle Bucky is… uh, going through something and he needs me right now.”

It hadn’t taken you long to piece together that your father kept having to pick him up from bars, or even the police station. Yet despite his recent wrongdoings, just like your father, you still had a soft spot for him that you could never push away, no matter how much he worried you.

“Of course I am,” you finally said.

Even with your lack of enthusiasm, Bucky seemed pleased with your answer. His leather jacket creaked as he gestured with his coffee mug to the empty spot on the bench right next to you. “Mind if I sit? Or is this seat reserved for someone else?”

“Sit down, Buck,” Steve said. All the warmth he had shared with you gone and thrown out the window now that Bucky was here. “We were just about to order.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, pursing his lips as he gave a short nod. “Good.”

He set his mug down on the wooden table and slid right next to you in the booth. His denim clad knee brushed roughly against your bare leg, making you shudder and feel even smaller. “Because I’m starving.”

Bucky rested his hands on the table, intertwining his fingers. He looked like he worked with his hands, and he smelled like Marlboro Reds.

You could see the dirt trapped underneath his fingernails, his skin calloused—the rough texture of someone who spent his life either fixing things or breaking them. He scratched the stubble on his chin.

Just like Steve, it looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks.

He caught your gaze and smiled, letting his eyes trail down to your legs. “Cute pajamas.”

Steve’s eyebrow twitched.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, looking down and playing with a stray string that had come loose from your shorts. “My dad—well, when he’s actually in town—likes to take me to this diner on the morning of the Fourth of July weekend. It’s usually our tradition.”

While Steve already knew your tradition with your father like the back of his hand, Bucky had no clue.

“Ain’t that sweet,” Bucky hummed in amusement, giving you his full attention. “What else do you and your dad do? I wanna hear all about it.”

You smiled just thinking about it. “We always host—”

“—a party in their backyard, grilling burgers, drinking beer, and swimming,” Steve cut in, taking a sip of his coffee as he glared a sharp dagger straight into Bucky’s eyes. “The one he hosted last year was fun. And the one before that too. It’s a shame you missed it, Buck.”

Steve wasn’t being sympathetic at all, and both of you knew it. He was being petty, even immature, throwing it in Bucky's face that he hadn’t been around for any of the holidays—or that he didn't even know your father was out of town, for that matter.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, but he kept his smile up, trying to save face just for you.

“Is that right?” he murmured. “Guess I had some important business to take care of last summer. But I’m here now, Stevie. So why don’t you fill me in on what else I missed?

Steve had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something offensive.

“You missed a lot, Buck,” Steve said flatly. “More than you think.”

You sat there, sandwiched between a tension that was rapidly becoming suffocating.

It was clear that whatever Steve and Bucky had going on—which you had no clue about—they never communicated or resolved. You figured it might have had something to do with Bucky and his recent downward spiral—traveling down a wrong, bumpy path with signs that led to nowhere. But you weren’t going to sit here and become their mediator.

Clearing your throat, you caught both of their attention.

“I have to use the bathroom,” you announced. “If Joann comes by, you already know what to order for me. Bucky, will you excuse me, please?”

Bucky nodded before sliding out of the seat. He offered his hand to help you out of the booth, and the two older men watched you walk off towards the restroom. As you left, Bucky wore a grin that Steve knew all too well—a smile that meant nothing but trouble.

“Look at her,” Bucky said, watching you from afar with a soft look in his eyes. “Our baby is all grown up.”

Steve scoffed in disbelief. “Our baby?”

The smile Bucky was wearing quickly dropped into an annoyed frown now that you were no longer there to witness it. He slid back into the booth, leaning across the table as he glared at Steve.

“What the hell is your problem?” Bucky hissed, ditching his good boy facade entirely.

“My problem?” Steve sneered, leaning across the table to meet Bucky halfway. “My problem is that you show up after months of silence whenever it’s convenient for you—bringing all sorts of trouble with you.”

Steve kept his voice low, trying to maintain enough control to avoid drawing attention to their booth.

“What the hell have you been doing these past few months?”

Bucky’s brows drew together so closely as he glared back at his childhood best friend. Before your father came into the picture, Steve and Bucky had been two peas in a pod. They were inseparable growing up, but as they got older, they naturally drifted into their own separate lives, with only occasional chatter here and there.

Steve had already gone through the whole marriage routine. He had tried to start a family with his ex-wife, Peggy, but after she cheated on him, he went through a heartbreaking divorce. Meanwhile, Bucky had suffered a string of devastating losses.

Bucky had always prided himself on being a family man, and when he lost it all, he felt like he had nothing left. His mother, Winnie, and his sister, Rebecca, had both passed away in the same year. From there, Bucky fell into a dark stupor, finding comfort only in solitude and alcohol.

Over time, Steve grew to despise the way Bucky coped—hating to watch his best friend drink himself silly and end up in places he shouldn’t be. Bucky, on the other hand, hated being lectured by Steve. He believed that a true friend should support him at all costs, through all the good and the bad.

Eventually, they both just kept their distance, leaving you and your dad as the middle ground.

“I’m in recovery, Steve,” Bucky protested weakly, his fingers digging into his palm as he tightened his fist.

“Yeah?” Steve scoffed with a bitter smile. “And how’s that working out for you?”

Regret washed over Bucky’s blue eyes, and for a split second, Steve nearly softened. But he couldn’t. His friend had pulled his leg for far too long. The mental reminders of Bucky taking advantage of him over the years were enough to make Steve push down his guilt.

“Look, I’m trying, okay?” Bucky muttered, staring into his half-empty mug. “I just wanted to pay a quick visit to town—see how you and her dad are doing.”

“See how he and I are doing?” Steve folded his arms across his chest, sitting back. “Or see how she’s doing?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He kept his head down but raised his eyes to glare back at him. “And if I was, is there something wrong with that?”

Steve really tried his best to keep his composure. Bucky knew exactly how to get under his skin—using a voice that could pass for innocent when it was anything but.

“You have no right showing up back in town after all the bullshit you pulled. Did you even know her father was out of town? Or did you take advantage of him being gone just so you could spend time with her?” When Steve realized how loud he was getting—catching the attention of some of the diner staff—he dropped his voice to a harsh whisper.

“If you’re still involved with whatever shit you were getting into, leave it behind. Don’t drag her into this—”

“—Jesus. Where the hell is the waitress?” Bucky muttered, throwing his arm over the back of the seat and looking behind him.

Steve snapped his fingers to yank his attention back. “And don’t think for a second I didn’t notice you checking her out. Are you fucking kidding me, Buck? She’s your best friend’s daughter!”

“Hey—all I did was call her shorts cute.” Bucky turned back to Steve. “I was just being nice.”

Steve ran out of scoffs to give. “You’re a lot of things, Bucky, but you’ve never been subtle.”

Bucky could feel his own patience frying. “Wanna know what’s funny, Stevie?”

“What?”

Now, it was Bucky’s turn to lean in so no one else could eavesdrop. “To an outsider, you look like an old, perverted man taking a young, respectable lady out on a date. Come on, Steve. How old are you again?” he tilted his head with that taunting tone that made Steve’s blood boil. “You’re drilling me so hard over something so trivial, but you’re no saint either.”

Steve slammed his hand on the table, causing the wood to shake and making the family of four at the next table gasp. So much for being discreet.

“What the hell kind of person are you trying to make me out to be?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it,” Bucky shot back. “A pretty girl like her—looking up at you the way she does, with that cute smile of hers.”

Steve opened his mouth, his face turning a furious shade of crimson. “What are you saying—!”

Bucky held his gaze, his eyes boring deeply into Steve’s. “Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t thought about fucking her, Steve.”

Neither of them had noticed Joann standing there, her pen poised over her notepad. She stared at them completely dumbfounded, her mouth slightly agape in shock.

“Uh,” she drawled, her gaze shifting slowly between the two grown men. “What’ll it be, boys?”

Both Steve and Bucky blinked up at her.

They cleared their throats rapidly and sat back, trying to put as much distance between each other as the small booth allowed. Steve forced his charming smile back onto his face, acting as if he hadn’t just slammed his hand down and yelled a second ago. Across from him, Bucky crossed his leg and turned his head, pressing a hand over his mouth to hide his frustration as he forced himself to look out the window.

“We’ll have the All American,” Steve said.

Joann jotted down their orders—along with an extra chocolate milkshake added by Bucky, which earned him a side-eye from Steve, since Steve was the one paying for it all.

On your way back from the bathroom, you bumped right into her.

“Oh, hey Joann. Did you already take our orders?”

“Sure did, but honey, you better be careful with those two,” Joann warned, pointing her pen over her shoulder toward your booth with a worried expression. “They look like they bite.”

The chance to elaborate was long gone as she was already walking off towards the kitchen. Turning your attention back to the booth, you saw Steve pressing his cheek against his palm, staring morosely out the window, while Bucky casually sipped his coffee.

You smiled to yourself, oblivious to all the tension.

From where you stood, it looked like they had gotten along just fine while you were gone.

The breakfast platters were already cleared away, leaving nothing but a pile of crumpled napkins and Bucky’s drained milkshake glass.

Up front by the old cash register, Steve stood with his back to the booth, digging into his wallet as Mama Joann rang up the bill. Even from behind, Steve’s broad shoulders were still stiff from his earlier irritation.

Breakfast had gone by smoothly enough—though it wasn’t quite as fun as it normally was with your dad, you still appreciated their company. The entire time, however, it felt like they were talking to you rather than to each other. Every time Bucky asked you a question, you would answer, only for Steve to immediately grab your attention next. Once you replied to Steve, Bucky would subtly try to fight for your focus again.

The whole dining experience felt more like a job interview than spending time with close family friends.

Now, you were left alone in the booth with Bucky. With Steve away from the table, Bucky’s shoulders eased up just slightly.

“So,” he drawled. “What are you and Stevie going to do after this?”

You thought about it for a moment, realizing you and Steve hadn’t actually planned much of anything.

“I’m… I’m actually not sure,” you replied with a shrug. “Breakfast was all we talked about today.”

“Sounds boring, and sounds just like Steve,” Bucky said, leaning back against the seat and draping his arm over the top as he looked down at you.

Under his cold stare, you always felt so small.

You knew Bucky was the kind of man who just took what he wanted—and right now, it felt like he only wanted you.

“You remember Becca’s old house? The one by the lake?” he asked.

You blinked, caught off guard. Ever since his sister’s passing, your father had strictly warned you never to bring up Bucky’s family. It was only safe to do so if Bucky brought them up first, and even then, you had to be careful to avoid any painful triggers.

“I do,” you nodded, keeping your response brief to let him control the conversation.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been over there,” Bucky explained, his blue eyes studying your face. “I think I can fix up her old boat in the shed. Maybe we can take it out for a spin on the lake.”

Your mouth parted slightly with a loss for words. Bucky was inviting you to his late sister’s house? To ride on her boat, no less? He rarely ever spoke about Rebecca, let alone extended an invitation to her place. You were pretty sure not even your dad had ever been invited over there.

“And considering it’s been some time since I last saw you, I think it’d be a great opportunity for us to catch up,” Bucky added.

“Catch up on what?”

Both you and Bucky looked up to find Steve standing at the edge of the booth. He was pocketing his wallet in the back of his jeans, taking in your wide eyes and Bucky’s slouched, unbothered posture.

Bucky kept his arm draped casually over the seat behind you. “Just telling her about Becca’s old place,” he said with that smug tone. “Thinking about going down to the lake later. Get some fresh air. You know, since you didn’t make any plans.”

Steve’s jaw clenched so hard you were sure you heard his teeth click. He crossed his arms tightly over his broad chest, glaring down at Bucky.

“Oh, is that so?” Steve huffed. He then shifted his gaze to you. “And what did she say about it?”

Being put on the spot made your stomach drop. It felt like there was no right answer.

Your eyes flickered back and forth between them. You could understand Steve’s apprehension—Bucky’s reputation hadn’t been... the best, as of late. But looking at Bucky, seeing as much hope as he could muster in those tired blue eyes and the vulnerability of him sharing a piece of his late sister’s memory with you, you already knew your answer.

“I’d love to check out Becca’s house and ride on the boat,” you finally said.

Bucky let out a quiet breath of relief, while Steve’s brows pinched together in disbelief.

“…But,” you added quickly, “I think it’d be fun if Steve tagged along, too.”

The disgruntled noise that left Bucky’s mouth would’ve made you laugh, but the way Steve’s eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets beat you to it.

Bucky pulled his arm back, throwing you an incredulous look that he didn't even bother trying to hide. “Sweetheart, I was actually hoping it would be just the two of us—”

“I would love to come,” Steve interjected, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face that Bucky wanted nothing more than to wipe off.

A smile broke across your face. You knew there was still an underlying tension between them, but the prospect of visiting Rebecca’s old house for the first time and riding in a boat was far better than sitting around doing nothing.

“Yay!” You clasped your hands together, your enthusiastic gaze flickering between the two of them. “Steve and I will stop by the house first so I can change—”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You already extended an unwanted invite to Steve, and I’ll only forgive you if you don’t keep me waiting.”

He kept his eyes locked on Steve as he slid out of the booth, rising to his full height to meet him face to face.

“You remember the way to Becca’s house?” he asked.

“‘Course I do.”

“Good.” Bucky spared a quick glance down at you as you began sliding out of the booth yourself, before turning his attention back to Steve. He leaned in, voice dripping quietly so only Steve could catch it.

“Don’t have too much fun with her on the way, yeah?”

Steve only glared harder.

On the drive to Rebecca’s house, you noticed Steve’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles taut. One of his favorite songs came on the radio, and he didn’t even care to acknowledge it.

There was something deeply wrong between him and Bucky—something you had missed entirely while you were in the bathroom.

Finally mustering the courage, you decided to address it. “Steve—”

“There’s something you should know about Bucky,” Steve cut you off, deciding to it for you.

“Okay,” you murmured, prompting him to continue.

“I don’t know how much your dad has told you,” Steve said, letting out a deep breath through his nose. “But Bucky’s been through a lot. He isn’t the same guy he used to be. I know he’s… family to you, and I know your dad trusts him. But Bucky’s been running with a bad crowd lately. Getting into things he shouldn’t be, making promises he can’t keep. He’s reckless.”

You leaned back slightly in your seat, your right arm propped on the window sill as you watched Bucky’s truck ahead of you. Everything he was saying to you wasn’t exactly new.

“Where are you going with this?”

“He treats everything like a game. People, relationships,” Steve continued.

He paused for a moment, chewing his bottom lip in apprehension as he tried to find the right words.

“I recognize the way he’s looking at you, and I don’t like it one bit. He’s looking at you like a distraction from his own mess. I just... I don’t want to see you get hurt, or caught in the middle of whatever trouble he’s dragging behind him.”

You slowly let out the breath you had been holding.

For the most part, you were grateful that Steve was actually being open with you about Bucky and his bad habits. Whenever Bucky’s name came up around your father, your dad was always quick to beat around the bush, never addressing anything seriously.

“Ah, Bucky is just going through a rough patch right now.”

“He’s just in another one of his moods. Leave him be.”

“I invited Bucky to your birthday party, but he… he couldn’t make it. You know how he is.”

Even though Bucky was everything a girl like you should avoid, at the end of the day, he was like family. And the idea of him being alone this weekend while he was back in town killed you.

He had his ups and downs, and as much of a grumpy old man he could be now, you weren’t going to throw away all the good times just because of the bad.

“I’m a big girl, Steve,” you reassured him, glancing over. He kept his gaze locked on the road. “I can make my own decisions. Bucky invited me to his late sister’s boat—and despite everything, I couldn’t refuse that. You know why.”

Up ahead, Bucky’s truck slowed down, turning left onto a narrow, gravel driveway lined with overgrown pine trees. The reflection of the sun hit the lake and shone through the branches in the distance.

Steve pulled up right behind him, shifting the car into park but keeping his foot firmly on the brake. He turned fully in his seat to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours with earnesty.

“I know. It’s just… promise me you’ll stay close to me today,” Steve pleaded softly.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and gave him a reassuring smile. You nodded towards Bucky’s truck, where he was just hopping out of the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut.

“You act like he’s going to murder me.”

Despite your attempt at a joke, Steve’s expression didn’t waver.

“Your dad left you under my watch, so in a way, I feel responsible for protecting you—”

“—protecting her from what?” Bucky asked, slapping his calloused hands against Steve’s window and leaning over. “Woah—this car is still running? You know, my sister used to love this thing. Coulda’ sworn you were gonna win her over with it every time you pulled up to the house.”

Steve gave Bucky a deadpan look. With a grunt, he pushed his door open—forcing Bucky out of the way. But just as Steve started walking around to your side to open your door, Bucky beat him to it.

“Watch your step,” Bucky said, holding your hand to help you out of the seat. “Lots of rocks.”

“Since when did you get so sweet?” you teased, sandals stepping down onto the crunching gravel.

Bucky chuckled—a low, raspy sound as he shook his head. “Geez, you really think I’m an awful guy, don’t you?”

You gave him a small smile, which he returned with a gentle one of his own before letting go of your fingers.

Steve kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot. He didn’t like this interaction one bit, but he swallowed down his pride for your sake.

He looked around the property, taking in the overgrown grass and the faded paint on the siding of the old house. The place hadn’t been maintained in what looked and felt like years. The fences had once been painted a bright coral blue—Rebecca’s favorite color—but now, they were stained with dirt and weathered from years of neglect.

Steve glanced at you, knowing you were thinking the same thing. A solemn look settled into your eyes. You knew how close Bucky and his sister had been, and leaving this house to him had obviously been more than he could handle.

Bucky stood there stiffly, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. The playful twinkle his eyes had held for you just moments ago slowly faded the longer he stared at the house.

“It hasn’t changed much,” Steve said quietly, clearing his throat. He was trying to ease the tension, even though they both knew it was a lie.

Something between a snort and a self-deprecating laugh left Bucky’s lungs.

He nodded towards the path wrapping around the side of the building. “Come on. The shed’s down by the dock.”

The three of you fell into a single file line, with you taking the middle spot. As you approached the shed, Bucky fished around in his pocket for the keys. It took him a moment to find the right one, but when he finally pushed the door open, it revealed an eighteen foot wooden motorboat right in the middle.

The deep emerald green paint on the hull was flaking away in brittle scabs, exposing the gray, sun bleached wood underneath. Inside, the white oak ribs were coated in dust and cobwebs, and the stagnant rainwater pooling in the bilge smelled faintly of rot, causing you to wrinkle your nose.

Bucky took the first step inside, his hand reaching out to gently touch the worn steering wheel.

“We’ll get her fixed up today,” he murmured. “We’ll take her out on the lake.”

He spoke so softly you weren’t sure if he was talking to you, or to himself.

“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve hesitated, dragging a finger along the side. “She might leak like a sieve if you put her in the water right now. You’re gonna need a miracle to get this thing to turn over, let alone idle.”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped, his expression turning somber. He knew Steve was right, and seeing that defeated look pulled at your heart. He was already carrying so much emotionally, it ached to watch him rarely try to plan something special, only to see it fall apart.

“Chin up, you guys,” you spoke up enthusiastically, breaking the silence. “It doesn’t look that bad. Especially since there’s three of us—we can fix this in no time.”

Steve raised a skeptical brow at you. “You’ve never even touched a boat, sweetheart. There’s a lot of heavy lifting to be done here.”

“Well—it’s a good thing I’ve got two strong men by my side!” you joked, hopeful eyes flickering between the two of them. “Even if we don’t fix it completely, even if we just end up floating out there,” you shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips, “at least we got it on the lake, right?”

That, at least, managed to pull a small smile from Bucky.

And with the soft spot Steve always had for you, he knew he couldn’t deny your wishes.

With a reluctant sigh, he started moving around the shed, scanning the shelves for the tools they would need. “Well? What are we standing around for, then?”

For the rest of the afternoon, the three of you worked side by side to bring Rebecca’s old boat back to life.

Steve and Bucky took turns with the heavy lifting, hauling out the rusted battery and helping each other realign the heavy parts of the inboard motor. Bucky insisted on handling the delicate mechanical work—scraping away layers of rust, cleaning out the gummed up carburetor, and replacing the brittle fuel lines.

You did your best to help where you could, taking a wire brush to the flaking paint on the hull and wiping down the dusty wooden benches. Mostly, you acted as their mediator, passing wrenches and screwdrivers back and forth while they worked in relative silence.

By the time the sun began to slip behind the trees, painting the sky in beautiful shades of orange and pink, the boat was far from perfect, but it finally looked cared for again.

Bucky stood over the engine block, hands on his hips. He had discarded his leather jacket hours ago, and his shirt was now thoroughly drenched in sweat.

He looked over at you with a grin. “Think she’s good enough to take for a spin?”

Your lips started to tug into a smile. “Yes—!”

Steve shook his head, shutting you down. “No. The bilge pump is shot. It needs to be replaced before we put her in the water.”

Sitting on the wooden bench inside the boat, you glanced over your shoulder and met Steve’s eyes with a frown. “But we worked on it all day. Are you sure we can’t take it out? Not even for a little bit?”

“Without that pump, water is going to leak through the planks like crazy,” Steve explained.

But caught between your crestfallen look and the disappointed crease between Bucky’s brows, he sighed and gave in.

He checked his watch, tapping the glass. “It’s just past five. The auto parts store in town closes at seven on Fridays. If I leave right now, I can grab a replacement pump and be back before it gets dark.”

“Really? You’d do that, Stevie?” you beamed, your excitement returning in an instant.

Steve’s eyes softened. He hated how easily he gave in to you. “Yeah. I’ll be quick—just stay here, alright?”

Bucky shifted, rocking back on his heels with a rare and slightly sheepish look. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve stepped away from the boat, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. Before he turned around, he pointed a stern finger at Bucky. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

To anyone else, that saying could have passed as typical, lighthearted banter between two old friends. But you knew Steve well enough to hear the real warning underneath it.

Bucky just shrugged, unbothered. “How can I? When you’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Steve was already walking briskly up the path towards the driveway, keys jingling in his hand. He muttered something under his breath and shook his head, ignoring Bucky’s comment entirely.

The two of you watched him get into his car and drive off. The moment the sounds of Steve’s engine faded away, Bucky turned back to you.

A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face—it was a look that insinuated he was up to no good.

“How ‘bout we take her out anyway?” Bucky asked, nodding to the lake. “Just to see how long she’ll float?”

You gasped. “Bucky, no! Steve literally just said she’ll leak—”

“Steve worries too much,” Bucky scoffed, clicking his tongue. He stepped over to the stern and began pushing the boat towards the lake, ignoring the fact that you were still sitting inside. “It’ll take time for the water to really start coming in. We’ll just go out a hundred yards, turn around, and come right back.”

You knew Steve would be furious, and logically, sitting in a boat that was destined to take on water was a terrible idea. But looking at the sudden, bright spark of life in Bucky’s eyes—the first real glimpse of the carefree guy your dad used to talk about—you found yourself softening.

“A hundred yards,” you bargained, pointing a stern finger at him. “And the second my feet get wet, we turn right around.”

“Deal.”

Before you could change your mind, he shoved the boat down the wooden launch ramp. “Hold on tight!”

The cedar hull hit the once calm glassy surface of the lake with a splash, sending a hard ripple across the water. Bucky tied her off to the dock quickly, then vaulted over and immediately went to work on the flywheel.

He wrapped a pull rope around the starter, took a deep breath, and gave it a hard yank.

The engine coughed, sputtering out a cloud of blue gray smoke, but failed to catch.

“Come on,” Bucky muttered to the machine, wrapping the rope again. He gave it another tug.

This time, the engine sputtered, groaned, and then loudly chugged to life. Bucky laughed triumphantly, the sound so raspy and genuine— it made butterflies swarm in your belly.

He unhooked the mooring line from the dock and tossed it into the bow, then hopped back to the center of the boat to take the steering wheel, gliding the boat away from the dock and further into the water.

The cool lakeside breeze greeted your face, a godsend from working under the sun for hours. Surprisingly enough, the engine and boat remained stable while the sun turned the lake into a pretty pool of liquid gold.

Bucky had a gentle look on his face, the lines around his eyes creasing slightly as he wore a soft smile.

“My sister and I used to ride this boat all the time,” he explained softly, eyes boring into the sun dipping past the lake line. “We would go fishing—and she’d always hate me for catching the biggest fish.”

You smiled softly. It wasn’t often that Bucky shared a part of himself, but every time he did, it was beautiful.

“We should go fishing one day,” you said. “My dad loves fishing, and it’s been a long time since he saw you. Maybe we could do it when he gets back.” You chuckled quietly to yourself at the idea. “He’d probably be so jealous if he found out I got to ride your boat before he did.”

Bucky hummed, the corners of his lips quirking up.

The two of you stayed quiet for a moment as he steered the boat deeper into the lake. Compared to you and Steve, your conversations with Bucky weren’t as lighthearted or enthusiastic. Majority of the time, it’s just you sitting in awkward silence—well, awkward for you—while Bucky just basks in the moment.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around these days,” he suddenly murmured, back still turned to you as he kept his focus on the sunset. “I’ve been caught up with a lot of things. I’m sure your father has told you, and I’m also sure I lost all his respect for me.” He huffed a self-deprecating laugh as he added, “Not that I deserve it, anyway.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” Even though he wouldn’t look at you, you kept your eyes on his back. “He still respects you.”

Then, Bucky slowly looked over his shoulder, eyes half lidded and tired.

“And what about you?” he rasped. “Do you still respect me?”

You tilted your head and raised a brow, not expecting him to care about your respect for him of all things.

“Of course I do, Bucky.”

“Good,” he nodded, looking back at the lake. “That’s good…”

While on the topic of respect, you couldn’t help but wonder…

“What about you? Do you respect me?”

Bucky’s lips curved up into an even bigger impish grin. “I don’t know yet,” he teased.

Your eyes bulged. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean—!”

But the already short teasing interaction got cut even shorter, a wet sensation seeping through your sandals and between your toes.

You glanced down, catching the way the water was bubbling up through the gaps in the floorboards like tiny miniature fountains. The dark pool in the bilge had risen past the soles of your sandals, and with every small wave that hit the hull, the water level crept higher toward your ankles.

“Bucky,” you gasped, lifting your foot. “Bucky! Look down!”

Bucky glanced down, that impish grin stripped off his features as he lifted his boot, now dampened with water. “Shit.”

Your eyes flickered in a panic around you. The dock looked tiny in the distance. The shoreline was far away—way further than the promised a hundred yards. In the middle of your conversation, Bucky had kept driving obliviously and you were now stranded right in the deep center of the lake.

“Bucky, we’re too far out!” you shrieked as you lifted your knees to your chest, trying to keep your feet out of the freezing water.

The bilge was filling fast, making the boat feel heavy and sluggish.

“Turn it around!” you urged.

“I’m trying—” Bucky grabbed the lever, but the moment he shifted it into reverse to swing the boat around, the engine made a startling noise with a sputter that choked on the rising water. And died.

“Shit. It’s not turning—can you swim?” He met you in the center of the boat, where it rocked dangerously, and he grabbed your wrist.

“Oh, God,” you felt your heart race in horror. Being stranded in the middle of a lake with no life vest was a far reach from your usual swimming capabilities that only belonged in a swimming pool.

“Bucky—I don’t know how—”

“It’s okay,” he tried to reassure you, grabbing both your wrists, which only caused you to panic even more. “Just hold still—”

He tried to widen his stance to keep his balance, but your flailing caused him to hiss impatiently, pulling you closer to his chest with a harsh and sudden tug.

He was strong—strong enough to cause you to collide into his chest, and without the engine running to keep the boat steady, the sudden movement tipped the vessel. The momentum caused you to fall over, bringing Bucky down with you.

A shriek managed to escape your lips before you were engulfed completely under the freezing lake water.

You flailed your arms, trying to figure out which way was up. Bucky found your wrists again, pulling you upward with him as your head broke the surface. You gasped for air, blinking the dirty lake water out of your eyes.

“I got you—I got you, okay? Just stay with me,” he reassured, his deep and asserting voice overriding your panic momentarily as his long, dark hair hung wet over his gruff face. “Don’t let go.”

You stood in the middle of the first floor bathroom with Bucky. He was frantically rubbing you down with a towel, ruffling your hair into an even wetter mop than it already was as he kept mumbling things about not wanting to get you sick, and how both your father and Steve would kill him if he did.

“I’ll be okay, Bucky,” you grabbed the towel from his hands, pausing him. “You need to take care of yourself too. You’re drenched.”

“Right. Well, I was only able to find one towel in here—” He started browsing through the other cabinets, his large hands shifting through expired bottles and dusty toiletries out of the way.

As he rummaged deeper, his movements started to slow.

Hidden behind a stack of old soap bars was a small, dusty bottle of vanilla perfume and a faded pink hair ribbon—things left abandoned by Rebecca years ago, who was… no longer around to use them.

His shoulders dropped as he just stood there, staring at them.

You frowned softly, watching the change in his expression. “Are you okay?”

He closed the cabinet door slowly and shrugged, trying to shake it off, but there was no use. “I couldn’t find another towel, so I’ll just air dry.” He answered instead.

Your frown deepened as the water droplets from his hair hit the cold tile floor.

He was soaked from head to toe, and he was shivering. You knew there might have been a spare towel somewhere in the house, but you knew Bucky didn’t want to look. It had been clear that there weren’t any signs of life in this house after his sister’s passing up until now, and if he got shaken up from just seeing the perfume bottle and hair tie alone, then you could only imagine what he’d go through if he walked through the rest of the house.

“Don’t be stupid,” you murmured softly, gathering the damp towel and pressing it against his hair.

Bucky went still, his breath hitching as you began to dry his wet strands. You wiped the back of his neck, then moved down to gently dab at his broad shoulders and the damp fabric of his shirt.

“You should take your shirt off,” you explained. “You’ll get sick.”

He huffed a short laugh, glancing subtly over his shoulder down at you. “I could say the same thing to you, but that’d be inappropriate.”

Pausing, you quickly glanced down at yourself and realized just how inappropriate this already was—even with your shirt still on.

Your white cotton tank top was soaked right through, your cold and perky nipples poking against the fabric obscenely. Your shorts, completely damp, clung tightly to the curves of your body, riding up as water drippled down your thighs.

The entire sight was improper, and you were sure Bucky was thinking the same thing—he just didn’t want to address it.

Slowly, he turned around to face you, his hands finding your wrists and gently catching them to stop you.

“Thank you for riding the boat with me,” he murmured, gently guiding your hand with the towel over his damp and stubbled cheek.

Your breath shuddered. Bucky—your dad’s friend, who was usually always walking around with grumpy frown lines and his arms crossed—looked so utterly small and vulnerable in the small space of this cold bathroom.

“Of course,” you whispered.

Bucky’s grip on your wrists loosened, his large hands sliding slowly up your forearms, past your elbows, until they found comfort on your waist.

Even though he was drenched, his hands felt warm against your skin. Pulling you closer, his thumb brushed against the bare skin of your hip bones where your tank top had rose up.

“Every time I leave town, my mind always screams at me—telling me to come back to one thing,” he spoke quietly, his eyes tracing the vulnerable column of your neck. “Not even to your dad, or to Steve, or even… this house.”

He stepped closer, one strong leg finding its way between yours as he pushed you gently back against the sink’s counter.

“But to you. Isn’t that so wrong of me?”

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until you found out he was actually waiting for an answer.

“I don’t see how that can be wrong,” you spoke, more timidly than you’d like. “We’re like family, aren’t we?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed so deep it should’ve scared you.

“That’s what makes it so wrong,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, letting his thumb glide over the curve. “Because I have these thoughts—thoughts a man like me shouldn’t have for a girl like you. Like how badly I want to kiss you.” Bucky rasped, his voice conflicted as he pulled you closer against him, until no space was left. “I know I shouldn’t. But hell, everything in my body is telling me to.”

The look in his eyes matched the conflict he poured into every single word.

His hands held you tight, keeping you trapped between the counter and his body, but the look in his eyes was begging himself to let you go.

You knew you shouldn’t encourage this. You knew this wasn’t right.

And yet…

You reached up, your fingers tangling into the wet strands of his hair, and pulled him down and met his lips with yours.

The gasp that caught in his throat was overcome by the warm sensation of your mouth. Shock paralyzed him, but the longer he felt your lips press against his, he lost all the resolve that was screaming at him to stop.

Bucky took the control he wanted to have over you for a long time. His hands gripped your waist, meeting your first gentle kiss with a rough, demanding one. He slipped his tongue in as he lifted your body up until you were sitting right on the edge of the sink counter. He stepped closer, forcing your legs to open and let him in.

He didn’t want this moment to slip away, or even grace you with the opportunity to change your mind. His hands explored all over your body, large palms sliding to cup the curve of your ass, rocking the erection that grew in his pants within seconds just from being close to you.

“Fuck—we shouldn’t do this,” he rasped against your lips before pulling away to catch his breath. “We shouldn’t—shit—”

“I don’t care,” you whimpered, your pleading eyes meeting his hungry ones. “I want this.”

A dark, raspy chuckle left his lips. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

His mouth trailed down your jawline to bury his face in the crook of your neck. He bit and suckled at your sensitive skin, making you arch your back as his hot breath and wet tongue sent shivers straight down your spine. His hands slid up, fingers hooking under the hem of your soaked white tank top and pushing the fabric up until it was bunched beneath your chin.

You shuddered as the cold air hit your skin. Bucky’s eyes were dark and hungry, staring at the water dripping down between your breasts like a taunt.

“Christ, look at you. Looking like every man’s dream,” he groaned, greedy hands coming up to cup your tits before pressing both of them together. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

He leaned down to capture one cold, perky nipple between his lips. He swirled his tongue around the peak, sucking it deep into his mouth with a tug that had your fingers gripping his shoulders in pleasure, your hips rolling up against the bulge of his lower stomach as you filled the bathroom with the slutty sounds of your breath.

You arched your back, tugging at his hair while his tongue feverishly licked and sucked at the sensitive bud. While his mouth gave its attention to one nipple, his rough fingers would play with the other. Then he would switch between the two, giving your body all the love he knew it was lacking.

Bucky pulled his face away with a wet pop of his mouth, a string of saliva connecting to your chest as he licked his lips clean.

“This… this is so wrong,” his words drifted uselessly in the air as he broke the space again, his nose to your neck as his tongue found something new to play with.

His warm mouth danced around the skin of your neck, sucking, biting, and groaning with every nibble.

He was sure to leave marks, but you didn’t have the strength to tell him to stop—you didn’t want him to.

“Keep going,” you said breathlessly, your head rolling to the side while he made love to your neck and memorized your body with his hands. “Don’t stop, Bucky—”

Suddenly, all the tension in the room shifted into something far more wicked than what was transpiring between you and Bucky.

The door slammed open, hard enough that the knob left an indent on the wall, and right there, standing in the doorframe, was Steve—who had once been holding the brand new bilge pump that had fallen and hit the floor.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!

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[agentinlove]

i think it's very nice of alpine to let bucky live in her apartment