#steve's mom has problems

[mouldycakes]

"There is something wrong with the way that I am built. I... I can't, uh, I can't just enjoy happiness like regular people, you know? [...] every time something good happens in my life, I... I just I think of when it's gonna end. That's all I can think about." - Danny (S04 E19)

Original HERE.

I saw it on Twitter and wanted to have it and suffer over here ;_; Transcript of the whole conversation in 4x19 + some thoughts:

Steve: She's pretty.

Danny: What?

Steve: Amber. Can tell she really cares about you, too.

Danny: Yeah, I'll probably screw it up like I do everything else. Right? Not in my DNA to be happy.

Steve: I didn't mean that. That's not what I meant. (Earlier, Steve had said: "Danny, if she (Amber) was the same age as you, you would come up with a different excuse, whatever you need, because you can't be happy. It's impossible for you; it's not in your DNA.")

Danny: No, I'm officially agreeing with you. There is something wrong with the way that I am built. I.. I can't, uh I can't just enjoy happiness like regular people, you know?

Steve: You don't think you're being a little hard on yourself?

Danny: No, I don't. When I was a kid, my parents would go out to eat dinner. And if they were late coming home, I used to imagine that they died in a car wreck, just 'cause they were 15 minutes late. And I used to talk to God and beg him. I said, "Please just take my dad, not my mom." 'Cause I couldn't live without my mom. I mean, every time something good happens in my life, I... I just I think of when it's gonna end. That's all I can think about.

Steve: (seriously concerned) You for real?

Danny: Yeah.

Steve: That's not normal.

Danny: I know it's not normal. Listen to this. On my wedding day, I'm looking at Rachel, just about to say "I do." And all I can see is the day she's gonna serve me with divorce papers. No joke. And I... I don't know, man. The only sustained happiness I ever felt in my life so far is Grace. And, you know, it's just a matter of time before she turns 18, and then she's out the door and she marries some schmuck. I don't know.

Steve: (serious) You got to change, man. You can't live like that.

Danny: Well, I'd like very much to change. It's just not so simple, you know?

-- after losing Billy, Rick(kinda), Grace, Meka, Matt, all the stuff with Rachel and her mother, Gracie being taken away from him almost 3? times, being used as spare parts for Charlie -because if he hadn't been sick, Danny would have never known Charlie was his son and wow if that isn't a punch to the gut-, being there for his mother and sisters when they need something and then they just go 'kay thnx bye' and disappear, all the brushes with death Steve's had, plus his own, plus the stress of worrying about everyone, plus being kidnapped tortured shot and afterwards being basically abandoned by his best friend while barely out of hospital unable to walk unassisted I'm also mad Steve didn't answer his text or his last words wtf Steve?! , not to mention the casual way Danny talks about killing himself through the seasons... and I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting some stuff! man, Danny needs therapy ;_; (and I need to rewatch :D)

EDIT: HOLY SHIT I forgot about Reyes and Colombia, what did all that go - they beat the sht out of him and the guilt he had (and boy if that's not a nice starter for Danny whump... they could have probably done something else and not just beat him up...)

I have lost count also of how many people spell it Columbia and not Colombia in fanfics; un saludo pa' mis hermanos latinoamericanos.

[jonathanbyersphd]

I do think it's interesting that posts that are meant as a hehehaha are taken seriously and adopted as headcanon and then somehow transmute into canon proof of a thing when it was just OP making a joke

[devondespresso]

rewatching stranger things 2 for steve and kiddos plot and stumbled into one of those high intensity will scenes, and my only thought is how cool thats gonna be in @carolperkinsexgirlfriend 's steddie in the upside down au (i forget if theres an official name yet aslfhdfil)

[mugglebornmarvelite]

A Snowstorm, a Grump, and a Game

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: The snowstorm traps everyone inside the compound, but you're determined to make the best of it. The rest of the team is scattered around, playing games or lounging, but you’re already on a mission: pestering Bucky into joining you for board games.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Fluff, like two swear words, teasing, playful threats

Author’s Note: Thank you to my mom for unintentionally giving me this idea <3

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The compound was a war zone of boredom. The snowstorm raging outside had the Avengers grounded for what felt like forever, and everyone was handling it differently. Tony was shouting at Clint for cheating in Monopoly, and Natasha was kicking Steve's ass at poker. You were up to something different. You’d made it your personal mission to annoy Bucky Barnes until he played a game with you. 

You hummed, skipping into the Common Room, with a miechvious smile on our face. You spotted him on the couch, with a book in hand, looking like every bit of a grump. Your favorite grump. 

His hair was messy, dark strands a little messed up from him running his fingers through it, and his scowl was as deep as ever. Perfect. 

“Mr. Barnes,” you called, plopping onto the couch beside him. “You’re such a buzzkill. It’s not even fun teasing you anymore. I may just give it up entirely.”

“Good,” he said without looking up, his voice as flat as he was pretending to read, his attention now on you. “Now fuck off.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “You wound me, Bucky. Right in the soul. How am I supposed to enjoy board games without my partner in crime?”

His eyes flicked up from the book, unimpressed. “Sounds like a you problem, baby.”

Determined, you slid closer, reaching for the dice you’d conveniently left on the table next to him, knowing it would bait him hook, line and sinker. “I don’t need your attitude, I just need these-”

Before you could grab them, he moved quicker. 

In one swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, making you yelp in surprise. His vibranium arm was around your waist, pinning you down like you weighed nothing. 

“Stop being a fucking menace,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. “You send my blood pressure up.”

You wiggled, grinning despite yourself. “Oh no, what will I do now? Big, scary Bucky Barnes has me trapped,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock distress. “I’m terrified.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, a rare sound that made you feel like you’d won something. “You should be,” he said, though his grip on you was more protective than punishing. 

His hands were strong, but he held you like you were breakable, and something about that made your cheeks heat. That heat also pooling in your stomach.

“I am not even scared, not even a little bit,” you pointed out, squirming just to annoy him more. “Honestly, this is kind of disappointing. I expected more from you, old man.”

He huffed, setting his book down without loosening his hold on you. “You’re impossible, дорогой.” Sweetheart.

“And you secretly love it,” you shot back, leaning your head against his shoulder with a satisfied smile.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against your side. You melted like butter on warm toast.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost fond. “Yeah, well, don’t push your luck, doll.”

You sighed contently.

“Will you play a game with me later?” you asked, batting your lashes at him like a total brat. 

“We’ll see, brat,” he said gruffly, looking at the ceiling, avoiding your doe eyes. 

“Please?”  

“Maybe.”  

“Please!”  

“Don’t whine.” He tugged on a strand of your hair.

You were undeterred, already used to how he pretended to be mad at you but always handled you gently. Your smile grew even wider as you started chanting, “Please, please, please—”  

“If you don’t shut up-” he growled, but you cut him off by leaning in and planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.  

The room seemed to freeze. His blue eyes widened slightly, and his gruff demeanor faltered for a split second before he exhaled sharply, huffing like a frustrated old man. He was your old man.

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you in a snowstorm for that,” he muttered, but his hand on your waist betrayed him, his thumb brushing soft reassuring circles against your side.  

You tilted your head, trying to hold back a laugh as you watched his icy exterior crack just a little more. “So you’ll play a game with me? Pretty please?”  

He sighed like it physically hurt him to give in, but he always did. 

“Fine.” Bucky said so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

You grinned liked the cat the ate the canary. 

“One game. If it’ll get you to shut the hell up.” His large hand was warm on your back.

“Two games.” You pushed, with a hopeful smile and poppy dog eyes.

“Don’t push it, sweet girl,” he warned, though his tone lacked any real bite.  

You grinned triumphantly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you made yourself comfortable. “We both know you’ll cave,” you teased, your voice full of smug satisfaction. “You always do.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. His tone was low, threatening in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Are you so sure, дорогой?”

“Keep it up, and the only game we’re playing is who can survive the longest in the damn snowstorm. Spoiler alert, it’s not gonna be you.”  

You laughed, the sound soft and bright, and you felt his chest rumble faintly with a chuckle of his own.  

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Just don’t forget, I always win.”  

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he replied, “The only thing you’re winning is a one-way ticket to getting thrown off this couch, your cute little ass hitting the ground.”  

And yet, neither of you made any move to separate, content to sit there tangled up in each other as the snowstorm raged on outside.

You soon fell asleep on his lap and Bucky made no move to wake you.

In fact, when Peter came to poke you, Bucky hissed at him, and Peter scampered off.

Bucky pulled a blanket over you, holding you snuggly against him, cradling the back of your head with one hand and rubbing circles on your lower back with the other.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[wcters]

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH LANDO

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: little snippets into what your relationship with lando would be like

warnings/contents: some swearing, lotsss of fluff

author’s note: in a headcanons mood so here you are 😚 well i was when i wrote this

- you look at each other as if they hold up the world

- you guys are the walking example of ‘the look of love’

- your eyes soften and your shoulders become less tense when you catch a glimpse of the other

- just utterly captivated ❤️

- you guys have the same judging face

- can communicate through looks

- always has to be touching you

- whether it’s a hand around your waist, your legs on his and a hand around your ankle, pinkies intertwined, doesn’t matter

- you get ready together and go to bed together

- he’ll rest his chin on your head when you’re getting ready

- you have to swat him away to avoid getting your makeup ruined because he’ll start kissing all over your face

- he will wake you up with kisses all over your face as well

- and you will too the rare time you’re up before him

- lando totally naps on you during races where there are red flags or if it’s media day and he’s exhausted

- this is caught so often it’s become a meme

- it’s completely by accident . . . most of the time (he loves when you wake him up by kissing his face)

- when that happens you take soooo many pictures of him and send it to his family

- his siblings find them hilarious and tease him about it

- none of this stops him though, he loves you too much ❤️❤️

- this man is down bad and he’s not ashamed about it ‼️

- always talks about you on stream

- you’re also caught in the back of his streams a lot

- chat always BEGS him to get you on and max does too

- max being like your brother

- been with you through a lot of the hard times of your life and with your relationship

- you can come to him with problems and he’ll help

- if it’s about you and lando, he won’t just stick up for lando he’s your friend too and won’t be bias

- best friends with pietra ‼️

- talk shit about the boys all the time

- salon dates, spa dates, just dates between you two

- max and lando joke that they third wheel when you two are with each other

- which they do

- you guys always joke about running away together and ditching the boys 💍

- you’re friends with a lot of his friends, and the wags

- this includes his streamer friends . . . like morgan

- rivalry with angryginge ‼️‼️

- it’s a joke, of course (is it?)

- you guys would fight for HOURS on stream if people didn’t stop you

- you match his energy and attitude

- make faces and roll your eyes when he talks as if saying ‘this guy?’

- you love him though

- when you meet up for the video he’s in with lando (go read that if you want 😋) you’re both polite and have a good time with each other

- still have a rivalry after though

- clips of you singing karaoke in the car 🎤

- quadrant totally makes a video of you versus ginge

- he wins (you let him, he doesn’t know)

- you’re in a lot of quadrant videos actually

- you always team up with ria to beat the boys 👯‍♀️

- you actually teach her to drive outside of a video . . . or attempt to

- make her a little award 🥇

- you made sure she and all the boys were all right during the 24 hour karting video

- you offered to be in the background just make sure everything was okay

- everyone was grateful 🙏🙏

- kept making sure people were fed, hydrated, felt okay

- you made sure steve or max didn’t feel too pressured to carry the team and not go out there if they weren’t able to

- just kept the mood up and made sure they didn’t worry about filming and the video, that was your job

- treated them to a nice dinner a couple days later after they rested

- even though you’re not the oldest, you’re a mother figure in the group

- when people don’t know where something is or they can’t find it, they call you and you find it (like moms do 😌)

- you’re also a mother figure with oscar

- he’s your kid at this point

- he’s accepted it 🤷‍♀️ he gets to tag along with you and lando on trips and such

- you and nicole love each other and she knows she can trust you to take care of her son

- adoptive kid along with yuki

- you provide the internet with a daily dose lando

- pictures, videos, etc 📷

- it’s kind of like lily’s tiktoks with alex

- how could you not? he drags you EVERYWHERE with him

- you’re like his emotional support person

- you don’t mind, just sometimes he drags you to and makes you do stupid shit

- like jumping off of cliffs on vacation and trying weird and new things . . . except fish

- he still won’t go near fish

- you still tease him for that

- you have scared him with fish before, but that’s a story for another time

- . . . and yes you did catch it on video . . . and yes you did post it

- constantly wearing his clothes: hoodies, shirts, sweatpants, boxers, whatever you can get your hands on

- they go missing . . . it’s probably you 🤷‍♀️

- “hey, have you seen my blue quadrant hoodie?” “no . . . “ “are you wearing it?” “also no . . .”

- he says he’s annoyed at you when you do that but you both know it’s a lie

- he spoils you sooo much

- have a necklace with ‘ln4’ on it

- he loves that necklace . . . maybe a little too much

- buys you jewelry, dresses, bags, etc

- you tell him not too because you don’t need it but he doesn’t care

- flowers 💐

- always buys you flowers, on special occasions and randomly

- just to show he appreciates you ❤️

- you write him love letters

- every time you try to buy him a gift he gives you the money back through another gift or something like that

- so instead of buying things, you make things for him: love letters, food, crafts, etc

- he has a ring you helped make out of a spoon with both of your initials in it

- always wears it, says it’s his good luck charm

- has definitely put your initials on one of his helmets before ❤️❤️

- you cried at that

- his mum took so many pictures of you two together with the helmet

- they’re up in their house with the family photos

- you’re super close with his family

- especially his mom and sisters

- you guys have sleepovers, movie nights, mani pedis, etc

- you help around the house a lot, to the point where his mom has to lightly hit you to get you to go away

- like a daughter to cisca and adam 🥺🥺

- they’ve watched you and lando grow up, and grow up together

- they love you to bits ❤️

- you’re one of lando’s biggest supporters along with his family

- you try to make it to every race, if you can’t you watch it live

- when he won in miami and singapore you were ESTATIC

- you couldn’t have been happier

- searched for you after he congratulated with the team and he kissed you long and hard 🥺

- you have a heart locket necklace with a picture of that in it along with the ‘ln4’ necklace

- just soooo many pictures of you two together in your house in monaco

- you two are just so in love with each other ❤️❤️

- you two never leave the honeymoon phase

- you let lando act like a stupid teenager (with limits, of course) and let him experience what he couldn’t as a kid with his karting career

- everyone around you says they couldn’t imagine the two of you with someone else

- you couldn’t either

- it’s always been him

- it’s always been you

- it will always be each other ❤️

[vunblr]

To Mend a Soldier

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ (Masturbation). Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.

Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

Word Count: About 20k.

note: Yeah… it’s a long one. This has been sitting in my folder for a while, and I couldn’t figure out where to split it, so here we are. Please don’t hate me! 😅 If you enjoy it, I’d really appreciate it if you could share or leave a comment, it means so much.

After everything he’d been through -Hydra, Zemo, Thanos, Steve’s departure, and now therapy with Dr. Raynor- Bucky still couldn’t seem to find peace. The nightmares remained, the guilt festered, and every glance he got on the street reminded him of who he used to be, not who he was trying to become. Trusting people felt impossible, and his defenses were built like steel walls.

Sam, however, refused to let him slip further into isolation. Over the past few months, he’d watched him struggle silently, shrugging off every attempt to help him open up. But The Falcon wasn’t one to give up easily.

One evening, while they were returning from a brief mission on a plane, he finally brought it up again.

“You ever thought about alternative therapy?” he asked casually, pressing a cooling bag over his shoulder.

Bucky didn’t even look up from where he was unlacing his boots. “What, like yoga?” His voice was flat and unimpressed. “I don’t bend that way.”

“No, not yoga.” Sam’s tone was patient like he was explaining something to a stubborn child. “It’s something some veterans are trying. Heard about it from a guy at the VA.”

“Right.” Bucky snorted. “Modern mumbo jumbo. What is it? Journaling? Crystals? Hugging trees?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s called rent-a-mom.”

That got Bucky’s attention. His head snapped up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Rent-a-what?”

“Rent-a-mom,” Sam repeated, biting back a grin at Bucky’s incredulous expression. “It’s this service where someone -usually a nice, older lady- comes to your place for a couple of hours a week. She cooks, chats, and keeps you company. Some guys use it to feel normal again, you know? A little comfort or emotional support, whatever you need, with no judgment.”

Bucky stared at him for a beat before deadpanning, “So you’re telling me to hire a prostitute.”

Sam threw his hands up in exasperation. “What is wrong with you man? No! That’s not what this is.”

“You sure? Because whatever I need, with no judgment sounds like you’re telling me to hire someone to-”

“Stop!” Sam cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “It’s not like that, okay? She works with vets all the time. You know, people like you who don’t trust anyone and think the world’s out to get them.

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “Sounds like a scam.”

“It’s not a scam. I know a guy who uses her services. He says it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded some weeks. And it’s not just him. A lot of vets partaking on the program swear by it.”

Bucky grumbled under his breath, something about “modern nonsense” and “people these days.”

Sam sighed, leaning forward. “Look, man, I’m not saying it’s gonna fix all your problems. But what’s the harm in trying? One session. Worst-case scenario, you don’t like it, and you never call her again.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t need some stranger poking around in my life.”

“She’s not gonna poke,” Sam insisted. “She’s just there to help. And let’s be real, you could use it. You’ve been holed up in that apartment for weeks. When’s the last time you had a real conversation with someone who wasn’t me or that Raynor bitch?”

Bucky didn’t answer, just tightened his jaw.

“Exactly,” Sam said, leaning back with a smirk. “Plus, you owe me for Redwing. That little stunt you pulled last week? Yeah, I’m still mad about that.”

“Cheap shot,” Bucky muttered, glaring at the floor.

“Call it whatever you want. You’re doing this.”

After a long, heavy pause, Bucky sighed. “Fine. One session. But if this is a waste of my time, I’m blaming you.”

Sam grinned, already pulling out his phone. “You’re gonna thank me when it works. Just wait.”

----

Bucky sat on the edge of his couch, glaring at his phone like it had personally wronged him. Sam had texted him the woman’s contact information a few hours ago, with an obnoxious winky face at the end. He couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be reassuring or not but either way, it made his skin crawl.

“Just one session,” he muttered, running his hand down his face. Sam’s words echoed in his head: “It’s not what you think, man. She’s just… good at what she does. People trust her.” Trust. Bucky scoffed. That wasn’t something he handed out easily anymore, but after the Redwing incident, Sam wasn’t going to let him live it down unless he followed through. Grimacing, he tapped out a message.

Hi. This is James Barnes. Sam Wilson gave me your contact information. He said you… help people. I’m interested in setting up a session. Let me know if you’re available.

He stared at the screen for a good minute before hitting send. The second the message left his phone, he regretted it.

What the hell am I doing?

His internal spiral was interrupted by a response. That was fast.

Hi, James! Thanks for reaching out. I’d be happy to help. How does Tuesday at 5 PM sound?

He frowned. No small talk? No questions? Just… straight to the point. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but he appreciated it.

Fine, he replied, then immediately felt like a jerk. Then he added a Thanks.

----

Thursday came too quickly. Bucky paced his apartment, tidying up out of sheer nervous energy. He wasn’t sure what to expect. What was this woman going to do? Make him tea? Lecture him on proper nutrition? Sam had called her a “mom-for-hire,” but the idea still sounded absurd.

At exactly 5 PM, there was a knock at the door. Bucky froze. For a split second, he considered pretending he wasn’t home. But he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the door, noticing two things:

First, this Mom was not an older lady. Either Sam left out that critical detail, or she was some kind of evil witch who sucked the life force out of her victims to stay young.

Second, she was… nice to look at. He quickly chastised himself for the thought.

“Hi,” she said, in a warm but professional tone, like she’d done this a hundred times before. There was no hesitation in her posture, no uncertainty in her eyes. She shifted the bag on her shoulder and offered a small smile. “You must be James.”

“Bucky.” he corrected gruffly, crossing his arms and leaning slightly against the doorframe. “You’re not what I expected.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “Let me guess. You were expecting someone older? Maybe with glasses and a knitting basket?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, not confirming but not denying either.

She lets out a soft laugh. “I get that a lot.”

The silence stretched between them, and then he realized he was just standing there, blocking the doorway like an idiot. He stepped aside, muttering a “Come in.”

She entered the apartment, glancing around the living room as she set her bag down, taking in the stark, utilitarian setup. A couch, a small TV on a stand, and little else. The dining table was non-existent, replaced by a counter with two bar stools. “This is… cozy,” she said diplomatically, gesturing at the space.

Bucky’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “It works.”

She hummed in response, her gaze falling to the small stack of books on the coffee table. A couple of dog-eared crime novels sat next to a remote. There wasn’t much else to indicate anyone truly lived here. No photos, no clutter, just the bare essentials.

He folded his arms again, hovering near the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to close it or bolt. “Look, I don’t need the whole... whatever it is you do. Sam talked me into this, so don’t feel like you have to stick around for too long.”

She didn’t seem fazed by his awkward brusqueness. Instead, she just nodded and set the bag down on his counter. She began unpacking a few items, ingredients, it looked like.

“So,” she said, turning to him with an easy smile. “What’s on the agenda for today? You tell me what you need, and we’ll go from there.”

What he needed? Hell if he knew.

“Uh…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t… really know how this works.”

“That’s okay,” she reassured, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “We can start small. How about I make us something warm to eat while we talk?”

Talk. Right. He could handle that. Probably. And the food didn’t sound half bad either.

“Sure,” he said, with a softer tone now. He hesitated before adding, “Thanks.”

She smiled at him again and reached into her bag, pulling out a neatly folded apron. Without hesitation, she slipped it over her summer dress, tying the strings behind her back. The casual way she moved threw him off; she already seemed at ease in his space, which was more than he could say for himself.

“Is there anything you don’t like to eat?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.

Bucky blinked at her like she’d just asked him if he believed in unicorns. “Anything I don’t like?” His eyebrows lifted, clearly baffled by the concept.

“Yes,” she replied with a small laugh, looking back at him as if to say she was serious.

He gave a short huff, leaning against the counter, his lips twitching with faint amusement. “Doll, I grew up in the Depression. You ate what you got and licked the plate clean.”

She froze mid-step, her hands moving to her hips as she turned to face him fully. “Okay, first of all, you don’t ‘doll’ your mother,” she said, her tone firm but with a playful edge. “So let’s make it clear: that won’t be a thing between us.”

His head tilted, his eyes narrowing slightly in mild surprise at her sudden, slightly commanding tone.

“And second,” she continued, crossing her arms as if daring him to argue, “we’re not in the Depression anymore. So, humor me and tell me if there’s anything you don’t like.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the smallest hint of a smirk appearing as he quirked an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not even close.

“Guess I’ll have to think about it,” he muttered with the faintest trace of amusement.

She rolled her eyes, tying the apron snugly around her waist. “Well, then tell me what you do like, so I can see if I can pull it off with what we’ve got.”

He hesitated, darting away his gaze as if the question required more thought than it should. Finally, he mumbled, “Potatoes?”

Her lips twitched with amusement. “Lucky for you, I brought some with me.” She nodded toward another bag she’d left near the door.

Bucky watched as she moved around his kitchen, opening cabinets and peeking into drawers. It was strange seeing someone else handle his things like they belonged there.

She moved to his fridge next, tugging it open, and froze. For a long moment, she just stared, her head tilting slightly. “Huh.”

Bucky frowned, leaning to the side to see what had caught her attention. “What?”

She stepped back, gesturing inside with a wooden spoon she’d plucked from the counter. “The two plums are fine, but that sad, dried-out lemon is holding on by a thread, and…” Her nose wrinkled as she peered at a container shoved in the back. “I don’t even want to guess what’s in that tupperware.”

He shifted as his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s probably still good.”

“Bucky.” She turned to him, one brow arched and her tone matter-of-fact. “We’re going to have to make a shopping list if these visits are going to continue. Unless you’re planning to survive off potatoes and mystery leftovers?”

His lips twitched again, but he didn’t say anything, just shrugged.

“I’ll take that as agreement,” she said, grabbing the potatoes she’d brought with her and setting them on the counter. “For now, I’ll work some magic with these and whatever’s actually edible in here.”

He smirked faintly, leaning against the counter as he watched her sort through his kitchen again with an air of efficiency like she’d done this a thousand times before.

At some point, she straightened up and caught his gaze. “You didn’t say anything yet,” she said, leaning a little on the counter. “but I assume you have questions about what I do?”

He shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as if buying time. “Sam told me something… about cooking and talking,” he muttered hesitantly. Then he glanced away, subtly implying that he didn’t expect much beyond that.

She didn’t rush him, waiting patiently for him to finish. When he fell silent, she let out a soft chuckle and grabbed a cutting board from the counter. “I have a proper job, you know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “At a bookstore. This…” she continued, gesturing vaguely toward the room, “is just something I’ve been doing for a couple of years now. It started when a lady from the program came into the shop looking for books to read to her son before nap time.” She paused, her lips curving in a small, amused smile. “The thing is, this lady was, well… let’s just say she was quite old to have a little kid. She must have seen the look on my face because she told me about this initiative she was part of.”

Bucky tilted his head, curiosity tugging at his otherwise guarded expression. “And you signed up?”

“Eventually,” she admitted, peeling one of the potatoes with practiced ease. “I kept running into her, and she���d stop by the store to chat about how the reading sessions were going, how much her ‘kid’ enjoyed them.” She made air quotes with her fingers, smirking. “Turned out, her kid was a Vietnam vet. He was struggling with some things, and she was helping him feel more grounded.”

Bucky arched his brows.

“Exactly,” she said, laughing softly. “I thought it was strange at first, too, but the more I learned, the more I realized how much of a difference it can make for some people.” She paused, setting the peeler down and turning to fully face him, with a softer expression now. “There’s something about the kind of comfort a mother gives, something other roles just… don’t quite reach.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, furrowing his brow.

“You’ve probably seen it,” she continued, “Soldiers in their last moments, calling for their moms. Or when they’re delirious with fever or pain, their minds go back to a time when they felt safe, protected, and cared for. It’s not about the specific person, it’s the feeling. That deep-rooted need to know someone’s there for you, no matter what.”

His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before flicking back to her. She didn’t miss the shift in his expression, a flicker of recognition, a shadow of memory.

“I’m not saying I’m trying to be anyone’s mother,” she added quickly, offering him a gentle smile to lighten the mood. “But sometimes people just need a little bit of that energy in their life, you know? A chance to feel… safe.”

Bucky’s mouth pressed into a thin line, stiffening briefly before he exhaled, his relaxing his shoulders just a fraction. He didn’t say anything, but the weight of her words lingered in the air between them.

He had to admit it sounded... nice. Having someone to turn to when things got… when you couldn’t breathe. When the world felt too heavy and every corner of your mind was filled with noise you couldn’t escape. But just as that thought settled in, his defenses kicked in, sharp and automatic.

He scoffed, the sound coming out a little too rough, a little too biting. “And then what? You cuddle on the couch, singing a lullaby?”

Her hands stilled, and she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. There was no annoyance in her expression, no judgment. Just a calmness that made him feel even more off-balance.

“If that’s what you need,” she said simply, “then yes.”

For a moment, he was stunned into silence, caught off guard. There was no sarcasm, no condescension, just a sincerity that felt almost disarming.

His eyes darted away as he shifted his weight, the corners of his mouth twitched in an effort to form a response. But for once, words failed him, leaving only the quiet hum of the kitchen and the soft clatter of her returning to the potatoes.

“There are some info sheets and forms in the bag,” she said, nodding toward her tote. “If you want to read and complete them while I do this.” She gestured as she resumed working on the potatoes.

Bucky hesitated, flicking his gaze between her and the bag. “What’s the payment?” he asked gruffly, trying to keep his voice casual. “In case… in case I might be interested.”

She paused for a beat, then glanced over her shoulder with a small smile. “I don’t charge veterans,” she said simply.

He blinked, clearly taken aback. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Finally, he managed, “Sam didn’t… didn’t tell me that.”

“Well,” she said, setting the knife down for a moment and turning fully to face him, “to be fair, Sam told me a little about you.”

At the slight stiffness that crept into his expression, she quickly added, “Just… basic things.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m already working with someone who’s… retired now, and I wasn’t sure about having two ‘sons’ in the same department, so to speak.”

She hesitated, studying his face for a moment before continuing. “But when he told me who you were… I didn’t doubt it for a second. You’re a hero, you know?”

He seemed surprised by the statement, his brows knitting together as if trying to make sense of her words. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. Finally, he grumbled, “Don’t know about that, but thanks.”

She smiled softly, “Don’t thank me, sweetheart. I’m just stating the obvious.” With that, she turned back to the cooking, leaving Bucky standing there, uncomfortably aware of the unexpected swell of gratitude threatening to creep past his defenses.

He then opened the tote bag and pulled out a neatly organized folder. Inside, there were several documents, each clipped together in its own section. He skimmed over the first page, a set of “basic rules” clearly outlined at the top.

His brow furrowed slightly as he read. Boundaries: He would only call her “Mama” or some other variant, never her name, an instruction that immediately made his stomach twist with both unease and an odd sense of reassurance. The point was clear: this wasn’t a friendship or anything else ambiguous. It was meant to define their dynamic firmly.

Further down, he saw a list of do’s and don’ts regarding acceptable forms of touching. The wording was straightforward but gentle, ensuring the rules were understood without feeling restrictive. A clause about privacy caught his attention: Everything discussed during their sessions would remain strictly confidential. Nothing said between them would be disclosed, ever.

He sighed and leaned against the counter, flipping to the next section. The forms included a series of questions: What would you expect from these sessions? What would you prefer not to happen? What are your favorite comforts? Least favorite?

The questions made him uncomfortable. What did he expect? Hell if he knew. What would he even put down for “favorite comforts”? He tapped the pen against the counter, unsure where to start.

When he finally glanced back at her, she was chopping the potatoes with practiced ease. “And what happens after I fill this out?” he asked, trying to sound neutral.

“Once the forms are completed and signed,” she said without turning around, “I’ll be in charge of the dynamic.” She paused, glancing at him over her shoulder with a small smile. “After all, Mama knows best.”

Her tone was light, teasing, but the words landed heavier than she might have realized. Bucky stared at the form again, feeling the faintest flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe trust. Maybe just exhaustion. Either way, the weight of his pen didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

“You don’t have to sign it right now,” she said, washing her hands and wiping them on a towel. Turning back to him, she added, "Maybe wait and see how this goes first?" then, she walked toward the living room and perched on the edge of the couch patting the spot next to her. “Sit. You can tell me about your week while the potatoes cook… if you want.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the couch like it might be a trap. Finally, he crossed the room, lowering himself onto the seat beside her. The couch dipped under his weight, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed a hand over his face. The silence hung between them, save for the faint sound of traffic through the window. After a moment, he started to bounce his knee.

She noticed the motion and glanced at him, her gaze drifting lower. That’s when it hit her, the long-sleeved henley and the glove on his hand. The room wasn’t exactly cold. In fact, with the oven going and the potatoes roasting, it was comfortably warm.

Her brows knitted together. “Bucky,” she started carefully, with a light tone, “you know by now that I knew who you were before I knocked on your door, right?”

He turned his head slightly, not quite meeting her eyes but acknowledging her words with a small grunt.

“So… don’t you want to change into something less... suffocating?” She gestured loosely at his shirt. “I mean, it’s hot in here.”

His knee stopped bouncing. He straightened slightly but didn’t respond right away. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw worked like he was weighing his next move.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, his voice gruff. He didn’t sound angry, just… uncertain.

“It’s not fine,” she countered gently. “You’ll overheat sitting here like that. Besides, I thought we were working on this whole... trust thing since you know… the mom thing?”

Her words hung in the air, and for a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a deep breath, Bucky pushed himself to his feet, heading toward the hallway. He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t catch, but the slight hunch of his shoulders told her he was uncomfortable. Still, he disappeared into the bedroom, and she heard the sound of a drawer opening.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was wearing a soft, dark gray T-shirt. He paused in the doorway, his eyes flicking to her briefly before he sat back down, this time leaning into the couch instead of perching on the edge.

“Better?” he asked, his tone dry but not harsh.

“Much better,” she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.

Bucky didn’t say anything, but his shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction. The oven timer went off in the kitchen, breaking the moment, and she stood, giving him a reassuring pat on the knee as she passed by.

As she checked the food with her back turned to him, she spoke casually, “Sam said you’ve been having a rough time lately.”

Bucky frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Sam talks too much.”

Her lips quirked in a small smile, though she didn’t turn around. “He’s worried about you.”

“He doesn’t need to be,” Bucky muttered.

“Maybe not. But he is. And from what I can tell, he’s the kind of person who acts on that worry.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m not here to pry.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed slightly, and his jaw tightened. “Then why are you here?” The question came out sharper than he intended, his voice low and clipped, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned off the stove, wiped her hands on a towel, and finally faced him.

“Why am I here?” she echoed with a calm tone. “One, because you texted. And two…” She crossed the room slowly, stopping a few feet from the couch. Her gaze softened, her head tilting slightly. “Sometimes, it helps to have someone around. Someone who’s not a therapist or a friend who knows too much. Just… someone.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the gears turning in his head. She approached the couch and sat down beside him, leaving just enough space to avoid crowding him but close enough to offer her quiet support.

Bucky shifted slightly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together tightly. The silence between them stretched, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt like an invitation for him to speak if he wanted to, no pressure, no expectations.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said finally, almost in a grumble.

“I know.” Her reply was soft, almost instinctive. “It’s okay.”

His shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and for the first time that evening, he glanced at her directly. There was a hint of something vulnerable in his expression. Hesitation, perhaps.

“It’s just…” he started, his voice trailing off as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a lot lately. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Just where you feel like it, I’ll be here to listen. And if you don’t want to talk, that is fine too, one doesn’t tell everything to their mom, hm?” she assured gently.

The timer beeped from the kitchen again, cutting through the moment. She reached over, giving his forearm a brief, reassuring squeeze before standing. “Let me get that before the potatoes burn.” As she moved toward the kitchen, she glanced back at him with a small smile. “Think about it, Bucky. No rush.”

He watched her retreat, his chest feeling a little lighter, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

When she called from the kitchen, cheerfully announcing that dinner was almost ready, he found himself answering without thinking. “Smells good.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He pushed himself off the couch with a grunt and crossed the short distance to the kitchen in a few long strides. Without a word, he started opening cabinets and drawers, pulling out a couple of plates and utensils to set up at the counter.

“Oh, such a good boy!” she teased warmly.

He paused, shooting her a look over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and embarrassment. “It’s just the right thing to do,” he muttered gruffly, his ears tinged faintly pink.

She bit back a smile as she pulled the tray of potatoes from the oven, the aroma filling the small kitchen. As she set the tray down, she reached for the fridge and produced a small bowl of creamy dip, placing it on the counter beside the potatoes.

Bucky quirked a brow with evident curiosity.

“What?” she asked playfully. “These aren’t your Depression potatoes. They’ve got a little twist.”

He snorted softly, shaking his head. “A twist, huh?”

“Just a little sour cream, and the spices are courtesy of your kitchen,” she said, ladling the potatoes onto a serving dish with practiced ease. “Trust me, they’ll still taste like home. Just… a little fancier.”

Bucky glanced at the bowl again, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “Fancy potatoes,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Hey,” she countered, setting the dish in the middle of the counter with a flourish. “Even tough guys like you deserve something nice now and then.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as he pulled out a stool at the counter and sat, there was a flicker of something lighter in his eyes. “Guess we’ll see if they live up to the hype.”

She handed him a fork, with a widening smile. “Challenge accepted.”

For the first time that evening, the atmosphere in the room felt less heavy. The clinking of utensils and the scent of roasted potatoes mingled with the faintest hum of unspoken understanding.

“Not bad,” Bucky admitted after his first bite, begrudging but carrying a hint of approval.

“Not bad?” she echoed, raising a brow. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and for a fleeting moment, it almost looked like he might smile.

They made small talk while they ate, keeping the conversation light. She asked about the crime novels on his side table, and he asked -grudgingly- what kind of twist she had planned for the next meal, implying she might want to poison him. Despite himself, Bucky found the interaction strangely… normal. He wasn’t used to normal, but he didn’t hate it.

When they finished, he stood and began gathering the dishes. She protested at first, but he waved her off. “It’s what my Ma would have expected anyway,” he said matter-of-factly.

He’d just started scrubbing the first plate when her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen, then at the clock, letting out a soft sigh. “Well, Buck, it seems our two hours are up.”

Bucky froze and his hand gripped the plate under the warm water. Then he nodded once. “I see…”

She leaned against the counter next to him, watching him carefully. “So, um… what do you want to do? Will you read the forms and consider starting this little journey together, or would you rather not see my face again?” She smiled softly. “Which I’d totally understand if that’s the case.”

He didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on rinsing the plate and setting it on the drying rack. For a moment, the only sound was the rush of water and the faint hum of the fridge. It was as if he was battling with himself, his tension was visible in the way his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched. Finally, he let out a long breath and turned to face her. His hand raked through his hair.

“I... I want this, I think,” he stated. Then, almost immediately, he added, “I can step out whenever I want, right?”

Her smile softened as she reached for his vibranium hand, her fingers resting lightly against the cool metal. “Yes, Bucky. You can step out whenever you want. No pressure, no expectations. This is for you, on your terms.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes flicking down to where her hand rested on his before shifting back to meet her gaze.

“Just take your time filling out the questionnaire, think the answers carefully” she continued, warmly but matter-of-fact. “and, whenever you’re ready, snap a picture and send it to me. No rush.”

“Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Also…” She tilted her head. “How many days a week do you want me here?”

Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. He shifted slightly, glancing away as if considering his answer. “Uh… two, I guess?”

“Two it is,” she said with a small nod, releasing his hand and grabbing her bag from the counter. “You’re calling the shots, Buck. You just let me know if that changes.”

He didn’t respond right away, but as she slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way toward the door, he called out in a low tone. “Thanks.”

She paused, glancing back at him with a smile. “Anytime.”

As the door closed behind her, Bucky stood there for a moment, staring at the now-empty space she’d left behind.

Almost three minutes after she left, his phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a notification. He didn’t have to check to know who it was. Sure enough, the preview of the text confirmed it: Sam. The string of emojis accompanying the message made Bucky’s scowl deepen as he stared at the screen.

🤔💪👍👵🍲

“What the hell does that even mean?” he muttered to himself, swiping the phone off the counter and locking it without reading the full message. The last thing he needed was Sam’s smug commentaries right now.

He set the phone down a little harder than necessary and decided to distract himself the only way he knew how: by scrubbing himself clean. Grabbing a towel, he headed to the bathroom, peeling off his T-shirt on the way. The promise of a hot shower sounded like the closest thing to clarity he might find tonight.

But as the water beat down on his skin, his thoughts drifted back to the folder she’d left behind. The questionnaire seemed simple on the surface, but for a man like him, answering those kinds of questions wasn’t easy.

What comforts you?

The question alone made him bristle. Comfort wasn’t something he’d thought about in decades. Comfort was… a luxury, a distraction, a weakness. At least, that’s what they always told him and he still couldn’t shake that feeling.

The thought of filling out that damn paper felt heavier than any mission he’d been assigned. He’d rather face a bullet in his leg than sit down and figure out what he wanted.

He leaned his head against the shower tiles, the warmth of the water doing little to ease the tension coiling in his chest. Maybe he’d give himself a day. Or two. Hell, maybe a week. She’d said no rush, after all.

And if he didn’t send it? Well, it wasn’t like she’d show up uninvited. He could still back out.

He turned off the water with a sharp twist, the sudden silence leaving him alone with his thoughts. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out, glancing toward the closed door of his bedroom where the folder waited.

----

It had taken Bucky two weeks to fill out the forms. Two long, painstaking weeks of sitting at his couch, pen in hand, staring at questions that felt more like traps than prompts. He’d forced himself to be thorough, thinking carefully about each subject.

What makes you feel safe? What comforts you? What do you need from me?

How do you want to be called as an endearment?

He’d tried to approach it with an open mind, though the process made him cringe more than once. Admitting what he needed -or even what he was willing to permit- felt like baring himself in a way that left him raw.

But he finished. He signed the papers, scanned them with his phone, and sent the file off with an unceremonious text:

Here. Let me know if it’s fine.

Her reply had been immediate and cheerful: Got it! Looks perfect. See you Tuesday.

----

When Tuesday came, she arrived at his building, juggling a tote bag filled with what she liked to call her “comfort supplies.” A neighbor leaving the building had held the door open for her, a kind but overly trusting gesture.

Not a very safe thing to do, she thought as she stepped inside. But I’m not going to complain.

She reached his door, knuckles rapping lightly against it. “Bucky? It’s me.”

No answer.

She frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Bucky, you there?”

Still nothing.

She pulled out her phone and sent him a quick message: Hey, I’m here! A moment later, her phone buzzed with the dreaded notification: Message failed to deliver.

Her frown deepened. She tried calling, but the call went straight to voicemail. A sinking feeling settled in her chest as she pressed her ear to the door, listening intently.

Nothing. No footsteps. No muffled noises. Just silence.

She sighed, leaning back against the wall. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he’d changed his mind and didn’t know how to tell her.

She checked her watch. Twenty minutes had passed, and she still hadn’t heard a peep from him. With a reluctant shake of her head, she turned and walked toward the elevator, her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet hallway.

-----

A couple of hours later, Bucky dragged his feet through the corridor. His nose throbbed painfully, a reminder of the last few days he’d spent dealing -again- with enhanced assholes who seemed to have gotten their hands on some variant of the serum.

The faint metallic scent of dried blood clung to him, mingling with the sweat and grime of too many hours spent in the open. His brows furrowed, eyes heavy-lidded as he scanned the hallway out of habit. That’s when he spotted it, a small bag made of cloth sitting neatly at his doorstep.

He paused, taking a moment to connect the dots through the haze of exhaustion.

Fuck.

He let out a slow, frustrated exhale, running a hand over his face and wincing as the dried cut on his cheek tugged painfully. Of course, this would happen. Of course, he’d mess this up right out of the gate.

Bending down, he picked up the bag, holding it gingerly in his hands like it might scold him. The fabric was soft and patterned with small flowers, something that felt almost absurdly out of place against his bloodstained hands and the concrete walls of the hallway.

He peeked inside, and his chest tightened. A handful of sugar babies’ packages into view, the bright yellow being a jarring contrast to the dull exhaustion weighing him down.

What were your favorite sweets as a child?

The questionnaire echoed in his head, and his stomach twisted. He hadn’t even realized he’d written those down until now.

Straightening up, he glanced down the hallway toward the elevator, tightening his grip on the bag. What kind of impression was this supposed to leave? Forgetting the session entirely, not answering the door, not even leaving a message…

He groaned, leaning back against his door and glaring down at the bag like it held all the answers to his failures.

After a long moment, he nested the bag into the crook of his arm, fumbled with his keys, and let himself into the apartment.

The silence inside was deafening. He placed the bag of candies on the counter and reached for his phone, dead as expected. He plugged it into the charger with a sigh, running a hand through his hair before peeling off his ruined clothes. The bloodstained shirt landed in a heap on the floor as he pulled his knives and gun from their holsters and set them down on the counter next to the flower-patterned bag.

The juxtaposition was almost laughable. The hard edges of his weapons, worn and familiar, sat starkly against the soft, cheerful fabric of the bag.

It didn’t feel right, to see them in the same space.

But he was too tired to care for the moment.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky leaned against the counter, lingering his gaze on the bag of candies. He reached inside and pulled out one of the packages, turning it over in his fingers like it was something fragile. For a moment, he just stood there, as the weight of the past days pressed down on him.

Finally, he tore the wrapper open, popped one caramel into his mouth, and let the sugary sweetness dissolve on his tongue. It wasn’t much. But somehow, it tasted like a small piece of something he’d forgotten he needed.

-----

It was late afternoon when her phone buzzed with a message. She picked it up from the table, brushing across the screen to read it.

Just one word: Sorry.

She stared at the message for a moment, tightening her grip on the device. Well, at least it didn’t seem like he’d changed his mind entirely. That was something.

Are you okay?

The reply didn’t come right away. The minutes stretched, and she found herself glancing at the screen every few moments. Finally, the phone buzzed again, and she read his response:

I don’t know.

Her chest ached at the honesty of those three words. Biting her lip, she typed her reply carefully.

Do you want me to come over?

The dots indicating he was typing blinked, disappeared, and then reappeared. His answer came back after what felt like an eternity.

You don’t have to.

She frowned, her thumbs flew across the keyboard.

That is not what I asked, Bucky.

Another pause. This one was longer. The late afternoon sun painted her walls in streaks of orange and gold, but she barely noticed, since her attention was fixed on the phone in her hands.

Finally, he replied.

Yes.

Her shoulders relaxed as she exhaled. Without hesitation, she grabbed her bag, slid her phone into her pocket, and headed for the door.

-----

Her gaze widened when she saw Bucky’s face as he opened the door. A nasty cut marred the already purpled skin of his cheek, his nose looked bruised, his lower lip was split, and scrapes littered his flesh arm. His expression and the slump of his shoulders only added to the picture of someone who’d been through a lot.

He must have noticed her stare because the first thing out of his mouth was, “You should see the other guys.”

She clicked her tongue in exasperation, her hand motioning firmly toward him. “Move. Let me in.”

Bucky stepped aside, his expression hovered somewhere between guilt and defiance. She entered without waiting for another invitation, her sharp eyes already scanning the room. “Did you clean the wounds?”

He shrugged nonchalantly as if it weren’t worth mentioning. “I took a shower…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, deliberate sigh. “That’s not… no. That doesn’t count. Where is your first aid kit?”

He looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Doll, all this is going away in three days, tops. Courtesy of the serum.”

Her gaze snapped to his, sharp enough to freeze hell over. “Where. Is. It. And how did you just call me?”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then shut, and he swallowed audibly. “M-ma,” he mumbled, his eyes darting to the floor like a chastised child.

“That’s what I thought.” She folded her arms, with a tone that brooked no argument. “I assume you have that thing in the bathroom.”

“I told you, it’s not neces-”

That look again. He stopped mid-sentence, his shoulders slumping as he relented. “Yes.”

“Good,” she said briskly, already heading toward the bathroom without waiting for further direction. “Stay put. I’ll handle this.”

Bucky stared after her, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. With a quiet groan, he leaned against the counter, muttering under his breath, “You should really see the other guys…”

But even as he said it, he found himself oddly relieved that she was there.

“Sit on the chair so I can see you better”, her voice came calm but firm from his side as she gestured to the single chair against the wall.

Bucky hesitated for half a second before complying, dragging the chair forward slightly and lowering himself onto it.

She knelt slightly in front of him, brushing her fingers lightly over the bruised and battered skin of his face. “This surely must hurt,” she said softly. “You don’t have to act all rough with me.”

He didn’t answer, clenching his jaw ever so slightly. Not to brush off the pain, not to admit that it hurt. He just stayed silent, with his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder.

With gentle care, she dabbed at his cheek with a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic. The sharp, chemical smell hit the air immediately, and Bucky flinched, pressing his lips into a thin line.

She paused, knitting her brows in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

Her gaze stayed patient but unyielding. “Bucky.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes flicking away from hers before returning. “I don’t like the smell,” he admitted, almost in a whisper.

She stilled, hovering her hand in midair. “Why?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze grew distant, and his expression went clouded as if he were somewhere else entirely. When he finally spoke, his voice was even quieter, tinged with something raw and broken.

“Spent a lot of years smelling that shit,” he said, with words that carried too much weight. “Couldn’t drink a glass of water without a command. Couldn’t… do anything. And that smell… it was always there. Always.”

Her heart ached at the admission, but she didn’t let it show on her face. Instead, she lowered the cotton ball, letting him see her hands move it out of the way. “Okay,” she said softly. “We’ll rinse the cuts with water instead. No more of this stuff.”

He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at her. “You don’t have to-”

“I know I don’t,” she interrupted gently. “But I’m here to help you, honey, not to make things harder.”

He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded. He didn’t say anything else, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.

By the time she finished tending to his wounds, Bucky was leaning heavily against the chair, with drooping eyelids. The tension in his frame had loosened ever so slightly, his exhaustion was clear in the way he blinked sluggishly at the floor.

She stood and began gathering the supplies, placing them neatly back into his first aid kit. “I’m going to make you something to eat,” she said firmly, already planning a quick meal to get something nutritious in him.

“Not now,” he murmured, barely lifting his head.

She turned toward him with a frown. “Bucky, you’ve probably gone days without eating anything that isn’t complete garbage. You need-”

“I just…” His words came out with difficulty, like they were being dragged out of him. He rubbed his flesh hand over his face “I just want you close.” his voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

Her expression softened instantly. Nodding, she stepped closer, reaching for his vibranium hand. She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Come on. Let’s sit on the couch.”

She guided him the short distance toward the living room and he followed with slow, dragging steps. Once they reached the couch, she looked at him with patience. “What do you need?”

Bucky hesitated and his throat worked as if he were trying to swallow his pride. His eyes flicked to her, then away again, his mouth opening and closing like he was fighting himself. Finally, he let out a soft, almost defeated sigh.

“I… I want to lean my head on your lap, Mama,” he admitted almost shakily.

She smiled softly, not saying anything that might make him feel more self-conscious. She just nodded and sat at one end of the couch, patting her thighs gently to indicate he should lie down.

Bucky followed, his movements stiff and hesitant as he eased himself onto the couch. He stretched out his long torso, his head tentatively resting on her lap. He stayed tense for a moment, as if bracing for something, though even he wasn’t sure what.

She started running her fingers through his short hair, brushing the strands back in slow, rhythmic motions. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay.”

The tension in his shoulders began to melt, and his breathing slowed as her fingers worked through his hair with careful, deliberate strokes. He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh as his body finally surrendered to a comfort he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

-----

After two months of visits, she was surprised one day to find an old oak dining table in Bucky’s apartment. It was small but sturdy, with matching chairs tucked neatly under it. The single chair he’d once had was nowhere in sight.

She stepped closer, running her hand along the smooth wood. “This is lovely,” she said, her tone genuinely appreciative.

Bucky stood nearby, with his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. He glanced at her, then at the table, mumbling, “It was time for me to have one.”

She turned to him with a smile. “Well, it makes the place look more like a home now. You know,” she added thoughtfully, “I have a tablecloth about this size at home that I don’t use. I could bring it next time, if you’d like.”

Bucky hesitated, furrowing his brows slightly as if considering her offer. “About that…” he started, a little unsure.

She waited patiently, giving him time to express what he wanted to say.

“I want to start…” He paused, searching for the right words. “making this place more... like someone is living here.”

“Like a home?” she prompted gently.

“Y-yeah.” He looked down, scratching at the back of his neck. “Besides that hut in Wakanda… it’s been a lifetime since I had a place to… a… a home.”

Her heart ached at his admission, but she didn’t push. Instead, she stepped closer and gently rested her hand on his arm. “That sounds very hard, sweetheart.”

Bucky didn’t deny or confirm her statement, just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“I was wondering…” he began, his voice steadier now. “If next time, we could schedule an earlier time to see each other. And maybe…” He hesitated, glancing at her as if bracing for her reaction. “Maybe you could come with me to help me buy some things?”

Her smile widened, her hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That sounds great, honey.” Then, she added warmly but firmly, “Just remember, this is your home. You have to choose what you think suits you.”

Her words were a reminder of the boundaries they’d set, of the balance they were working toward. Still, they carried enough warmth to let him know she’d be there for him.

After discussing the table and his plans to make the apartment feel more like a home, she glanced around the space and tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know,” she said lightly, “a good table deserves a little cleanup around it. How about we tidy up a bit?”

Bucky frowned, sweeping his gaze over the room. “It’s not that bad.”

She gave him a pointed look, walking toward a pile of mail and random odds and ends stacked on the counter. “It’s not terrible, but a little organizing wouldn’t hurt. Come on, help me out.”

He followed her reluctantly, muttering something under his breath about bossy moms.

She smirked but didn’t rise to the bait, handing him a small stack of papers. “Sort these, bills, junk, whatever doesn’t need to be here,” she instructed, already reaching for a rag to wipe down the counter.

As they worked, the task settled into an easy rhythm. She asked him about the books he’d been reading, and he surprised her by asking if she had any recommendations. It was small talk, but it felt comfortable and natural like it had been almost since the beginning.

After the living room and kitchen looked noticeably tidier, she wiped her hands on her jeans and glanced toward the hallway leading to his bedroom. Motioning toward the door, she said, “Alright, let’s check out the bedroom next.”

Bucky froze, tightening his shoulders visibly. “Bedroom’s fine,” he said quickly, the edge of reluctance in his voice was unmistakable.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “I’m already on a roll, Buck. Might as well see the whole place.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he reluctantly trailed behind her. “It’s not much to look at,” he muttered, more resigned than defiant.

“Then it won’t take long,” she quipped, throwing him a reassuring smile before disappearing through the doorway. Her brows furrowed at the sight before her. The bed was buried under a haphazard pile of boxes, and scattered clothes dotted the floor. The mattress didn’t even have sheets on it, and the faint layer of dust on the headboard told her it hadn’t been used in a while.

She turned to him, crossing her arms. “What’s going on here? Where do these boxes go?”

Bucky shifted awkwardly in the doorway, avoiding her gaze. “They’re fine where they are.”

“Bucky…” Her voice softened, concern creeping into her tone. “Where are you sleeping?”

He clenched his jaw, and after a long pause, he mumbled, “On the floor. In the living room.”

Her eyes widened. “The floor?

He nodded, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

She stepped closer, keeping her voice calm but firm. “Why?”

His lips pressed into a thin line before he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The bed’s too… soft.” He paused, struggling with the words. “It doesn’t feel safe,” he continued, with a low voice. “When I’m on the floor, I can feel the room. Hear things better. I… know what’s going on and can act in case something happens.” His gaze dropped to the pile of boxes on the bed. “And the bed… it’s just not right. Too soft, too confining. It feels like a trap.”

She nodded slowly, her expression a mix of understanding and quiet sadness. “That makes sense,” she said gently. “But, honey, that’s no way to live. I get why you feel that way, but you deserve to rest somewhere that doesn’t hurt your back.”

He gave her a faint shrug, the corner of his mouth pulling downward. “I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” she replied, stepping closer and resting a hand lightly on his arm. “How about we start small? Let’s clear off the bed today. No pressure to use it yet, but maybe we can make it feel a little less… wrong. Less like a trap.”

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes flicking back toward the cluttered bed. She could see the hesitation in his face, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was fighting an internal battle.

Finally, he nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “Alright.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile. “Good. So, where do these boxes go?”

“Closet,” he muttered, stepping forward to help her.

Together, they cleared the bed, tucking the boxes away and folding the stray clothes. She didn’t push or prod, keeping the conversation light as they worked. She mentioned ideas for making the bed more comfortable, maybe firmer pillows or a thinner mattress topper to make it feel less suffocating.

By the time they were done, the room already looked less like a storage space and more like a place where someone could rest.

“There,” she said, dusting her hands off and turning to him. “A step in the right direction.”

Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, staring at it like it was something foreign. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess so.”

“You don’t have to use it right away,” she gently. “But when you’re ready, it’ll be here for you.”

He nodded again, loosening his shoulders slightly.

As they returned to the main area, she expected Bucky to suggest starting dinner, but instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Can we… sit for a bit? On the couch?”

“Of course,” she said with an easy smile, leading the way. She settled into her usual spot at one end, patting her thighs lightly.

Bucky sat and shifted, lying down until his head rested on her lap. When her fingers began threading gently through his hair, he let out a quiet exhale. They stayed like that for a while, the stillness of the apartment punctuated only by the soft rhythm of her fingers against his scalp and the occasional hum of traffic outside.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked softly, not wanting to break the moment but leaving the door open for him.

Bucky closed his eyes, his voice low and drowsy. “Not yet. Just this. This is… enough.”

After a while of lying on the couch, Bucky's body had grown heavier against her lap. His breathing became slower, and his voice was groggy when he finally spoke. “Hey… can we go shopping on Saturday instead of Friday?”

Her fingers stilled briefly in his hair before resuming their soothing rhythm. “Saturday?”

“Yeah…” He trailed off, blinking sluggishly up at the ceiling. “I’ve got some stuff to deal with on Friday. Nothing big. Just easier if it’s Saturday.”

She hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at him. “I can’t,” she said gently.

“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to meet her gaze.

“I have a date.”

The weight in the room shifted immediately and his body stiffened under her touch. “Like… with your other ‘son’?” he asked, the words tumbling out awkwardly before he could stop himself.

She blinked, then laughed softly. “No, Bucky. Like with a man. A real date.”

Her fingers resumed their lazy rhythm through his hair, but she could feel the way his shoulders tensed further, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t respond right away, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Sensing his unease, she chuckled. “Don’t worry. You won’t meet him, and you definitely won’t have to call him Dad.”

Bucky let out a faint huff, something caught between a snort and a sigh, but he didn’t relax. “Didn’t say I was worried,” he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

She smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair again with deliberate care. He closed his eyes again, letting her touch ground him as the weight of the day slowly ebbed away.

After a moment of silence, Bucky shifted slightly against her lap. His lips pressed together like he was trying to hold something back, but finally, the question slipped out. “Where… where did you meet this guy?”

Her fingers paused briefly in his hair before resuming their soothing rhythm. “At the bookstore,” she said lightly. “He comes in pretty often. We’ve had a few nice conversations over the past couple of months.”

Bucky frowned, his brows knitting together as he stared at the ceiling. “You’ve gone out with him before?”

She shook her head, smiling softly. “No, this will be the first time.”

He mulled that over, his gaze flickering with something unreadable before he glanced up at her. “So… what do you like about him?”

The question came out gruff, almost begrudging, but there was a flicker of genuine curiosity -or maybe hesitation- in his voice.

Her lips twitched with amusement as she considered the question. “Well,” she began, “he’s polite, for once. Always says hello and takes the time to ask how my day is going.”

Bucky huffed lightly, a soft sound of dismissal.

“And he’s thoughtful,” she continued. “One time, he brought me coffee because he noticed I was swamped with a shipment of books. Didn’t even stay to chat, just handed it to me and said he thought I might need it.”

“Sounds like a Boy Scout,” Bucky muttered, his tone laced with faint skepticism.

She chuckled softly, brushing her fingers lightly over his temple. “Maybe. But I like that he pays attention. He’s kind without expecting anything in return.”

Bucky stayed silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on some invisible point far away. Finally, he murmured, “So, you’re serious about him?”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “It’s just one date, Buck,” she said gently. “I’m not planning a wedding.” Her voice carried a reassuring warmth, softening the weight of his question. “I don’t even know if there’s anything there yet.”

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, his tone softer now, though the small frown on his face lingered. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“I guess I will,” she replied. After a pause, she added with a playful glint in her eyes, “But no matter what happens, it won’t change anything between us. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

Bucky’s lips twitched faintly, the ghost of a smile breaking through his lingering tension. “Yeah… I remember.”

Her fingers slid through his hair again with deliberate care, and the corners of his mouth relaxed, even if his eyes remained shadowed. Whatever the storm in his mind, her presence was enough to keep it at bay for now.

“Speaking of dates,” she said, lightly but curious, “you didn’t tell me how your date went with the woman from the grocery store. The one you told me about the last time we saw each other.”

Bucky shifted against her lap, suddenly looking a lot less relaxed. “I… kind of left in the middle of it,” he admitted, uncomfortable.

“Oh, you didn’t,” her eyebrows lifted in mock reproach as she tugged softly at his hair, as a playful reprimand.

He huffed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “She was… noisy,” he started, his voice tinged with frustration as he struggled to explain. “Talked too much, and it wasn’t even about anything interesting. Kept asking questions, but…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “She didn’t actually care about the answers. Just wanted to fill the silence.”

Her fingers paused briefly, then resumed their soothing rhythm through his hair. “That sounds exhausting,” she said softly, her tone full of understanding. “But that’s not the whole reason, is it?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked away. “She was touchy,” he said finally. “Kept leaning in, grabbing my arm, laughing like… like it was supposed to make me feel good or something.”

“Did it?” she asked gently.

“No.” His response was firm, and his hands flexed at his sides as though the memory left him uneasy. “I wasn’t comfortable with her being so close. I don’t even think she noticed. Or cared.”

She sighed softly, her touch steady as she brushed her fingers through his hair again. “You’ll find someone who gets you. Someone who’ll respect your pace and what you need.”

His lips twitched faintly, like he wanted to smile but wasn’t quite sure how. “What if there’s not?” he muttered, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t catch it.

“There will be,” she reassured him. “You just have to be patient. And picky. Nothing wrong with that.”

For a moment, he was silent, the tension in his body softening just a little under her touch. Then, almost shyly, he murmured, “Thanks… Mama.”

She smiled warmly, leaning back into the couch as her hand continued to comb gently through his hair. “Anytime, honey.”

-----

Time had a way of slipping by, and before he knew it, Bucky found himself sitting across from another date. This one wasn’t noisy or overly touchy, and the small brewery they’d chosen wasn’t bad, either. He nursed a beer in one hand, his vibranium arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his Henley, as the woman across from him laughed at something he’d said, a low, cautious laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

Her eyes drifted to his wrist, where the dark leather bracelet he always wore peeked out from his sleeve. “I like that,” she said, nodding toward it. “The bracelet. It’s nice.”

He glanced at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. My mom gave it to me.”

Her expression faltered slightly, the smile on her lips growing a bit stiff. “Oh, that’s… sweet,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you, uh, live with your mom?”

Bucky furrowed his brows, looking at her like she’d just asked if the sky was purple. “No. Why?”

She shifted in her seat, her fingers toying with the edge of her glass. “Well, then you must be very… close to her. Are you the youngest son?”

“No.” His tone was sharper now, though he didn’t mean it to be. “Why?”

The woman hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her drink. Finally, she gestured vaguely toward him, her voice dropping as though she were trying to be delicate. “Well… you’ve brought her up a lot. And, no offense, but it’s kind of… weird for a man your age. On a date, I mean.”

Bucky froze, his beer halfway to his lips. For a moment, he said nothing, his blue gaze narrowing slightly as he processed what she’d just said. Then, slowly, he set the bottle down, and his fingers tightened slightly around the glass. A familiar sense of unease churned in his chest, accompanied by the ache of frustration.

“Right,” he said finally with an even voice, though there was a subtle edge to it. “I guess that is weird.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably, her awkward smile faltering completely. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted, leaning back in his chair. His expression was blank, his tone cool, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

For the rest of the date, the conversation limped along, each attempt at salvaging it falling flat. Bucky found himself withdrawing, offering short, polite responses but little else. The spark of curiosity or connection -if there had ever been one- had fizzled out entirely.

When the check came, he paid for their drinks, refusing her offer to split it with a quiet but firm “Don’t worry about it.”

As they stepped outside, he offered a polite goodbye, but his tone was distant, and he didn’t wait for her to respond before walking off into the night.

He didn’t bring her up that much, did he? The thought came gruffly as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, but deep down, he already knew the answer. Should’ve just stayed home.

His gaze fell to the leather bracelet again, and he sighed, slowing his footsteps.

‘Mom’ wouldn’t have made me feel like that.

He shook his head as he entered, the faint metallic clink of keys landing in the small ceramic bowl echoed through the quiet space. His lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze lingered on it. The damn bowl she picked because I couldn’t decide. He let out a low, frustrated growl, kicking off his boots near the door and running a hand through his hair.

His nose wrinkled as a faint scent clung to him, cigarettes, from his date. She must have smoked earlier, and now it lingered in his jacket, his shirt, even his hair. His brows furrowed. He didn’t like it. The realization was sharp, irritating, and only added to his foul mood as he stripped off his clothes while walking toward the bathroom.

The shower hissed to life, steam filling the room as he stepped under the hot spray, letting the water cascade over his shoulders. He rested his palms against the tile wall, hanging his head forward, dampening his hair.

The date replayed in his head in vivid detail: her awkward comments, the tight smile when she’d tried to backpedal, the judgment laced in her words. Weird for a man your age. He gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening against the slick tiles.

She wasn’t wrong, he did bring up Mama more than he realized. But was that a crime? She was one of the few constants in his life that didn’t feel… hollow.

The thought only made the pit in his stomach grow heavier. The way she’d looked at him like he was some awkward, broken man who couldn’t function properly… it stung.

Before he knew it, his thoughts wandered to her instead. Not the woman from the date, but the one helping him put his life back together piece by piece. The one who’d picked out that damn bowl. The one who had sat on his couch, combing her fingers through his hair when he’d been too exhausted to speak.

His breathing hitched slightly as he remembered her touch, soft and unhurried, calming him in a way no one else ever had. He could almost feel the ghost of her fingers brushing through his hair, skimming over his temple with a care he didn’t deserve.

His hand slid down his chest, trailing over the wet planes of his torso, and he exhaled shakily, furrowing his brow. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. It was wrong -so wrong- but his body didn’t seem to care.

His grip tightened on himself, and his head thunked lightly against the tile as a groan slipped past his lips. The hot water beat against his back, but it couldn’t drown out the traitorous images flooding his mind. Her smile, the warmth of her voice, the way she’d called him “honey” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his strokes becoming sharper, more desperate as if he could exorcise the feelings clawing their way to the surface. He shouldn’t be doing this, he admonished himself again. Not with Mama. Not the one person who made him feel safe.

And yet, the warmth of her imagined touch, the thought of her fingers tracing the scars on his skin or resting lightly against his jaw, was enough to push him over the edge. His release came with a choked groan, and his forehead pressed harder against the tile as his body shuddered.

For a moment, the only sound was the steady rhythm of the water and his ragged breathing.

And then the guilt hit him.

His hands clenched into fists, as his chest tightened. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he whispered harshly, his voice cracking under the weight of his self-reproach.

He braced himself against the wall, shaking his head slightly. He felt disgusting, his stomach twisted as shame crept in his mind. She trusted him -cared for him- and this was how he repaid that?

With a low, bitter laugh, he reached for the soap, scrubbing furiously at his skin as if he could wash away the evidence of what he’d just done. But no amount of scrubbing could cleanse the storm of emotions raging inside him.

It was wrong. He was wrong. And yet, deep down, a part of him couldn’t stop wanting.

Goddammit.

-----

When Sam hinted that week about needing him for a little thing in Kuala Lumpur, Bucky didn’t hesitate. It didn’t seem like something Wilson could handle solo, and besides, a mission was the perfect way to blow off some steam. Anything to quiet the thoughts that had been clawing at the back of his mind since the date -and especially- since that shower.

He sent a quick text to Mama, keeping it short and simple, their usual code for missions.

Taking a vacation this week. Won’t make Friday.

Her reply came quickly: Take care of yourself. Don’t engage in crazy fun.

Bucky huffed softly, shaking his head as he stared at the screen. Ok, Mom, he typed back, his lips twitching faintly despite himself.

Her response came almost immediately: I mean it, Jamie.

Fuck. His jaw tightened, and he locked the phone without answering. She always had a way of cutting through him, even with a couple of words. He shoved the phone into his pocket and headed to pack, grumbling under his breath.

When Sam picked him up a day later, Bucky was already in mission mode: focused, stoic, and bracing himself for whatever chaos Wilson was about to drag him into. But despite his best efforts to push her words aside, they echoed faintly in his mind.

Take care of yourself.

He’d try. For her.

-----

Things went slightly fine the first day, if you ignored the shooting, falling from a 15-story building into a trash container, and the broken shower in the safehouse. Bucky stood shirtless in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, grimacing as he splashed cold water over his chest and shoulders. The sink barely worked, sputtering like it might give up entirely, and the dingy tiles on the walls didn’t do much to make him feel clean.

“Man, this place is a dump,” Sam said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“Better than the street,” Bucky grunted, grabbing a threadbare towel to dry off.

Sam hummed noncommittally, watching as Bucky fumbled with the faucet. “So, how’s it going with her?”

Bucky froze briefly before answering. “Things are good.”

“Glad you finally listened to me.” Sam’s voice carried just a hint of smugness. “I mean, you’re still a pain in the ass, but at least your mood’s improved a lot these past months.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. You want me to thank you or something?”

“Nah,” Sam replied, grinning. “But I’ll take it as a win anyway.”

Bucky muttered something unintelligible under his breath and pushed past him, heading to the small, creaky bed in the corner of the cramped space.

That night, like most nights, sleep evaded him. He lay on his back, staring at the water-stained ceiling of the safehouse, while his mind spun with too many thoughts. Missions were supposed to clear his head, burn off the restlessness that kept him awake. But tonight, even exhaustion didn’t help.

With a frustrated sigh, he sat up and grabbed the disposable phone Sam had handed him earlier. He knew it was a bad idea, knew he should just put it away and try to rest, but his fingers moved on their own, pulling up her profile.

Her social media was usually quiet: cozy book displays from her job, pictures of the plants she was trying to keep alive, and the occasional funny meme. It was soothing, like a peek into a normal life that he could never fully touch.

But tonight, it wasn’t soothing.

His stomach dropped as he stared at the most recent photo, uploaded just a few hours ago. It was a close-up of two hands holding Sharpies, coloring a detailed mandala. One of the hands was hers, he recognized the delicate curve of her fingers, and the faint scar near her thumb. The other one was clearly male, broader and rougher.

The tags hit him like a punch to the gut:

#SoProudOfYou #AlmostAllByYourself

Bucky stared at the screen, and his chest tightened as the meaning sank in his brain.

Her other son.

It had to be him, the other veteran she worked with, the one she’d mentioned months ago. The one responsible for her being “unsure” about taking him in when Sam first approached her.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the floor. He could still picture the hands, the caption, the pride in her words. And it twisted in his chest, an uncomfortable, raw feeling he couldn’t shake.

He rubbed his hand over his face, groaning softly. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

It shouldn’t matter. She wasn’t his. She’d never been his, not in that way. He told himself that over and over, but the ache in his chest didn’t care. The idea of her giving someone else that same care, that same warmth, felt like a betrayal, even though he had no right to feel that way.

With a frustrated growl, Bucky tossed the phone onto the nightstand and dropped his head into his hands. For all the chaos of the mission, for all the bullets and explosions and pain, nothing had hit him harder than that damn photo.

And he hated himself for how much it hurt.

-----

The mission wrapped up in a flurry of controlled chaos. The intel had been secured, the enhanced assholes neutralized, and while Sam emerged with only a few scratches, Bucky sported a fresh bruise on his jaw and a deep gash on his forearm, not that he cared.

The flight back was quiet, the hum of the jet’s engines filling the cabin as Bucky sat slumped in one of the seats, staring a blank point in front of him. His vibranium fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, the only outward sign of the storm brewing in his head.

Across the aisle, Sam noticed. He always noticed.

At first, he let it be, figuring Bucky’s mood would even out once they hit the ground. But as the hours dragged on, and the Winter Sulker stayed silent, Sam couldn’t help himself.

“You’re quiet,” Sam said, leaning back in his seat.

Bucky didn’t respond, his gaze kept fixed on the clouds outside.

Sam tried again, his tone a little sharper this time. “You gonna sit there brooding the whole way, or are you gonna tell me what’s eating you?”

Still, nothing.

Sam let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. But let me guess: You’re pissed off because someone scratched your arm? Or wait, maybe you’re mad because someone didn’t say ‘thank you sir’ after you saved their life?”

Bucky’s fingers stilled on the armrest, tightening his jaw.

That was all the opening Sam needed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, man, I’m not blind. You’ve been sulking since day one of this mission. You want to talk about it, or do I have to guess some more?”

Bucky’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing. “Just drop it, Wilson.”

“See, now you’ve got me curious,” Sam said, grinning in a way that only made Bucky’s irritation spike. “What’s got the great James Buchanan Barnes in such a mood? Did Mama scold you over text?”

That did it. Bucky shot out of his seat, towering over Sam with a scowl. “I said drop it!” he barked, his voice echoed in the small cabin.

Sam didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He just stared up at Bucky. “So it is about her.”

Bucky froze, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Man, you’ve been walking around like someone kicked your dog,” Sam continued, with a softer tone. “And I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, you’ve got to get it out before it eats you alive.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before sitting back down with a heavy thud. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and muttered, “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Sam pointed out.

“It’s fine,” Bucky snapped tiredly.

Sam watched him for a moment before sighing and leaning back. “Alright. Keep it to yourself if you want. But I’m telling you now, whatever’s got you in this mood, you better work it out before it gets worse.

Bucky didn’t answer, turning his gaze back to the blank point. The rest of the flight passed in tense silence, as the weight of Sam’s words pressed down on him more than he wanted to admit.

----

He entered his apartment, dragging his feet like every step took more effort than it should. The mission had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, though it wasn’t the physical strain, it was the weight in his chest that seemed to grow heavier every time he returned to this quiet, empty space.

He grabbed his dead phone from the counter and plugged into the charger, barely glancing at the notifications, and made his way to the bed. The mattress was thin, and the pillows hard, as she’d suggested. “A good way to transition from the floor,” she’d said, and damned if she hadn’t been right. He’d hated it at first, but now… now it felt like his.

He dropped onto it without bothering to change, his eyes closing almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was so tired. So fucking tired.

That night, the nightmares came back.

And the next night.

And the next.

-----

Several days later, she was pacing her living room, phone in hand, staring at the screen with her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Whatever Bucky was into, it must have been over by now. She was sure of it, or at least, she hoped so. The radio silence was starting to worry her.

He wasn’t one to check in often -God knew that- but after all these months, she’d learned his rhythms. This wasn’t like him, not entirely. Not answering her, staying quiet this long? That wasn’t just distance. That was something else.

Finally, she typed a quick, casual message:

Still at the resort, hun?

His reply came faster than she’d expected, but it was curt.

No.

Her brows furrowed. Oh, okay, she thought, frowning at the screen. Something felt off. She typed again.

Everything alright? Did you have more fun than intended?

The dots in the chat appeared, blinked, and then disappeared.

Okay, she thought, waiting. Then they blinked again. And disappeared.

Bucky, are you hurt? she finally wrote with concern.

This time, the message was read almost instantly, but no reply came.

She sighed, deepening her frown. She knew this pattern all too well. When Bucky didn’t answer, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to, it was because he didn’t know how.

“Alright, Buck,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her bag. “Time for a visit.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this, dropping everything to pull him out of whatever dark place he’d retreated to. He’d let her in, little by little, trusting her with parts of himself no one else saw. She’d told herself it was about helping him, being there for him in the way he needed.

But it was more than that.

The truth, the one she kept swallowing down, was that her care for him didn’t fit neatly into the boundaries of their arrangement. It wasn’t maternal, not entirely. It was something more, something deeper. She shoved the thought aside, tightening her grip on her bag. Principles, she reminded herself firmly. Getting involved with him like that would be wrong. He deserved better.

But she couldn’t stop herself from caring.

She grabbed the key off the hook by her door and headed out. Not answering the door wasn’t going to be an option this time.

Not for her.

As expected, her knocks were met with silence. She sighed with resignation and slipped the key into the lock.

The door creaked open, and she wrinkled her nose as the stale, charged air of the apartment hit her. It wasn’t the worst she’d seen it, but it was far from the neat, semi-organized space they’d worked on together. Her gaze swept the room, taking in the scattered clothes on the floor and a small pile of takeout containers on the counter.

At least he’s been eating, she thought, a small relief in the face of the mess.

The faint sound of water running led her to the source: the bathroom. The shower.

She turned her focus back to the living room, her lips pressing into a line as she slid the window open to let in some fresh air. The cool breeze offered a small reprieve from the heaviness of the space.

Spotting a roll of garbage bags near the counter, she grabbed one and started tidying up. The crumpled clothes went into a hamper, the empty takeout boxes into the bag. She wiped at the counter absently, and her mind drifted to the last time he’d gone radio silent like this.

Whatever this is, we’ll get through it, she told herself.

She was so focused on her task, that she didn’t notice when the sound of the shower stopped, or when Bucky emerged from the hallway.

He stood there, quiet and guarded, with a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to his skin, rolling down the faint scars on his flesh arm and chest. His stare was intense and unreadable as he watched her move around his apartment as if she belonged there.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice startled her, low and edged with exhaustion. She turned sharply, the garbage bag crinkling in her hands as her eyes met his.

“Oh,” she said, recovering quickly. Her gaze flicked briefly over him before landing firmly on his face. “I knocked. You didn’t answer.” She gestured toward the bag in her hands. “Figured I’d help you out a little.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“No,” she replied evenly, setting the bag down and crossing her arms. “But I wasn’t about to leave you stewing in here like this.”

His jaw worked as he shifted his weight. “I’m fine.”

She raised an skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah? Because this,” she gestured to the room, “doesn’t exactly scream ‘fine,’ Buck.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t ask for a lecture.”

“Good,” she shot back, her tone soft but firm. “Because I’m not giving you one. I’m here because I care about you, and you clearly need someone right now. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, and his guarded expression wavered slightly. Then, with a tired sigh, he stepped further into the room, slumping his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Maybe not,” she admitted with a soft gaze. “But I’m here now. So let me help.”

He didn’t respond, but the fight seemed to drain out of him. His shoulders loosened, and he dropped into a chair near the counter, fixing his gaze somewhere on the floor.

She picked up the garbage bag again, resuming her quiet cleanup. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to coax him out of his own head, and she suspected it wouldn’t be the last. But as she moved around the room, she noticed the faintest crack in his armor, proof that he was letting her in, even if he didn’t have the words to say it yet.

“So… what’s going on?” she asked, as she picked up a wrinkled pair of boxers from one of the chairs.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to the offending garment, then back to her face. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. He was tired, tired of pretending, tired of holding back.

“I’m… jealous.” he admitted reluctantly.

She paused, her fingers tightened around the fabric before dropping it into the laundry pile. “Jealous?” she echoed, her brows furrowing. “Of who?”

His jaw tensed, and his gaze darted away before he muttered, “I saw it. The Sharpies picture.”

Her lips parted slightly in understanding. “Oh,” she said softly. “And?”

“And…” He sighed again, the frustration etched into every line of his face. “You never did that with me.”

“Coloring?” she asked, tilting her head. “I didn’t think you’d be into it, babe.”

“Not coloring,” he said sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again. Then his voice softened, but his words carried a heavy weight. “The… the picture.”

Oh.

“Well,” she started gently, “you’re not exactly a fan of social media. And you always grump when I try to take one of us.”

“It’s not that,” he said, shaking his head. His blue eyes finally met hers, raw and vulnerable in a way that made her chest tighten. “It’s… I forget sometimes that I’m not your only son.”

Oh.

He leaned back in the chair, running his hand over his face as if to hide the emotions flickering across it. “I don’t like the idea of sharing you,” he admitted, in a low, almost bitter tone.

She swallowed hard. “Well, it happens all the time,” she said cautiously, trying to keep her tone light. “Brothers usually don’t like-”

“He’s not my brother,” Bucky interrupted firmly, snapping his gaze to hers.

The air in the room shifted. His next words came softer, but they hit like a thunderclap.

“And you… you’re not my ma.”

The room seemed to still, the only sound the faint hum of the fridge in the background.

She stared at him, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “Bucky…”

“I hate it,” he said, dropping his hands to his lap as he looked at her with a mix of anger and desperation. “I hate that I look forward to seeing you more than I’ve looked forward to anything in years. I hate that I can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting what I get. And I hate that I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed as she searched for the right words. “Bucky,” she said softly, leaning toward him, “this… this doesn’t have to be something you hate.”

“I know,” he said, his voice was raw and strained. “But I can’t manage my feelings toward you.”

Her breath caught, and her heart twisted painfully as she absorbed the weight of his confession. She leaned back slightly, clenching her hands together in her lap and sighed.

“Bucky,” she started softly, “this bond we’ve built… it’s compromised. It’s not what it’s supposed to be anymore. It wouldn’t be ethical for me to continue mothering you.”

His head snapped up, his blue eyes went wide and glassy with panic. The look on his face made her chest ache. He looked utterly wrecked, his lips parted as if to argue, but no words came at first.

“No,” he finally stammered, his voice shaky and uneven. “No, please. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I’ll stop. I’ll never bring it up again, I swear.” His breath hitched, and he shook his head as if trying to find the right words. “Just… don’t leave me, Mama.”

He reached for her hand, firmly but also trembling. His vibranium fingers brushed against her wrist, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the warmth of his touch. “I need you,” he said, his voice breaking.

Her heart shattered at the sheer desperation in his voice, in the way his thumb nervously rubbed over the back of her hand like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

With her free hand, she reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek, softly brushing her thumb over a scar near his jawline. His breath hitched again, and his eyes fluttered shut momentarily, as though her touch was calming him.

“This ordeal isn’t right, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s not fair to you. Or to me.”

“But-” His hand tightened around hers, his body leaned closer to her as though proximity alone could keep her from slipping away. “I’ll do better. I’ll keep it together. Just… please, don’t go. Don’t give up on me.”

“Bucky,” she whispered, tracing soothing circles on his cheek. “It’s not about giving up on you. It’s about what’s right. What’s healthy.”

“I don’t care about right,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I just… I can’t lose you too.”

Her hand trembled slightly where it rested against his cheek, but she steadied herself with a deep breath.

“Bucky,” she began softly, tentative but growing steadier as she continued, “I also have feelings for you. I’ve been having them for a while now.”

His breath hitched, his wide eyes searching hers desperately, but before he could speak, she pushed forward.

“I was never going to act on it,” she said firmly. “Because it would mean taking advantage of you.”

His brows furrowed deeply, and he shook his head, rising his voice with frustration and disbelief. “I’m a grown man. You can’t take advantage of me.”

“You know that’s not true,” she countered gently but unyieldingly.“You trust me, Bucky. You let me in, more than anyone else. And that’s why we can’t do this dynamic anymore.”

Her words hit him like a physical blow. His grip on her hand tightened, and his shoulders hunched as his head dipped forward slightly. For a moment, he was silent, breathing heavily as he tried to process her words.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head, his voice broke as he looked back up at her with unshed tears brightening his eyes. “No… Ma… you can’t just-”

“Bucky,” she said softly, cutting him off with a tenderness that nearly undid him. Her fingers brushed his cheek again, tracing soothing circles as her heart ached at the devastation written across his face. “The contract we made, the boundaries we agreed on, it doesn’t fit us anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be something I’m not.”

His breath hitched, the knot in his throat tightened as he struggled to find words. “But you’re not-” he started, voice trembling.

She shook her head gently, stopping him again. “I’m not your mom, Bucky. You said it yourself.” Her voice wavered just enough to betray the conflict she felt.

His lips parted, but no sound came as he searched her face, desperate for something -anything-that might keep her close.

“That being said…” she murmured after a beat, her thumb still brushing gently against his cheek. Her eyes softened as they searched for his. “We can try… dating. To see how and where this might go, because that’s something completely different.”

His mind blanked for a moment, as her words hit him. Dating?

The word echoed in his head, feeling too big and too small all at once. He blinked, his mouth opening slightly as he struggled to process what she’d just said. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out, his breath caught somewhere between confusion and longing.

Dating… her?

His heart twisted, caught in the crossfire of disbelief and a yearning he’d buried for so long it felt foreign. She wasn’t pulling back. She wasn’t brushing this off or deflecting like he’d feared. Instead, she was offering something he hadn’t dared to hope for.

Does she mean it?

For so long, he’d kept his feelings locked away, hidden in the shadows of his mind where they couldn’t hurt him -or anyone else-. But now, here she was, standing in front of him, dragging those feelings into the light with words that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

“…What?” he finally managed, the word slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was rough, strained, tangled somewhere between confusion and desperation.

Her expression didn’t falter, but there was a faint glimmer of vulnerability in her eyes, just enough to make his chest ache. “Dating, Bucky,” she repeated. “Not as your mom. Not as anyone else. Just… as us.”

Us.

His throat tightened, and his hands flexed against hers. The knot in his chest twisted painfully, caught between fear and something that felt dangerously close to relief.

Could there even be an us?

“Bucky, you’re doing the staring thing,” she said softly, her voice tinged with amusement, though her eyes remained serious as if willing him to believe her.

The corner of his mouth twitched, a faint huff of air escaped his nose as he ducked his head slightly. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I thought it was just me. You’re… sure about me?

Her thumb brushed gently along his jaw, and a small, reassuring smile tugged at her lips. “I wouldn’t be here saying this if I wasn’t sure, Buck.”

He glanced at her lips, the desire to close the space between them was almost overwhelming, but he hesitated. “You’re not… scared?”

“Of you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Never.” Her smile grew just a bit, as she added, “You’re not as intimidating as you think, you know.”

That earned a faint chuckle, though it was weighed down by the uncertainty still lingering in his chest. “I just… I’m not exactly easy, you know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m complicated. Messed up.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand gently. “Bucky, all these months I’ve been coming here to be with you, you’ve opened up to me in ways I don’t think you’ve done with anyone else. You’ve trusted me with parts of yourself that I know aren’t easy to share.”

Her voice softened, her thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. “I know what I’m dealing with. And I can promise you, you’re not a mess. Not to me.”

His chest tightened at her words. He exhaled slowly, his blue eyes flicking between hers as if searching for any trace of doubt but all he saw was warmth. “Then,” he began, his tone was low but went higher as he steadied himself. “Let’s-let’s go. On a date.”

Her lips twitched, and she glanced down briefly, with a playful glint dancing in her eyes. “Well, to go right now, you should probably put some clothes on first, don’t you think?”

For a moment, he blinked, caught off guard by the shift, until her words sank in. His gaze darted down to the towel wrapped loosely around his hips, and the faintest flush crept up his neck.

“I didn’t mean right now, Ma-” He caught himself, his jaw tightened as he quickly corrected, “Doll.” The word came out gruff, almost embarrassed, as he scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flicking away for a second.

Her brow arched at the slip, but she didn’t comment, though the faint smile tugging at her lips didn’t go unnoticed.

Bucky shifted slightly, rolling his shoulders, and for once, the knowledge that she wanted this too -wanted him- settled something inside him. The usual discomfort of being caught off guard wasn’t there. Instead, he felt a spark of confidence, small but growing.

She leaned back in her chair, deciding to give him the space to take the lead. Considering his old-fashioned upbringing, it felt right to let him set the tone, not just to give him control, but to help him feel steady.

“So,” she said lightly, playful but encouraging, “pick a place and a time, and we’ll see.”

He nodded slowly, flexing his fingers against his knee before leaning back slightly in his seat. The movement shifted the towel around his hips just enough to make her painfully aware of the fact that he was still half-naked.

Her eyes traced the line of his shoulders, and the slight curve of his jaw as he glanced down in thought. Then her wandering gaze dipped against her better judgment, tracing the line of his chest, the faint curve of muscle at his stomach, and the scars she’d never quite let herself linger on before.

When her eyes flicked back up to his face, his sharp blue gaze was already on her, a flicker of amusement sparking in his expression. His lips twitched into a faint smirk, “Okay,” he said, more confident now. “I’ll… figure it out.”

Her cheeks warmed faintly, and she quickly forced a smile, hoping it would cover her flustering. “Take your time, Bucky. Just not too long.”

He tipped his head slightly, and his smirk deepened with an easy confidence in his posture that was now unmistakable. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

----

True to his word, her phone buzzed with a message a couple of days later.

Dinner? Friday at 7. That place you mentioned once, Marcellino’s.

She blinked at the screen, parting her lips in surprise. Marcellino’s? The Italian place she’d mentioned months ago, almost offhandedly, as a “bucket list” spot she’d love to visit someday? How had he even remembered?

Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard before she typed back.

Seriously? I’ve been dying to go there. How’d you manage reservations so fast?

On the other side of town, Bucky stared at her message, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he reclined on his couch. It had been a pain finding a reservation on such short notice; apparently, Marcellino’s had been booked solid for weeks. But hacking into their system had been child’s play, a few keystrokes, some backdoor access, and voilà: table for two, Friday at 7.

She would never know, of course.

He typed back simply.

I’ve got my ways.

Her reply came quickly, punctuated with a laughing emoji.

Mysterious, huh? Alright, Bucky. I’ll see you on Friday.

Bucky exhaled slowly, setting his phone down and leaning back against the couch. A small, quiet sense of satisfaction settled in his chest. It wasn’t just the date, it was the effort, the planning, and the decision to put himself out there in a way he hadn’t in decades.

Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

----

When the cab pulled up to the curb, she spotted him immediately. He was standing just outside the restaurant, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark suit pants. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was distracted, fixed on something across the street.

She rarely saw him out of his usual Henleys and jeans, but God help her, he cleaned up well. The suit was perfectly tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his broad shoulders and tapering at his waist. His hair, usually left to its own devices, was slicked back neatly, the sharp lines of his jawline even more striking under the glow of the streetlights.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Bucky, oblivious to her arrival, shifted his weight slightly, his vibranium fingers flexing in his pocket as his flesh hand adjusted his tie. She smiled to herself, taking the opportunity to appreciate him while his guard was down. He was so effortlessly striking, yet she knew he’d put thought into it. He really wanted this to go right.

Finally, she stepped out of the cab, and her heels clicked softly against the pavement. “Hey, handsome,” she called out.

Bucky’s head snapped toward her, his distracted expression melting into something softer. His lips parted slightly, raking his gaze over her from head to toe. “Wow,” he murmured, low and rough. “You look…” He trailed off, his mouth twitching like he couldn’t find the right word.

“Good?” she offered with a smirk, stepping closer.

“Better than good,” he corrected, “Way better.”

Her cheeks warmed under his gaze, but she managed to keep her tone casual. “You’re not looking so bad yourself, Buck. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you do this sort of thing all the time.”

He huffed a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck, though the faint pink dusting his ears didn’t go unnoticed. “Guess I clean up okay.”

“Okay?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Try amazing.”

He ducked his head slightly, a rare but genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks,” he muttered, holding out his arm. “You ready?”

She looped her hand through his, letting him lead her toward the entrance. As they stepped inside, she couldn’t help but think this was already shaping up to be the best first date she’d ever had.

The table was in a prime spot near a window overlooking the city lights. Bucky pulled out her chair smoothly, motioning for her to sit confidently, making her heart flutter.

He settled across her with fluid movements. Despite the nerves buzzing in his chest, they were the good kind of nerves, normal ones. The kind that came with wanting to impress someone without feeling like he had to prove his worth.

He already knew her.

That made everything easier. There was no need to rack his brain for icebreakers, no awkward pauses to fill, no second-guessing every little thing he said. Instead, he could focus entirely on her: the soft curve of her smile, the way her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, the way she twisted her hands together on the table when she thought he wasn’t looking.

And, maybe, on seducing her. Not aggressively, but in the easy, intentional way he remembered from a lifetime ago. A brush of his fingers here, a lingering glance there, the kind of thing that built tension without needing words.

If he was rusty, it didn’t show.

She, on the other hand, was a wreck.

Her posture was perfect, her smile warm, but underneath the table, her knees bounced faintly, betraying the swirl of emotions coursing through her. This was -and wasn’t- her Bucky.

The man sitting across from her wasn’t the grumpy, guarded man she’d coaxed out of his shell with patience and care. This Bucky was confident, deliberate. The way his piercing gaze lingered just a second too long, the faint smirk tugging at his lips when he caught her fidgeting, he wasn’t shy about letting her know she had his full attention.

And it was overwhelming. Not in a bad way -it was thrilling- but it left her feeling completely off balance.

She wasn’t in charge anymore.

The realization sent a wave of warmth through her body, leaving her acutely aware of every little detail: the way he leaned forward slightly when she spoke, the way his hand rested on the table, close enough to brush hers if she dared to reach out.

God help her, she thought faintly, swallowing hard. If this was Bucky now, she couldn’t imagine what Sergeant Barnes of the 1940s must have been like. A menace, no doubt. A walking, talking heartbreaker wrapped in charm and good manners.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his again, and he gave her a slow, knowing smile, one that sent her pulse skittering.

She tightened her grip on the edge of her napkin, trying to will herself to relax. This was Bucky. And yet, sitting across from him like this, with the weight of his attention focused entirely on her, it felt like seeing him for the first time all over again.

When the food arrived, Bucky’s face was a masterclass of self-control. His expression remained completely neutral as the waiter arranged the plates with what could only be described as an air of reverence. He nodded politely when the man finished, even offering a quiet “thank you,” though inside he was already questioning his life choices.

Once the waiter walked away, he let his eyes shift to her, raising a brow to see if she was thinking the same thing he was.

Her lips twitched, struggling to suppress a laugh as she glanced down at her plate. The elegant presentation might have fooled someone else, but all she could see was what appeared to be a tiny portion of gnocchi, barely enough to feed a toddler.

Bucky’s plate wasn’t much better: three perfectly arranged sorrentinos, sitting proudly in the center of an artfully swirled sauce. It was the most stylish and inviting minimalist plate he’d ever seen.

He glanced back up at her, his lips twitching as her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“This…” she started, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle a giggle, “…this is it?”

Bucky huffed, leaning back in his chair as he gave his plate a long, scrutinizing look. “Guess we’re supposed to savor it,” he said dryly.

She bit her lip, trying and failing to stifle another laugh. “It seems they’re encouraging portion control.”

He scowled. “Didn’t know I’d be eating an appetizer disguised as dinner, goddammit.”

“I’m… I’m sorry! I didn’t know… they have such great feedback!” she groaned still chuckling.

“It’s my fault,” he muttered, spearing one of the sorrentinos with his fork and eyeing it as if it had personally insulted him. “For not checking the place out better.”

He couldn’t believe he’d hacked their system for this. He’d spent nearly an hour working around firewalls and reservations, all to secure a table at this supposedly renowned spot. It hadn’t even occurred to him to scout the menu or check the portion sizes.

This wouldn’t have happened to the old me, he thought bitterly, chewing slowly on his second overpriced sorrentino. His jaw tightened as the familiar ache of inadequacy crept into his chest.

She must have noticed the subtle shift in his expression because, without a word, she reached across the table and rested her hand over his.

“Bucky,” she said softly, her voice laced with gentle authority. “Don’t you dare take a ride on the self-deprecation train.”

His eyes flicked up to meet hers with surprise, before relaxing his features.

“This,” she continued, squeezing his hand lightly, “is just an anecdote. Something to laugh about later, hm? It doesn’t mean anything except that we picked a fancy place with tiny portions. That’s it.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, flexing his fingers slightly under hers. Then, reluctantly, his lips twitched into a faint smirk. “An anecdote, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling now, her thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “Something to tell people one day, how you bravely faced off against a plate of minimalist pasta. Now finish your last bite so we can leave and find something less fancy but more substantial,” she stated with amusement.

Bucky poked at the last piece of pasta with his fork, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Even the breadbasket was sad,” he grumbled, as he signaled for the waiter to bring the bill.

The waiter approached, and with a politely confused expression, he noted their early departure. “Would you like to see the dessert menu, perhaps?” he offered, his tone gracious but hoping to redeem the situation.

“No, thank you,” Bucky replied smoothly, his voice polite but final. He slid his card across the table before she could even think about reaching for her wallet.

“Bucky-” she started, but he cut her off with a quick shake of his head.

“Don’t even try,” he said firmly but light enough to soften the refusal.

She huffed but didn’t argue further, leaning back in her chair as he settled the bill. Once it was taken care of, Bucky stood and offered her his hand, helping her up with ease.

As they made their way toward the exit, he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door he opened for her.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased, as she stepped outside into the cool night air.

“Only for you, doll” he murmured, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk as he shifted slightly to shield her from a passing breeze.

She stepped beside him, automatically taking the inner spot on the sidewalk as he steered her toward it and slipped her hand easily onto his offered arm

“So,” he said after a moment, “Any ideas where we’re finding this substantial food? Or am I winging it?”

She laughed softly, squeezing his arm. “Let’s see what’s nearby. Maybe we’ll find a place with a breadbasket that doesn’t make you sad.”

“That’s a low bar,” he muttered, earning another laugh that made his chest feel lighter than it had all night.

They ended up at a small, no-frills pizza place, tucked into the corner of a quiet street. The neon sign in the window flickered faintly, and the smell of melted cheese and fresh dough hit them the moment they stepped inside.

Sliding onto the high bar stools at a tiny plastic table, they both seemed keenly aware of how out of place they looked. Her dress shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights, and his perfectly tailored suit drew more than a few curious glances from the other patrons, who were clad in hoodies and jeans.

Bucky sat a little stiffly at first, as he glanced around. The contrast between this place and the upscale restaurant they’d just left wasn’t lost on him, but the casual atmosphere somehow felt more... right. Still, the attention made him uneasy, and he shifted slightly, brushing his vibranium hand on the edge of the table.

But then he looked at her.

She had a slice in her hand, the cheese stretching almost comically as she took a bite. Her shoulders relaxed as she chewed, and then she closed her eyes, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips.

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, locking his gaze on her as a faint flush crept up his neck. He watched her savor the bite, her fingers tapping lightly on the table to emphasize her approval.

In that moment, every awkward glance from the other patrons, every thought about his appearance or how ridiculous they looked, melted away.

All he could think about was her.

“Good?” he asked, unable to stop staring.

She opened her eyes, blinking like she’d momentarily forgotten where she was. “So good,” she said, curling her lips into a satisfied smile. “I needed this.”

“Glad I could deliver,” he teased, taking a bite of his slice after winking at her.

She shook her head with a small laugh, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “You know… I don’t get it. How did all your last dates go so bad, Bucky?”

He paused mid-bite, chewing slower as the thought crossed his mind. Maybe because I couldn’t stop bringing up my ‘mom’ in conversations like some kind of creep.

“Because they weren’t you.”

The answer came easily, effortlessly, but the way her eyes widened told him she hadn’t expected it.

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice. For once, she was the one scrambling for words, the usual balance between them tipping in a way that made her pulse quicken. “Bucky…”

He held her gaze. “I mean it.”

She blinked, the teasing light in her eyes dimming as something warmer and softer, replaced it. Slowly, her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, fiddling her fingers with the edge of her napkin as she tried to gather herself.

“Well,” she murmured playfully, “I guess they didn’t stand a chance, huh?”

“Not even close,” he agreed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back slightly on the barstool. The suit jacket he wore pulled just enough to highlight the sharp lines of his shoulders, and for a brief moment, she found herself really looking at him. The paper napkin in his hand felt absurdly out of place against the polished, confident image he presented, but somehow, it only made him more endearing.

She reached for another slice of pizza as if that would help her steady herself. She didn’t say anything, couldn’t, because what could she possibly say to that? Instead, she glanced down quickly, busying herself with her plate and hoping he didn’t notice the sudden warmth in her cheeks.

When her eyes flicked back up, he was still watching her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. It wasn’t teasing or overconfident, just… him.

As they finished their meal, the buzz of the restaurant began to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them in their little corner of the world. Bucky leaned back, draining the last of his drink before standing and adjusting his jacket. He offered her his hand, his vibranium fingers catching the soft light. “Come on,” he said in an inviting voice.

“Where?” she asked, slipping her hand into his.

“Just… a walk,” he replied, almost tentative “Unless you’re in a hurry to call it a night.”

“Not at all.” She promptly answered as she rose to meet him.

They wandered down the sidewalk unhurriedly as the night wrapped around them. The streetlights cast long shadows, and their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by the occasional laugh or lingering glance. For a while, neither seemed to notice the passing of time. But then a cool breeze rolled in, and he felt her shiver slightly beside him.

He stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Alright,” he murmured reluctantly, “I’m calling you a cab.”

She blinked, furrowing her brow . “What? Why?”

“You’re cold,” he said simply, his tone firm despite the regret in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she argued, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her words.

“Doll,” he said, shaking his head with a faint smile, “you’re shivering. I’m not letting you walk around all night freezing.”

Her lips curved into a teasing smirk. “You could just lend me your jacket, you know. Like they do in the movies. Then I’d nuzzle into it because it smells like you, the usual cliché.”

He quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk widened into something distinctly playful. “You know, if you want to smell me, you can do it whenever you want.”

Her mouth fell open slightly, her cheeks burning as her witty comeback disappeared from her brain.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with her reaction, but his expression softened as he continued. “You’re shivering,” he repeated. “I’m not about to let you freeze out here.”

She folded her arms, attempting to regain her composure. “I’m really fine.”

“Trust me,” he said, pulling out his phone, “if I gave you my jacket, I’d have to carry you home. You’d drown in it.”

She let out a small huff, quirking her lips into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she relented. “But only because I don’t want you giving me that sad, guilty look all night.”

“Guilty?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow as he tapped at his screen.

“Yeah,” she teased, nudging him lightly. “Like you’re already blaming yourself for the weather.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he finished ordering the cab. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

-----

As they waited, he guided her toward the side of the building, resting his hand instinctively on her lower back as he steered her out of the breeze.

“Thanks for tonight, Bucky,” she said softly, leaning slightly into him, guided by the warmth of his hand.

Bucky froze for half a second, as the closeness of her body sent his heart into overdrive. She tilted her head to look up at him, and she smiled, not quite shy but not entirely bold either.

For a moment, he struggled. His old-fashioned nature tugged at him, warning him to hold back, to wait. He wasn’t sure how these things worked anymore, not when it came to her. Did he ask? Did he wait for her to make the first move?

But then her gaze dipped just for a second, to his lips.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned down, giving her time to pull away.

She didn’t, parting her lips ever so slightly, and it was all the reassurance he needed.

Their lips met, and the world seemed to still. The kiss was soft, tentative, but filled with all the emotions he hadn’t known how to put into words. His vibranium hand slid gently up her upper back, steadying her, while his flesh fingers brushed the curve of her jaw.

She leaned into him, resting her hands lightly on the lapels of his suit jacket and the kiss deepened, just enough to send a pleasant warmth humming through them both before they slowly pulled back.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a small smile played at her lips as she whispered, “Took you long enough.”

He huffed out a low laugh as his hand lingered at her back. “Guess I’m a little rusty.”

“Not bad for rusty,” she teased, curling her fingers slightly against his jacket.

He sighed as he raked a hand through his hair. “You’re good for me, you know that?”

Her smile widened, and she nudged him gently. “I try.”

He bit his lip, glancing down briefly before meeting her gaze again. “Even without trying, these past months, they’ve been…” He paused, the words catching in his throat as he searched for the right way to say it.

“Good… in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Because of you.” He managed to finish the best he could.

Her heart swelled at the raw honesty of his voice. She leaned closer, brushing her hand lightly against his chest. “You’ve done a lot of that yourself, you know,” she said softly. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“Maybe,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint, almost shy smile. “But you were there. That made all the difference.”

She smiled, her thumb brushing over the lapel of his jacket. “Well, lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he murmured, “Because I’m not letting you.”

They just stood there, the hum of the city fading into the background. The night was cool, but the warmth between them was enough to keep the chill at bay. Finally, he tilted his head. “Ready to go?”

“No,” she pouted softly, looping her arm through his with a playful glint in her eyes.

Bucky hesitated for a fraction of a second, dipping his gaze to her lips again before he acted on impulse. His hand slid around her waist, gently pulling her closer as he leaned in.

This kiss was different, more sure, deliberate. His lips pressed against hers with a tenderness that made her knees feel weak, and she melted into him without hesitation.

When he finally pulled back, he let his lips brush against her cheek, trailing softly upward until they rested near her temple.

“Don’t make it difficult, Ma,” he teased lowly against her skin.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh, as she leaned into him. “Not my fault you’re irresistible, sweetheart.”

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile against her temple before he sighed softly, resting his hand lightly on her lower back. With an easy motion, he guided her toward the waiting cab at the curb.

When they reached it, he opened the door for her without a word. She stepped in, pausing briefly to glance back at him. Her lips were still curved, and her warm smile made his chest ache in the best way.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, a little rough around the edges. His gaze lingered on her, flexing his fingers slightly as if reluctant to let go of the door. Finally, he shut it gently, stepping back as the cab pulled away.

For a long moment, he stood there with his hands tucked into his pockets, watching as the car merged into the traffic and disappeared into the city lights. Finally, he turned slowly heading home, the faintest trace of a smile still tugging at his lips. For once, the night didn’t weigh so heavily on him, as he carried the lingering warmth of her smile and the memory of her kiss.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie childhood friends au where Eddie's mom, Elizabeth Munson, is hired on as Steve's nanny when Steve turns four.

Elizabeth may not have the best reputation in town, but she went to school with Linda Harrington before she threw her life and money away on Al. She was young and foolish and thought he loved her like she loved him. It hurt to be proven wrong, that he loved her modest saving account more than he could ever love her, but at the end of the day, he gave her Eddie, so she carries on.

Linda had known her from before she met Al. They weren't ever friends, but Elizabeth was from a nice lower middle-class family and had long black curls that the other girls could admire. Not popular by any means, but someone who could be partnered up with Queen Linda for a history project without heads turning. Linda also knew from health class that Elizabeth was good with kids, so it's not a complete surprise when she gets a call asking if she'd like to nanny her 4-year-old son, Steve, for the foreseeable future so she can return to work with her husband.

The Harrintons are a wealthy couple, for Hawkins Indiana at least. In the grand scheme of things Richard's position as one of many property realtors in a major corporation keeps them comfortably in the upper middle classes, but the dollar stretches almost twice as far in the sleepy parts of Indiana.

Still, to Elizabeth who has never known more than a modest three bedroom and little Eddie who has never lived outside the tin walls of the trailer park, the Harrington home seems like a mansion fit for a king.

Or in this case, a little prince.

Steve is a sweet little boy, if a little bratty the first few times Elizabeth has to tell him no. When she first comes to the house to be briefed on all Steve's needs and how the house runs, he clings to his mother's perfectly pressed skirts and looks up at him with big brown eyes that remind her so much of Eddie's, full of barely contained curiosity. It doesn't take long after she introduces himself to him, stooping down to say hi and shake his little hand, for him to lose all that shyness and start, trying, to ask her questions. He's not at a place where he can use full sentences, but he makes do with pointing and the words he does have.

It's easy to see that Linda doesn't know how to interact with Steve, telling him more than once to let the grownups talk and to stop holding her skirt. Elizabeth doesn't say anything though, it's not her place and she could really use the job. Edde is sprouting up like a weed, and her previous income from the diner wasn't enough to get him all the things he needed. The Harringtons, for all their faults, are offering her more than a fair salary to look after their son.

The next week, she brings her and Eddie bright and early to make sure they get there just as the Harringtons head off to work. Elizabeth knows Richard wasn't keen on Eddie coming with her, probably not wanting his son to associate with a child he sees as lesser, but Elizabeth quickly realized that matters of the home like childcare were left to Linda's discretion, and she hadn't seen a problem with it.

Steve is waiting for his mother on the front porch, clutching her hand as hard as he can. When Linda pries his hand away he starts to snivel and cry, but to Elizaeth's surprise, he doesn't start to wail and scream. The first time she had to leave for work Eddie just about had a complete meltdown, not understanding where his mom was going or why he had to stay with his Uncle Wayne. Steve stays quiet, muffing his cries in a way that tugs at her heartstrings.

She takes his hand and guides him inside, holding back from scooping him up in her arms like she would Eddie to sing him a song and dry his tears. Something tells him the Harringtons wouldn't appreciate that.

So he waits, watches their car depart from the open doorway, and once she's sure they're completely out of sight she swoops down to hold him in her arms. The act opens the floodgates. Steve starts really crying and wailing into her arms, asking for his mama and clutching hard at the sleeves of Elizabeth's blouse.

That's when Eddie steps in, placing his hand on Steve's shirt and rubbing clumsy circles on the younger boy's shoulder. Eddie's not five quite yet, has about four more moths to go, but he's talking much more than Steve is and seems to relish in the use of his voice. Right now he's using it to soothe Steve, telling him it's going to be ok and his mama will come back and that they can share his mama until she does.

Then he does the damnedest thing.

He starts singing.

It's the same thing she's always done for him. Every time Al comes home and leaves again, when he falls off the jungle gym at the park, when one of the kids in town points out that his shoes have holes in them and that he must be poor. She holds him close, rubs his tiny shoulder, and sings her favorite Patsy Cline song into his ear.

The three of them stay in the Harrington's entryway for as long as it takes for Steve's tears to dry out, starting this new phase of their lives to the tune of Sweet Dreams.

[luveline]

How about Steve with a reader who already has a kid? Like they're in their twenties and she has maybe 2 or 3 year old. Her ex isn't in the picture so it's just her. Maybe the fic is Steve finally getting to meet readers son/ daughter. Maybe she has to leave their date earlier due to a babysitter problem and Steve just comes along with her and they spend the night together.

ty for requesting <3 mom!reader, 2k

“Try not to show fear,” you’re saying, your hand pulled tight against his. He savours the softness of it even as the concrete steps to your house force you apart. 

“I’m not scared.” 

“I’m just saying, Steve. Toddlers know when you’re scared.” 

“But I’m not scared.” Steve has handled worse than toddlers. If your kid is anything like you, this will be a walk in the park. 

You grin at him and give him one of your cute shrugs, though shyness he recognises from your first date stiffens your shoulders again as you open your front door. 

Your home is small. The first thing he notices is the cramped space walking in, the tight stairs, but the second thing he notices is the amount of life, photographs that deck the walls and colour everywhere, clothes folded and waiting to be taken upstairs, little shoes in a stand by an open bathroom door. 

“Melanie?” you call. “You okay?” 

Melanie appears in the door with a huge watery frown, who Steve assumes to be your young son smiling on her hip, unperturbed. “I’m so sorry.” 

She’d been incoherent on the phone, though eventually squeezed out that it was nothing wrong with Noah. Melanie’s boyfriend appears to have broken up with her over the phone. 

You scoop Noah off of his babysitter's hip, holding him with far more ease. He drops his face with affection to the curve of your bare shoulder. It’s a shame you and Steve had to come home —you’re wearing the nicest dress he’s ever seen. But not a shame, because Steve’s excited to meet the baby. 

You could’ve sent him home. He assumes this means some level of trust and, better, permanency. If all goes well, he might be able to ask you to go steady soon. He’d love to do it tonight. 

“Don’t worry, Melanie, you can’t help it if something bad happens, can you? I’m really sorry about your boyfriend. Do you need me to drive you home?” 

Melanie sniffles miserably. “No, that’s okay, I can drive. I’m sorry.” 

You rub her arm. “It’s okay, really. We were just gonna have dinner and head home.” 

Steve internalises his reaction to that tidbit well. Melanie gives him a sad smile and passes by, her shoes heavy and smacking as she leaves with a mumbled farewell. 

“She’s a little emotional,” you say sympathetically, before turning your attention to the sleepy kid on your shoulder. “Sorry, Noah, guess you’re stuck with mommy and her new friend. Do you want to say hi?” 

Noah lifts his head, following your hand where you point at Steve, a smile like yours on his lips. 

Steve genuinely isn’t scared of kids, he loves them, and he loves talking to them. “Hi, buddy. It’s nice to meet you.” 

You hum appreciatively. “Go on, say hi to Steve.” 

“Hi,” Noah says quietly. 

Your voice is different around the baby, not any less pretty but softer, and quieter. It has Steve lowering his own voice in an attempt to mimic you. “Hi, bud.” 

“He’s my new best friend,” you explain, ushering Steve closer, your hand touching gently to his shoulder. 

Noah’s even more your image now he’s closer, all your eyes and smile and brightness, but he’s got someone else’s nose, and he’s got a bad case of yawns. You laugh at his scrunched nose, wiping your thumb lightly over his bottom lip. “You want to go to bed, sweet boy?” you ask. 

“No… buppy.” 

“You want your buppy. Okay, I’ll get it for you.” You pull your arm through Steve’s. “Let’s go.” 

He laughs and goes happily. Your kitchen is empty compared to the hallway, it’s surprising, but then you open a cabinet for the aforementioned bubby and a couple of things come tumbling out. “Whoops,” you say, popping Noah down on the floor. “Can you put those away for me, please? Thank you.” 

Noah tries his best, but everything he puts in comes tumbling back out, earning a few high-pitched giggles. You crack the fridge open for a pint of cows milk. 

“He doesn’t have formula?” 

“No, you can give them whole milk after a year, but he doesn’t really need it anymore, it’s just to help him self-soothe at nighttime.” 

“Mom, I can’t do it,” Noah laughs. Steve thinks that great, that laughing. He could’ve had a tantrum (Steve wouldn’t blame him). 

Steve crouches down. “Can I help?” 

Noah gives Steve a smile, eyes squinting nearly entirely shut. “Yes.” 

“Okay, awesome. Looks like your mom needs more cabinets for all your stuff.” He starts to pick up the pieces. 

“I need a whole new house,” you say, filling the bottle about three quarters before sticking it in your microwave uncapped. You set the timer for fifteen seconds and prop your chin in your hand, elbow on the counter. Steve thinks it’s your best angle yet, your dress, your arms, the friendly smile you’re wearing that hasn’t once ebbed since the first date. It all gets his chest in a twist. 

He knows getting your baby to like him is make or break. And he really wants to give this a shot, you and him, you and Noah. He thinks you’d be good together. (Maybe he’s crazy and too forward, but you really are beautiful in your dress.) 

“How’s that?” he asks, closing the cabinet behind a tower of bottles and baby bowls.

“Perfect! Good job, baby,” Noah says, tapping Steve on the knee. 

Steve snorts. “Thank you.” 

“He’s going through a phase of saying everything I say,” you explain, yanking open the microwave to test the milk on the back of your hand. 

You deem the milk sufficiently warmed and offer Noah your hand, swiping a takeout menu from the fridge as you pass, and once again grabbing Steve by the arm to drag him along. He’s content to be dragged. You lead everyone into the living room, and he’s again surprised by how small it is. 

You catch his look. “Are you judging me, Harrington?” 

“What? No? Of course not.”

“Messing with you. There’s an extension out back, on the kitchen? That’s where I keep the rest of the toys.” You drop down onto the couch with a sigh. “Come here, babe, come cuddle with mommy.” 

If Noah weren’t in earshot, Steve would make a joke about how he hopes you aren’t talking to him. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t.

You lay back and Noah climbs up onto one side of you, his hands out ready for his bottle, while your arm stretches out for Steve. “Come ‘n’ sit.” 

Steve sits knee to knee with you. He’s not scared of kids, and he isn’t scared of you, either. He knows exactly what he wants, and he isn’t afraid to let you know it, taking your hand where it lies open on your thigh. 

“What were you gonna get?” you ask, nodding to the takeout menu. 

“I don’t know, I’ll have what you’re having,” Steve says. 

“What if you don’t like what I’m having?” 

“I’ll learn.” 

You tip your chin up at him, beaming. “Yeah? What if I like something completely unamerican?” 

“I gotta learn sometime, right?” He squeezes your fingers nicely. 

“Well, my Noah likes everything.” You kiss Noah’s forehead, stealing his attention from his bottle, bright eyes tracing your face and then your hand where Steve is rubbing the back of it. 

“Then he can have some of everything.”

You and Steve share a loving smile. Smiles smiles smiles, everybody’s getting on, this is the best sixth date anyone’s ever had, best date full stop, though your fifth date was a close second. You and Steve had spent hours together in a park in the city eating picnic foods and soaking in the sun together, your nose brushing off of his ribs, his jacket balled up under your head. He’d kissed you twice that night when you finally, sorrily had to go home, and you’d said, Aw, I really like you, as you held hands on the stoop. He should’ve asked you then to give it a proper go, but now he’s met Noah he figures it’s as good a time as any. 

“Hey,” Steve begins, clearing his throat, “would you–”

“Woh!” Noah shouts around the teet of his bottle. It falls from his lips. “We wiw hands,” he garbles, a bunch of baby flavoured gibberish as he leans over your stomach to cover your hand where it’s held in Steve’s. “Mom!” 

“What, babe?” 

“My hand!” 

“You’re not jealous, are you?” you ask with a laugh. 

“Mom!” he says, slapping your hands insistently with his own. 

Steve loosens your fingers, leaving a gap between your palms. “Quick, bud, put your hand in.” 

Noah climbs onto your leg and presses his hand into the fold, though he grows annoyed at the weird fit, and immediately starts to sniffle. Steve winces, but you’re used to it. “Aw, don’t start the waterworks. Come on, what happened to sharing? We’re good sharers.” 

Steve lets go of your hand. He’s reluctant, sure, but he doesn’t wanna be on anyone’s bad side. Noah cries for a few seconds like he’s forgotten why he’s upset, but he sees your open palm and the cog finishes turning. 

“Hold mommy’s hand,” you say, wiggling your fingers. 

Noah thinks about it. He ends up on his side across your leg staring at you, then at Steve, who smiles at him cheerfully. “He’s so handsome,” Steve says. “He has your face. Guess that’s why you’re so handsome, huh?” He shakes his head at Noah gently. “‘Cos you got all your good looks from your mommy.”

“He knows what that means,” you preen, leaning down to speak closer to Noah’s ear. “Don’t you? You’re my handsome boy.” 

Noah puts his hand in Steve’s with another tinkling laugh. 

“Oh! I see how it is, you wanna be Steve’s friend too. Can’t let me have anything for myself, can you?” 

“No,” Noah says cheekily. 

Steve collects Noah’s little hand in his. “Good!” he says. “You should get everything you want, just like mom.”

“Think so?” you ask. 

Steve nods. 

You cover Noah’s eyes with your hand and move up to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Like you?” you ask. 

Steve’s just stoked to have someone he likes actually like him back at the same level. Noah squirms away from your hand to squeeze Steve’s tighter. Two someones. 

“Like me,” he says, grinning. 

“Mommy, kiss!” Noah says urgently. “Kiss!” 

You pull your gaze from Steve’s. “Sorry, I’m sorry! Come here, baby, I’ll give you a kiss too. I guess I’m gonna be giving double the kisses I used to, my poor chapped lips.” You kiss kiss kiss Noah across the forehead. 

Steve flusters thinking about it, making a mental note to get you some chapstick. He’d go pretty crazy for a crown of kisses like that. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (6)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"It was a nice day," S says as he checks the rear view mirror.

You twitch out of your trance. Your eyes are itchy, the way they get after a double shift. You suppress a yawn and nod.

"Very nice, thank you," you agree and twiddle your fingers in your palm.

"But you're anxious to get home..." he says.

"Well....my mom..." you begin. "I'm not trying to ditch you--"

"Ha, I know. I'm selfish. I've had you all day." He keeps his eyes on the road. "Should we stop and get her something?"

"Um, that's. Mm. I'd love to but..."

"Might be suspicious. Got it." He clucks. "Well, what about tomorrow? You got plans?"

"She has an appointment," you say. "Check-up."

"Ah, makes sense," he says. "When is it? Maybe after..."

"Yeah, er maybe. But... how long are you here? What about New York?" You wonder. The big city, his company, all that is still a mystery to you.

"It can wait. Besides, the hotel has wifi. I got all night to catch up emails."

"Oh, right." You stare at the street ahead.

"Tomorrow?" He prompts before the silence drags.

"Tomorrow. After noon? Should be done by then," you assure him, twisting your fist around your finger.

"Can I ask you a favour?" He slows as he gets to your street.

"A favour?"

"Yeah. Nothing big. Promise." He turns the corner and keeps a snail's pace.

"Alright," you utter.

"Will you bring a few bills tomorrow? We can go through them. Sort that out--"

"S. No. I can't--" 

"But that's the deal," he insists. "How can I help if I don't know the situation?"

"I... I don't know. It's a lot."

"A lot you shouldn't be worried about. You should be focused on your mom. Not money." He stops in front of your building. He angles in his seat and puts his hand on the back of yours. "This is what I'm here for. To take all that off your shoulders."

You exhale and swallow dryly. "It feels like too much."

"Not to me." His thumb rubs the seat, close to your shoulder. "Look, I'm just me. I got more than enough for that. I want to do this. I want someone to share this with. To spoil, if I can."

You look at him. He's too good to be true. After all the bad days, all the set backs, all the red numbers, you just can't believe it's what he says it it.

"I'll bring one," you offer.

"One?" He echoes.

"Mhmm," you nod.

"The highest one then," he says. His tone is even but demanding. 

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeats and clears his throat. "Look, sweetheart, let's not ruin the day. Go inside, spend some time with mom. I'll text you."

You chew your lip. You should tell him. It won't help if he thinks you're ignoring him.

"Maybe not." You fidget. "I'm... I'm almost out of... I uh, the internet is down and I pay per message."

"Hm, why didn't you mention it before?" He challenges.

You sink down, pushing your shoulders high. "It's embarrassing."

He sighs. 

"No problem. Tomorrow. After noon," he pats the seat and rescinds his hand. "Hope the appointment goes well."

"Me too," you murmur in dread.

You undo your seat belt and grab your purse. You sit up and glance at him. He watches you expectantly but you're not sure what he's waiting for.

"Good night," you say.

His jaw ticks, "good night, sweetheart."

You smile weakly and get out. You shut the door gently and turn to step over the curb. You march up to the front doors and peek back. You wave then go inside.

You feel bad now. Like you're abandoning him. After such a nice day, you're just strutting off without giving him anything...

Your chest knots up as you climb the stairs. It isn't just him, it's the lies. You're not sure you can keep this up but if you don't, what are you going to do? You can't pay him back and the missed hours at work won't do much to help that. And if you keep calling in, well, you might not have time to make up for what you missed.

You're confused. This was supposed to make it all easier but it all feels so much more complicated. Why can't life be as simple as the chrysalis in the hamper? 

🦋

"Will you come in with me?" Your mom asks as they call her name.

You nod and stand with her. It's not like the early days. When she went on her own. She didn't tell you the diagnoses right away. Not until the first treatment. That was a horrible day and there's been many of those since.

You follow the nurse to the sterile room. You sit in the chair in the corner and your mother sits in the chair by the small counter top. You're silent. Both anxious.

Dr. Vincent enters. You almost feel like you should stand. You cross your legs and return his greeting. It's not a very good morning but you won't say so.

"So, Noreen," he says to your mother. "I have some news."

Your mother looks at him from her chair. She looks small like a child. You've never seen her afraid but in that moment, you see her eyes gleam.

"You're a candidate for stem cell transplant." He says.

Your mom looks at you and back to him. You don't know what that means either. You remember they mentioned it early on but it never came back up.

"No more chemo. At least for now. We think this is the opportune time and it could help with recovery in the long run," he explains.

"Oh, right," she breathes. 

"We'll send you for a few scans to see how things are looking but your last images were positive."

"Uh huh, okay," she blinks. "Is it very expensive?"

He hums. "It can be. Depending on insurance. Of course, it would be my recommendation for you to go with it. Chemo is showing results but in my experience, this is the best course of action. If you wish to continue as you are, it's entirely within your discretion."

You're both quiet.

"I'll provide you some information on it before you go. How about that? Give you some time to think." He says.

"That's good," you say as your mom stays silent.

"Alright, then, we'll do the usual," Vincent diverts. "Let's get you on the bed."

You sit patiently as he checks your mother over. He's quick and efficient. He has a full waiting room, even this early in the morning. You thank him after your mother does and he leaves the room.

She steps onto the stool and down to the floor. As you approach her, she sighs. She doesn't say anything as she leads you out of the room.

As she stops at the admin desk to get the folder of pamphlets, she bids them a good day. As you come out into the gloomy of the rainy day, you take her hand. She stops and stands at the curb, looking out into the distance.

"I'm tired, pie."

"I know, mom," you say.

"What do you think?" She asks.

"I don't know. Maybe... we should read the stuff."

"It'll be expensive."

"It's all expensive," you mutter.

She drops her head. "My last days and I have to watch my daughter work herself half to death just to suffer more and more."

"Mom, please, he said things are looking good--"

"Maybe but I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

You swallow as your eyes burn. "It's... it's your choice. Always your choice." You look away, trying not to cry.

"Honey," she squeezes your hand. "I don't want to give up. I know you won't, either, but you're tired too. It hurts me to see you like this."

"Mom," is all you can eke out.

She lets go of you and looks at the folder. She exhales. "I'll read it over."

"We'll read it together," you offer. 

"When's work?" She wonders.

"Noon," you answer. Not work, per se. Just an obligation.

"Enough time for breakfast," she says. "My treat."

"Mom," you say.

"I know, I know. But I just want one last cinnamon bun before I go," she insists.

🦋

You're trembling. You haven't been able to stop since you left the apartment. You couldn't let your mom see the panic. She's already having a rough day.

You stand under the awning of the building, waiting. S drives up and you run out without pulling up your jacket hood. You feel in your pocket for the pamphlet.

You get in the car and flick the moisture from your cheeks. You gasp. "It's really coming down."

"You don't have an umbrella?" S says.

"Forgot," you shrug.

"Mm, well, looks like a day best spent inside. I was thinking, they got pretty good food at my hotel. We could have lunch."

You hesitate. The thought of his hotel room makes your stomach stir. You remember what he said. 'We'll see where it goes'. It's feeling more and more like there's only one way this goes.

"Sure, whatever you like." You sniff.

You buckle up and sit back. You tilt your head up.

"Long morning?" He asks as he pulls into the street.

"Yeah... a little."

"Bad news?" He asks cautiously.

"Mm, news... stuff to think about."

"Right," he steers on as the wipers swing back and forth. "Well, just relax. Once we get to the hotel, you can get dry and clear your head."

"Yeah. Thanks."

You close your eyes, content to let the rain and the motion soothe you. It's a moment to prepare yourself.. Maybe once you tell him, he'll change his mind.

When the car stops, you snap up as if you were sleeping. Your mind slows as the world does the same. S smiles at you and reaches behind your seat. He grabs an umbrella out of the back.

He gets out, shielding himself from the downpour, and comes around to open your door. He walks you up to the hotel doors and folds up the umbrella before he enters the lobby. He points you to the elevators.

"Got some work done this morning," he proclaims as you get on. "You were asking about my company."

"Oh, right. I was. Curious, I guess. I don't know anyone who owns one."

"You do now," he chuckles. "It's not as glamourous as it seems. This is as much time as I've had to myself in... a decade?"

"Really?"

"Not to complain. I mean, certain things I don't have to worry about. It's not a bad life. Solitary," he shrugs and the doors open.

He guides you along the hallway to his suite door. He lets you in ahead of him. He puts the umbrella in the tall vase by the door.

You unzip your jacket and hang it. You look down at your jeans. They're soaked. You rub the damp fabric.

"I got a spare robe in here, if you want to let those dry," he says.

"Sure, uh, probably," you agree.

He takes off his shoes and you step out of your boots. You linger by the door, shyly glancing into the suite. He stands up and combs his fingers through his hair.

"I'll get the room service menu," he grins and struts away. "Make yourself at home."

As he looks around, you reach into your jacket pocket. You hide the pamphlet behind your back, clasping your wrist tight, and tiptoe further inside. He waves the laminated menu at you.

"Right here," he puts it on the small round table between two chairs. "I'll get that robe."

"Sure."

You wait, reluctant at the edge of the sitting room. A couch and a clamshell chair in velvet. It's all so nice.

He comes back in.

"If you want to change before you make up your mind--"

"Uh huh, yeah."

You keep the pamphlet behind you and take the robe. He points you to the bathroom and you scurry into it. You lock yourself inside and strip off the wet jeans. The texture leaves your skin itchy. Ugh.

You hang them on the bar meant for towels and pull on the robe. It's soft and roomy. You tuck the pamphlet into the pocket and face the door.

You emerge as S sits at the table. You walk carefully, paranoid that the robe might fall open despite the tight knot around the middle. You sit down and lean over to read the menu. It's a good distraction.

"I recommend the mac and cheese, as simple as it sounds," he taps with his finger.

"Oh, I like mac and cheese," you say.

You continue your perusal. You'll probably just go with what he says. Your appetite is lost in the storm of your inside.

"So, uh, did you bring that bill?"

You sit up stiffly and blink at him. Your hand goes to the pocket of the robe. You gape at him. How do you do this?

"We can wait--"

"No, I can't. Not-- no. Because..." you stammer as your heart races. "Because it's... it's too much and... you can say no and... I'll be okay. My mom will be okay. I'll figure it out. I will."

"Woah, woah, sweetheart," he gets up and comes around the table. He gets down to his knees as he puts his hands on your arms, his thumbs caressing you. "It's alright. I asked you to--"

"No, no," you jitter as you reach in the pocket and slide out the pamphlet, slightly damp from the rain. "It's... it's more... it's..." you look down at the paper as you clutch it in your hands. "The doctor said it will be good but..."

He drags his hands down your arms to your hands. He eases the pamphlet free. He sits back on his heels and opens it. He reads it over as you cover your face.

"I think I should go--"

"I can do it," he says calmly. "One hundred? Easy."

"One hundred thousand!" You drop your hands. "S!"

"It's just money. This isn't about that. It's about your mom, isn't it?"

You stare at him. You don't understand how he can be so generous. It's just take, take, take, and you have nothing to give. And the more he gives, the more you depend on it. The hole only gets deeper and deeper.

[thefreakandthehair]

unplug it (please)

written for ‘plug’ | wc: 437 | rated: m | tags: hospital setting, post-canon fix-it, mutual pining, love confession, requited feelings, fluff, humor, confident steve harrington, eddie munson has a crush on steve harrington (and the machines he’s hooked up to blow his secret) @steddiemicrofic

When Eddie woke up a week after becoming demobat bait, he thought the worst was behind him.

He thought wrong.

It was easy enough early in his recovery to pass his rapid pulse off as a reaction to, well, everything, but that excuse didn't work anymore. At least not on Steve, who happens to be the reason for his humiliating problem.

Like clockwork, Steve entered Eddie’s room with a warm smile.

“Back already?” Eddie asked.

“Not getting rid of me that easy,” Steve teased and plopped down into the hard chair with nothing but a skinny blue cushion for comfort.

I could do better than that chair, he thought. I’d give Steve a great place to sit.

Bee-beep. Bee-bee-beep. Beep.

If he was able to bend down, he’d unplug the fucking machine. It’s embarrassing.

“Your heart’s still doing that? I told Laura!”

Laura’s the worst, but Eddie can’t jeopardize someone else's job just because he’s a coward. Maybe that’s why he said what he said next.

“It's because of you,” he muttered, realizing belatedly how that sounded when he saw Steve’s smile fall.

“Not like that! Fuck. Steve, I’m a weak man and you’re… you. You threatened to have your mom pull her funding from the hospital if they didn’t really try to save me. You carried me out of Mordor! How was I supposed to not fall in love with you after that? I hate that monitor, blowing all of my secrets.”

Eddie’s confession hung heavy in the silence, broken only by the erratic beeping of the monitor, as Steve sat forward with his elbows on his knees. He cleared his throat, and scratched the tip of his nose.

“Did I hear that right?”

“Yep.” Eddie could lie. He could walk it all back, but he didn’t want to be a runner anymore.

“Great, so do you wanna wait until you get out of here for a first date, or should I bring the first date to you?” Steve muses. “I think Laura might give me shit for trying to light a candle in here with the sprinklers.”

“Are you serious?”

“You think you’re the only weak man in this room? You bled through my jacket and I had to wash your blood off my shoulders.” Steve shrugged, one corner of lips just barely upturned. “I almost lost you. I’m not taking that chance again.”

“When you put it like that, I don’t wanna wait.”

“Good."

Eddie’s heart monitor skipped beats, racing as Steve leaned closer, his lips just barely touching his cheek in a soft, innocent kiss.

"Get ready to be wined and dined, Munson.”

[rogueddie]

There are a lot of rumors about Eddie Munson. From his sexuality, to his religion, to him being some sort of supernatural creature.

Steve doesn’t put a lot of merit in most of them. They’re usually just bullshit people make up to entertain themselves with whilst beating down on the weird kid. Steve thinks it’s boring… usually.

He’s seen enough weird things happen around Munson to know that something isn’t right. Something about him is unnatural. And Steve is staying clear out of the way of whatever the hell he is, or whatever the hell he’s messing with.

Unfortunately, his friends haven’t gotten the message.

“Do it at your own house!” Steve complains, though he makes no move to stop them. He’s sure it’s nothing, that it’ll only lead to an annoying clean-up job, but there’s a nagging sense of dread writhing in his gut. “This shit is bull anyway.”

“If it’s bull then what’s the problem?” Tommy counters.

“Because none of you dickheads are going to help clean this shit up!”

“I promise to help you clean up,” Carol says. “There. Problem solved. Right?”

"It's still stupid," Steve mutters, glaring at the janky make-shift pentagram they've made. "And a bad idea."

It's drawn on nine pieces of paper- they wanted to draw it big on the floor, but Steve had but his foot down. He lets them use some of his moms candles as a compromise.

With the lights off, sitting with the two of them in a circle, it suddenly feels too real. Even Carol looks suddenly nervous.

Tommy is the only one still smirking, though Steve is sure that it's forced. His voice shakes a little as he begins reading off the paper he'd torn out a library book. His Latin is clunky.

At first, nothing happens.

Long enough that Carol says, "did you even say it right?"

"Yes, it even has-" Tommy starts.

The candles all blow out, suddenly. The light Steve had left on in the kitchen flicks off too, plunging them into complete darkness.

After a horrible moment, where they're still and silent, Carol yelps.

"Don't grab me, Tommy, that's not funny!"

"I didn't grab you."

"Wh- Steve?"

"No," is all Steve can get out.

"I'm turning the lights on," Tommy says. "This is ridiculous."

Steve listens to his footsteps and, when he sounds like he's almost at the light switch, he yelps.

"Fuck this," he says.

"What the fuck, Tommy!" Carol yells when they both hear him running past them. She's up on her feet immediately, chasing after him.

He wants to scream after them, plead with them to come back, that they shouldn't be abandoning the circle.

But, the same gut instinct that insists he stay where he is, keeps his mouth shut. Everything in his being is telling him that if he leaves, if he speaks first, horrible things will happen to him.

Something tuts, like a parent admonishing a child.

The living room light flicks on, so bright that Steve has to blink a few times to clear away the white spots.

Eddie Munson sits in the space they left empty.

"Someone didn't read the terms and conditions," he snickers.

"What..." Steve pauses, clearing his throat. "What are the, uh... terms and conditions?"

"Oh, they're simple, really. Look," he holds up the page Tommy had read the incantations from, pointing to the little paragraph at the end. "They even translated it to English! But all you need to know, big boy, is that you are A-OK."

"And... Tommy and Carol?"

"Eh, they're fine. Lucky, really. I'm trying to relax up here. I'm only gonna pay them back with a minor curse or two. Nothing lethal."

"Fuck."

"We haven't even got to you yet!" He spins around so hes laying on his belly, resting his chin on his palm. "You didn't technically summon me so you can just tell me to leave... or."

"Or?"

"Deal with no consequence, baby. One wish, whatever you want, free of charge. Well... I'd want your silence about the whole... summoning thing. Let's consider that payment."

He doesn't need his gut or book to warn him that it's a bad idea. Munson could be lying, easily. There could be fine print. It's a bad, very bad idea.

"There's... definitely no consequences? I won't, like, go to hell for this?" Steve finally asks.

"Do some charity work for a week, you'll be fine," he says, waving his hand around. "What do you want, King Steve?"

"Could- could you make someone love me?"

"Oh, ho ho ho! Who's the unlucky lady who said no to you?"

"No, it... it's not like that. I mean, um... my mom."

Munsons smile drops. The temperature drops with it, making a chill run up Steves spine.

"Your mom," he repeats.

"They're busy like, all the time," Steve automatically defends. "And they're barely here so, uh... of course they wouldn't- I mean, it's normal, right? You can't love a stranger or... whatever. It's fine. It's just... I don't know."

"Steve..." Munson pauses.

He groans, throwing his head into his hands, dramatically. He almost immediately flings his head back up, hair flying everywhere, giving Steve wide and pleading eyes.

"I can't make people fall in love or any shit like that. I can make illusions, that's it. Love is, like... way out of my jurisdiction."

"I- I'm ok with an illusion. Like, just one day or something."

"Steve, baby, you're breaking my heart."

"Please?"

"Jesus- ok!" Grumbling, Munson shifts so he's kneeling. "And in return, you won't say shit about any of this. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Great. Ugh. This next part is... weird."

"What do you mean, weird?"

"It's weird, I don't know. Deals about, like, love are sealed with a kiss."

"You're joking."

"Nope, and that's not even the weird part. Now, come on and pucker up, let's get this over with." He gestures for Steve to shuffle closer, waiting until they're sat close enough that their knees almost bump together. "You can still change your mind. Anything at all, Steve. Anything."

"I thought you wanted to get this over with?"

"On your head..."

Munson leans forward, kissing him. It's just a peck, simple and easy. No big deal, right?

Steve feels possessed. It's like someone lit a match in his stomach, leaving him lightheaded and confused. He's not sure how he ends up in Eddie's lap, clutching onto his shoulders, desperately trying to lick into his mouth. He feels so-

He wakes up in his bed, the morning light blinding him.

"What the fuck..." he mutters to himself, grabbing at his throbbing head.

At first, he thinks he's hungover. That he'd just had a weird dream... but he's wearing the same clothes. And, sat on his stomach, is a guitar pic. It's got 'corroded coffin' written on it too- Eddie's band.

"Steve!" He hears his mom call. "Time to get up!"

He scrambles out of bed, dashing down the stairs.

She smiles when she spots him, so bright and warm. She even raises an arm, laughing when he practically throws himself into her side and hugging her tight.

"Morning, sweetheart. Good dreams?"

"Yeah. Yeah, great. But, uh... I feel sick."

"Oh no," she frowns. She puts her hand to his forehead, cooing when she brushes his hair out his face. "Is it your stomach?"

"Yeah. Just... might be better to stay home today. If that's ok?"

"Of course it is. I'm sure we can find something fun to do together, yeah? How about we get a vhs movie, hm?"

"I'd love that."

"Great. Well, if you're feeling up to it, I've made breakfast." She steps away, plating the food she's cooked up. "Oh, did I ever tell you about Paris? It was beautiful, you would have loved it. We should bring you, next time we go."

Steve can't stop smiling. He's sure that his cheeks will be aching by the end of the day.

He'll have to thank Eddie- as soon as he can even think about him without blushing. He'll need to ask if it's normal to still feel... affected, even after the deal is done.

Part of him knows it isn't the deal. Part of him is too curious about how Eddie will react.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Playing Chicken

Prompt Day 6: Chill | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Sexual Content | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Dry Humping, Making a Move, Getting Together, Eddie Just Needed to Borrow a Jacket

"It's chilly, wear one of mine," Steve says, and Eddie pauses at the front door.

Steve opens the hall closet and starts digging around. Pulling out jacket after jacket, more jackets than Eddie's probably owned in his entire lifetime.

"How many jackets do you think I'll need to wear at once?" Eddie asks, as Steve dumps at least twenty jackets over his arms. It's a heavy pile and he can barely see Steve over it.

"Two, usually. Just. I know you're picky. I don't know what is cool enough for you to wear," Steve says.

"Cool?" Eddie asks, laughing at the mere idea of Steve Harrington thinking he's cool. Eddie is not cool. Eddie's a freak. Eddie was wanted for a satanic murder spree he didn't commit. But cool? No way. 

Steve waves his hands around Eddie's torso, as if that's all the explanation needed.

"King Steve, the most popular guy to ever grace the halls of Hawkins High, thinks I'm cool?"

"Shut up, you're definitely cool."

Eddie isn't convinced of that, but he dumps the jackets on the staircase before he dislocates his elbows. He's not cool, but he is double-jointed.

He looks at the options available.

A brightly colored windbreaker, in teal and purple. Hard pass. An acid wash jean jacket that looks like it might belong to Steve's mother.

"Oh, that's Robin's," Steve says, picking it up and throwing it over his shoulder.

Three Members Only jackets in various neutral shades. Maybe. The bomber jacket from The War Zone. No fucking thanks. A bright blue satiny number that has a horseshoe on the front and Colts emblazoned across the back. Sports. Definitely not.

Oh, leather. And Eddie pulls on the black shoulder, only to discover it's got striped sleeves and bull on the chest. More sports. No. A down jacket. Ugly.

And then, buried in the mix, is Steve's letterman jacket. Green and white. Harrington stitched onto the back.

Eddie picks it up and holds it out between them.

Steve laughs, and moves to take it.

"Now, now, Harrington. I haven't made my decision yet."

Steve rolls his eyes, "Like you're gonna wear my letterman jacket in public."

"I might. It was offered."

"I also offered you my mom's windbreaker. You gonna wear that, too?"

"Maybe," Eddie says, picking up the offending windbreaker, shrugging it over his shoulders. It's tight, and Eddie's sure it looks ridiculous.

"Oh, that's the one," Steve says sarcastically, arms crossed over his chest.

It isn't and he has to wrestle himself back out of it, and afterwards, he snags the letterman jacket and slides it on. 

Eddie starts to laugh, but it dies in throat, as he sees the change in mood cross Steve's eyes. Eddie's freezes, a little scared. Then, he realizes what he's actually seeing. It's not anger.

It's arousal.

Holy shit.

Eddie turns, flaunting the back of the jacket towards Steve again. For science. 

Steve has squeezed both his hands into balled up fists.

"Problem?" Eddie asks, and Steve looks rigid. Uncomfortable. 

"No," Steve snaps, "That what you're wearing?"

"Maybe," Eddie says with a teasing lilt.

"Great, fantastic," Steve says, grabbing a handful of the other jackets, and starts hanging them back up.

There's tension in his body, and Eddie reaches forward and squeezes his shoulder. 

"Eddie," Steve warns, not turning around, "don't."

"What if I want to?" Eddie asks and Steve is even more still than he was before.

Steve ignores him.

Eddie pushes over the remaining jackets, sits on the stairs, lounging back, legs spread. He's teasing Steve. Getting his goat. 

But Steve's not laughing.

Steve leans down over Eddie, hands on either side of his shoulders, trapping him. Face close. Too close. They're playing chicken.

"Then I'm gonna enjoy it," Steve says, making a predatory move towards Eddie, brushing some of the jackets to the floor. Eddie instinctively scoots back, but knows he has nowhere to go. He's stuck.

Even if he wants to flee.

He keeps leaning backwards, but that just makes him more horizontal against the steps and Steve keeps closing the distance. 

Eddie feels too warm. From the letterman jacket he's now acutely aware he's wearing, from Steve being so fucking close, his body heat radiating. Eddie's caught between a rock and a hard place.

Hot, bothered and bewildered. 

"Do you really want to?" Steve asks, and Eddie isn't totally sure what Steve's asking. 

Wear the jacket? Run away? Fuck?

He thinks it's the latter.

He hopes it's the latter.

So, Eddie nods.

"Good," Steve says, pushing all the way into Eddie's personal space. Pressing his lips to Eddie's. 

Holy fucking shit.

Eddie's stunned, flabbergasted.

Steve slides his hand under the jacket, running his hand firmly along Eddie's ribs, before splaying his palm in the middle of Eddie's back, right where the embroidered Harrington was pressed between Eddie's shoulders. 

Steve's hovering over him, which is a good, because if he pressed any closer he'd find out just how much Eddie's appreciating this turn of events.

Of course, it's as if Steve can read his mind, because he presses down then, and Eddie's embarrassed for the two seconds it takes him to realize Steve's just as hard as he is.

Steve's kissing him, rutting against him in a slow, steady roll. Eddie moans into the kiss, unbelieving that this is happening. Steve breaks free, immediately burying his face in Eddie's neck. 

"It's fucking hot," he whispers, lips grazing skin, "knowing my name's on your back."

And Eddie wants him to see it.

He wiggles, shimmying, until he can roll onto his front. It's uncomfortable, his dick pressed against the staircase, face in the carpet. He's gonna get rug burn across his face like this, so he grabs the closest jacket and balls it up under his head.

Steve presses down, his hard cock rocking against Eddie's ass. Hand braced between Eddie's shoulder blades on top of the Harrington patch, and he says, "You're mine now, Munson."

For once, Eddie has no desire to argue.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🐔

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Eighteen year old Steve Harrington gets arrested for vandalism.

Nineteen year old Eddie Munson gets picked up for smoking weed.

Thankfully, both are picked up by Chief Hopper, who pulls enough strings so they can serve their time via community service volunteering for The Big Brother Big Sister Program.

Dustin's a mild-to-moderate level genius eleven year old. He and his mom are new to town and he's having a hard time making friends after his dad left them. Based on similar likes and interests, he's paired with Eddie.

Max is an eleven year old spit-fire with a strong distaste for authority. Her mom uprooted her from California to live with a step father who drinks and an older brother who loathes her. Based on general attitude problems and unwillingness to cooperate with every other Big she's been assigned, she's paired with Steve.

When the organization hosts social hour once a week, Dustin always goes looking for Max. She's annoyed by him, but she's annoyed by everyone. So when she meets El and the boys, Max makes sure to drag Dustin along with her.

Steve can't stand Eddie. Not only is Steve struggling to wrangle Max into liking him (or even just listening when he talks) but he's forced to deal with Eddie the more their kids spend time together. The guy's a prick, just a huge, judgmental asshole with a superiority complex a mile wide. He's practically perfect for Dustin.

Eddie resents everything about Steve. Eddie's constantly on the verge of a sensory melt down every second he spends with Dustin, and every moment with The Party means more time with the ex-jock, wannabe has-been, who gets away with whatever he wants because of daddy's pretty silver spoon in his mouth. No wonder Max has an attitude problem.

[steviewashere]

Steve's parents get a divorce, but they blame it on Steve instead of their own problems. (I got carried away with an idea, sorry)

CW: Suicide Attempt, Gun, Discussions About Divorce, Self-Deprecating Thinking

Everything turns out fine! This ends more hopeful than it sounds, I promise!

They're just like, "You're the only reason we had to stay together. If you weren't born, then we could've separated years ago." And just generally making him feel like dog shit for being their son. And they add insult to injury by counting every single one of his failures, the way he "embarrassed" them and "failed" them. They belittle him for not making it to college—siting that if they knew he wasn't going to be intelligent enough to make it, that they could've used the money they set aside for something better; like a vacation trip or to move out of Hawkins or to get a divorce attorney.

They're not calm about telling him at all. Just level 100 mad and fuming. His parents are shouting at one another, they're shouting at him, he's shouting back at them. When he starts crying, his dad tells him to stop acting like such a "hysterical woman" about everything; that he's "not even affected" by the divorce; that "not everything's about you, Steven, my god."

He doesn't know what to do once his parents finally calm down for the night, going to separate bedrooms; his mom packs her bags and states she's staying with her sister; Steve is left with his dad who refuses to talk to him—unless he's drunk out of his mind and angry. A lot of nights just ends up with tense, awkward one-sided conversations with his dad where he's told over and over again, "I could've still loved your mother if it wasn't for you."

And, sure, Steve knows the divorce isn't his fault. At least not 100%. But you can only hear something so many times before it starts to become true, right? So he begins believing that maybe he really was the pinnacle to all this. That if he had never been born, never been raised, never lived with them, that they could've lived happier, more well off lives.

And then this overwhelming self-consciousness begins to spread into other parts of his life. He begins to believe that Nancy was right in calling him bullshit—because he was shallow and he was a fuck-up and he was bad at being a boyfriend. He begins to believe that if he never threw that party, Barb wouldn't have died—that her death is, somehow, directly his fault. He begins to believe that if he'd never been so naive and stupid and a failure, that Robin wouldn't be involved in any of this mess.

He isn't sure if Hopper means it when he says "son". He isn't sure if he believes Eddie when he says, "I love you." He doesn't trust himself to fuck everything up with Dustin, because he can't stomach the idea of Dustin turning away from him and ridiculing him and brushing him off—same with Max. He isn't certain if Robin's actually his best friend, or if she's just doing it because she has to—because they fucked each other's jobs at Scoops and so she had to help him, or because they're the only two on the outside of the Upside Down/Vecna bullshit, because they know each other's secrets.

He isn't sure about his place in anything. And maybe there's a lot more that is his fault.

And when Eddie tries to tell him it isn't, Steve argues with him; screams at him that he's just saving face or pitying him or loving him out of obligation. Steve's insecurities end up being so bad that Eddie just goes, "I think...I think we need some time apart from each other. I think you need to figure yourself out before we can continue whatever this is."

And then the same thing happens with Robin. Where Robin leaves him with, "I'm your best friend because I want to be. I'm not pitying you. And you're not my obligation. If you're feeling doubts, maybe we need time to ourselves—really think things over."

And then it just continues to trickle down.

Until all that's left is him. Him and his stupid drunk dad. Him and this realization that he really does ruin everything he's involved in. And he could try to mend it all, but now he's too exhausted to try. So he just leaves it all as-is. He just continues on like this indescribable loneliness is his normal.

He goes to work at Family Video, but doesn't talk to Robin even once while he's there. And his car is always empty. And his heart is always heavy. And his bed is always cold. And the pictures he has of all the people he's ever loved are beginning to fade, but now he can't take new ones.

He's grown so insecure that he proved himself right, in a way. Yeah, he really was the hardship in all these relationships—but only because he made it harder, by ignoring the way everybody was quick to reassure him.

Now he doesn't know what to do, how to fix things. He's alone. He's miserable. He's depressed.

Steve's always tired now and he's not keeping himself tidied the way he used to. He's too quiet now. He shows up where he needs to and then he hides. He's not eating right. He's not smiling anymore. He's forgetful. He's pale and sickly and gaunt. He won't flirt with anybody, he won't laugh with anybody, he won't make new friends, he won't reach out to anybody. He just shuts down.

And then one day, he shows up to Family Video. He talks to Robin for the first time in months. He apologizes. He's smiling. He's laughing at her jokes. He hugs her. Then, he gives her his favorite album on tape—his most cherished cassette—and refuses to take it back when she turns it down.

And then he does the same to Eddie. Steve gives over his favorite t-shirt with a simple, "So you don't miss me." He kisses Eddie and they have sex and they giggle with one another and praise one another.

And then he apologizes to Dustin and Max.

To Nancy and Jonathan.

To Hopper.

Everybody's thinking that Steve's back to himself. Back to normal. That he got over what had been bothering him. Because he seems more level headed and clearer and happier. He's funny again. And he's hugging them, so hard he pops backs. He's telling them over and over and over that he loves them. That he missed them. That he hopes they didn't miss him too much. Makes them promise they won't miss him too much if he goes dark like that again, trying to play it off as some teasing, playful remark.

However, the only one who is suspicious is Hopper. Because something about Steve's behaviors feel familiar and planned and plastic. He responds the way Steve wants him to—sometimes. He forces Steve to stay longer at hang outs, even when something nervous flashes across his face—a blink and you'll miss it sort of thing, which is why Hopper believes he's the only one that catches the falter, the drop. And he hates the way Steve talks about his parents' divorce; "I kinda got in the way here and there. But it's fine, really, they're divorcing now and they'll get me to themselves one on one. Won't have to worry about both being there. Don't wanna make somebody do something they don't want to." Hopper keeps a really, really close eye on Steve.

And then he sees something new.

He and Joyce host a BBQ party with everybody invited. Steve's there. Sort of. Talking to everybody when they talk to him. But then he does this thing. This thing where he goes completely silent and sits off to the side, sort of relaxed in a lawn chair. And then he looks out everybody. With a soft reverence. With a soft sort of adoration. And acceptance. Some weird, nearly missed acceptance. Like he's allowing something inside him, something to take place while everybody's in the backseat. Or, more so, like Steve's in the backseat and he's letting everybody drive him somewhere.

Steve leaves half way through the BBQ. With a throw away excuse. He's smiling, bright and cheery. It won't meet his eyes, not really. There's color in his cheeks. He's holding himself casually. Nonchalantly. Still accepting something.

Hopper pretends to take a phone call while everybody's cleaning up outside. Pretends Callahan needs him. And then he follows Steve as closely as he can without being spotted. They end up in a forest that opens to a grassy clearing. It's quiet. Empty.

He parks far, far away from where Steve did. Goes the rest of the path on foot, stepping everywhere Steve did, right where it's oddly the quietest. And then he stops, hiding behind a tree, eyes thrown around it.

Steve's not too far away. Standing in the open. The shiny happiness has fallen off his face. Leaving him blank and bare. Vulnerable in an unsettling, nauseating way. There's a backpack in his hand. He crouches down and unzips it. Stands back up with something held tight to his front—something Hopper can't see, so he steps out from behind the tree, still standing off quietly, watching.

Steve raises his arm. Flicks out his wrist. And there, in his tight, white-knuckled grip is seemingly brand new handgun. A handgun. It's not up to his head yet, to his temple where Hopper suspects he's going to place it.

Hopper, frightened out of his skin, does the only thing he can think to do. With all his chief of police bravado, he shouts out, "Freeze!" And Steve, surprisingly, stops. "Drop your weapon."

And Steve doesn't.

"I said drop your weapon, Steve."

And then Steve holds his arm straight out from his side. Hand visibly quaking. The gun drops to the grass. Drops in a way that sets it off, just once—bang! And the noise alone startles Steve so bad that he crouches down and covers his ears and balls up into himself. Still next to the disposed gun.

Of course, Hopper hurries to him. Pulls him in tight. Shushes him when he cries and sobs. Rubs his back when Steve hunches over and expels the contents of his stomach. And then he just nods his head, muttering, "I know, I know you are," when Steve begins apologizing.

Hopper has to take him back to the house. To where everybody is still enjoying their BBQ. But he sneaks Steve in. They end up just sitting in Hopper's bedroom. Steve's gone completely silent, no more mask on his face. So Hopper begins talking about himself. About what he experienced, the guilt he carried, how he felt like so much was his fault—even if he'd been told it wasn't.

And Steve asks, "What changed?"

And Hopper, honestly, truthfully, "I don't know, Steve. I want to say El, but I think it was more than her. I wish I had an answer."

"I'm sorry," Steve says—for the millionth time. "I thought I was covering it up well." He sniffs. "How'd you know to follow me, Hop?"

"Son"—and Steve's eyes well with tears again, so Hopper squeezes him in tighter—"you were the most lucid I'd seen you in months. I knew what you were showing wasn't you."

Wobbly and wet, "Will everybody be mad? I feel like I've been lying to them."

"No," Hopper immediately answers, "they'll probably be very sad that you felt like you had to do this. But I don't think they'll be mad."

"But...but I...I—what if they think I've been trying to guilt them into...into being around me again? 'Cause I...it's my fault they all left me."

"You'll have to be honest, son. And it's gonna be scary, I know. But you've been carrying around a lot of weight the last few months, hell the last few years—you've been putting on a very convincing front. I think everybody will understand." Hopper brings Steve into a side hug when he begins to weep again. "And if they don't," Hopper adds, "then you've got me. I know it's not all the same, but I promise you that I understand, okay?" He pulls Steve back. Looks him in the eyes. "But you've got very good, very empathetic friends. These people really do love you. They love having you in their lives—we all missed you before, we were waiting for you to come back. They don't want to miss you forever. You got that?"

And Steve just breaks down again. And Hopper allows him.

Okay, this started as an angst thing where Eddie had to, like, comfort Steve after what his parents said. But uh...I spiraled?

[coquitokisses]

Back Together | Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader, (husband!Bucky Barnes x wife!reader, dad!Bucky Barnes x mom!reader)

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings/Tags: Bucky being dad and hubby material, fluff, angst maybe?

Summary: Bucky and reader are married and have two girls, but because of Bucky’s work, reader decides to “break up” and have been separated for a few months. (Let’s say that this “job” was when the whole thing with John Walker happened in TFATWS, idfk lol)

A/N: so I’m currently writing a fanfic (on wattpad) and I had this idea, but I’m not there on the fanfic just yet lol so I decided to just post it here (also, my first language isn’t english so if there are any errors or mistakes, I’m sorry lmao)

The girls are like 4 and 5 years old and those aren’t the names I have planned on using for the fanfic, but it’ll do for now.. and Steve is alive and well lol (he doesn’t make an appearance, but I do mention him, like I said, this idea came as I was writing a fanfic so what I did was try and edit it a little bit so yall don’t need context and shit lol just enjoy okay?)

A/N #2: this is my first time doing this so just bare with me please lmao

It’s almost 10 pm which means Bucky must be on his way to bring the girls back after having them for the weekend. You were away in Seattle the whole weekend for work, but anyways it was Bucky’s turn to stay with the kids. They were supposed to stay with Wanda tonight, but since you arrived earlier than anticipated, you told her that Bucky was gonna bring them over.

You’re not on the best terms. Actually, you’re broken up at the moment and have been like that for like three months now. It all started because of Bucky’s “job”. You always said that he wasn’t being careful with the things he did and you didn’t like the constant worrying about him every time he went out to do his things. He didn’t really see it that way which made you get into a really bad fight and you decided to break up because he wasn’t putting his safety, or his family, as a priority and you didn’t like that.

Which was kinda true. So you’re currently not living together. Bucky has been staying with Steve, or with Sam whenever he comes to New York. The girls usually stay with you and then Bucky takes them on the weekends, but whenever you can’t take them to school (or get them on time) or something on week days, then Bucky takes them without a problem.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pick them up for you?” Wanda asked while on FaceTime with you

“It’s alright, red, don’t worry.” You replied “Besides, Bucky’s probably on his way anyway.”

“Still haven’t talked?”

“Well we talk, just not about us.” You said walking out of the kitchen

“And are you guys still, like, mad or..?”

“I don’t know.” You let out a sigh

“Steve told you he got out.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“I just.. I don’t know, I haven’t talked to him about it.”

“Well I think you need to.” She said “Just have a little chat and see where things are at.. you guys still love each other.”

And you did. Of course you did. And the girls want you to get back together too. But you just haven’t talked about it again.

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” You replied and just as you said that, you saw the car lights through the window “He’s here, I gotta go.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I will, love you.”

“Love you more.”

You hung up the call and left the phone on the couch before heading to the door. You opened it and saw Bucky walking over to the house holding Olivia, your youngest, in his arms and Eloise was walking right next to him. And the three of them just looked tired as hell.

“Hi mommy.” Eloise ran over to you

“Hi, pretty girl.” You immediately hugged her

“Say hi to mama, Liv.” Bucky said as he got closer

“Hi mama.” Olivia opened her arms wanting you to pick her up so you did

“Hi, my angel.” You kissed her cheek

“Sorry to bring them so late, we just got out of the cinema.” Bucky said

“Buck, it’s fine, they don’t even go to school yet.” You told him “Did you guys have fun?” You asked the girls

“So much fun!” Eloise replied excitedly “We also went to the trampoline park earlier.”

“Oh well that explains why someone’s a little more tired than others.” You looked at Olivia and she rested her head on your shoulder

“Mommy, can daddy tuck us in tonight, please?” Eloise asked

“Baby, I’m sure mommy had a really long and tired flight and she just wants to sleep.” Bucky told her

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You said “Daddy will tuck you in, sweetheart.” You tucked a few strands of Eloise’s hair behind her ear

“Daddy, come on.” She grabbed Bucky’s hand

You all went inside and you gave the girls a quick shower before Bucky helped them get in their pjs.

“Mommy, are we staying with auntie Wanda tomorrow?” Eloise asked as she got on her bed

“Yes, baby, I need to go to work.” You replied

“Can’t we stay with daddy?”

“Daddy works too, honey.” You moved her hair out of her face “I thought you liked staying with auntie Wanda.”

“We do, but we wanted to stay with daddy again.” Olivia spoke

“Well I can pick you up at auntie Wanda’s house when I get out of work, how does that sound?” Bucky told them

“And we can get dippin dots too?” Olivia looked at him with puppy eyes

“We can get whatever you girls want.” He said squishing her cheeks making her giggle

You couldn’t help but smile a little. You loved watching Bucky with the girls, he really is an amazing father and they love him like crazy.

“Alright it’s getting super late, time to sleep.” You said to them

“But mom!” Eloise pouted

“No buts, listen to your mom.” Bucky said “Come on, get in bed both of you.”

Each of the girls got in their beds and Bucky went and tucked them both. They have their own separate rooms, but they’re pretty close and they’ve always wanted to sleep in the same room so when the time came and you bought Olivia her big girl bed, Bucky just placed it in Eloise’s room. Anyways, when the time comes when they get to the point where they don’t even want to look at each other, you’ll probably make Bucky move Olivia’s bed back to her room and problem solved. But for now, they absolutely love being in the same room.

“I love you.” Bucky kissed Olivia’s forehead “And I love you.” He then kissed Eloise’s “So so much.”

“We love you too, daddy.” They said

“Now get some sleep because auntie Wanda is coming early tomorrow to pick you up before I leave.” You leaned down to kiss each of them on their heads “I love you both so insanely much.”

“Love you too, mommy.”

“Now go to sleep or I’ll call the slender man.” Bucky said as he turned off the light

He quickly closed the door once you got out of the room and the girls let out a scream that made you both laugh.

“You’re evil.” You chuckled “Creating them traumas so young.”

“It gives them strength.”

You rolled your eyes laughing. “Of course.”

You both went downstairs and then Bucky went back to the car to bring back Olivia’s shoes and a few toys that the girls left in the car. While you put them on the dining table, Bucky was just telling you what they did and how the girls were on the weekend.

“Liv didn’t even asked for my help to wipe her after using the bathroom.”

“No?!” You looked at him kinda shocked

Potty training Eloise was way easier than training Olivia. First she was afraid of the toilet being flushed, then she was afraid that something would come out and bite her, then she didn’t want to stay alone while using the toilet. It’s been a rollercoaster for all of you.

“No, she did it all by herself.”

“Oh my god, really? I’m gonna cry.” You said with a hand on your chest

“She said she’s a big girl and big girls don’t need any help to go potty.”

“She is a big girl.” You said “Fuck, they’re both getting so big.”

“They are.” He nodded “How was Seattle?”

“Fucking amazing.” You said excited “It’s so pretty.”

“And how did it went? Are they planning on transferring you?”

“Hell no, I told Nick I’m not leaving New York.” You replied “If we were still living in the compound, then this would’ve been a whole different conversation, but we’re not and we have kids now so no, I’m not leaving even if they pay me more.”

“Well if they are paying you more then..” he raised his eyebrows

You laughed. “You know what I mean, idiot.” You rolled your eyes “But no, I’m not being transferred.”

“Then why did you go?”

“Nick said that they needed someone like me for some training.” You answered “It was great, I got to teach a few people about self defense, how exciting.”

“I’m glad.” He said with a small smile

He was genuinely happy for you. He knew how much you’ve missed working like that. Being an agent, a spy, you missed it. But at the same time, it wasn’t really in your plans anymore ever since you got pregnant with Eloise. It happened during the blip as well so you weren’t exactly working as an agent or spy anymore so you just decided to leave it behind for good. Until recently.

“You know, if it’s really what you want, then go for it.” He told you “The girls aren’t stopping you and neither am I.”

“I know, but it’s just that I feel like I’m on a different stage in life now.” You said “It felt fucking amazing, don’t get me wrong.”

“Then do it, talk with Nick and tell him to put you out there, that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know.” You let out a sigh

“We’re not going anywhere, you know that, right?” He said and you looked at him “And how cool would it be for the girls to say that their mommy is a spy?”

You laughed. “They will brag about it for sure.”

“And the best part is that you’re great at it and always have been.”

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” You shrugged looking at the time on the stove “It’s getting very late.” You looked at him

“Ouch okay, I’m leaving.”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes

“Are we gonna keep this up?” He looked at you

“What?”

“This nonsense.” He motioned his hand between the two of you

“This nonsense?” You arched an eyebrow “Do I need to remind you whose fault is it that we’re on this position right now?”

“It could’ve gone so much better, but little miss I’m extremely petty over here, doesn’t like to listen to people and doesn’t care about anything other than her opinion.” He said

“Oh don’t make me mad, James.” You crossed your arms

“It’s the truth and you know it.”

“I think you can go now.” You said turning around and starting to walk away

“See what I mean?” You heard him say from behind “Can’t we just talk about it like normal people?” He asked following you

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” You said turning around to look at him

“Well I think it is.”

“Bucky..”

“Y/N, come on.” He sighed “It’s been three months, are you gonna keep pushing me away?”

And he’s right, you’ve been kinda pushing him away. To be honest, the whole thing could’ve been avoided if Bucky and you came to an agreement, but you never did. You were upset that he was going away with Sam to do all these things that you weren’t okay with and you were thinking about the kids, which, at the moment, he wasn’t doing and that pissed you off. That was the whole thing. He didn’t want to empathize with the way you were viewing the whole situation and he was kinda making you look crazy. Saying things like “it’s not a big deal” or “everything will be alright, you don’t need to freak out”.

How does he expect you to not freak out when he doesn’t care about doing all this dangerous things? Was he insane?

In other circumstances, if you didn’t have kids for example, maybe you would’ve been a little bit more okay with it, maybe. But it’s a whole different scenario now.

And you were kinda pushing him away, sort of. But it wasn’t intentional, it’s just that you were kinda petty and there were times where he wanted to kinda fix things, but you wouldn’t let him because you would find a way to push him away unconsciously.

“You made me feel like I was exaggerating when I clearly wasn’t.” You said

“Because at the moment I did feel that way and I didn’t want to view the situation the way you were.” He explained “And I know I was wrong for that and I’m sorry.”

You let out a sigh. “You still went.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I should’ve stayed here with you, I regretted it the moment I left with Sam.” He said “And I came back as soon as I could.”

“And you stayed with Steve.” You rolled your eyes

“Baby, you wanted to kill me, do you really think I was just gonna come and ask you to take me back after that shit? Like you were just gonna accept me.”

“… Well, you’re kinda right.”

“I know, Steve told me you were pissed and that you wanted to punch me.”

“I did tell him that.” You nodded

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“It’s fine, just forget it, I’m sick of the topic anyway.” You replied leaning on the back of the couch

“But are we fine?” He asked

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Well I’d say we are, kinda.” He got closer to you “You want me to do anything?”

“You could start by fixing the damn back door.”

“Again? But I just fixed it a few months ago.”

“Well I think you did it wrong because the doorknob is broken again.”

“I need to change that fucking door already.” He rolled his eyes “Anything else? Are you still mad at me?”

“A little.” You replied

“Just a little?” He moved his hands to your hips “I can help you change your mind.”

“Easy there, soldier.”

“Easy my ass, come here.”

Before you could even protest, his real hand grabbed your neck and he pulled you in for a kiss that screamed need. You really missed his kisses and just the way he would always give you a peck, whenever and wherever, whatever you were doing, he didn’t give a single care in the world. This man could see you sitting on the toilet and he still would go and give you a quick kiss.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispered on your lips “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

“I did too.”

“Can we please never fight again?” He gently put his forehead against yours

“As long as you don’t piss me the fuck off doing some stupid shit like that again, we’re good.”

“Good.” He nodded before kissing you again

“And I swear to god..” you started saying between kisses “If I see you again that close to John Walker, I’m gonna kill you.”

“I know.” He said lowering his hands to the back of your thighs and picking you up

masterlist

a/n: should I post the fanfic here? What do we think? Lol (I’ve been thinking about it A LOT lately)

**UPDATE! I ended up uploading the fanfic and here is the masterlist for it lol

Anywaysss, hope you liked this! <3

(Likes and reblogs will be appreciated)

[bangaveragewhitewine]

tender is the Friday night

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

January 1998  Friday nights used to be all about going out - dive bars and karaoke and feeling young and alive. But now, you would not wish to be anywhere other than your sofa in the suburbs.

Part of At Home with The Harringtons

Word count: 3k

Contents: Sickeningly tender casual romance with Mr & Mr H. Parental domesticity with our love birds and their two daughters. Tired parents. An adorable baby and mentions of an exploding diaper and a nosebleed (just in case those are icks for you).

Author’s Note: Well, this has been sitting (mostly finished) in my GDrive since March 2024. I hope it warms your heart on these cold January days! If you see any typos...no you didn't

A warm feeling radiates from deep within your chest as you watch the candle flame flicker and dance on the coffee table. The scent of lavender and bergamot blends with warm milk and baby lotion and the lingering scent of Friday night spaghetti. 

For the first time all day, there is no one touching you. No baby swaddled against your heart’s centre, or resting her squishy cheek against your shoulder.  No toddler tucked against your side with her curious little fingers poking and stroking at you or her sister. There’s no passing hand squeezing your shoulder or your hip, and no brushing fingers or quick kisses as you pass one child or the other over like a baton so the other can take five minutes to pee in silence or eat a snack without having to share it.

Instead, right now, you are cradled by the soft squish of the sofa beneath you. Untouched. Missing it. 

The dancing flame is eclipsed and you are snapped back into consciousness, back into the room where your husband treads across the rug in slow steps on socked feet, gently patting the baby’s back as she fights valiantly against the dragging need for sleep. He is still in his work shirt and slacks - the sleeves are rolled and creased, and there’s a spaghetti sauce stain that is a problem for tomorrow. Steve’s eyes are tired behind his glasses, but you think he might be the most handsome thing you have ever seen.

Ava’s huge eyes peek at you over the breadth of Steve’s shoulder, like a tiny tired marsupial. Despite her Dad’s warm tapping fingers, she’s holding back a burp to eke out just a little more time before bed.

You get it. You do the same thing, resisting the urge to close your eyes and say good night to Steve. You always want one more minute with him, one more kiss. 

Steve gets it too. One more thing to tell you, one more ‘love you’, his voice sleep-slurred. 

“C’mon, bubba. I know it’s there,” Steve’s voice is low and quiet as he kisses Ava’s head. He nuzzles against her silk soft baby hair and you watch his own eyes blink in that same sleepy way.

“Want me to try?” 

Your voice makes his eyes pop open again. Steve pushes his bone-deep tiredness behind a little smile as he adjusts Ava and the muslin cloth to his other shoulder. 

“Mm-mm, I got it.” 

It takes a few more minutes before his coaxing and patting pays off and Steve tells the baby how wonderful she is as he wipes her milky mouth. Ava looks so small still in his arms, a tiny thing in the strong and steady cradle of her Dad’s arms. She has given up the fight to stay awake and your heart pangs already for the newborn she was a few weeks ago. 

Steve dips down slowly on cracking knees so that you can kiss her good night before he brings her up to bed. 

That intoxicating baby smell makes your chest flutter as you brush a tiny kiss on her cheek. It will only be a few hours before she is awake again, needing to be changed and fed and soothed. Despite how wrung-out you feel, your heart yearns for the way Ava gazes up at you during her feeds; her eyes can focus a little more now, and her smiles are plentiful for her favourite people. 

“Goodnight, sweet girl. Love you.” 

Steve ignores the pulling ache in his lower back so you can dole out a few more butterfly kisses. He is rewarded with his own lingering cheek kiss; you nuzzle the stubble there and tell him to go on up before you ruin her sleep schedule with your massive affections or consume her whole because she is simply so delicious. 

He talks to sleeping Ava quietly as he ascends the stairs, his voice getting further away and more quiet until it picks up on the baby monitor.

“How ‘bout it, kid? You sleep really good tonight so Mama and I can not be zombies tomorrow? S’a no brainer to me, sweetpea. We’ll be way more fun tomorrow if we get a little more sleep. Promise you.” 

You listen, feeling full-hearted as you try not to melt into the couch and you vow to get up in just a minute to fetch him a well-deserved beer and something from your candy stash. It was a beyond-deserved treat after a long week of work and a full evening of Beth not wanting him to be out of her sight, wanting to always hold his hand or be held by him in this new bout of separation anxiety that had come with big-sisterhood. Beth missed him terribly when he was not there - a heartache you knew all too well. 

It stung too when she wanted him instead of you; when her face fell a little when she looked around or called for him and Steve was not there, when she was stuck with second best again (at least that is how it felt some days). You had all been totally spoiled during his paternity leave, which bled into winter break at Steve’s school. And then January came and Steve returned to work (with a heart full of reluctance and dread), and you had evenings and weekends to get you through the dark winter days. 

Over the baby monitor you hear Steve’s foot on the squeaky floorboard and the barest hint of the breath he holds as he waits and watches to see if Ava will wake. You smile, seeing it all play out in your mind's eye as he backs slowly out to check on Beth before grabbing the quickest shower and changing out of his work clothes hours after returning home. Finally, finally, he is on his way to you and you don’t have to share.  

As he washes the school day off, you make yourself get up so you do not succumb to sleepiness. You could follow him up, sit on the toilet lid and talk through the curtain of steam, or get distracted gazing at the sleeping girls when you could be gathering laundry. After a once around the kitchen, tidying the detritus of another day, you return to the sofa with a cold beer for Steve, a peppermint tea for yourself and two packs of Reese’s Crunchy Cookie Cups to satiate the post-dinner sugar craving. The couch cradles you once more and you hear Steve’s steady tread on the stairs. Perfect timing. 

Steve’s tired smile, when he skids into the living room in his socks, reminds you of the golden glow of the setting sun. 

“Hi.” 

He is nearly breathless after his change into clean sweats, speedy so that he can melt into the sofa and into you without waiting another moment. Steve is greedy for his time with you, that peaceful pocket of you that he does not need to share. His hair is a damp riot after tugging his hoodie on, towel-dry and tangles combed out, and his glasses are slightly skewed on his face. You are besotted with him.

“Hi.” 

Your arms open wide for him and Steve thinks that this must be how sailors felt after months at sea. He lays his body mostly on top of yours, making you breathless and giggly as he noses at your neck; he is shower-warm with the clean scent of his shower gel. A small voice in your head reminds you that you are still un-showered, contaminating him, but when Steve kisses from your pulse point all the way up to your lips, that thought easily ignored. You hold him to you, winding your arms and legs with him so that he never ever can leave. 

“Missed you.” His voice is warm and tickling and so tender. He kisses your laughter away before pulling back just enough to look at you. “Did you get more beautiful today? Damn…”

You had not felt particularly beautiful today but under Steve’s toasty gaze, you feel like a precious gem. 

“I think I have oatmeal in my hair since this morning and I put on deodorant three times.” Your fingers find their home in Steve’s thick hair, sliding and pressing against his scalp. “That really does it for you, huh?” 

You watch him melt a little and he smiles up at you, nodding minutely. “Oh yeah. You have spit-up on your sleeve too. That’s hot, babe.”

Tired eyes roll as Steve rests his head on you again, guided down to rest by your gentle hand. This was dangerous territory, getting comfortable like this when you were both totally wiped of energy. More than once, you had both dozed off just like this and woke to a crying baby or toddler with little time to nurse your sore neck or dead arm. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” you murmur, wobbling Steve’s head gently. “Barely seen you.” 

His closed eyes open slowly and he rubs his face before slapping his own cheek. “M’awake. Promise.” 

Steve moves enough to reach his beer on the coffee table, chugs a third of it and settles down on you again, careful not to rest too heavy on your tender chest. 

“Missed you today, Mrs H.” 

He had called you from work on his lunch break, needed to hear your voice after a particularly challenging morning of check-in appointments and lesson plans with the kids who needed his help and meetings with concerned parents. 

“Missed you more, handsome.”

Your call had been cut off by an explosive diaper and the tears that ensued (Ava's from her discomfort, Beth’s because she did not get to speak to Dada, yours because everything felt utterly overwhelming). By the time you could call him back - once everyone had calmed down and there were smiles all ‘round - Steve had a kid with a nosebleed to deal with and you left him a voicemail (mainly of Beth) for when he got back to his cellphone. He had listened to it three times before launching into the final furlong of the school day before the bell signalled freedom for the weekend. 

“Shitty day?” you ask, knowing already that it was. You had asked earlier how Steve’s day was and he had sighed and brushed it off, took the distraction of Beth wanting uppies so she could put a clip in his hair instead of releasing that pressure valve that had been tight and tense all day. 

“Yeah. Fridays aren’t supposed to be crazy.” Your sweater muffles his voice as he rubs his cheek against washed-soft cotton, one of your daughter’s comfort tics, a tell of tiredness even when she insists that she is no tired, Mama!

“M’sorry, big guy.” You kiss his head, closing your eyes as you pour all of the love you have for him into the crown of his head. 

Steve feels that love, the warm wash of adoration and goodness that spills forth from you, and he soaks it up. 

“S’just hard some days. I try to make a difference and just when you get somewhere with a kid before the winter break, they come back to school and whatever’s going on at home has pushed them back like four steps.” 

He cares so much, and it makes you heartache to see how frustrating his work can be and how frustrated he gets when it all feels futile. 

You trace swirling patterns on his back “Those kids are lucky to have you, Stevie. You’re always on their side. M’sorry it was a hard day.”

Steve rests his chin carefully on the shelf of your breasts, smiles softly. “Thank you,” his voice is quiet. You never brush off his frustrations, his moods. You listen and Steve knows you see him, all of him. You never placate or pander, and you are never afraid to try to talk him around or be a little bit blunt when he’s being thick-headed.

“You had a hard day too,” Steve says after a moment. “I can tell.”

You shrug a little, as much as you can with your human blanket weighing you into the sofa (you have not felt so comfortable all day). “There were hard bits, but it wasn’t bad. Beth was kinda clingy, and then when Ava was down she didn’t want me at all.”

There is an almost imperceptible wobble in your voice, but Steve hears it and holds you tighter. 

“She was really helpful with Ave though. Super big sister,” you promise. “Just a few tricky parts.” 

You do not say how much you missed him, how much Beth missed him and how, without his magic touch, it had been hard to work the rattling gas from Ava’s milk-filled belly. He knows, and it kills him. He missed you too, and he missed Beth’s clever chatter and Ava’s gurgling and gassy smiles.

Both content to sit in silence, you are too tired to reach for the remote and choose something to watch (or ignore), comfortable to just listen to the sound of breathing over the baby monitor and the crackle of your burning candle. 

Steve lifts his head after a few minutes, a dreamy smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes. “Remember when we used to go out on Fridays?” 

As if you could forget. When you first got together, your Friday nights were spent bar hopping or holed up in a booth in your favourite dive until the need to do karaoke pulled you out onto the streets singing What’s Up and Achy Breaky Heart. Dancing in sweaty clubs to Rhythm Is a Dancer and hosting dinner parties in your apartment which often ended up with a late-hour idea to go out again, or at least venture out to get more wine and beer from the shop on the corner. 

A face-aching smile spreads across your face. “Remember when Corroded played that gig at Lounge Ax? The metal night?” Steve’s face tells you he will never ever forget it.  “Nance and I ran that merch table like marines.” Your voice is giggle-filled, remembering the all-hands-on-deck weekend when Eddie’s band got a headline spot and he almost puked from nerves and a pre-show shot of whiskey.

“You were the hottest roadie ever,” you tease, squeezing his bicep. 

There is an album of pictures in the photo trunk, a mix of your own snaps and Jonathan’s professional shots. If you were not so comfy, you would make Steve haul it out. But for now, in your comfy state, you are content with the memories.

“Two words.” Steve’s laughing now, body shaking as he tries to hold it in. He keeps his eyes on you to see your reaction. “Frozen daiquiris.”

Immediately you are brought back to the summer of ‘92 when you and Robin overdid it on fajitas and homemade frozen cocktails in the tiny kitchen of your apartment near Logan Square. You had truly never felt worse.

“Don’t, I’ll puke.” You shudder at the thought of artificial strawberry and white rum, of dancing on the coffee table to Baby Got Back and crying when the pizza place forgot the mozzarella sticks with your takeout order. 

Steve muffles his laughter, hoping not to wake the sleeping girls upstairs. 

The urge to get him back becomes too good to resist. “Okay, Mr Flaming Sambucca, simmer down.”

His laughter turns to a groan and he hides his face against your chest. “Nooo. Don’t even go there.”

You dissolve into laughter with him, sharing little memories of Friday nights past. Of making far too many fajitas for a Mexican-themed dinner party and accidentally crashing someone’s wedding photos at Navy Pier. There were quiet nights to balance the crazy ones; date nights with just you and Steve, when he took you to your first Cubs game and you were spotlighted on the KissCam, and a night out in a far-too-fancy wine bar that left you hungry for greasy burgers and fries in your nice clothes on the way home. Nights like this one too when you lay together on a too-small sofa, too zapped of energy after the work week to go out again or socialise, when being quiet with each other was exactly what you needed. 

Cheeks warm and abdominals aching, you feel lighter and brighter than you have in days. Remembering the past has been like a factory reset, reminiscing rather than planning grocery lists and washing baby vests, or worrying about who will look after the kids once your maternity leave ends, if you can afford unpaid leave. Thinking about those two twenty-somethings who found each other while finding their way in the world, instead of numbing your brain with reruns or falling asleep before 8pm, was exactly what you needed.

“Are we boring now? Boring parents?” you ask as you wind a strand of honey brown around your finger.

“Mm, maybe. I dunno, I think we’re still fun.” Steve smiles up at you, his eyes are warm and brighter than they have been in days behind his glasses. “Wouldn’t change this for anything.”

There’s a wave of adoration that washes over you, warming you to the bone and you squish Steve as hard as you can. 

“Even for one more karaoke night in McCalls?” you ask, dropping kisses along his hairline. The dive had closed not long after you moved to the suburbs, and Robin tried to insist that your move was the reason it shut.

He shakes his head minutely, leans closer to catch your lips in a sweet little kiss. “Mm-mm, even that. A full night of sleep would be nice, but no. M’happy.”

You smile against his lips, savouring the feeling of his lips and the hoppy tint of beer that lingers long after the bottle has been drained. 

“I like being boring with you.”

Steve lights up the same way Beth does when she’s giggly-happy, with the same pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. “I don’t want to be boring with anyone else.”

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