Pregnant!reader getting nauseous while her and Bucky are running errands and Bucky being the best husband ever comforts her through it🥺🩵
The morning had started so well.
You'd managed to keep your breakfast down, your energy was surprisingly decent for twenty-two weeks pregnant, and after spending the last few weekends hiding at home because morning sickness refused to understand the word morning, you finally felt human again.
Human enough to convince Bucky that the two of you could tackle your errand list.
"It'll be fun," you'd insisted while pulling on your sneakers. "We need groceries, I want to stop by the bookstore, and I promised my mom I'd pick up those candles."
Bucky had looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug, unconvinced.
"You sure, doll?"
You'd nodded eagerly. "I'm good."
He'd smiled, unable to deny you anything. "Okay. But we're taking it slow."
Now, three stores later, you were beginning to regret every ounce of confidence you'd possessed that morning.
The grocery cart rattled quietly over the polished floor as Bucky pushed it beside you, humming absentmindedly while comparing two jars of pasta sauce. You'd wandered a few feet away to grab cereal when it hit you suddenly.
One second you were debating between cheerios and cinnomon toast crunch.
The next, your stomach rolled so violently your mouth filled with saliva.
"Oh."
Your hand immediately flew to your lips.
Bucky looked up before you'd even said his name.
"What is it?"
"I..." You swallowed hard. "I don't feel very good."
The pasta sauce was forgotten instantly and his entire attention shifted to you.
"Nauseous?"
You nodded once.
His expression softened with immediate concern.
"Come here."
He abandoned the cart right where it sat and gently guided you toward the edge of the aisle, away from the bright lights and the stream of people passing by. One large hand settled against your lower back while the other brushed loose strands of hair away from your face.
"Need to throw up?"
"I don't know."
Your voice came out embarrassingly shaky.
"I think maybe."
"Okay."
Bucky didn't panic or look frustrated. His calm eased you in the moment.
"The bathroom's up front. Can you walk?"
You nodded again.
He slipped one arm securely around your shoulders, keeping you tucked against his side as he slowly led you through the store.
"You don't have to apologize," he murmured when you started opening your mouth.
"I wasn't—"
"You were about to."
"...maybe."
His lips twitched.
"I know you."
Your eyes stung unexpectedly.
"I'm sorry we came."
Bucky suddenly stopped walking before he turned you toward him, both hands cradling your face.
"Hey."
You looked up reluctantly.
"Don't apologize for being pregnant with our baby."
A watery laugh escaped you.
"I know, but—"
"No buts."
He kissed your forehead.
"Your body's working overtime growing our little one. If it decides grocery shopping is offensive today, then grocery shopping can take it personally."
Despite the nausea clawing at your stomach, you laughed.
"There she is," he whispered warmly. "That's my girl."
The bathroom was thankfully empty.
Bucky waited just outside the door while you leaned over the sink, breathing through another wave that never quite became sickness.
When you emerged a few minutes later looking pale and exhausted, he was exactly where you'd left him.
Holding a bottle of water.
Crackers.
Peppermint gum.
And one of those tiny ginger chews you'd become mildly obsessed with during the first trimester.
You blinked.
"When did you—"
"I multitasked."
"You were gone for, like, thirty seconds."
He shrugged.
"Super soldier."
You couldn't help smiling.
He unscrewed the water bottle before handing it to you.
"Small sips."
You obediently took one.
"Better?"
"A little."
"Good."
He unwrapped one cracker and held it out.
You gave him an amused look.
"I can feed myself."
"I know."
"So..."
"So let me take care of my wife."
Your heart melted before you opened your mouth, letting him feed you the cracker.
"There," he said proudly after you'd managed half of it. "Progress."
"You look way too happy about me eating a saltine."
"I am."
With more nibbles of the saltine and a few sips of water, the color slowly returned to your cheeks.
"You wanna head home?" he asked quietly.
You sighed.
"We still have so much to do."
"Doll."
"I know."
He rested his forehead against yours.
"Nothing on that list matters more than you."
"But—"
"I'll come back later."
"You've already spent your whole morning with me."
His eyebrows furrowed.
"That's exactly how I wanted to spend it."
Your eyes filled again.
Pregnancy hormones really were something.
"Oh, sweetheart."
He immediately gathered you into his arms.
You buried your face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and clean laundry.
"I keep ruining things," you mumbled.
His hand rubbed slow circles over your back.
"You haven't ruined a single thing."
"I wanted today to be normal."
"I know."
"I hate feeling sick all the time."
"I know."
"I just wanted one day where I felt like myself."
He held you tighter.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you are yourself."
You frowned against his shirt.
"You laugh at my terrible jokes."
A kiss landed in your hair.
"You still steal my hoodies."
Another kiss.
"You still reach for my hand every time we walk somewhere."
His thumb brushed gently across your shoulder.
"The only difference is now you're carrying our baby while you do all those things."
A tear slipped down your cheek.
"You don't think I'm... different?"
"Oh, you're different."
You looked up.
"You've somehow gotten even prettier."
"Bucky."
"You have."
"I have pregnancy acne."
"I don't care."
"My ankles swell."
"I know."
"I threw up brushing my teeth yesterday."
"You sure did."
You groaned which led to him grinning.
"And I have never loved you more."
The sincerity in his voice stole every remaining argument.
"I wish I could fix this for you," he admitted softly.
"If I could take every second of nausea so you never had to feel it again, I would."
"I know you would."
"I hate watching you hurt."
You reached up to cradle his face this time.
"I'm okay."
"I know."
"I've got you."
His eyes softened impossibly.
"You do."
"And our little bean."
His metal hand immediately found your stomach.
Right on cue, a tiny kick pressed against his palm.
Both of you froze.
"There they are," Bucky whispered.
Another little kick.
He laughed quietly, his entire face lighting up.
"I think that's their way of telling us to go home."
You smiled.
"Probably."
"Maybe they're craving ice cream."
"They're definitely your kid if they're interrupting errands for dessert."
"My kid?"
"Our kid."
He corrected himself instantly.
"Our perfect little troublemaker."
You intertwined your fingers with his.
"So..."
"So?"
"Can we go home?"
He smiled like you'd offered him the greatest gift imaginable.
"I thought you'd never ask."
The abandoned grocery cart could wait.
The bookstore would still be there tomorrow.
The candles could be picked up another day.
Right now, all that mattered was getting his wife home, tucked beneath her favorite blanket on the couch with ginger tea, crackers, and whatever strange pregnancy craving appeared next.
Because the errands could always wait.
Taking care of you never would.