#daddy!stucky

"Alright Munchkin. I have an idea," Papa said to you as he handed you the last dish from breakfast to put into the dishwasher.

"I LOVE IDEAS!" you screeched joyfully, tossing your hands up in the air, and the plate along with it, in your exuberance. Without missing a beat, Bucky, who was standing behind you the entire time, snatched it out of the air before it even started to fall. Bucky chuckled softly to himself as you bunny hopped towards Steve, all thoughts of dishes completely gone.

Steve sighed as he smiled. "Puppy, what have I told you about throwing dishes?" he gently scolded.

You looked bewildered. "I didnn' throw a dish, Papa, see..." then looked at your hands, completely mystified. "It was here a minute ago."

"Yeah, and Daddy caught it when you accidentally threw it."

"Oh. Oops. Tank you, Daddy. Sorry, Papa. Didnn' mean to!"

Steve shook his head, laughing a bit. "I know you didn't pup, just be more careful." He went back to the original subject before you could answer. "How about we go to the Met today?"

"Whatsa Met?"

"The Metropolitan Museum of Art. It's a-"

"A MUSEUM!! YES YES YES YES YES!!" you yelled joyfully, jumping in a circle. "WE NOT BEEN DERE BEFORE!!! LET'S GOOOOO!!!!"

"Hold on there, baby, take it down a few decibels."

"BUT IT A MUSEUM!!! I EXCITED!!!!"

"And we don't yell in museums, do we?"

You stopped jumping and looked at Steve with wide eyes. "No, that's why I gotta get the yelling out NOW, Papa," you explained patiently, before twisting around and bunny hopping down the hallway. "JELLYBEAN!!! WE GOING TO NEW MUSEUM!!!! AND WE CAN'T THROW DISHES DERE!" you hollered to your stuffed bunny as you entered your room.

"Do you think she's excited? I can't really tell," Bucky asked Steve, deadpanned. Steve grinned.

"Yeah, I could tell she had a ton of extra energy today, so if we have something new to show her every few seconds, that'll keep her happy."

"Yeah but...you really think this is a good idea?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"You really wanna take her somewhere new when she's this wound up?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she's going to come back from this with a new hyper fixation," Bucky predicted, his eyebrows raised.

Steve snorted. "Really?" he said. "You think she's gonna go crazy over something at the Met? Do you have any idea how much stuff is there? She won't be able to focus long enough to get obsessed by just one thing."

Bucky shrugged. "With as hyper as she already is today, I would be surprised if she didn't."

Steve laughed in disbelief. "You're not serious," he cajoled his husband. "She just forgot she was holding a plate because she's so excited. There's no way she'll fixate on anything today."

"Well, I could say you're right, but then I'd be wrong, so....."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

Bucky's eyes glinted with mischief. "Don't think I won't enjoying rubbing THAT declaration in your face in the future, Captain."

"Admit it. You're just jealous that I came up with today's great idea," Steve teased, wrapping his arms around his beloved and giving his butt a playful squeeze. Bucky's subsequent grunt of appreciation just made Steve laugh harder.

********Later That Day**********

"DAT WAS DA BEST!!!" you hollered the second you were out of the huge stone doorway and into the open air. Several pigeons on the pavement below took off in alarmed flight at the noise. Bucky snorted a laugh, holding tight to one of your hands to keep you from accidentally flinging yourself down the stone steps as you danced and twisted joyfully, swinging Jellybean around with glee. "Der was da big stained glass window and da big picture of the boat with da guys and da OTHER picture of da boat with da other guys and all the big statues and da chairs from the old days and...."

The entire way back to the tower you kept up the running commentary, talking about all the things you had looked at, then going back and describing your favorite ones in detail. You'd all had lunch at one of the cafes at the museum, and kept right on going, missing nap time entirely. Steve had secretly hoped that the adventure would tire you out a bit, and if not that, at least the walk home. But if anything, it seemed to energize you.

Once you all got home and they got your shoes off, you finally took a breath and Steve managed to jump in, saying he was going to start dinner.

"Did you want to help, sweetheart?" he asked you. You shook your head wildly from side to side.

"No Papa, I can't, I gotta go be a artist so I can be in the Met!!" you proclaimed. "C'mon Jellybean, let's go!" And without another word, you took off.

"Artists don't run!" Steve called out after you.

"Oh, okay!" you said, screeching to a stop and walking quickly instead. "Artist is not running anymore, Papa!" you hollered as you rounded the corner into your playroom.

"I can't believe that worked," Bucky said, grinning at Steve, who shrugged playfully back.

"Maybe I know a thing or two about what she's gonna do, eh Barnes?" Steve teased, playfully arching his head back towards Bucky as he sauntered off towards the kitchen. "What was that you said earlier today....something about rubbing something that YOU were wrong about in my face....?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, but trotted after his husband. "Really? After what she just did, you really think she didn't catch a hyper fixation today?"

Steve stopped and turned to Bucky, looking at him like he was crazy. "What? What do you mean?"

"She just declared that she was an artist," Bucky said, tilting his head at Steve, who stared blankly back. When he didn't respond, Bucky sighed. "She's going to want to do NOTHING but create art for god knows how long now."

"You're nuts."

"I think you mean to say I'm right."

"Buck, she's just excited from today. It'll wear off the second something else catches her attention."

"Gonna be eating those words, Rogers."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Speaking of eating, come give me a hand," Steve said, turning his back towards his husband. A detached metal arm suddenly thunked down on the kitchen island in front of him. Steve rolled his eyes. "Hysterical."

*****Almost an hour later*****

Steve wandered over to your playroom. "Alright Angel, time for-" He abruptly cut off when he got a good look at you. You were covered in your finger-painting paint, head to toe. There were purple smears on your face, red spikes in your hair, blue streaks down your arms, green globs on your shirt- it was endless. It looked like you'd lost a fight with a Crayola factory.

"Look, Papa!" you said proudly. "Is a painting selfie! I did it!"

Steve, who had just remembered how to blink at this point, cleared his throat and swallowed. "You made a self portrait?" was all he could think of to say.

"Yeah! A painting selfie!" You held up a giant piece of your artist's easel paper. "See? I put on da paint and I smushed my face and body onto da paper!"

Steve pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah, you sure did." He closed his eyes and sighed quietly, then bowed to the inevitable. "Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you keep dinner warm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just-" And because super soldier, Bucky was standing at the door in 1.7 seconds. Steve watched as his husband's eyes went wide as an owl's, and then watched the smug grin slowly spread across his face.

"Wow, Trouble, you look like a rainbow with the stomach flu."

"Is dat good?"

"In this case- oh yes."

"Den thank you! Do you like my painting selfie?"

"Love it." Bucky turned to Steve who was scowling at him. "Did you want me to say it now, or wait for the next work of art?"

"This is not a hyper fixation, Bucky," Steve said sanctimoniously as he picked you up, holding you a little bit away from himself to try to minimize further damage. "And besides, this will all wash out. That's why we got this kind of paint, remember?"

"Yup," Bucky said, grinning.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Just keep dinner warm while I give her a bath, okay?"

"Don't need dinner, Papa!" you declared as Steve walked towards your bathroom. "I a STARVING artist. No dinner."

"Yes dinner. After bath," Steve declared sternly, marching you to the tub over Bucky's hooting laugh.

*******The Next Morning********

Steve had given you no option last night as to your bed or their bed- you were sleeping with them so you didn't try anything else artistic in the middle of the night. NOT because Bucky was right- more of....an insurance policy. You didn't mind at all- you preferred sleeping in their bed anyway. The next morning, Bucky helped you brush your teeth while Steve surveyed the war zone that was your playroom. Even though the paint was water soluble and had come up easily last night, he didn't want to try to tackle the rest of the art supplies, or put you back into the frey lest you be inspired to a new creation.

"Katie-Cat, how about you play out in the living room today?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could. Didn't stop that damn smug grin from spreading across Bucky's face though. Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes and stayed focused on you.

You wrinkled your nose unhappily. "But I wann'd to make more art today, Papa," you said, a touch of pleading in your tone.

"You can make art out here, okay? How about I give you some paper and one of my drawing pencils, and we can draw together?"

"OKAY!!" Steve returned Bucky's smug smile triumphantly, and ignored the slight feeling of panic when Bucky's grin widened before he sauntered off to the office.

Steve gathered the supplies, and the two of you spent a lovely hour sketching together in the living room. Once he saw that you were completely absorbed in your current masterpiece, he gave you a little kiss on the top of the head. "I'm going to go work in the office for a little bit, Baby. You wanna come?"

You looked up as if you had forgotten Steve was even there. The sweet smile that broke across your face melted Steve's heart and settled his nerves. "No tank you Papa, I stay here. Is okay?" you asked with wide, eager eyes. "Got really good light," you said, trying to sound official. Steve grinned and ruffled your hair a bit.

"Okay, princess, that's fine. Come get me or Daddy if you need anything." You were already back into your own little pencil and paper world, so he chuckled and went into the office. He couldn't wait to see the look on Bucky's face. Ah, sweet triumph.

Bucky was staring at his computer when Steve entered the room. His blue eyes swung up to his husband's smirking face, then to Steve's side where it was obvious he was noting that you were not in tow. Bucky looked Steve right in the eye, and gave the most annoying eyebrow lift as if to say "your funeral". Steve scowled and went to his desk.

About fifteen minutes later, Bucky sniffed loudly. Steve ignored it, not ready to give in until Bucky admitted that he was wrong. After the fifth and most exaggerated sniff, Steve finally looked up, smirking. "Need a tissue there, Buck?" he teased.

Bucky shrugged a bit. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p'. "Just....smells like...mint. Have you noticed?" Bucky watched with glee as the smirk on Steve's face turned to horror, and chuckled as Steve tore out of the room.

"Look, Papa!" you declared happily as Steve rushed into his and Bucky's bathroom. "I made more art!" The swirls of the blue mint toothpaste on the giant bathroom mirror were reminiscent of Starry Night- if had been sponsored by Crest. If it hadn't been so naughty, it honestly would have been impressive. You smiled proudly at your creation. "I finished the pencils and den I needed a new art project. Is sooooooo pretty!"

It was baffling how quickly Papa wiped the excess toothpaste from your hands and then plunked you into Time Out.

Bucky casually strolled past the living room, silently chuckling at your huffing little self in the Time Out corner, then chuckling outright as he leaned against the doorway, watching Steve clean up the mirror which was now guaranteed to be free of plaque. When he turned to Bucky with a scowl, Bucky just shrugged with that self-assured smirk on his face. "I didn't say anything."

After Time Out was over and Steve had reminded you that only art supplies should be used to make art, he made sure to keep a firm grip on you as he brought you into the office. Bucky didn't even look up as he grinned gleefully. "Ah, there's our little artist. You feeling good and cavity free, Trouble?" he said in a jaunty voice.

"Yeah! Minty fresh!" you replied with a giggle, before you caught Papa's eye. You quickly adopted a serious face. "But we don't play wif da toothpaste like dat. Is naughty. Okay?" Your eyes shifted quickly back to Papa to make sure you'd gotten it right. He nodded proudly, if somewhat resignedly. Bucky just chuckled under his breath.

Steve sat down, keeping you on his lap. Of course you started to squirm the second there was stillness. "Katie-Cat," Steve said in a patient but serious tone. "You can color or draw here at the desk, but you're sitting with me. Understood?"

"But I want to paint the floor." Cue snort from Bucky.

"Absolutely not."

"What about the top of your desk?"

"To draw on?"

"No, to paint. Like my selfie picture!"

"No. Crayons or pencils only."

"Paint da walls?"

"No."

"Paint you a new shirt."

"No."

"Paint da ceiling!"

"No. Crayons or pencils ONLY."

"UGH. I am SUFFERING for my art," you declared dramatically as you slumped against Steve's chest. Bucky didn't even try to keep it in. He burst out laughing, wiping his eyes in mirth. Seeing that Daddy at least appreciated your struggle, you sat up happily and finally accepted the crayons that Papa put in front of you. You concentrated on making the most complex picture you could, adding layers on layers of waxy color, while Steve kept one arm around your waist and typed with one hand. After a while, you wiggled a bit to get his attention. "Gotta go potty, please?"

"Go and then come RIGHT BACK," Steve said firmly, setting you on your feet and looking you right in the eye. You nodded seriously back.

"Okay, Papa, I go and come right back," you said innocently. Steve's eyes briefly narrowed, but he let you go. And you did as you were told- he listened to your footsteps carefully. You went right to the bathroom in your room and came right back. Steve did a quick visual sweep- you didn't bring any new art supplies in with you or have anything tucked under your shirt so he wouldn't see, so he thought all was safe.

"Did you wash your hands?" he asked as you clambered back onto his lap.

"Yup!" you declared happily. "See? Smells like ocean!" You thrust your washed hands under his nose- you loved using the soap with the pictures of the fishes and coral reefs on it. Steve inhaled, then quickly kissed your fingers as you giggled delightedly. You resumed your coloring with determination.

Just as you were about done, you leaned back. "Papa?"

"Yes, lovebug?"

"Still can't paint your desk?"

"Still can't paint my desk."

"But it is BORING. Needs....magic!" And from out of your pocket came a handful of purple glitter that you tossed in the air, baptizing you both with sparkles. You giggled and clapped your hands delightedly as Steve spit glitter from his mouth.

This time it was almost insulting how fast you found yourself back in Time Out, albeit in the office.

Once Bucky had picked himself up off the floor from laughing that hard, Steve relented. "You win. You were right," he grumbled. That set Bucky off all over again.

The silence finally broke when Steve settled on the couch beside you. He let out a deep sigh, trying to hide the exhaustion on his face with a forced smile. “Hey, kiddo,” he said softly, his voice strained. “How’s my favorite little star?”

You didn’t buy it. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the way his shoulders slumped was something you’d seen in the past when he was trying to hide something from you. He was good at it, but not good enough to fool you.

You scooted closer to him, sensing his discomfort. “You okay…?” You asked, tilting your head, not fully regressed but definitely in a tender little space. You didn’t speak much when you were in these moments, but you were always in tune with their moods.

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Bucky before giving you a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, sweetheart. Just… tired, I guess.”

Bucky, who’d been standing nearby, noticed the exchange. He stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “He’s been a little off all day,” Bucky explained quietly, trying to keep it light. “You think you could cheer him up, princess?”

You looked between Steve and Bucky for a moment, then nodded. They were your family, your safe place. You always wanted to make sure they were happy and taken care of, just like they did for you. There was no question about it. You knew you could help, in your own little way.

Moving off the couch and going over to your pile of stuffed animals, you pulled out one of your favorite bears, the one with the soft, patchy fur and the little bowtie that was starting to fray at the edges. You walked back to the couch and held it out to Steve with both hands, your eyes wide and full of affection. “Patches is here, Papa,” You said, your voice sweet and comforting. “He makes people feel better.”

Steve chuckled quietly, his eyes softening as he took the bear from you. He squeezed it slightly, a little sigh of relief escaping him. “Thanks, kiddo,” He muttered. The bear was a small gesture, but it seemed to soothe him more than he let on.

You weren’t done, though. You noticed the faint bags under his eyes, the way his fingers fidgeted with the bear’s ears. That was your cue. You reached over to the coffee table, where one of your caregivers had set out a small bowl of goldfish crackers earlier, and grabbed the edge of the bowl. You gently nudged the bowl towards him, offering the snack like it was the most important thing in the world.

“Want some?” You asked with a little smile, your voice hopeful. “Goldfish make you smile.”

Steve’s lips twitched at the corner, a faint smile tugging at them. He reached forward slowly, taking a few of the crackers, his fingers brushing against yours. You watched him with a hopeful gaze, waiting for his reaction. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just chewed thoughtfully, but when he looked at you again, the weight in his eyes seemed to lift slightly.

“They do, huh?” He said with a soft laugh, as if it was the first real laugh he'd had all day.

You nodded seriously, making sure he understood the importance of snacks in lifting a mood. “Uh-huh. And cuddles too.”

At your words, Bucky chuckled softly and sat down on the couch and pulled you close to him with one arm. You felt his steady heartbeat next to you, the way his chest rose and fell in that reassuring, comforting rhythm.

With a gentle hand, you reached out for Steve’s hand, tugging it lightly. “You come cuddle too?” You asked quietly, not demanding but gently offering. You’d seen how Steve and Bucky needed affection in their own way, and sometimes, just being close was enough.

Steve’s smile grew a little wider as he glanced at Bucky, who just nodded, a silent encouragement. Slowly, Steve shifted, inching toward the two of you. He sat with his back against the couch, pulling you between him and Bucky, your head resting on his chest and your legs tangled with theirs.

Bucky wrapped his arm around you tighter while Steve found his place to cuddle you closer. For a long moment, the three of you just sat there in quiet comfort. You felt their tension start to melt away, slowly but surely, the weight of the day lifting in the warmth of each other’s presence.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Steve whispered after a while, his voice softer than before. “I feel better just being with you two.”

You smiled sleepily, your eyes drifting half-closed as the peaceful feeling of being surrounded by love made your own worries fade. “We always take care of each other,” You murmured, your voice drowsy now.

Bucky kissed the top of your head, his voice low and steady. “That’s right. And we’ve got you, always.”

“‘S beach day!” You declare, bouncing on your toes and giggling. “Gon’ swim, an’ eat sammiches, anddd… maybe find a crab!”

Steve chuckles and ruffles your bedhead. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

Bucky comes over and lifts you into his arms with a dramatic motion. “You sound ready to explode with excitement, doll.”

“Boom!” You shout happily, flopping into his shoulder with a squeal.

“Alright, tiny firecracker,” Bucky says with a smirk, kissing your temple, “Let’s pick out that swimsuit, huh? I laid out a few.”

He carries you back to your room, setting you down in front of the bed where three different swimsuits are folded: one with little sharks, one with rainbows and glitter, and one with ducks wearing sunglasses.

You gasp. “Ducks!! ‘M wearin’ the ducky one!”

“Excellent choice,” Steve says from the doorway, holding up a tiny bottle of sunscreen like it’s a secret weapon. “Operation Sunshield begins after we’re dressed.”

You squeal again and squirm excitedly while Bucky helps you into the ducky swimsuit, gently tugging the fabric into place and letting you spin in front of the mirror.

“Look at you,” He teases. “The duck commander herself.”

You pose with your hands on your hips. “Quack,” You say seriously before breaking into giggles.

Steve brings over your favorite sunhat, the one with little cat ears sewn on top. He crouches down to tie the strings carefully under your chin. “There. Our beach baby is ready.”

You nod with a wide smile, pointing to yourself. “Beach baby. Dat’s me.”

Bucky hands you your beach bag, shaped like a strawberry, already packed with your floatie, water bottle, a towel, and your favorite shell-collecting bucket. You peek inside and spot your teddy tucked in there too, wearing his own little sunglasses.

“Brownie comin’ tooooo!” You squeal, hugging the bag tight.

Steve chuckles and kisses your forehead. “Of course. He’s our co-pilot.”

You skip toward the door, flip-flops smacking the floor, bag bouncing against your side, already humming a made-up beach song.

And behind you, Steve and Bucky exchange a soft look, all warm smiles and quiet love, before following you out the door.

It doesn’t take long until you’re all buckled into your seat in the back of Steve’s big SUV, your strawberry beach bag beside you and Brownie resting in your lap. Your feet are swinging back and forth and you’ve got a sippy cup of cold apple juice in one hand.

Bucky’s driving, sunglasses on and arm relaxed out the window, while Steve twists in the front seat to check on you again.

“Got everything, sweetheart?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Mhm! Brownie, got snacks, got juice… oh! Forgot da crayons- wait, no I didn’t! They in the bag!” You unzip it and proudly show off your zip-up pouch full of stubby, broken crayons and coloring pages.

Steve gives you a dramatic sigh of relief. “Phew. Beach emergency averted.”

Bucky grins at the road. “Can’t survive a beach trip without crayons. Everyone knows that.”

You lean back and hum a little song to yourself while kicking your feet. Then, suddenly, “Papa?”

Steve turns again, his expression soft. “Yeah, bug?”

“How many waves do ya fink there gonna be? A gazillion?”

He hums in thought before answering, “Maybe a gazillion and one.”

You giggle and wiggle in your seat. “I’mma jump in alla them! Gonna splash ev’rywhere!”

Bucky snorts, joking. “Better not splash me, unless you wanna get launched into orbit.”

You gasp, wide-eyed. “Like a rocket?!”

“Yup. Straight to the moon, kiddo.”

Steve leans over and smacks Bucky’s arm playfully. “No launching beach babies today, sergeant.”

“Awwww,” You whine with a little pout, “But I wanna go moon swimmin’…”

They both laugh, and Bucky says, “Okay, okay. We’ll settle for ocean splashing. But you are gonna need to hold our hands in the water if you don’t have your floatie with you.”

You cross your arms with a dramatic sigh. “Cuz waves big?”

Steve nods. “And ‘cause we love you. Wanna keep you close.”

That makes you go quiet for a second before you agree with a nod, “Okay. I hold your hands forever!”

The car is quiet after that for a few minutes, filled only with the sound of tires on pavement and the music playing softly through the speakers, one of your favorite silly beach songs.

Eventually, your eyes start to feel a little heavy from the sun and excitement, and your voice gets small. “Tell me when we’re there?”

Steve turns slightly in his seat, watching you snuggle up with your teddy bear. “Of course, baby. You rest. We’ll get you there safe.”

And with Bucky humming along to the song and Steve’s assurance warm and steady, you drift off to sleep, dreaming of ducks in sunglasses and waves that reach the stars.

-

The car slows down into a parking lot full of stray sand, and you awaken instinctively.

“We here?” You mumble, still a little sleepy, rubbing your eyes.

“We’re here, baby,” Steve says, twisting to smile at you. “And there’s the shore.”

You sit up fast, blinking at the blue sky, the seagulls flying overhead, and the endless stretch of sparkling ocean beyond the dunes. Your mouth opens in a soft gasp. “Iss sooooo biiiiig!”

Bucky chuckles as he parks the car. “Told ya the ocean was a giant bathtub.”

“Bath tub don’t got birds,” You correct him seriously.

Steve laughs and gets out, opening the back door and unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out. “You’re right, smarty-pants. No seagulls allowed in bathtubs.”

Bucky lifts the beach bag and tosses a towel over his shoulder. Your floatie, shaped like a giant donut with pink frosting, is tucked under his arm. “Alright, sunshine, grab a hand.”

You immediately reach for both of them, one hand in each of theirs, swinging between them as the three of you walk toward the beach. You can feel the sand seep onto the surface of your flip-flops and the ocean breeze tugs playfully at your hat, but you don’t mind one bit. You’re too busy bouncing in excitement.

“Papa! Daddy! Look, look, a doggie!” You shout, pointing to a golden retriever with a stick in its mouth.

“I see him,” Bucky says. “Reckon he’s here for the waves too.”

“Bet he surfs,” You whisper, awed.

The beach opens up in front of you, wide and bright, with the tide glittering under the sun. Steve lays down a big blanket while Bucky sets up the umbrella and cooler. You spin in place, arms out, squealing, “So big!! So blue!! So sandyyyy!!”

“You’re gonna be so sticky by the end of the day,” Steve teases, “Sticky and sandy and tired.”

You beam. “Dat’s the best kinda day.”

He chuckles, holding out the donut floatie. “Want it on now or wait till we go in?”

You tap your chin like you’re thinking real hard, then answer, “Gon’ wait. ‘Mma build da castle first.”

Bucky sets the floatie down, securing it to make sure it doesn’t blow away in the wind. “Then let’s build the biggest castle in the whole world. Fit for a beach princess.”

“I’m a queen,” You say matter-of-factly, plopping down and grabbing your bucket.

“Apologies, your majesty,” Bucky replies with a bow, handing you your shovel.

You take it gratefully. Now sitting criss-cross in the sand, shovel in hand, and your tongue poking out the side of your mouth in deep, serious concentration. “Dis side gonna be da dungeon,” You declare, patting down a lopsided tower with a wet slap.

“Uh-oh,” Steve says, leaning over with a raised brow. “Who’s getting sent to the dungeon?”

You look up at him dramatically. “Any bad guys. Like… da people who steal snacks. Or take my floatie wifout askin’.”

Bucky smirks. “That first one’s harsh, kiddo. Even I snuck a bite of your granola bar last week.”

You gasp, eyes wide. “DADDY!”

He holds up both hands. “I surrender to the queen.”

You scramble up and point your shovel at him. “To the dungeon!!”

Steve is already half-laughing as he scoops up a little wet sand with his palm and begins forming a jail cell beside your crooked tower. “There. You can lock him up right next to the crab moat.”

“Crab moat?” You squeak, spinning to look and sure enough, Steve has drawn a little wavy trench in the sand around your castle.

“Yup. To keep the villains out. Filled with tiny crab soldiers.”

You light up. “Can I name ‘em?!”

Bucky grins from where he’s now digging a tunnel. “They need names if they’re gonna work for you.”

You begin listing in a sing-song voice as you place little seashells at intervals around the moat. “Dis one’s Sir Pincie. Dat one’s Lady Clawdia. Ooooh! And King Crunch!”

“You’re a natural monarch,” Steve says, brushing sand off your nose gently.

The three of you work for a long while like that. Steve shapes towers and walls with his big, careful hands, while Bucky digs tunnels and hides treasure shells underneath the sand (“For adventurers later,” He says with a wink). Meanwhile, you are darting between them, giving orders, adding stick flags, and occasionally squashing the sand with your knees when things get too exciting.

At one point, you tug Steve’s hand and whisper, “Papa, look! I made a tiny throne!” and point to a lumpy mound near your castle.

He crouches beside you, looking at your creation with a warm smile. “That’s perfect, baby. Just your size.”

You plop onto it,sticking your legs out and puffing up proudly. “Now I’m da queen of da whole beach.”

Bucky bows low. “Queen of Shelltown.”

“Queen of Snacksville,” Steve adds with a smile.

You nod seriously. “I rule wif kindness… and naps.”

Sand coats your legs and arms, your cheeks are flushed pink from the sun and all the giggles, and there’s a little grain of sand stuck to your bottom lip, but you’re glowing from all the fun.

And when the tide starts creeping closer, Steve leans over and murmurs, “Wanna defend the castle, or let the waves have it?”

You consider that deeply, then whisper, “They can have it. I’ll build a new one. Wif you an’ Daddy.”

Steve kisses your temple. “Always, sweetheart.”

-

The castle’s been claimed by the tide, you had waved goodbye to Sir Pincie and Lady Clawdia, and now it’s ocean time.

Bucky crouches down beside you, holding your floatie. “Alright, sunshine. Arms up.”

You giggle and shoot both arms skyward. “Up, up, up!!”

He gently slides the floatie down over your head and around your tummy, adjusting the back. “There ya go. You’re officially donut-fied.”

Steve steps up beside you, brushing hair out of your face and slipping your goggles down over your eyes. “Ready to swim, baby?”

You nod furiously, bouncing in place. “Ready!! Wanna splash! Wanna gooooo!”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky chuckles, scooping you up into his arms. “Let’s get those little feet wet.”

As he carries you toward the water, your legs kick excitedly in the air. The waves rush up to greet you and Bucky sets you down in the shallows, keeping a hand on your floatie. “Whoa there, jellybean. Don’t go zoomin’ off just yet.”

The water laps at your knees and you squeal. When Bucky helps you a bit further to where you can float in the water, you exclaim with glee. “I’m floatin’! I’m a boat!! Papa, look!! I’m a boat!!”

Steve walks in beside you, letting the waves wash over his ankles as he chuckles. “Best boat I’ve ever seen. Might need to name you ‘Captain Giggles.’”

You dramatically turn the wheel of your imaginary ship. “Aye-aye, Captain Papa!”

Bucky lets you drift out a little more, still holding on. The floatie bobs up and down with the swell, and you squeal every time the water splashes up. “The ocean’s ticklin’ me!!”

“You’re lucky it likes you,” Bucky teases.

Another wave comes, bigger this time, and it lifts you gently, your floatie catching it just right. “WHOOOOA!!” You twist in the floatie and throw your arms up. “DO IT ‘GAIN!”

Steve laughs and nudges the float gently from behind so you rock back into Bucky’s waiting hands. “You’re fearless today, huh?”

You beam up at them through your goggles. “M’brave. ‘Cause I gots you two.”

Something about the way you say it makes both men soften instantly.

“That’s right, baby,” Steve murmurs. “You always got us.”

Forever, even when the tide rolls in.

-

After some more fun in the ocean, your floatie squeaks faintly as Bucky lifts you out of the water, droplets running down your legs and arms. “Okay, okay, little sea monster,” He says with a soft smile. “Time for snacks before you turn into a prune.”

You giggle, leaning your wet cheek against his shoulder. “I’m not a monster… I’m a…. mermaid now!”

“Even mermaids need snacks,” Steve calls from where he’s already crouched by the umbrella, unfolding a soft towel with cartoon sea creatures on it, the one you picked out at the store yourself and insisted “smells like sunshine.”

Bucky lowers you onto it, and Steve helps remove your floatie then immediately starts rubbing you down gently with another dry towel, working from your toes up with patient, warm hands. “You did a lot of splashing out there,” He says as he dries your hair with a little tousle. “You hungry, sweetheart?”

You nod dramatically. “M’really hungwy. Like…” You pause to think, then spread your arms wide, “…like this much hungry.”

Bucky chuckles as he pops open the cooler. “Well lucky for you, I packed the royal picnic. Your Majesty’s favorites.”

You scoot onto your knees and peek eagerly as he starts unpacking it all. Slices of juicy watermelon cut into stars, a crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into triangles just the way you like, a little container of goldfish crackers, and a juice box with a tiny superhero on it. Your mouth already waters just looking at the watermelon.

Steve sits cross-legged beside you, passing you the juice box with the straw already poked in. “Start with some sips, okay? You got lots of sun.”

You sip happily, legs folded under you. “Dis tastes like blue.”

“That’s ‘cause it is blue,” Bucky teases, handing you one of the watermelon stars on a tiny plastic fork. “Eat that before your sandwich. Hydration first.”

You crunch into it and immediately let out a content hum. “Mmmmmm. Cold!”

Both men smile as they eat alongside you, not rushing, not talking much. It’s just quiet, sun-warmed company. Seagulls squawk in the distance. Waves roll in soft and lazy now, like the ocean’s getting sleepy too. There’s sand on your knees, salt on your cheeks, and watermelon juice running down your chin.

Steve reaches over with a napkin and dabs your face gently. “You’re makin’ a mess, aren’t you?”

You look up at him, grinning. “I’m da mess queen.”

Bucky leans over and plants a kiss to your temple. “Then we must be the mess kings.”

You end up snuggled between them, leaning back against Bucky’s chest with your legs draped across Steve’s lap, half a sandwich in hand. The sun peeks out from behind a cloud, warming your face. You let out a little yawn around a bite.

Steve notices and brushes your damp hair back. “Sleepy?”

You shake your head slowly, though your body sags against Bucky. “Noooo. Jus’… comfy.”

Bucky pulls a second towel over your legs, letting you burrow in like a little cocoon. “That’s okay, sweetheart. You just rest. We’ve got you.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed. “You always do.”

And they always will.

-

The sun is dipping low now, casting long golden streaks across the parking lot as Steve loads up the trunk. The beach towels are a little sandy, the cooler is mostly empty, and your floatie sits squished between the seats like a deflated donut. Everything smells like salt and sunscreen.

Bucky lifts you gently from where you were half-dozing under the umbrella, your cheeks warm and your limbs floppy with that worn-out, sun-drenched tiredness that only little ones know.

“C’mon, peanut,” He murmurs, cradling you close against his chest. “Time to go home.”

You mumble something into his shirt, mostly vowels and half-syllables, nothing real, but your arms curl around his neck automatically. He smiles, brushing a kiss into your damp hair.

The backseat’s already set up, your soft blanket with the stars and moons, Brownie resting nearby, and a small travel pillow that smells like home. Bucky settles you in carefully, buckling you up while keeping the blanket snug around your legs before shutting the door carefully and moving into the passenger’s seat.

Steve climbs into the driver’s seat and glances back at you in the rearview mirror. “All set, sweetheart?”

You blink slowly, eyes heavy. “Goin’ home?”

“That’s right,” He says, starting the engine. “You did so good today. Brave in the water, kind to the sand crabs, full of giggles. I’m proud of you.”

You smile sleepily, turning your head toward the window as the car pulls away from the beach. The world passes by in a blur of fading light, palm trees, street signs, the occasional swoop of a bird overhead. Your eyelids flutter, heavier with every mile.

Bucky twists in his seat, watching you for a moment. His voice is softer now. “Get some rest, babydoll. We’ll be home soon.”

You hum softly, barely awake, your fingers curling in the corner of your blanket. “You stay wif me?”

“Always,” He whispers. “Not going anywhere.”

The car hums along the road, the sound of tires and the occasional song from the radio blending into the perfect lullaby. Steve drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting quietly on Bucky’s thigh, and the two of them share a look, the kind that says everything without words.

You sit curled in the corner of the couch within your bedroom in your softest clothes, hugging your knees with your stuffie squished between your arms. The tower feels too big today. Your limbs feel too small. You want to be held, but also… you’re scared to ask.

Because what if they don’t want to anymore?

They never said that. Not once. In fact, Steve just kissed your forehead that morning. Bucky helped you brush and tie the bow in your hair. But your brain doesn’t care. It just keeps whispering.

“They’d be happier if they didn’t have to tuck you in every night.” “You’re taking up too much space.” “They fought wars, and you cry over broken crayons.”

You hug yourself tighter and your best not to cry. You were fine yesterday. But now, your throat’s all sore from holding everything in, and your body feels too young to explain any of it out loud.

You look toward the hallway, where you can faintly hear the sound of dishes clinking. Steve cleaning up. Bucky’s voice follows, low and tired, saying something about reports.

You shrink smaller in your spot. You don’t want to be more work or the reason they’re tired. Or worried. Or stuck at home instead of doing superhero things.

You love them. And that’s why the thought hurts so much. Because what if loving them means letting go?

You don’t tell them how you feel. Not right away.

Instead, it builds inside of you, resembling a quiet ache behind your ribs. A heaviness you can’t name, not even in your little space. It hums beneath the surface on quiet days, when Steve brings you apple slices cut like stars and Bucky tucks your blanket just right. When they ask how you’re feeling and you just nod, not trusting your voice to hold the truth.

You don't mean to pull away, but you do. You stop asking to be picked up. You hide your stuffies under your bed. You sit stiff and too quiet, like if you're careful enough, they won't notice how heavy you feel inside. You try so hard not to be too much.

You don’t notice how Steve starts watching you a little longer when you say “I’m fine.” How Bucky lingers just a few extra seconds at your door at night.

Until finally, It breaks.

One evening, they make spaghetti and call you for dinner. You don’t answer. You sit curled up in your hoodie on the floor of your room, silent and still, your arms wrapped around your knees. You press your face into your knees, a hot tear sliding down your cheek. You don’t know what to do. You want to disappear. You want someone to notice. You want—

“…Sweetheart?”

Steve’s voice, suddenly close. You hadn’t even noticed him walking in, prompting you to flinch in surprise. He hesitates for a moment before crouching slowly to kneel in front of you.

“Hey,” He says, softly. “You okay?”

You nod too fast, like usual despite everything about you screaming otherwise.

He watches you for a beat. “You sure?”

Another nod. Too big this time. Your eyes are wet, your breath shallow. Another pair of footsteps approach as Bucky enters the room, spotting the two of you. He comes over in an instant, crouching down to meet your eye-level. You expect them to be mad. To ask why you’re being difficult. But it’s just them, crouched low, concern present in their expressions. You try to shrink away, but Steve doesn’t let you.

Instead, he gently touches your knee, asking gently.

"What’s going on in that head of yours?"

That’s it. That’s the sentence that makes everything fall apart. Your bottom lip trembles as your eyes fill. You try to shake your head, but the words stumble out in a whisper that sounds too small, too broken to be yours:

"I don’ wanna be a burden."

Everything freezes. Steve blinks like you hit him in the chest while Bucky exhales sharply, then moves in instantly, gently, and without hesitation. He’s the one who pulls you into his arms first, holding you against his chest like you might disappear.

You can feel Steve’s hand finding your back, warm and steady. You hear his voice reassure you.

"You could never be a burden. Not to us."

You sob quietly into Bucky’s hoodie. He doesn’t rush you either as he rocks you gently in his embrace, questioning lowly. “Where’s that coming from, baby? Who told you that?"

You don’t know how to explain it though. The guilt, the worry, the awful tug that you take up too much space and ask for too much. But you manage a whisper:

“I need too much… lotta times… I don’ wanna be a problem…”

Steve’s heart clenches at your broken words, reaching up to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Needing care doesn’t make you a problem. It makes you human. And you don’t have to earn our love, sweetheart. You already have it."

Bucky’s voice comes in next, his tone low and protective “Who told you that, huh?”

You shrug, face hidden in Bucky’s shirt. “Just… figured.”

“You listen here,” Bucky says, voice steady as he gently lifts your chin up to face him. “You could ask for every ounce of our time and energy and still not be too much.”

Steve nods in agreement. “Being your caregiver means being there when you need us.“

“But… you both tired,” You whisper.

“We’re human,” Steve replies, rubbing your back again in slow, firm circles. “We get tired. That’s not your fault. You didn’t cause that.”

Bucky nods. “The tired from a mission or a bad dream? That’s different. You?” His expression softens noticeably. “You’re the soft part of our day. You're the reason we want to come home.”

Your eyes well up again, but for a different reason.

Steve leans over and kisses your forehead, saying firmly. “You are wanted, honey. Every version of you whether it be little, big, sleepy, silly, sad. Got it?”

You nod, tearfully.

“Say it for me?” Steve asks gently.

You hiccup. “Am wanted…n’ not a burden…”

Bucky smiles, adjusting you in his lap and holding you snug. “That’s right, baby. Not even close.”

You cling to both of them, your heart slowly settling as their warmth surrounds you: steady, grounding, and safe.

Steve is in the kitchen making tea. You can hear the clink of the spoon against ceramic. Bucky’s nearby, reading something with his legs stretched out, lounging in one of the living room chairs.

You feel it rising slowly, that aching want. That soft, desperate little part of you whispering, Please just hold me for a second. Please just ask if I’m okay.

But no one can read your mind. So, you stay silent. Your fingers twitch.

Glancing over at Bucky, his expression is relaxed and focused on the book. Not ignoring you, just giving you space, like they always do when they know you’re floating closer to littlespace. You know they'd never push. But that doesn’t make the words any easier.

Your lips part and then close again. It takes you three full minutes. Three whole minutes of your heart thudding and your chest tightening and your mouth going dry, before you finally whisper,

“…Daddy?”

He looks up instantly. Not startled, just alert and present. His eyes soften just as fast.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

Your throat tightens as you quickly look back down at the plush in your lap and squeeze it. You don’t know where to focus on. Your voice barely makes it out.

“…Can I… have a hug?”

There’s silence for just a moment. Not the bad kind. Just the kind that feels like stillness right before something really, really important happens. It still felt like an eternity to you, like maybe your request was too much.

But Bucky sets his book down without hesitation. He doesn’t make a big deal of it. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t pry. He just moves, crossing the space between you in two strides, and sinks down beside you on the couch.

“C’mere,” He says softly, opening his arms.

You don’t hesitate as you lean into him like you’ve been waiting your whole life to. His arms wrap around you tight, not too tight, but just right. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. The other anchors you close. You can feel his heartbeat, practically hear it. It’s slow and steady.

You let out a shaky breath before Steve walks in. He pauses at the doorway, holding two mugs of tea. He takes in the scene of you tucked tightly against Bucky, your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, your cheek pressed close.

“Everything alright?” He asks, voice soft, not wanting to startle you.

Bucky doesn't move. His arms stay wrapped around you, steady as ever. He glances up at Steve and nods, a small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.

“Yeah,” He murmurs, resting his chin lightly atop your head. “They asked this time.”

Steve’s face softens instantly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he sets the mugs down quietly and crosses the room, crouching beside the two of you.

“That’s a big step,” He smiles at you, his tone gentle, “We’re really proud of you.”

You don’t say anything, but he doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t pull you or crowd you. He just eases onto the couch gently, his thigh pressing against yours, his warmth surrounding you from the other side now.

Steve leans in just a little, brushing your hair away from your face. “You know, you did something really brave just now.”

You squirm a little, face heating up. “Didn’t feel brave…”

Bucky’s arms tighten slightly. “Still was,” He murmurs. “Takes a lot to speak up. Especially when you’re little.”

You nod, but it’s hard to believe. The inside of you feels squishy and small, like any second now the world could get too loud, too fast, and you’d disappear back into yourself.

But you don’t. Because they’re here.

Steve’s hand finds yours where it’s fallen back down to rest on your lap, clutching your plushie. He doesn’t take it away. Just laces his fingers with yours, gentle and warm. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod again, feeling shy.

“When you feel like this,” He asks softly, “What helps the most? Is it cuddles? Gentle words? A blanket? Maybe your paci?”

You blink up at him, eyes wide. No one’s ever asked you that before, not like that. Not like it mattered. You feel the answer bubble up in your chest. Quiet and honest.

“…Warm blankie. This…and… soft voices.”

Steve smiles. “That’s good to know, sweetheart. Thank you for telling me.”

Then he gets up for only a second, returns with the softest, fluffiest blanket you own. The one they keep clean and close by, just for you. He wraps it carefully around your shoulders like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because you are to them.

“Better?” He settles back beside you.

You nod. Your voice is smaller now. “…Yeah.”

Bucky’s hand rubs slow circles on your back. Steve kisses the top of your head.

In that moment, you feel safe and seen. Like maybe asking for what you need doesn’t make you a burden after all.

“Anytime you want something,” Steve murmurs, “Even if it’s little, even if it’s silly, you can tell us. We want to take care of you, baby.”

You sniffle. “Even if I don’t use big words?”

“Especially then,” Bucky murmurs. “You don’t need big words with us. Just whatever you feel comfortable with in the moment. Just you.”

You reach over and grab your coloring book, your favorite one with intricate patterns of flowers and animals, and open it to the next unfinished page. You’ve always loved coloring, the neat lines and precise strokes, careful to stay inside the borders. But when you think about what Steve is doing and what Bucky sometimes does when he’s working with paints and clay, it makes your chest feel tight. You’ve never touched the paint kits or watercolor sets that Steve bought for you. It always feels like a line you’re afraid to cross.

Your fingers itch to try it. You know it’s fun. You’ve seen Bucky with his hands covered in clay and Steve covered in paint, laughing and smiling, their faces bright with joy. But the mess… the mess always brings memories you don’t like. The sharp words. The scolding. The fear of ruining something precious.

"Hey, kiddo, you done with your drawing?" Steve’s voice cuts through your thoughts. You blink, looking up at him. He’s watching you with soft eyes, a half-smile on his face. "You’re awfully quiet today."

You fidget with your coloring book, picking at the edges. "I’m just… coloring," You mumble, offering him a small smile.

Steve notices the way your gaze flicks back to his sketchbook, your eyes lingering on his pencil as it moves. He sets his book aside gently and leans closer, his voice tender but curious.

"You know," He starts, "I’ve got a new sketchbook in the other room. But it’s not the only way to make art."

Your heart skips a beat. You’ve heard them talk about painting before. About how messy it gets and how much fun it is. They thought you would like it. Bucky has even shown you his pottery and tried to convince you to join him in the studio once, but you always hesitated. The idea of making a mess, of getting dirty? It just felt wrong.

"I—" You pause, unsure how to explain. You tug at the hem of your shirt, a nervous habit. "I like… watching. But I don’t know if I could… do it."

Steve’s eyes soften as he tilts his head. "Do what, sweetheart?"

"Make a mess," You murmur, almost embarrassed.

The room falls into a quiet moment, Steve’s gaze turning understanding. He’s seen the way you’ve avoided the paints, the watercolors, the clay. He knows how much you love the idea of creating, anything to do with art. He can see it in your eyes every time you sit with your coloring book, every time you watch him draw. But he also knows there’s something holding you back. Something deeply rooted.

"You don’t have to be afraid of making a mess with us," Steve says gently. "You’re safe here. We’re not going to scold you for it. You don’t have to be perfect."

You glance up at him, your cheeks flushing. The words feel foreign, like they shouldn’t be said to you. But… they are. And the warmth in Steve’s voice makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could try.

"You sure?" You whisper.

Bucky, who has been quietly listening from the armchair, smiles softly and walks over to where you’re sitting. He crouches down to your level, his expression warm and inviting.

"I’ll even help you clean up after," He promises. "We can have a little messy play time, just the three of us. No judgment, no worries. Just fun."

Your heart flutters in your chest. The idea of it sounds fun. So much fun, in fact, that you can feel your fingers twitch with excitement. But the fear still clings to you. You don’t want to disappoint them too. You don’t want to make a mess at all.

Steve catches the look in your eyes and gives you a soft smile. "It’s okay if you don’t want to yet," He reassures calmly, "But I think you’ll enjoy it. Sometimes, making a little mess is how we make the best memories."

Bucky holds out his hand, "What do you say, kiddo? Wanna try it with us? You can start small. Just dip your fingers in a little bit of paint. We’ll take it slow."

You hesitate. Your fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt as you think, battling with the urge to try something new and the fear of failure. But then Steve places a gentle hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch calming you. "No pressure. If you don’t like it, we can always stop. But if you want to, we can make something really special."

You glance at Bucky, who’s still waiting patiently. He doesn’t look rushed or frustrated. He’s simply… waiting for you to decide. To trust them and that’s the push you need.

Taking a deep breath, you nod, just a little.

"I’ll try," Your voice barely audible.

Bucky’s smile grows, and he gently takes your hand, as he brings you to the dining table. Steve grabs some of the finger painting supplies and sets them down near you. The tray of paints now sits before you with a blank sheet of paper. The colors are so bright, so inviting, and for the first time, you feel a small wave of excitement wash over you. You slowly reach over, still hesitant but brave. Bucky’s voice remains light and reassuring.

"That’s it. Now, just a little dab," He encourages.

You dip your fingers into the paint, the cool sensation making your breath catch in your throat. And then, with a deep breath, you press your fingers to the paper.

It’s messy. It’s a little wild. But it’s also… freeing.

Steve watches you with pride, his gaze soft as you begin to explore the colors with more confidence. Bucky’s chuckles ring in the air as he joins you on another page, painting alongside you. The mess doesn’t seem so bad now. In fact, it’s kind of fun. And with Steve and Bucky by your side, it’s safe. There’s no judgment, no scolding. Just a loving space where you can make something beautiful, even if it’s a little messy.

The paint feels warmer now, smoother against your fingertips as you move your hand across the page. You make a bold swirl of yellow and green, your face lighting up with a quiet smile as you experiment with the colors. It’s not perfect, but that’s the best part. The colors bleed into one another in playful patterns, as if the paper itself is dancing with you.

Bucky glances, grinning as you explore. "That’s it, kiddo. Let it flow," He says, his voice filled with encouragement. He’s got a bit of red paint smeared on his cheek from his own work, but he doesn’t mind. "No rules. Just fun."

You glance at him, then at Steve, who’s already made a few broad strokes on his paper with a brush. The whole room feels lighter, almost fizzing with energy as the three of you work in a little creative chaos together.

Steve watches you with a fond smile, leaning in to dip his own brush into a deep purple. "There you go," He adds. "Look at that swirl. Looks like a rainbow already."

You tilt your head and glance at your page, and sure enough, the yellow and green you've painted already do look like the beginnings of a rainbow, the colors blending like the hues of a sunset.

The idea of a perfect painting slowly fades from your mind, and you start adding more colors, simply having fun with it. Maybe blue here, a touch of red there. Bucky and Steve occasionally encourage you, their voices soft but full of praise. The weight of your old anxieties begins to melt away. They never push you to do anything more than you’re ready for, and you find yourself taking more risks, adding blobs of color that you wouldn’t have dared to make a few minutes ago.

The first few smudges on your fingers did feel odd at first, but then you realize they aren’t that bad. You laugh when a bit of orange accidentally splatters onto the side of your cheek. Bucky chuckles too, and reaches over with a napkin to wipe it away. "Guess you’re really getting into it now."

You can’t help but laugh back, the sound light and airy, filling the room with the pure joy of finally letting go.

It’s so much fun—more than you thought it could be. You notice that the fear you had about messing up seems so small now. There’s a comforting warmth in knowing that Steve and Bucky are right there with you, sharing in the mess, the fun, and the art. No one’s looking to judge or critique, just to enjoy the moment together.

The hours pass quickly, the three of you laughing and creating. Before you know it, your page is a beautiful, colorful mess. It’s nothing like the neat, careful drawings you used to make. Instead, it’s a chaotic explosion of colors, shapes, and patterns that make your heart flutter. You didn’t have to hold back. You didn’t have to be perfect. And that’s exactly what made it perfect.

"Look at you," Steve’s voice is full of pride as he leans in to admire your work. "I think we’ve got ourselves an artist in the making."

Bucky grins, nudging you lightly with his shoulder; his tone full of love and approval. "You’ve got a real eye for this, you know."

You smile, a warm, contented feeling filling your chest. Your hands are a little sticky with paint, and your shirt has a few splatters too, but you don’t mind. You look over at Bucky and Steve, seeing their faces beaming with pride. You realize that it wasn’t just about making art. It was about trusting them enough to let go, to not be afraid of what could happen if things got messy.

As you finish the last few touches on your page, you feel a sense of accomplishment. Your masterpiece isn’t about following the rules or being perfect. It’s a reflection of you: creative, brave, and free.

Steve and Bucky glance over at each other and share a look, one of shared pride and understanding. They’re proud of you for stepping out of your comfort zone, for trusting them, and for making something beautiful in the process.

When the paintings are finally dry, Steve gathers them up carefully. "We’ll hang these on the fridge," He smiles when your face lights up. "We’ll put yours right at the top, where everyone can see."

Bucky nods, pulling you into a soft, affectionate hug. "You did so good, sweetheart. You made a mess, and you made art. That’s what it’s all about."

You snuggle into his arms, still grinning from ear to ear. It feels good. It feels right.

You shot up so fast the blanket fell off your shoulders, your previous disappointment forgotten almost instantly. "YES! Fort! Fortfortfort!" You changed as your words tumbled out in excited little bounces as you scrambled to your feet, eyes already scanning the room for the best blanket candidates. “We can make the big kind, right? With the sparkly lights and the snack zone and the snuggle nest and the tiny reading corner?!”

Bucky looked up from his book, sitting in the chair nearby smirking. "Sounds like we’re going full deluxe mode tonight."

Steve gave you a wink. “Deluxe mode it is. Go pick your best fort-building blankets, tiny architect. We’ve got a kingdom to raise.”

You squealed and took off like a rocket down the hallway, only vaguely hearing Steve’s voice remind you not to run as you slow down just a bit. Trailing happy little noises and slippered feet as you gathered every soft, fluffy thing you could find. You came back with arms overflowing: the cloud blanket, the soft pink quilt, even that one fuzzy one that always smells like comfort and cocoa. You dragged them into the living room like a victorious knight returning from battle, disregarding how you had to make a second trip to get the giant Avengers throw.

Meanwhile, Bucky was already deconstructing the couch with practiced precision, lining up pillows like fortress walls and stacking cushions like throne seats. Steve brought over dining chairs and helped drape sheets from their tops, creating a tall, cave-like space that grew more magical with every layer.

“This is gonna be so cozy,” You chirped as you helped tuck a blanket corner beneath a lamp. “It's gonna be the best fort ever in the history of all forts ever!”

Steve laughed, hanging up the battery-powered fairy lights carefully. “That’s a pretty high bar, sweetheart.”

“It’ll be the Fort Kingdom,” You declared proudly. “With dragons. And snacks. And a stuffed animal army!”

Bucky grinned. “Sounds like my kind of kingdom.”

Once everything was perfect; the lights glowing like tiny stars, the blankets sagging just right to make the air feel secret and soft, you crawled inside with a huge smile on your face. “Come in! Come in!” You called, waving them in dramatically. “Welcome to my Fort Kingdom! You may enter the Royal Cuddle Fort!”

Bucky entered first, ducking his head and flopping onto the pillows with a content sigh. “Comfy rating: 12 out of 10.”

Steve followed soon after, now with a tray of snacks containing sliced apples, little crackers, mini marshmallows in a dish, and your favorite: a purple sippy cup full of warm cocoa. You gasped and clapped. “You brought the special cocoa!”

He handed it to you with a gentle smile. “Just for tonight, sweetheart. And look, extra marshmallows. Just for you.”

You grabbed it happily, already taking a sip as Steve found a spot to rest as well. Setting it back down on the tray, you now found a place curled up between them. Both your daddies warm on either side. Bucky tucked the blanket around your legs, and Steve offered one of your other favorite plushies, the floppy bunny with the stitched ear. You took it with a bright smile, snuggling it close as the rain tapped gently from the windows.

Steve picked up a picture book and began reading in a soft, warm voice, filling the space with quiet wonder. Bucky added his own sound effects at times; dramatic gasps, silly growls, tiny meows for the kitten characters. You giggled so hard you nearly spilled your cocoa.

Soon, though, the excitement melted into something softer. You felt yourself sinking down deeper into the warmth, into the safety. Your body relaxed, all your energy replaced by heavy eyes and a floaty feeling. You leaned against Steve’s side, letting your head rest on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat matching the rhythm of the rain.

Bucky brushed his fingers gently through your hair, slow and steady. “Getting sleepy, bug?”

You gave a tiny nod, eyes blinking slow. “Mhm… but wanna stay here forever…”

“Don’t worry,” Steve whispered, kissing the top of your head. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Bucky leaned in close too. “This fort’s got rules. Rule one: Littles stay warm. Rule two: Littles stay cuddled. Rule three…” He smiled. “…Littles always wake up knowing they’re loved.”

You hummed softly, the sound barely a breath, and clutched your bunny tighter as your eyes finally slid closed. Outside the fort, the world could be big and complicated and overwhelming. But inside, it was just the three of you, wrapped in soft light and even softer love.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asks quietly. His tone is light, but you can hear the concern in it.

You can’t speak.

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, his voice steady. “It’s okay, doll. We’re here. You just need a minute?”

You nod, but even the simple motion feels like too much. You feel so tired, like your body’s made of lead, like your thoughts are swirling too fast to catch. It all feels so overwhelming to you.

Bucky reaches out, his metal hand brushing gently against your arm. “You wanna talk about it?”

The words stick in your throat. You can’t explain why it’s so hard. You want to, but everything’s stuck inside, and it’s too much.

Steve kneels beside the bed, his hand soft on your back. “How about we get you up for some breakfast? Just pancakes, yeah? You like those, right?”

You don’t answer, but Steve’s hand stays on your back, rubbing slow circles that help ground you just a little. He doesn’t push. He just waits. You can feel Bucky’s presence beside you, steady and calm.

After a long moment, Bucky adds in softly, “We’ll take it slow, okay? No rush. You just let us know when you’re ready to move, and we’ll help you.”

You don’t know how much time passes, but eventually, your fingers uncurl from the blanket, and you feel Steve’s gentle touch on your arm, helping you sit up. It feels like your whole body is heavy, like you can’t quite hold yourself together.

“Come on, we’re gonna get you to the kitchen,” Steve says, his voice soft but firm, like a quiet promise. “Bucky, you wanna help her up while I grab the pancakes?”

Bucky gives a quiet hum of agreement, his hand reaching out to help lift you gently from the bed. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t make it feel like something’s expected of you. His arm is around your waist, his other hand steady on your back. Steve already departing the room toward the kitchen, preparing your breakfast.

You cling to him instinctively, your eyes still closed as you let him guide you through the apartment, already feeling safe against his chest.

When you get to the table, Bucky moves to set you down in your chair. However, a soft whine escapes your lips as you hold on a little tighter. He doesn’t mind though, taking a seat instead and placing you in his lap. He adjusts his hold, his voice soft as he assures you, “We’re not going anywhere, baby. We’ve got you.”

Steve places the pancakes in front of you, but you don’t feel like eating. You poke at the whipped cream, your hand unsteady, and then push a tiny piece into your mouth.

“You’re doing great,” Steve says quietly, sitting beside you. “One step at a time, okay? No pressure.”

You try to smile, but it’s small. It feels like too much. You want to speak, to say that you’re sorry or thank them, but the words just don’t come. Instead, you curl closer into Bucky’s chest, burying your face in his shirt.

“It’s okay to just be here with us, Doll,” Bucky says, kissing the top of your head. “No need to talk. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Steve reaches over and rests a hand on your back, steady and reassuring. “We’re right here, kid. You don’t have to be big today. You’re safe with us.”