❤️ stucky’s baby 💙

✿ Steve Rogers ✿

"daddy's got you, sweetheart."

food safety

cg!steve + autistic reader

avengers tower daycare program: chapter 1

✿ Bucky Barnes ✿

"let me hold you, baby doll."

cozy bedtime with bucky!

puppy days

gentle paws

sad!reader comfort

trauma-informed caregiving

puppyspace!reader comfort

spring has sprung!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁❀ Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes ❀

"easy, we've got you."

autistic!reader + tendency to elope

aftermath

bedtime, again

cg!stucky + autistic reader

good morning, snow!

somewhere to land

teddy bear picnic

meltdown

little day in

✿ Natasha Romanoff ✿

strong for you

✿ Dr. Stephen Strange ✿

little magic

✿ Tony Stark ✿

cg!tony + sleepy male reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁❀ Dr. Stephen Strange/Tony Stark ❀

technical magic

✿ Bruce Banner ✿

experiments in baby

✿ Yelena Belova ✿

cg!yelena + flip!john + fem wolf reader

✿ Wanda Maximoff ✿

“Hold still, sweetheart, I’m gonna count to three.”

“Mmm, not too fast, not too fast—” you try not to squeak, though your voice comes out much higher-pitched than you mean to. A little jolt runs through your body, a tiny flight instinct that makes you curl your fingers into the bathmat beneath you. How you’d ended up on the floor, you can’t quite explain, but it feels safest with Bucky sitting right across from you on the tile.

He holds up the dreaded needle, already out of its sterile package and full of what he lovingly calls your personal supersoldier serum. Once a month, you sit with your shorts pulled above your thigh and try not to tense up as Bucky personally injects your hormone replacement therapy.

You’d been nervous to ask him the first time. You knew he had a bad relationship with needles, anything medical-related really, but he was your daddy and you’re bad at hiding when you’re nervous about something. That’s what he said, at least, when he pulled you into his lap after dinner and asked in that soft, gravelly voice, what’s going on in that little head, doll? You’d tried to brush it off, of course, but it wasn’t long at all before you admitted the source of your anxiety: doing your monthly shot.

It was awful by yourself. You hated it. You hated the smell of the alcohol wipes, hated fumbling with bandaids when you were already crying from the needle, hated everything about the needle itself. Bucky’s never pushed you to share that experience with him, but it had been quickly dawning how much you wanted to.

So now, here you are, just like every month since then. You hold your pajama shorts up, head turning away from the offending object entirely as soon as it glints in the light. The shot is a huge part of what makes you able to breathe in your own skin, but that’s never meant you didn’t despise every part of the process.

“Easy does it, honey,” he murmurs under his breath, putting his flesh hand on your leg to steady it. You can’t help but whimper even at the cold alcohol swab, but he doesn’t make fun of you, not ever. You focus all your energy on staying relaxed and not thinking about the inevitable feeling of the—

“Done,” he exhales as you let out the tiniest noise at the sensation of the needle leaving your skin. You inhale once, sharply, and then again much slower as he presses a bandage over the sore spot. Your eyes don’t even shine with tears as you look down and smile at the cat print band-aid.

“We have regular ones,” you say shyly, though it’s obvious you’re pleased to see the fun print. He grins back at you and plants a kiss to your hair before moving to wash his hands.

“Yeah, but you’re too little for pointy things anyways, punk,” he hums, making your cheeks warm. “Let the grown-ups handle it. You worry about the next box of band-aids we’re gonna buy.”