Kiss Me Better

9

"I don't wanna!"

"It's not because you're little," you reasoned. "It's because Steve never lets me do it and I want to live vicariously through you. It'll be fun! Like a ride at the carnival," you promised. "Besides, how many chances like this are you going to get?" You weren't sure what it was that did it, but you suspected it was that Steve didn't like it. Without another word of protest, Bucky lifted his arms to allow you to place him into the basket of the cart.

You put one foot on the undercarriage and propelled yourself forward with the other, sending you gliding across the floor. You heard the faintest giggle come from Bucky before he egged you on, "Faster."

Peals of laughter as you took running starts down the aisles turned a few heads your way. Some smiled and laughed along with you, while others shook their heads in disapproval. You'd never seen Bucky so happy, so you took a few wrong turns while searching for ingredients to keep him laughing.

"Ms. L/N!" You skidded to a halt at an angry looking man in an apron blocking your path. "I know what you do, and I appreciate you helping to keep this city safe, but if you don't stop disturbing the other customers, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Sorry, Sir," you bit your lip to keep from laughing. "We'll behave ourselves and be out of your hair in no time."

"Thank you!" he huffed, leaving the way he came.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned to Bucky and poked him on his side. "You got us in trouble," you playfully accused.

"No, you!" he giggled.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You had asked FRIDAY to play some music while you cooked, and told Bucky all about whatever song was playing, the artist, and the era it was from. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and he even began helping you by putting all the vegetables you chopped into a pot. Your favorite song started playing, and you began telling him why you loved it, not paying attention as you reached for the spoon to stir the sauce. Instead of the spoon, your palm made contact with the side of the pot. You yanked your hand back and quickly grabbed an ice cube from your drink to alleviate the burn.

Bucky looked up in a panic when he heard your gasp. He held his hand out in a silent request for yours. He took it and rubbed his thumb softly over the angry red spot. "It hurt."

It wasn't a question, but you responded anyway, "Yeah, it does."

He bent to get a closer look at it, immediately following with a soft kiss. "You better now," he beamed.

You smiled at the sweet gesture. "Thank you." He allowed you to give him a quick hug, "It doesn't hurt anymore."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

You were exhausted by the time you finished dinner, but you still had plenty to do. While Bucky took his bath, you got to work on getting the spaghetti stains off the clothes you just bought him so they wouldn't set. When he got out, you handed him a set of the pajamas you'd bought earlier, but he refused them.

"What's wrong with them?" you asked, wondering why he didn't want them when he was the one that chose them.

"I want dis," he tugged on the hem of your hoodie.

You couldn't believe it. "You didn't want it this morning when it was clean, but you want it now when I've been wearing it most of the day?"

"You said." He tugged harder, jolting you forward a bit.

"What did I say?" you challenged, raising a brow at him.

"Is good for sleep," he repeated your words from earlier.

"Oh my god. You're a weirdo." You pulled your hoodie off and gave it to him, turning around to let him change.

"You," he shot back weakly. "I done."

You went to his bed and helped him get settled before collecting his dirty clothes. "I still have to go back to clean the kitchen and then shower. I'll be staying next door in Steve's room, if you need me. He won't mind." He didn't answer, drawing your attention. He was already asleep. "Goodnight, sweetie."

It's not a secret that caring for a child is a demanding job, but you were still surprised at how depleted you felt despite Bucky being mild mannered. You wondered how people had the energy to do it every day for years on end, especially with rowdy children. You looked down at your palm, now only pink where it was burned, and felt a warmth in your chest. Nothing could overshadow that tender moment, or the pleased look he wore for the rest of the evening.