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writerlyhabits · 2 years

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Blue is for Ben

Summary: Bucky has a meet-cute with you as you’re waiting for the elevator in his building, and he’s instantly captivated by you.. and your son.

Chapter 1 of the Blue is for Ben series | Masterlist | Ch. 2

Pairing: tfatws Bucky Barnes x Single Mom! Reader

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: a very family-focused story, lots of kids media references cause I’m a nerd, briefest tiniest mention of reader having been pregnant, they talk about why she’s a single mom, mild language, lots of cheesy flirting, pet names, Bucky being a sweetheart, I think that’s it?

AN: I don’t know where it came from, but I love this piece and have so many more ideas for it!! But rather than writing a 2 million-word jumble of nonsense, I figured I’d break it up into a little series 😂 I probably won't write it in order, just as inspiration strikes, so I hope you like it!! This one is very kid-focused, I don’t plan on it being that way the whole series though cause I’m horny I used to be a babysitter so a lot of this is inspired by my personal experiences, and I got attached to little Ben real quick 😂 Thanks @deceiverofgodss for suffering through this with me, ily 😘

The first time Bucky met you, he was making his way to the stairwell on his way out of the building, returning your pretty smile as he caught your eyes. You had a large purse slung over your shoulder, a thermos in the same hand as a ring of keys – your phone and a large folder in the other – and a little boy crouched by your feet. You stood gracefully on a set of simple heels, pencil skirt and flowy blouse accenting your figure nicely, though clearly making your tasks just that much more of a hassle.

“Mama they’re broken,” the little boy beside you whined. Bucky did the best he could not to listen in on the conversation, to keep his eyes ahead of him…

“They’re not broken, Ben, they’re just on the wrong feet.”

“It feels weird when I walk, I don’t like it.” The whine was getting more and more desperate. Bucky had a strange fondness for children, he always had, and he could tell the child’s already small level of patience was wearing thin.

“I know baby, but we’ve gotta get going,” you pleaded. And then you were struggling with the items in your hand, the restrictions of your outfit… “I’ll fix ‘em in the car for you, okay?”

“Hey, those are pretty cool shoes. You want some help?” he heard himself say, timidly making his way back towards your little party. Between the two sets of eyes looking at him – one adorably large set contemplating a stranger, and your captivating ones that were practically screaming a silent thank you – he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

When Ben nodded his head, looking up to you for approval, your voice was soothingly gentle as you spoke to him. “What do you say?”

“Thank you…” His little voice was much more timid than before, shyer now that it wasn’t just him and his mother.

“You’re welcome.” He couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped through his smile as he kneeled down to be at eye level. “Are these your favorite color?” he tried, attempting to break the ice a little as he tapped on his shoulder for Ben to hold onto.

“Mhm. Blue is for Ben,” he nodded, instinctively hoisting his foot in the air for the super soldier to remove.

“Do you remember what letter Ben starts with? We learned it yesterday,” you prompted, and when Bucky looked up he caught your gaze, looking reverently at your son as his large hands delicately removed the offending shoe. Bucky looked back to the boy in his hands, raising his brows in anticipation for the answer. After a few moments with nothing but a confused look on Ben’s face, he started mouthing the letter for him, making whispered sounds to jog his memory…

“B! Ben is for B!” he exclaimed, so proud of himself that he momentarily forgot why the muscular man was there in the first place, and Bucky laughed as he reached back out for the other foot.

“Good job, buddy,” he encouraged, catching your exasperated smile in his peripherals. “Y’know, B is also for Bucky. That’s my name.”

This time he looked directly at you as he said it, knowing he probably shouldn’t be flirting and that your husband would likely get a kick out of this story later, but dammit he couldn’t help himself. And when he was rewarded with a bashful smile? Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked away from him for a moment… Married woman or not, he still had it.

Ben, however, was ecstatic. “We’re the same!! Is blue your favorite, too?”

“It is! We have a lot in common, don’t we?” Ben nodded as Bucky adjusted the velcro strap on his right shoe, each foot finally in its proper place. Before he could say anything more, he heard the chime of the elevator arriving, and felt a pang of disappointment at the prospect of having to part ways so soon.

“Are you going down with us, Bucky?” you asked gingerly, and he couldn’t help but hold your gaze as he stood up to his full height again.

That was the day he started taking the elevator.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to realize he was absolutely enchanted by you. Every upward tilt of the corners of your lips, each quirk of your brow, and he clung onto your words like his life depended on it. He got your name and couldn’t help his own muscle memory, smiling sweetly at you as he repeated it, enjoying the way it felt on his tongue. He learned that your day was full of first-week of preschool jitters, your first day in the office after working from home, and that Ben was very eager to show off how well he knew his numbers.

“You’re four? You’re almost as old as I am!” he’d said as the elevator reached the lobby floor, and he urged the boy to follow out behind you.

“How many are you?” He was not as quick with a response this time, and he glanced back up at you in his hesitation, met with raised eyebrows and a sly smile sneaking onto your face. Oh, you knew. But before he could come up with a good answer, Ben filled the silence. “Is it a big number, like… like one hundred?”

The knowing snicker that you tried to hide as you snapped your head away from him lit his body on fire.

“Yep, that’s how many I am,” he grinned down at Ben, watching the little boy’s astonished face as he heard your amusement get the better of you. He wanted to make you laugh like that again…

He shouldn’t, he knew better.

And yet, there he was, helping load Ben into your car. ‘I don’t have anywhere I have to be, I’m happy to lend a hand,’ he’d said when you tried to insist he didn’t have to. There he was, smiling as he chatted with you like a teenager with a crush as you loaded your own things into the passenger seat. There he was, giving you his phone number –which he tried to tell himself you wouldn’t touch– in case you ever needed a hand.

…

Bucky sat alone in his apartment, the tv lighting up the room with some rerun of a sitcom he hadn’t seen, and a large bowl of instant noodles his excuse for a dinner. It had been a few days after your first encounter, having caught you most mornings on his way out. It was pathetic, really, how quick Bucky was to make an excuse to leave the building at the same time he knew the two of you would be starting your day. This morning was the first he didn’t see you, and he wondered if it was even more pathetic that the rest of his day felt like there was something missing.

His phone buzzing on the opposite end of the couch pulled him from his thoughts, being a well-needed distraction.

Hey, it’s the struggling mom from the elevator 😬 I hope it’s not weird to say, but Ben asked about you this morning. You made quite the impression on him, he doesn’t usually take to strangers so easily 😅

His breath caught in his throat as he saw your message light up his screen, reading it over a few times as something warm bloomed in his chest at the image of little Ben asking about him. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he’d discarded the bowl in his hand, practically leaping for his phone to reply, and watching with bated breath as he opened it to find you still typing on the other end.

I know I’ve said it before but I really appreciated your help the other day (and yesterday with his lunchbox 🤦‍♀️) You saved me from a whining 4 year old, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful 😂

I’m happy to help. I’d be upset too if my cool new bag had a smudge on it. I’m just lucky I was able to get it off.

Oh gosh, could you imagine if it didn’t?

He couldn’t help but laugh out loud as you sent a video on loop of a child rolling around on the floor in a tantrum.

She actually texted. This is good…. No, this was not- well, it wasn’t anything. You were simply engaging in a conversation with a neighbor, one your son seemed to take a liking to. Nothing else. Stop it.

And yet, with every reply he could hear your voice saying the words to him, see your bright smile as you snarked back at his jokes… Maybe the conversation started about Ben, and the boy was the main topic a good chunk of the time, but it didn’t stay that way. Soon the two of you would send messages back and forth like you were old friends, and it was the highlight of his day.

He would get texts from you in the middle of the day about how boring work was, and he would try – and sometimes fail – to restrain himself from joking about coming to rescue you. Late at night, you would ask if he was watching anything good on tv, looking for recommendations to replace Disney Junior while you had a sleeping kid on top of you. That usually came with an instant play-by-play of your thoughts on whatever he’d turned on for the night, your detailed opinions of the current Friends episode always making him laugh.

And it always made for interesting conversation at the elevator, which –after knowing he was missed– he made sure never to forget, even if he didn’t technically have anywhere to be. It led to a lot of early morning walks and trips to the coffee shop, but if it meant being a part of your morning routine, it was worth it.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep during the episode last night,” you’d started one morning as the two of you waited in the hall, and he made a scrunchy face at you, having ‘scolded’ you a handful of times not to apologize for sleeping of all things. “Did you finish the rest of it? What did you think?”

“Honestly? I can’t stand Ross, I don’t know what Rachel sees in him,” he grumbled, though he was delighted when his comment earned a laugh from you in response. “That’s the relationship they’re gonna keep pushing, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately,” you smiled, turning your attention to Ben as he made his way back to you, his backpack in one hand while his other was closed tight. “Did you find it?” The little boy opened his palm to reveal a colorful bouncy ball.

“Yep! I think it bounced outta my backpack ‘cause it wanted me to play with it,” he shrugged matter-of-factly. You and Bucky shared a look, though neither of you chose to debate or entertain his notions so early in the morning. Instead, Bucky got down on his knee and motioned for him to come closer.

“I’m sure it does want to play, but Mama said it had to go away for school. Let’s get that in your bag so it’ll be there for you later, okay?” He nodded as Bucky reached for his bag, helping unzip the small pocket in front to stow away his prize, and instinctively turning around so the super-soldier could help secure the little blue bag on his shoulders.

“Can I press the button this time?” he asked as he gripped the straps tight in his little hands.

“You are the best button-pusher here,” Bucky reasoned, posing as if it were a fact not to be debated. When Ben smiled, he nodded over to the illuminated buttons on the elevator panel, a grin of his own forming when the little boy excitedly hopped to complete the task.

Looking back to you though? Oh, he was in trouble… Your eyes were already on him as he stood up, and he could feel his cheeks changing to a new shade of pink under your gentle gaze. He’d seen this look before, one often directed at Ben as the two interacted during your morning rendezvous, and his cheeks started to burn with the boyish grin that had snuck its way onto his face.

“What?” he asked in a breathy sort of laugh, shocking himself with how nervous he felt to open his mouth. Your soft smile grew to something a little more shy as you shook your head.

“Nothing, it’s just… You’re really good with him, Buck,” you admitted, and he could have sworn that the rest of the world had disappeared around you, only vaguely aware of the littlest member of your party floating around your feet. “Sorry, I don’t know if you like being called that, I didn’t mean-”

“No, Buck is fine,” he assured before you let yourself get too far, subconsciously reaching his hand out to rest against your arm. You can call me whatever you want…. No, that was too friendly. “I go by Bucky mostly, but I don’t mind James either. Only a few people can call me Buck, though,” he teased, making a mock-serious expression.

“Well, I’m honored to be one of ‘em.” Before he could even wrap his head around the thoughts in his head, and which ones he shouldn’t be entertaining, the chime of the elevator pulled him back to reality. A small hand latched onto his vibranium one, a gesture that had melted Bucky to his core the first time it had happened, and he was dragged into the elevator with you trailing along behind.

…

He saw you every morning. He’d gone to the coffee shop nearby enough times that they knew his order and had it ready by the time he made it to the counter. He would text you through the day, looking forward to stealing more of your time when Ben was asleep, fighting the nagging voice in the back of his mind that said he shouldn’t. But the first time he’d ever seen you in the afternoon, it had come with a request.

I got suckered into buying too many groceries for one trip. If you’re free to lend a hand, there’s a munchkin who wants to talk to you

“James, let me carry something else, please,” you pleaded as he lifted Ben high enough to push the button that shut the trunk of your car. He made a scrunchy face at you, furrowing his eyebrows as he gave you an indirect absolutely not.

“C’mon, you’ve got frozens,” he snarked as he made his way towards the building entrance, waiting for you to open the door for him as he carried a handful of grocery bags with his vibranium arm and a content preschooler settled in the other.

“Bucky! Did you know that it’s an Autumn right now?” he asked excitedly, his little hands finding the chain of the dog tags hanging around his neck.

“I did, is that what you learned about at school today?” He held onto the child a little bit tighter as he nodded enthusiastically, shaking his whole body. “What did you learn about autumn?”

“It comes after the summer, aaaaaand it’s when the leaves turn orange and fall down, and it gets cold before the snow comes,” he listed as your party got cozy in the elevator, something you’d grown accustomed to doing.

“That’s right bud, good job,” he chuckled as he watched Ben’s focus shift back down to his dog tags. “You can look at those if you’d like, you just have to be careful. They’re kinda special,” he reasoned, and his heart melted when he felt Ben’s hands become more hesitant as they reached oh so gently for the plates with his name on them. And when Bucky made eye contact with you, he had to stop himself from laughing as you watched your son like you were waiting for disaster to strike.

He had half a mind to remind you that if they’d managed to stick around for his ninety years, they could survive your four-year-old. But in favor of not ruining the moment, he kept it to himself, letting Ben fiddle with them silently.

“You need to give Bucky a real big ‘thank you’ for carrying you, which he absolutely did not have to do,” you said very pointedly as you stepped out onto yours and Bucky’s floor, waiting for the boys to catch up.

Ben was comically gentle as he set the tags back on his chest exactly where he’d found them, before launching to throw his arms around the soldier’s neck with an exact opposite amount of force, squeezing him in a tight hug as he muttered a soft ‘thank you’ by his ear. By the look on your face, he could tell you were waiting for a more audible confirmation of your son’s manners, and he shot you a wink as he squeezed the boy a little tighter in reciprocation. Appeased, and a little more flustered than before, you continued to walk down the hall.

Down his hall.

There was no way… you couldn’t have been this close the entire time.

Bucky could see his own front door at the end of the hall by the time you were setting your one grocery bag on the welcome mat to fetch your keys, only a few doors away from his own. He stood there dumbfounded as Ben began wriggling out of his arms, wracking his brain to remember if he’d seen anything from your door as he distractedly set the child down.

Snapped out of his trance by Ben trying to yank one of the bags out of Bucky’s hand, he handed over one of the lighter bags before following the two of you through the door, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat picked up as he helped get all the bags on your kitchen counters.

“Thanks again for helping out, Buck, I really appreciate it,” you said, and he couldn’t bring himself to say anything that wasn’t incriminating as he stood in your apartment, resorting to a friendly nod in reply. “I won’t torture you with putting it away, but maybe if you’re free, I could pay you back with dinner?”

His heart jumped to his throat. The world felt like it was moving in slow motion as he contemplated your offer, one hand propped up on your hip as you leaned against the counter with the other, smiling sweetly at him.

“I- well, I don’t want to impose…” he managed rather sheepishly, beating himself up internally. He’d been dying for a chance to get to know you better for weeks, and here it was! The only thing holding him back was the creeping suspicion that any second you might be joined by another family member… one that would ask who the hell he was, and why he was flirting with you.

“You’d actually be helping me out,” you started, and something in your tone let him know you saw right through him. It was almost nerve-wracking, to be seen so clearly. But it was also strangely exciting... “I don’t know how to cook in small batches, I always end up with a lot of leftovers.”

“I’ve been told I have a big appetite,” he warned, Sam’s disgruntled voice ringing through his head at the invitation. ‘You super-soldiers eat all my damn food, you’re like a garbage disposal…’ “I- well, I might not leave you with any leftovers.” You simply shrugged your shoulders.

“I don’t really have room in the fridge, anyway.” He started smiling, knowing that was a flat-out lie as he’d just carried up most of the items that would fill it. You were challenging him. Was it weird that he liked it?

“I don’t want to steal you away from your family time,” he reasoned, and you donned an exasperated grin. You said nothing as you used the counter as leverage to begin removing your shoes.

“Well if you don’t want to come over, that’s fine, I won’t force you to deal with us,” you threw nonchalantly as you walked past him to set your shoes by the front door.

“I- hang on, that’s not what I said,” he defended. You turned back to look at him as he propped his hands on his hips, your stubbornness a rival only to his own, and a challenge he didn’t plan on backing down from.

“Then what’re you making excuses for?” He watched you for a second with furrowed brows, and when neither of you said anything his eyes followed as you made your way to the handful of grocery bags on the counter.

“Excuses?”

“You’re acting like you’re some great burden,” you shot as you began unloading some of the bags. “I won’t lie, it’s breaking my heart, Buck,” you stated with a pouted lip, and the fact that you knew exactly which nickname to use to break him made his stomach twist itself in a knot.

One way or another, you were going to be the death of him.

“Alright, I’ll come over, save your guilt trips,” he grumbled, unable to hide the boyish grin on his face when you giggled at your own victory. That, for him, was his own personal prize. “Can I bring anything? Wine, or dessert, or… ?”

“Just that big appetite.” Your velvety tone sent chills down his spine, and before he could even process a response you shot him a wink. He felt his cheeks turn an embarrassing shade of pink, doing his best to look anywhere but at you as you walked him out the door.

…

A few hours later, he found himself pacing at his front door, losing the internal battle with himself to check his appearance in the mirror one more time. He’d traded his t-shirt and leather jacket for a simple button-down tucked into the dark jeans on his hips, convincing himself it was to fit both a casual dinner invitation or a formal meet-my-husband kind of night.

He was desperately hoping for the first option, or at the very least, not the second one. The cologne he was wearing wouldn’t be the only incriminating factor if it was.

But when you opened your door he found you barefoot in a pair of jeans and a comfortably oversized sweatshirt – one that had certainly seen better days – a wooden spoon in one hand, and a large smile to welcome him in.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice! Making me feel a little underdressed,” you teased, earning a sheepish grin as he silently followed you through the door.

“Overdressed and empty-handed… looks like I’m batting ‘o’ for two,” he teased, closing the door behind him and settling awkwardly in the kitchen as you went back to the stove.

“I told you not to bring anything, James.”

“And my mother wouldn’t have let me live it down, you’re lucky she’s not around to hear about it,” he grinned, a fleeting image of his mother attempting to scold him as he towered over her flashing through his mind, and it brought a familiar warmth to his heart as he watched you.

“Well if it was a formal dinner invitation, I would understand. But I’m about to heat up Spaghetti-Os since apparently his highness doesn’t like my soup anymore, so I think she’d cut you some slack.” You said pointedly, emphasizing your words loud enough for the four-year-old to hear over his cartoon.

“Soup is yucky! Bluey noodles is better!” He exclaimed with conviction from his spot laid out on the ottoman, kicking his feet in the air behind him. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh quietly, not only at Ben’s determination but also at the eye-roll you shot your son from the kitchen. He walked over to you and placed a gentle hand on your arm, meeting your gaze as you looked back at him.

“Let me try something,” he winked, pleased when you nodded towards the living room with clear interest. “Y’know Ben, I heard something about your mom’s soup… they say it gives you superpowers.”

“What?” The little boy laughed, his attention piqued as he looked over at the super-soldier. “What kinds?”

“C’mere I’ll show you.” Ben spared a glance at the blue and orange dogs on the screen giggling in high-pitched voices, and it took him a second to decide… but in no time he was toddling over to the kitchen and reaching for the vibranium arm. Bucky spared a look at you as he lifted the smug child with one hand, delighted by your subtle look of admiration, before tucking Ben into his side and leaning him over the pot on the stove.

“I don’t see any superpowers! Jus’ beans,” he whined, though he continued to cling onto Bucky’s bicep as he kept searching.

“They look like beans, but those ones give you a super fart,” he half-whispered, keeping up the appearance of a well-guarded trade secret as the boy started giggling. “They’re a special superhero kind, right Mama?” He shot at you, testing the name on his tongue, rewarded with a look that sent chills right through his core.

“That’s right, but don’t tell anybody!” You played along, made impossibly prettier by the mischievous smile on your face.

“And what do those do?” Bucky leaned back as Ben’s little pointed finger nearly went into the pot.

“Carrots? Those uh, they make you see really really far away,” he recovered, grabbing the boy’s little hands with his free one and tucking them between his chest and Ben’s body. “But your superpowers won’t make your hands hurt less if you touch that, it’ll burn you.” Ben giggled as his little hands were squished firmly right up close to his body, leaning his head over to keep looking into the pot.

“What about corns? What powers does that have?” he asked, clearly entertained by this new game, but Bucky was at a loss. Of all the vegetables he’d been harped on to eat as a kid, he couldn’t remember anything for corn besides ‘it’ll fill you up,’ but that was a common requirement during the depression. He spared a glance to you for help, his mind reeling for something appealing that would sell your son on the idea of dinner, and watched with wonder as you handled the situation with unwavering grace.

“What do you think it does?” You waited patiently as Ben weaseled his hand out from its prison, tapping his chin with one finger as he contemplated his options. It would’ve taken more effort than Bucky possessed to wipe the spreading grin from his face at the little boy’s antics. Always such a goof…

“Corn makes you super speedy!” He said after a moment, finger pointed up in the air like he’d made a brilliant discovery.

“Y’know, I heard about a guy who was super fast, you might be onto something,” he reasoned, pretending to be very serious. “I’ll have to ask his sister if he ate a lot of corn.” Ben was delighted by Bucky’s story, and he was drawn to your knowing snicker as you turned away from the two of them.

“Momma, did you make my Bluey yet?” he asked timidly, and the super-soldier waited with bated breath to see if his plan had made any difference.

“Not yet baby…”

“I think I’d like to save it for another dinner.”

“Yeah? Are you gonna have some superhero soup?” He asked with uncontained enthusiasm. Ben nodded his head with a wild force, and a wave of pride surged over Bucky, perfectly happy to playfully deposit him on the ground and send him to the table.

“James Barnes, you’re a miracle worker. Where’d you learn that trick?” You half-whispered in astonishment as you grabbed bowls – three bowls, no more than your present party– and began scooping the varying portions. He donned a dopey grin as he watched you, momentarily emboldened by the implication of having no other dinner guests, propping himself on the counter with one hand.

“I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve, I had a feeling that one would come in handy.”

“You made it up on the spot, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did, I’ve never heard that in my life.” Your laughter as you turned back to the pot was enough for him to do it all over again.

Ben happily ate his entire serving in the time that it took Bucky to take down three of his own, only continuing to take more because of your stubborn insistence he keep eating until he was satisfied. Your son continued eagerly telling his 100-year-old friend about every detail of his day at school he could remember, even venturing into the details of last week’s recess and the entire plot of the last episode of Paw Patrol while he had a captive audience. Bucky shamelessly stole glances at you when Ben would pause for a breath – or to recharge his superpowers – and wanted the image of you smiling sweetly back ingrained in his brain.

Despite the four-year-old’s ability to talk, he was up and out of his seat the second he was excused, leaving the two of you at the table alone as cartoons were resumed in the background. And as much as Bucky loved listening to that little boy talk about everything under the sun, the time alone was well-needed. He had questions for you.

“Well, since you wouldn’t let me bring anything, how about I clean up?” he offered, already anticipating the fight you were about to put up. He stood from his chair with his bowl in hand, reaching for Ben’s blue one as you gave him a look.

“How about not? I invited you over for dinner, that’s not fair.”

“I think it is. You cooked,” he said simply as he tried to grab your bowl before you snatched it away from him, a look of amused incredulity on your face, doing nothing to deter the hand he held out to you.

“And?”

“And you shouldn’t have to clean, too.”

“Why? I do it every night. Who else is gonna do it, Ben?” you teased, and he admired the playful glimmer in your eye as you looked up at him. He looked at you for a moment, evaluating his next move with the admission you didn’t know you’d made. No one else to do the dishes, no ring on your finger, no fourth bowl at the table… Which gave him a clear conscience to flirt with you as much as you would let him.

He was gonna have fun with it.

He stepped closer to your chair, watching the grin spread across your cheeks as you backed into the seat as far as you could, trying to take the bowl with you. But with his clear advantage in height and range, you didn’t stand a chance. His vibranium fingers gripped the bowl and brushed over yours as he leaned down a little closer to you.

“I think it’s time you had a night off, sugar,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower than usual, watching your eyelashes flutter in response to the pet name that fell out of his mouth.

“I already told you no,” you managed through your quiet laughter, but your grip on the bowl was already letting up.

“I wasn’t asking.” You locked eyes for a few moments, and he could see the gears turning in your head. But your grin grew wider as you looked away bashfully, relinquishing your hold on the dishes in front of you. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to do the dishes in the sink. I tried to clean while I was cooking, so I’ll-”

“I said you got the night off, don’t make a liar outta me,” he snarked as he walked over to the sink, setting the bowls in his hands off to the side as he unbuttoned his cuffs and prepared to get to work, more than pleased with the look you wore as you watched him roll his sleeves.

Some tricks never get old.

“Did your mother know how stubborn you are?” You asked as you settled into your chair to watch the show, and he chuckled under his breath.

“I’m a Barnes, we were all that way,” he threw over his shoulder, and the warmth in your soft giggle sent a shiver up his spine.

“All of you? Like, you and your siblings?” you asked sweetly, resting your face in your palm, leaning against the table.

“My sister and I, yeah. Rebecca and I were trouble in our own right,” He’d known you kept up with the Avengers and so-called heroes he was often associated with, but it still surprised him sometimes when you seemed to catch onto him, who he was.

And how rather than shying away from it, you almost seemed to lean into it.

“You seem to know more about me than I know about you,” he started, hoping to start his interrogation without making it seem as such.

“Well, you have the image of your face plastered up on a wall in the Smithsonian to blame for that one,” you shot back at him, and he smiled as he shook his head, keeping his eyes on the soapy dishes in front of him. He’d have to put a pin in that one for another time, make some snarky comment about you looking into him. “But because I don’t have one of those, I guess you’re gonna have to start asking questions to keep up.”

Were you flirting back at him? He hoped with everything in him that you were because he liked it a little more than he probably should have.

“Alright then, you got a tidbit about my family…”

“A tidbit. I’m weirdly fascinated by the idea of a sister,” you reminded pointedly, and he grinned at the thought. And then swallowed the lump in his throat as he braced for his next question.

“We talked about the Barnes family… what about uh, well, what about you?” Smooth. An awkward delivery for what could have been a normal question. “I, well I mean, I know it’s you and Ben, but uh…” He couldn’t even get the next words out of his mouth, struggling to find the right way to say… “What about Ben’s dad?”

Or, you know, just say it completely outright. That works too. Nice move Barnes.

“I was wondering when you were gonna ask,” you lilted, your voice smooth and velvety and… oh boy, it did things to him. He risked a glance at you over his shoulder and found you cocking your eyebrow, looking like the cat who caught the canary. “I’m honestly surprised it took you this long.” And, prompted by the look of confusion written across his face, you added, “I’m no dummy, James. I know what ‘where’s your husband’ or ‘who’s Ben’s dad’ means.”

“I, well, I-I didn’t mean to, uh,” he stammered, and he could feel his cheeks turning a ridiculous shade of pink in his embarrassment. Was he embarrassed? Or was he just caught off guard when you caught him in the act and still flirted back?

“Don’t get all shy on me now, I kinda like havin’ you flirt with me in the elevator,” you giggled, and he couldn’t help the cheeky grin that graced his cheeks.

“I-I’ll keep that in mind,” he managed, an air of his cocky attitude coming back.

“I suppose you still want an answer to your question?” you teased, leaning back in your chair comfortably as you watched him, seemingly pleased by how much you’d flustered him.

“If you’re willing to give it, I’d love to listen. I uh, I’m obviously biased... But if you don’t want to, I won’t push.” He was a little surprised when your face softened at his words, deciding not to read into it.

“I don’t mind,” you chuckled lightly at his sentiment. And then, nonchalantly, you answered; “Ben’s dad isn’t in the picture.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offering condolences or celebrating,” he poked, put at ease when you hummed in amusement.

“No no, it’s… I’m honestly indifferent.” Indifferent? He hadn’t even had a chance to look confused before you were putting your hands up to stop him, and he let you explain. “It’s… it’s kind of a complicated answer. His dad was a summer fling; it was fun while it lasted, and when it was over we parted ways. No hard feelings, and no plans to ever see each other again. And then I found out I was pregnant.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands for a moment before you looked out into the living room at the little boy on the couch. Bucky did the same from his spot at the sink, finding Ben as happy as could be with one of his stuffies under his arm, a twin to one of the characters on the screen.

“How’d he respond?” Bucky asked without taking his eyes off of your son, and suddenly there was an unfamiliar feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was ugly and angry at the idea of the man who chose not to be part of Ben’s life, and he was just short of clenching his fists in an attempt to keep it from overflowing.

“Well… I uh, I never told him.” He looked at Ben for one more moment before turning back to you, having rested against one of your palms with your gaze fixed in one direction without any focus.

“That’s uh, the selfish decision I made. I didn’t give him the opportunity to decide how he felt, I decided for him. Which means I decided for Ben, too.”

“I'm sorry, what makes that selfish?” His tone could have been a little gentler, but when your eyes met his he knew he got the point across.

“Well, cause either I was going to tell him, or I wasn’t. And if I told him, I ran the risk of him being horrible. What if he was a bad influence on Ben, or tried to fight me over custody? What if it took a few years for him to show his colors, and I’d have to start our life over from scratch?”

“And you avoided all of that, for Ben’s best interest and your own.” Bucky left his spot to make his way across the kitchen, quick to pull one of the chairs up in front of you. He reached gently for your hand, easing it into his right hand to brush his thumb across, while his vibranium one rested on your knee.

“And what if he wasn’t any of that?” You whispered, the weight of that statement preventing you from speaking any louder. “What if he was wonderful? What if he’s always wanted to be a father, and I hid that from him? What if he was a great partner, or at the very least, a really good dad?” You took a shaky breath and put on a smile as you looked back at Bucky. “That’s the selfish part. Because the reality was that I didn’t love him, and I didn’t want to try. And he could have been all of those things, but I didn’t want to deal with a cooperative co-parent, I didn’t want to have to collaborate on how our child was raised, I didn’t want to have to drop him off every other weekend… He was my baby, and I wanted him all to myself. So I kept it that way.”

Bucky sat with your admission for a moment, more to give you a minute to breathe than anything else. He saw you in a new light, his view shifting from someone he was tentatively intrigued by, to a remarkably strong woman he was a little bit crazy for; from a pair of pretty eyes to a fierce protector, the mother of a wonderful little boy.

He wasn’t just a little crazy for you, and it should have scared him how quickly he’d fallen head over heels for you, or how fast your son had weaseled his way into the old soldier's heart.

But it didn’t.

He took both of your hands in his, holding them firmly to emphasize his words. “None of that makes you selfish, not in the slightest.” You rolled your eyes as you huffed in amusement.

“You wanna say that again when he’s fourteen asking why his dad isn’t around? I just… I have regular conversations with him about how families come in different shapes and sizes, and it’s working for now, but… but I’ll always dread the day he figures out someone had to be his dad, and he’s not there. And I think ‘because I didn’t want to share’ feels like a pretty shitty answer,” you laughed, but your insecurities came spilling out of it, and it broke Bucky’s heart.

“Well when you say it like that, then it does. But if you explain it to him the way you just did to me, he’ll understand.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Believe it or not, I was a young man once. A long time ago, but I was,” he started, trying to remember who fourteen-year-old James Barnes was, running around the streets of Brooklyn with a scrawny blonde kid.

And then he thought of his mother. Winnifred Barnes’s stern warnings and warm smiles…

“I was a momma’s boy, just like Ben. I was stubborn, I was stupid sometimes, and I know I drove that woman up a wall, but I loved my mom.” When your eyes began to glisten as he spoke, he paused to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “He might be mad at you at first. He might yell, or demand more answers… but he’ll come around.”

He couldn’t help but brush a stray hair behind your ear as he waited for you to hear him, really hear him. And he knew the second you did because you glanced over at the living room and tried to hide your face from him when your emotions took over.

“Your eyes look really pretty when they’re all watery, but I didn’t mean to make you cry, sugar,” he teased.

“Sorry, I just…” you paused and turned back to him, eyes sparkling as you looked over him, sending a shiver down his spine. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you make it easy to talk to you.”

“Sounds like you’re gonna have to keep doing it then.”

“Yeah? You don’t mind all my winded stories and mom struggles?” you teased, a smile gracing your lips, sweet and soft and kissable.

“Can’t get enough of ‘em,” he admitted quietly, watching your lashes flutter as it came out a little husky. “I want all your stories.”

You tucked your bottom lips between your teeth, and it made his head spin. He was getting ahead of himself, but when you looked up at him through your lashes, you were making it harder for him to restrain himself.

Before either of you could act on your thoughts, you heard the tv pause from the living room. Dragging his eyes away from you, he turned to see the four-year-old happily shuffle into the kitchen, and Bucky heard you take a breath to compose yourself before the little boy noticed. Ben was clearly none the wiser about the conversation that had been taking place, saddling up beside you and silently placing his hand on your thigh – something he had learned to do when he didn’t want to interrupt.

“Yes baby?” you asked sweetly, and Bucky watched in amusement as the little boy climbed up into your lap to whisper something in your ear. You tried to help from shying away as his very loud whisper tickled your ear, looking back up at Bucky when your son had finished. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Can I keep my superpowers if I have ice cream?” Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of his chest.

“Yeah, you get to keep ‘em. Is it okay with Mama if I get you some ice cream?” Ben looked back at you with wide eyes, and you nodded excitedly.

“Yes!! She sayed yes I can!” Bucky gave him a wink and patted the outside of your leg before going to grab Ben a bowl, but he was stopped by another question once he was up out of his chair. “Bucky?”

“Yes buddy?” he chuckled.

“Can I sit in your lap with my ice cream?”

He took a moment to watch the pair of you sitting together – looking up at him with varying expressions of admiration – and felt something deep within him shift, as if some final puzzle piece he didn’t know was missing had slid into place.

“‘Course you can, kiddo.”

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