#bucyk barnes fluff

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Fourteen

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: A collection of precious moments throughout your pregnancy

Warnings: Fluffiness, swearing.

Notes: WooOOOoooOOO! A whole century later and we’re finally back with another chapter! I’ve missed writing for this baby :’) Also -- four fics in four days whut? 2018′s off to a good start ;)

As the summary suggests, this chapter is a collection of ‘moments’ throughout your pregnancy. After the trainwreck that was the last 13 chapters, I’ve decided to finally gift you with some pure fluffy goodness.

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky moves back into the compound that very evening. As they say: no time like the present, right? Having made amends with you, Bucky feels as if the chains that have been holding him back have finally been unshackled, like he can finally go about this relationship the way he actually wants to, the way he should have done from the very start.

He’d had to make a quick trip to the apartment in Brooklyn, just to clear out his things. He hadn’t brought a lot with him in the first place, which means that most of his worldly possessions are still safely stowed in his room in the compound — something that worked out in his favour, in the end.

Since then, he’s thrown himself into romancing you like he’s never romanced anyone before. Bucky’s also been doing a lot of reading, trying to prepare himself for parenthood as best as he can.

The rest of the team are happy to have him back at the compound, if a little puzzled by his sudden, unexplained disappearance, and equally confounding return. Natasha comes to visit him a couple of days after he moves back in. a grim set to her jaw and a purposeful gleam in her eye.

Bucky watches her with wary eyes from his spot on the bed, hands stilling in his lap. He’d been cleaning one of his rifles before she’d come in and interrupted him. He tracks her as she leans against his dresser, arms loosely folded over her chest.

“I know that you and Y/N had something going on before she got with Steve,” she tells him. Before Bucky can open his mouth to refute her claim, she holds a single finger up and barrels on. “I also know that when she did get with Steve, you were devastated. Pretty obvious with the way you were moping about the place. And it’s why you asked me to set you up, right?”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, but his silence must’ve been a good enough answer for her.

“It was to help you get over her, wasn’t it?” Natasha presses, picking up the comb he keeps on top of his dresser and twirling it between her fingers. “It was to get over her.”

“Stop,” Bucky growls, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

She smiles tiredly. “I’m not judging you, Barnes. I just—,” she breaks off, eyes downcast as she says the next two words. “The baby.”

“What about it?” Bucky asks tersely.

“Is…I don’t know whether it’s yours, or whether it’s his, but I’m guessing that it’s either Steve’s death or her pregnancy that was your trigger. One of those things, or maybe both of them, I don’t know — made you leave,” she surmises, setting the brush down and affixing him with a cool gaze.

“The two events happened so close together—I’m just not sure what set you off. But—whatever it is, I just hope you two get it sorted out.”

Bucky blinks owlishly, surprised by the sudden swerve in the conversation. “I—thanks, Natasha,” he murmurs.

She nods curtly, pushing off from his dresser and sauntering towards his door in one sinuous motion. “You’re both good people,” she says, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Idiots, but good people.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says dryly. She blows him an exaggerated kiss as the door falls shut.

————————

“You don’t have to come,” you say nervously, for what is probably the tenth time in half as many minutes. “I’ve gone to them by myself before, it’s—,”

“Y/N,” Bucky says, cutting short your nervous babble. “I want to, okay? I really do. I wanna go with you, I wanna see the baby.”

“Okay,” you breathe, smiling nervously at him. “Okay, of course.”

It takes exactly eighteen minutes for Happy to drive you both to the hospital. Throughout the entire journey, you keep your hands folded in your lap, fidgeting anxiously with the hem of your t-shirt. Towards the end of the drive, Bucky finds himself reaching across the massive gap between you and him in the back seat, resting his hand on your knee and squeezing it reassuringly. You’re startled by the sudden gesture, but the tentative smile you flash his way tells him that you’ve appreciated it, nonetheless.

Happy pulls up in front of a sleek building which Bucky has a hard time believing is an actual hospital. It’s all shiny glass and polished steel and spotless floors, nothing like the dingy labs that HYDRA used to work in. Though the interior is sophistically decorated, the faint scent of antiseptic that seems to cling to every hospital building is present, making Bucky’s nose scrunch up in disdain. He follows you to your doctor’s office — Dr Habiba, he learns, is her name — and takes a seat in the overstuffed armchair. You, on the other hand, perch yourself on the examining table, jiggling one leg nervously.

It’s a fairly standard office, albeit devoid of those tacky health-conscious posters that normally adorn hospital walls. Even the medical equipment in there has its own aesthetic appeal, fitting in with the rest of the decor as if they were abstract art installations.

“Twenty weeks, eh?” Dr Habiba comments, once she’s got you settled on your back. You smile and nod, your expression perking up as she chats pregnancy stuff with you — most of it goes straight over Bucky’s head. Dr Habiba’s got dark skin and jet black hair that she’s pulled back into a neat chignon. By his best guess, she’s probably in her mid-forties. She seems pretty competent, moving the machinery around and speaking with the air of someone who’s been through this routine a billion times.

When it’s time to start the scan, you gesture for Bucky to stand beside you, near your head. He’s touched by the gesture, even more so when you take his flesh hand from where it’s lying beside your shoulder and interlace your fingers together.

“All healthy, looks exactly as it should be at this stage,” is the verdict you receive. You blow out a breath Bucky hadn’t realised you’d been holding, expression visibly relaxing at the words.

“You sure you don’t want to find out the sex of your baby?” Dr Habiba asks, looking to you, then Bucky, then back again. Bucky flushes. Does she think that the baby is his, or something? After he’d introduced himself, you’d told her that Bucky was a friend of yours. Perhaps the doctor is more perceptive than she appears.

Bucky squints at the mass of black and white on the monitor. The grainy image does look like a baby, he’ll give it that; he can see the shape of the head, can even make out the bump of a nose and the slope of what he thinks could be a lip. Even so, he’s got no idea how this woman, talented as she may be, can tell what sex the baby is with any kind of certainty.

“Um,” you say, sharing a look with Bucky that he can’t decipher. “I—um, well…I…Bucky? Do you wanna know?”

He’s taken aback. Surely it’s your decision, not his. Bucky licks his lips nervously. “I…uh…only if you want to,” he says hesitantly, not sure whether that’s the answer you’re wanting to hear.

“But do you want to?” you ask, more insistently this time, as if his opinion really matters to you.

“Uh…not really,” Bucky admits, free hand scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I—think a surprise might be nice.”

Your mouth splits into a grin, eyes beaming with happiness. “Really? Great!” you exclaim.

Dr Habiba has been watching this entire exchange with an amused smile on her face, clearly discerning that there’s something more going on between you and Bucky, that you are clearly more than just ‘friends’, as you’d claimed. Whatever she thinks she does not voice aloud, however, instead just murmuring a soft ‘okay then’ as she turns back to the screen of her monitor.

“How many pictures do you want me to print out?” she asks.

“Three,” you say unhesitatingly. At Bucky’s arched eyebrow, you elaborate, “One for me, one for the fridge in the kitchen — so that no one tries to steal my picture, y’know? And one for you.”

Bucky is not ashamed to admit that he looks at that small print-out for a full five minutes before he falls asleep that night.

————————

“Oh fuck, Bucky!” you moan, head lolling forward as Bucky runs his hands all over your back.

“Yeah, doll? That feel good?” he murmurs absentmindedly. He digs his thumbs into the base of your spine, chuckling at the low groan that rumbles out of your throat.

“Ah, f-fuck, yeah,” you hiss, as his hands start to smooth down your sides, exerting just the right amount of pressure to make your body limp and pliant.

Someone snickers.

Bucky looks towards the direction of the sound and discovers that the source is Wanda, who is trying very hard to conceal her giggles behind her hand. Sam and Natasha, sitting on either side of her, are doing their best to suppress their own smiles. Bucky quirks an eyebrow up questioningly, and that seems to be the tipping point. Wanda gives in, doubling over and clutching her stomach as her shoulders shake. Her laughter set Natasha off, who buries her face into Sam’s neck.

“Wha’s so funny?” you slur out. You scoot backwards and inch the bright red exercise ball you’re bouncing on towards Bucky, so that his hands can start massaging out the tense knots in your shoulder.

“S’nothin,” Sam snorts, “You just sounds like you’re havin’ sex over there.”

“Fuck you, Wilson,” you growl, though the heat in your tone is subsequently ruined by the whimper that falls from your lips. This promptly sets off another round of giggles among your three spectators. Bucky can feel his lips fighting to pull into a smile, even as his cheeks flame up in embarrassment. It seems that you’ve decided to staunchly ignore Natasha’s wolf-whistles, instead choosing to arch into the steady press of Bucky’s fingers.

When you told him that you were feeling sore today, Bucky hadn’t hesitated to offer you a back rub. In hindsight, he probably should’ve waited for the privacy of your room, or something.

Tony and Pepper walk in at that moment. “What is this I hear about sex being had? Why am I not invited?” Tony asks loudly.

“Tony,” Pepper sighs, giving him a gentle cuff on the ear. He scowls like a little child in response.

“Bucky’s giving Y/N a massage,” Wanda wheezes, still not having fully recovered from her laughing fit, “And I think Y/N’s enjoying it a bit too much.”

“Fuck you, Wanda,” you grumble. Bucky pets your side sympathetically.

“Well, I think we should all just be happy that Y/N and Bucky have worked things out,” Pepper says, raising her voice to be heard above everyone’s laughter. “And we should all leave them in peace, hmm?” she suggests, eyes darting towards the door pointedly.

“It’s okay, Pepper, they can stay if they want to,” Bucky assures her.

It’s good knowing that the rest of the team are at ease like this. Bucky hadn’t noticed it, but him being in a sour mood for the better part of six months had really been a dampener on the atmosphere at the compound. Now, with all of the bad air cleared between you and him, it’s like a curse has been lifted; smiles are easier to come by, nowadays, and the sounds of laughter can almost always be heard.

Besides Sam, no one else on the team knows the full truth. Of course, some version of the truth had to be fed to them, that had been an inescapable fact. The condensed version of yours and Bucky’s story, is that you and Bucky started a friends-with-benefits arrangement about six months before you got with Steve, after which, the arrangement became null. Then, one drunken night of passion in KL changed everything, meaning that this baby could potentially by his — that had earned you and him a couple of disapproving looks, at the time. The two of you have assured everyone that you’ve put your differences and disagreements behind you, and that your relationship from here on out should progress a whole lot more smoothly.

Natasha’s probably managed to put together more of the puzzle, but he’s not going to begrudge her that. Natasha’s Natasha; she’ll understand, in her own roundabout way.

“How dare you insult the pregnant woman,” you grumble, tipping your neck forward to give Bucky more room. “Just fuck off and let Bucky give me my massage in peace.”

Bucky can’t help but smile a little at the hint of fondness in your tone.

————————

You’re coming out of the bathroom just as Bucky pops his head into your bedroom, having just got back from a trip to the city. You’re swathed in a fluffy polka dot bathrobe, your damp hair hanging limply around your face. Bucky holds up the small canvas bag he’s holding in his right hand and waggles his eyebrows triumphantly.

“What’s that?” you ask, waddling over to your bed and sinking down on it with a grateful sigh. Being five and a half months pregnant is starting to take its toll on you.

Instead of answering verbally, Bucky comes bounding up beside you, thrusting the bag into your hands. Nervous excitement is radiating out of his every pore. He feels a little like a wolf that’s gone hunting for its mate — not that you’re his mate, or anything — and is now presenting his treasures for inspection.

Your lips pull into a frown, which quickly turns into a giddy smile when you peer into the bag. Inside is a collection of fruits that Bucky bought from the farmer’s market earlier this morning — strawberries, blueberries, a small melon, even a couple of mangoes.

“Bucky, what…?” your voice trails off as you turn to look up at him, eyes sparkling with wonderment.

Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, uh…I’ve noticed that you’ve been craving a lot of fruits, lately, especially the sweet kind, so I—I went out and bought you some.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, but he’s certainly taken by surprise when you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce hug. “Thank you,” you whisper sincerely. Bucky wraps his arms around your torso and gives you a gentle squeeze, not wanting to jostle anything he shouldn’t be jostling. He’s enjoying the way his heart swells with pride at having made you this happy.

“Oh, there’s also this,” Bucky says, when you finally step away. He shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and plonks it on the bed, pulling open the zip and rummaging around inside. With a soft hum of victory, he pulls out a tub of cookies and cream ice cream and waves it in your direction.

“You got me ice cream?” you gasp, eyes going comically wide.

“Well, last week you said you really wanted some,” Bucky said, handing it over to you. There’s a brief moment where his fingers brush yours as you take the tub from his hands — maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears that sparks fly at that point of contact.

“You remembered that?” you ask softly, gazing down at the tub of ice cream like it’s a whole lot more symbolic than simply, a tub of ice cream.

Bucky snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You were keeping me awake all night talking about it!” he reminds you, aiming for nonchalance, but tone coming out far too tender for him to do it effectively. Besides, he’s pretty sure he’s got some goofy grin on his face that ruins the effect anyhow.

You shyly catch his gaze through your lashes. “I was not,” you mutter, “But thank you. I love you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat, just as your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head once the words you’ve just said finally register with your brain.

“Y/N—,”

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out, “I—I mean, I do, but—,”

“Romantically?” Bucky interrupts, “Or as a friend?”

Your jaw snaps shut, eyes travelling to the floor by your feet, not wanting to meet his stare. “Um…would you kill me if I said both?” you ask timidly.

“No,” Bucky replies. “I bought these things for you because I feel both, as well.”

“Oh, good,” you say, before tossing the ice cream onto the bed and pulling Bucky in for another enthusiastic hug.

————————

Bucky’s just finished relieving himself and is busy washing his hands at the sink when he hears your scream.

“Bucky!” you shout, “Get in here, now!”

A million and one thoughts surge through his system, a sense of panic being the strongest of them all. He bursts through the door — probably ripping it off of its hinges in the process — and sprints towards you. You’re sat on the armchair in the corner of his bedroom, bottom lip caught between your teeth and hands cradling your bump.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks breathlessly, fighting to keep his cool in the face of all the emotions threatening to cloud his rational mind. Bucky collapses to his knees in front of you, reaching up to cup your face. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you hurt? Are you—”

He shuts up when you grab his flesh hand and place it on top of your belly. His confusion deepens momentarily, until he feels a barely-there fluttering sensation against his palm. Understanding clicks into place.

“Are those—,”

“The baby!” you cry happily, your hand coming to rest on top of his. “You feel it?”

Bucky has to swallows around the lump in his throat before he speaks. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “I feel it, alright.”

He flattens out his hand, pressing as much of his palm onto your stomach as he possibly can to maximise the amount of movement he can feel. There’s no pattern to the motion. He’ll feel a quick burst of fluttering, before the baby quietens down again. Some movements are harder and sharper than the others, but all make him smile equally wide. There may or may not be tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He makes no move to brush them away.

“I started feeling movement a few weeks ago, but you never when you were around, for some reason,” you say softly, the fingers of your other hand threading through his hair, nails scratching gently against his skull. He has a sudden urge to butt into the touch, nuzzle his head into your palm like a cat.

Bucky’s not embarrassed to admit that the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon watching a movie from your couch, your hands intertwined on top of your stomach. He can think of worse ways to spend his day.

————————

Bucky is lying on his bed, back propped up by a couple of pillows, feet crossed at the ankles and a parenting book held in his left hand. He looks up when you breeze in through his open door, a small white box in your hand.

He resolutely tries to not think about the last time you waltzed into his room holding a box. The past is the past, and your relationship has come far since that day.

“I bought my first something for the baby!” you announce, beaming happily at Bucky as you climb onto the bed.

“Oh really?” Bucky asks, putting his bookmark back into place, before setting the book on his bedside table and pushing himself upright. He crosses his legs Indian-style and rests his elbows on his knees, all whilst trying to tame the exhilarated thumping of his heart. “What is it? Lemme see.”

You twist around so that you’re sitting on the bed properly, mirroring Bucky’s pose. You set the box down between the two of you. It’s square-shaped and pristine white, probably a little larger than Bucky’s hand. The name of the company is embossed on the front in a neat gold font. You open the lid and set it aside, then reach into the box and pull out the — wait, is that a piece of fabric?

“It’s a blanket,” you explain, holding the item in question up and shaking it brusquely, so that it opens up completely. Bucky reaches out and touches it, rubbing the material between the thumb and forefinger of his flesh hand. He fights not to gasp aloud; the blanket is the softest thing to have ever touched his skin.

You pass it to him and Bucky drapes it over his lap, running his fingers over the material to marvel at its unbelievable softness — Jesus Christ, he can’t wrap his head around how silky this thing feels. It’s a pale brown colour, a cross between beige and warm chestnut. There’s a small teddy-bear embroidered on one corner. It’s square-shaped and pretty large too, probably about half a metre in length and width.

“I wanna go baby shopping with you,” Bucky says suddenly, the words coming out of his mouth before his brain can even parse them through.

“Okay,” you say, as if that settles everything. It’s probably not as big a deal as Bucky’s making it out to be in his head, but his excitement levels have definitely kicked up a notch at the prospect of being able to go baby shopping with you. With great reluctance, he hands the blanket back over to you, observing as you carefully fold it into a neat square and place it back into its box.

“I need to properly start buying clothes and things,” you sigh, “Ugh, I need a changing table, and a crib, and a stroller, and—,”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupts, laying a hand on your knee, “Don’t stress yourself out. I’m here to help, right?”

The corner of your lips quirk up into a half-smile, just as one of your hands come to rest on top of his, your thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Yeah. I’m glad,” you murmur. “What’re you reading?” you ask, jerking your chin over to the book he’d set down.

“Oh, uh…” Bucky flushes, running a hand through his hair in embarrassment. “Just a parenting book,” he replies. There’s a pause, then, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Y/N,” he says quietly.

Your thumb pauses its back and forth motion. “You…want to stop? To back out?” you ask carefully.

“No!” Bucky cries hurriedly, quick to reassure you that that is not what he means at all. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just…I think I’m gonna do more harm than good, is all,” he sighs. “I’ve never fed a baby, or put one to bed, or given one a bath, or—,”

“Hey, neither have I,” you point out, “I’m gonna be just as clueless as you are.”

“But—,”

“We’ll just have to learn together, yeah?”

And there’s just something so earnest in your gaze that Bucky finds himself not caring about his inexperience anymore. Who cares if he fucks things up? It’s all a learning curve, right? Even so, he can’t quite shake off all his worries. “And—there’s something else,” Bucky says, “It’s not just that.”

“No?”

“No,” he admits, shaking his head slowly as he gathers up the courage to say what he’s been meaning to say for a while. “I—don’t know if this,” he says, waving his metal arm around, “Was made for handling babies.”

He forces his gaze to meet your eyes, even though all he wants to do is curl up into a ball in the corner and wallow in his self-pity. Bucky watches as your eyes soften, your mouth falling open into a soft ‘o’.

Moving carefully, as if you don’t want to spook him, you reach forward and take hold of the wrist of his metal hand, bringing it into your lap. You wrap both of your hands around it, enclosing it in your grasp. Your gaze flick towards Bucky to ensure that he has his eyes on you, before you bring that hand up to your lips and slowly, deliberately, brush the tenderest kiss over each knuckle. Then, you stretch each finger out and press your lips to each fingertip. There’s a sense of reverence to your actions, adoration and—and acceptance so clearly discernible in your gaze. The gears and plates in his arm whirr and click, responding to the nervous energy flickering through him. Bucky wants to snatch his hand away from you, but it is as if you have him frozen in place.

His breath hitches as you use one finger to trace the grooves on the back of his hand, your expression unreadable as you cock your head to the side. “I have faith in you,” you say quietly. “Once upon a time, you didn’t think that this hand could touch my lady bits, either, remember?”

“Y/N,” Bucky says exasperatedly, pushing aside the scandalous images that pop into his head.

“And lemme tell you,” you whisper breathily, leaning in closer so that your face is just inches away from his own. “I’ve had some of the best orgasms of my life, thanks to these fingers.”

Bucky feels as if you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs. He clears his throat and tries to remember how to get his mouth working again. “M-metal arm kink,” he jokes, but his voice is too husky for it to come off as playful as he wants it to.

You shake your head. “No! Well, actually—maybe, but that’s not the point,” you say, rolling your eyes at Bucky’s self-satisfied smirk. “My point is that you’ve got more control over this arm than you give yourself credit for,” you tell him, giving the hand an extra-tight squeeze, for emphasis. “I mean, I’m sure you can get Tony to amp up the sensors in it, if you really wanted to, but—whatever the case, I know that you won’t hurt the baby, and that’s good enough for me.”

If Bucky were to ask himself what possessed him to reach up and cup your jaw, at this point, he wouldn’t have been able to answer his own question. He feels as if his body is on autopilot, flesh hand holding the back of your neck as he leans forward. He’s thrilled to see that you’re closing your eyes, your own head tipping upwards and slightly to the left.

The first press of his lips against yours is perfect — everything he remembered it to be from that night in KL, yet so much better, untainted by bitter thoughts of self-hatred. You hum softly in the back of your throat as Bucky deepens the kiss, tongue licking lightly at the seam of your lips. God, but he’s wanted this for as long as he’s known you. All the parts of him are singing in ecstasy, overjoyed to finally be able to indulge in this experience with you.

The two of you pull away before anything can get too heated. Bucky does so remorsefully, but he knows it’s for the best, in the long run.

You sit back, a dazed look in your eyes. Bucky swallows, cards his hands through his hair. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to that. “Um…that was—,”

“Perfect,” you finish, smiling happily at him.

Bucky breathes an internal sigh of relief. “I—yeah. That’s…yeah. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

————————

The two of you are in your room, snuggled up under the covers as a random movie plays on the TV. You’ve got the volume turned down low, however, because neither of you are really watching it. You’re just using it as an excuse to have a lazy evening together.

You’re pressed up against Bucky’s side and his fingers are idly drawing loopy patterns on your tummy. With you at almost seven months pregnant, your belly has rounded out considerably. One of Bucky’s favourite past times is running his hands all over it.

“C’mon, I’m being serious here, any name suggestions?” you ask, prodding him on the shoulder. “This baby ain’t gonna name itself, y’know?”

“What boy names are you thinking of?” Bucky asks.

“I was thinking maybe Steve, or Steven as a middle name,” you admit.

Bucky snorts. “We should spell it S-T-E-P-H-E-N,” he jokes.

You scrunch up your noise in disgust. “Ew, no, that’s an atrocity. I—fuck no, that’s too weird.”

Bucky laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. A hint of possessive pride flares in his chest at the way you burrow even closer to him. “Being serious though,” Bucky continues, “I like that idea. Using Steve’s name, I mean. Spelt the proper way.”

You hum, brows knitted together in thought. It’s apparent that you haven’t heard a word he’s just said. “Or…how about Roger? As a middle name, I mean?” you suggest.

“Oh, that’s nice too,” Bucky says. “But why’re you thinking of middle names first? Shouldn’t first names come first?”

“I know,” you sigh, scrubbing a hand over your eyes. “They’re just harder to think of.”

“What ideas d’you got?”

“I like Carter,” you tell him, “William. Nicholas. Theodore—,”

“Theodore’s good,” Bucky interjects.

“Yeah? Theodore Roger?”

“Yeah, and the baby’ll have your last name, right?” Bucky asks.

You turn your face to look at him properly, confusion evident in your expression. “Oh? Are you sure?”

“Well, we don’t exactly know whether this baby is mine or Steve’s, right?” Bucky points out, shrugging one shoulder indifferently. “I mean, well—it’s all up to you at the end of the day, I guess, I’m okay with anything.”

Bucky watches as you nibble on your bottom lip, mulling over what he’s just said. “Yeah, I—y’know, let’s just cross that bridge when we get there, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky agrees, squeezing your hand reassuringly. He watches as you yawn widely, covering your mouth with your hand, a sheepish look in your eyes. Bucky then notes the time on the clock on your bedside table; it’s almost 11PM at night.

“I’ll just head into my—,”

“No!” you cry, hand darting out to catch his wrist as Bucky moves to roll away from you. Bucky stills, heart racing so fast he can feel it in his throat. “I—I mean,” you add hastily, “I would really like it if you could stay, but if you wanna go back, I understand.”

It takes Bucky two tries to get his answer out. “Okay, doll, I’ll stay,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke your hair out of your face. He asks FRIDAY to switch off the movie as he rearranges the pillows around you, propping one underneath your head, before pulling the covers up and over the both of you. He reaches over to switch off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You pull him down by the sleeve of his shirt, rolling onto your left side so that Bucky can spoon you.

His mind is whirling. This is the first time he’s actually sleeping with you — that night in KL doesn’t count — and his heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. He hopes that you can’t feel or hear the mad thumping of his pulse. Bucky allows his body to do what feels natural, curling protectively around your back, his arm resting around your burgeoning waist, his nose tucking into the space behind your neck. Your hand rests on top of his, fingers intertwining with his flesh ones.

“I love you,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your skin.

“Love you too,” you whisper.

————————

“Oh my god, Y/N!” Bucky gasps.

“What?” you ask, turning around to look at him.

“Look at these!” Bucky cries excitedly, holding the tiny booties up for you to see. They’re a lovely blue colour, with white stripes on the soles. “They’re so tiny!”

“I know!”

“They’re so cute!”

You place your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes at Bucky in suspicion. “Barnes, do you need a moment? Need to step outside?” you tease, “I’m gonna need you to calm down.”

“But they’re so cute!” Bucky whines, as he brings them over to you for closer inspection. He drops them into your hands and watches the small smile that crosses your lips as you rub the material between your fingers.

“It’s times like these that I wish I knew what I was having,” you groan, looking miserably around the shop.

“You’re having a human child, I hope,” Bucky deadpans.

You snort, smacking him across the chest with the back of your hand. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Bucky grunts in agreement; for as progressive as this century may be, all the baby clothes in this shop seem to be in various shades of either pink or blue. “Everything’s either really girly, or really boyish,” you grumble, as you continue walking between the racks of clothes. “I mean, yeah, if I had a boy, I could put him in pink things, and vice versa, but…yeah.”

“Oh look!” Bucky cries, as the pair of you round the corner and enter a different part of the shop. Specifically, the part of the shop that houses distinctly less gendered clothing; the unisex section. Everything here is in calming shades of white, beige, yellow and green. Bucky wanders down the aisles, dropping the items of clothing that catch his fancy into his basket as he passes them by.

“Buck? Come take a look at these,” you call.

Bucky hurries over to you and barks out a sharp laugh at the display you’re looking at. “Avengers merch? For real?” he asks.

“Bucky, we need to get this stuff,” you say seriously, moving to put a set of Black Widow-themed bibs into your basket.

“Wait, no!” Bucky says, catching your wrist to stop you.

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure the rest of the team are going to get us this kinda stuff for our baby shower,” Bucky explains. You frown, but shrug a shoulder in agreement, dropping the subject in favour of exploring the rest of the shop.

Bucky’s noticed that he’s started referring to the two of you as ‘us’ more and more frequently, in recent days. It’s not something that he consciously chose to do — it’s more a habit that he picked up and found he couldn’t stop. If you notice, you don’t correct him and for that, he’s secretly pleased.

————————

“Never again!” you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes dramatically. Bucky chuckles as he continues digging his thumbs into the soles of your feet. Apparently, three hours of non-stop shopping takes a lot out of a heavily pregnant lady.

“Never again,” Bucky agrees.

“How ‘bout Samantha?” you suggest, continuing the discussion you’d been having in the car. You lift your arm away from your eyes at Bucky’s indignant scoff.

“Who’s nickname would be Sam? Do you want Wilson’s head to get any bigger?” Bucky asks, “If it gets any bigger, he won’t be able to fit it through the door.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” you laugh. “What about…ooh! What about Stephanie? Or Steffi, as a play on Steve?”

“Oh, I like Steffi, actually,” Bucky agrees, using a thumb to dig into a particularly sore section of your foot, if your sharp intake of breath is anything to go by.

“Middle name?” you prompt. “Oh, what about after your ma? Or one of your sisters?”

Bucky’s fingers falter at your suggestion. It means a lot to him, honestly. “Um…Steffi Rebecca doesn’t sound that nice, and neither does Steffi Winifred,” he muses. “My second youngest sister was Elizabeth—,”

“Steffi Elizabeth?” you try, “Mmm…Steffi Beth? No, don’t think so.”

“And my youngest sister was Ann,” Bucky finishes.

“Steffi Ann,” you murmur, lips pulling into a small smile. “I like it. I really like it, actually.”

“Me too,” Bucky says quietly, “Almost as much as I like you.”

“Like?” you echo, waggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Bucky rolls his eyes but takes the bait. “Okay, more like love,” he admits, as he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on your lips.

“Love you too,” you breathe.

[lovelybarnes]

bug- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: spiders

about: there’s a spider on your kitchen floor

a/n: purely self indulgent. i am severely arachnophobic and i had an encounter with a spider today that made me think about this skjf

“hi,” you greet with a nervous smile, anxiously tugging at your fingers while blue eyes stare at you in uncertainty.

“hey,” he responds awkwardly, confusion painted clear on his features while he observes your demeanor. you swallow, trying to convince yourself that what you’re doing is not as stupid of an idea as you know it is. you’re already embarrassed and you haven’t even asked yet, but the fear clouds the unease.

“um- i know you just moved in and i really doubt you even know my name, but you smiled at me the other day, which is more than any other of the other tenants have done, and you seem kinder than any of them…” the man is furrowing his brows, listening patiently although visibly getting more bemused at your lack of explanation for knocking at his door and seemingly leading up to asking for a favor without even knowing his name.

realizing you’re rambling, and what currently chased you out of your apartment is still in there, probably heading towards your stack of cookies or hiding until you’re unable to find it, you pause and cut to the chase with a tense laugh. “...but there’s this really, really big spider in my kitchen and i would really appreciate some help in getting rid of it because i’m kind of terrified of them.”

“thank you, thank you, thank you,” you repeat gratefully, “uh, just follow me.”

he tilts his head gently, somewhat amused and already getting ready to say yes, of course to the pretty neighbor he’s been trying to talk to ever since he moved in, but you mistake his pause as hesitation, “i’ll gift you with food. i made cookies- which, by the way, the spider is probably getting to right now.”

you smile hopefully at him, relief flooding the villages of panic that were already building at the thought of the bug in your apartment when he nods, “yeah, okay.”

he nods, shutting the door to his apartment and following you through your door across the hall. you can feel heat rise to your cheeks when you notice the mess that is your kitchen, flour and sugar spread across your counter and milk spills where you missed the measuring cup. your neighbor doesn't seem to mind, a small smile appearing where you thought a cringe would.

you freeze when you see the thing on the floor, having moved only a few inches and grit your teeth, holding back a shudder, “oh god, there it is.”

you step back when it moves, a small startled noise leaving your throat before bumping into the hard chest of your neighbor. you grimace but never take your eyes off of the spider. “ah, it’s no problem,” he says, stepping from behind you and easily stepping on the star of your nightmares.

you sigh when he does, stopping yourself from giving him a hug and thanking him with words instead, “thank you. so much.”

you laugh, hand meeting his extended one. bucky notices when you don’t flinch at the surprising cold hardness of it, shaking it happily. “very nice to meet you, too. thank you for saving my life and the money i would’ve spent on moving if you hadn't killed that.” you spot the cookies you baked that afternoon on the counter, grabbing one and offering it to bucky, “i believe i promised food.”

he shakes his head, “it’s no big deal.” he stands awkwardly now, wishing for the 40s charm he can’t remember to suddenly resurge.

“it really is, you have no idea.” a beat of silence passes before you suddenly remember something, eyes shutting and hand coming up to your forehead, “oh, my name is y/n, by the way. usually guys have to at least know that before they’re in my apartment,” you chuckle, easing up the mood.

“bucky barnes, bug killer on demand, it’s nice to meet you.”

let’s just say, you never had to deal with a bug yourself after you met bucky.

“i appreciate it, but i think i would rather have dinner,” bucky said, but took the cookie anyway, watching as you nodded too fast.

“yeah! i would- i would love that.”