Hey, can I maybe request something where itâs been a long, exhausting week and youâre fairly tipsy after trying to relax with some wine, and you get a bit emotional with your boyfriend Bucky and out of nowhere start rambling something like âhey, can I ask you something..will you make me a mum one day? Youâd be such an awesome dad, weâd be such cool parentsâŚâ Does he get all heart-eyed at you being so cute or does he just go a bit feral at the idea
The week had wrung you out completely.
It was the kind of exhaustion that settled deep in your bonesâlate nights, early mornings, too many responsibilities stacked on top of each other until even breathing felt like a task you had to consciously remember to do. By the time Friday finally crawled around, you didnât celebrateâyou justâŚcollapsed.
Bucky found you like that.
Curled sideways on the couch, socked feet tucked beneath you, a half-finished glass of wine balanced precariously on the coffee table. The TV flickered quietly, some show you werenât really watching, casting soft blue light across your face.
He paused in the doorway, jacket still slung over his shoulder, taking you in.
âHey, sweetheart,â he murmured, voice already softer than usual, like he could feel the fragile state of you from across the room.
You blinked at him, slow, a little dazedâand then your face lit up in a way that made something in his chest squeeze tight.
âBucky,â you said, like he was the best part of your entire day.
Yeah. That did something to him.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, crouching in front of you, big hands automatically settling on your knees. âYou okay?â he asked, brows pulling together.
You nodded a little too quickly. âMhm. Iâm justââ you waved your hand vaguely in the air, nearly knocking over your glass. âRelaxing.â
His lips twitched. âRelaxing, huh?â
âMhm,â you repeated, far too serious for someone clearly tipsy.
He reached out, steadying your wine before it could spill, then gently pried it from your fingers. âHow much have you had?â
You squinted at the glass like it personally offended you. ââŚNot enough to fix the week.â
That earned a soft huff of laughter from him, the sound warm and low. He set the glass aside and shifted, easing himself onto the couch beside you. The cushions dipped under his weight, naturally pulling you closer.
âCâmere,â he murmured, tugging you against him.
You didnât resist for even a second.
You melted into him, head immediately finding its place against his chest, arms looping around his middle like you needed to anchor yourself there. He wrapped around you just as easily, one arm draped across your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head.
He pressed a kiss into your hair.
âYouâve had a rough one, huh?â
âMhm,â you mumbled into his shirt. âEverything was stupid.â
He hummed, fingers starting to comb slowly through your hair, grounding, soothing. âYeah? Wanna tell me about it?â
You did. Kind of.
Your words started off coherentâcomplaints about work, about people being annoying, about things not going rightâbut somewhere along the way, they dissolved into half-formed thoughts and soft, sleepy rambling. He listened to every bit of it like it mattered, nodding along, occasionally murmuring soft agreements or teasing you gently when your sentences trailed off into nonsense.
Eventually, your voice quieted.
He thought you mightâve drifted off.
Untilâ
âHey, Buck?â
Your voice was small. Careful.
He stilled slightly, glancing down at you. âYeah, baby?â
You shifted, tilting your head back just enough to look at him. Your eyes were glassyânot from sadness, but from that soft, emotional haze alcohol sometimes pulled out of you.
âCan I ask you something?â
There was something about the way you said it that made his chest tighten.
âCourse you can,â he said, softer now, thumb brushing lightly along your arm. âAnything.â
You hesitated.
Then, almost like you couldnât stop yourselfâ
âWill you make me a mom one day?â
The question hung in the air.
Bucky froze.
Completely.
Your words didnât sound real at firstâlike maybe heâd imagined them. But then you kept going, soft and dreamy and completely unguarded.
âYouâd be such a good dad,â you murmured, eyes drifting a little as if you were picturing it. âLikeâŚso good. Youâre already all protective and sweet and stuff. And you make pancakes on Sundays andââ you huffed a small laugh, a little wobbly. âWeâd be such cool parents, Buck. Our kid would be, likeâŚso loved.â
Something in his chest cracked wide open.
It hit him all at onceâthe image you painted so casually, like it was obvious, like it was already real somewhere in your mind.
You. Him. A kid.
A family.
His hand stilled in your hair.
ââŚYou really think that?â he asked quietly.
You frowned slightly, like the answer shouldâve been obvious. âYeah.â
Your fingers came up, poking lightly at his chest. âYouâre Bucky. Youâre already, likeâŚinsanely good at taking care of people. And you love so big. Itâs kind of ridiculous.â
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was something heavier underneath it.
âSweetheartâŚâ he started, but the words got stuck.
Because the truth wasâ
The idea didnât just make him soft.
It made him a little feral.
His grip on you tightened just slightly, pulling you closer, like he needed to feel you there, real, in his arms.
âYou have any idea what you just did to me?â he muttered, voice lower now, rougher.
You blinked up at him, confused but curious. âWhat?â
He shook his head once, more to himself than to you, jaw flexing as his gaze dragged over your faceâsoft, flushed, open.
âTalkinâ about havinâ my kid like that,â he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. âLike itâs the easiest thing in the world.â
You smiled a little, sleepy and sincere. âIsnât it?â
God.
That did it.
His forehead dropped to yours, breath warm against your lips as he let out a low, almost disbelieving sound. âYouâre gonna be the death of me, you know that?â
You giggled softly, clearly pleased with yourself.
He kissed you then.
Slow at first. Careful.
But it didnât stay that way.
Because the thought wouldnât leave his head nowâthe idea of you like that, soft and glowing and carrying something that was both of yours. The way you said it like you wanted it. Like you wanted him.
His hand slid up to cup your jaw, deepening the kiss, something more intense creeping in. Not overwhelmingânever thatâbut charged.
âSay it again,â he murmured against your lips.
You blinked, dazed. âSay what?â
His nose brushed yours, eyes dark, a little wild around the edges now. âThat you want that. With me.â
Your cheeks warmed, but you didnât shy away.
âI do,â you whispered. âSomeday.â
That was enough.
He exhaled sharply, pulling you flush against him, burying his face in your neck like he needed to ground himself.
âChrist,â he muttered. âYou have no idea what that does to a man.â
You laughed softly, fingers threading through his hair.
But then his hold softened again, just as quickly as it had tightened.
Because underneath all of thatâ
There was something gentler.
His hand drifted down to your stomach, resting there, almost absentmindedly.
His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter.
Full.
âYeah,â he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. âWe would be.â
You hummed, already half-asleep again, curling into him.
âCool parents,â you mumbled.
He smiled against your hair, eyes softening in a way no one else ever really got to see.
âYeah, baby,â he whispered. âThe coolest.â









