A/N: Hi y'all! This was requested by one of my favorites sebsucker. I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS AS MUCH AS I LOVE YOU, BOO!

Guys! Today is my five-year birthday on Wattpad! Five years! Ah! I'm losing it, because this is my most popular book BY FAR with almost 28K reads! It's a modest success in the grand scheme of things, but STILL! I'm so flattered by the love you guys are constantly showing me. Thank you guys so much for being such good friends and lovely people to talk to!

Words: 4.5K

The sounds of a Friday night in your cul-de-sac home fill your heart with warmth, security, and a tad bit of stress. Having three children and two dogs can really do that to a gal: especially when she's married to the biggest child of them all: former Winter Soldier, World War 2 vet, and retired White Wolf/Avenger James Buchanan Barnes.

"That's not how they teach us to do it in school."

Your husband James, or as he likes to be called—Bucky, is at the dining room table attempting to help twelve year old Todd with math homework.

"What do you mean this isn't how they teach it?" Bucky huffs. He stares at the numbers on the paper with newfound confusion. "Math's been the same since the beginning of time."

"You're pretty old, dad. Maybe modern math is too hard for you," Todd suggests with a shrug of his frail shoulders—yanking the paper out from under your husband's nose and taking it back to his side of the table again.

Chuckling and admiring the scene ahead of you you've almost forgotten what it is that you're meant to be doing.

"Mom, are you done washing those parsnips yet? I'm going to need them." The middle child, a lanky boy who's just turned fifteen, is a culinary prodigy who insists on making every meal... and appointing you sous-chef and dish washer.

"Almost done, Jasper."

Jasper smiles back at you quickly over his shoulder—the lenses of his glasses fogged from the boiling water of the pasta that rattles around on the stovetop.

The backdoor swings open with a loud screech and a crack. Two rowdy Wilson boys, both of which look precisely like their father Sam, come barreling into the room. They're twelve and ten, respectively. Todd decides he's done with homework and flies up from the seat to chase the neighbor boys into the family room.

"Todd! You gotta finish your math!" Bucky calls out after the boy—trying to sound threatening, but failing miserably. You laugh. The kids have never been scared of their dad despite the stories they've heard from his past. The most awful thing they've ever known Bucky Barnes to do was drop an ice cream cone on the pier while trying to pass it along. There were a lot of tears after that, and Bucky soothed them with candies and cuddles.

He's a pushover.

"I swear, Y/N, I've never felt more stupid in my life than when one of them asks me for help with homework." Bucky shakes his head and looks around the room. "Is Wilson coming over? Or is he just sending his kids to our house for food again? I swear to god: the man never feeds his own children."

You dry your hands by the sink with a cherry red washrag. "Don't ask me. You're the one who sees him every morning on your Gossip Walk."

Bucky huffs in denial. "We don't gossip, Y/N, we discuss neighborhood politics. Besides, if we're going to walk to the kids to the bus stop we may as well talk. Now, if you wanna point fingers at a gossip, point it at Steve." Bucky comes around to sit on one of the many barstools on the other side of the kitchen counter.

"Well, I think you three are all a bunch of neighborhood drama queens." You come around to meet your husband on the neighboring chair. He smiles your way, tucking away a piece of your wild hair, and opens his mouth to reply before being drowned out by more familial noise.

"Mom! Have you seen my prom shoes?"

At the top of the stairs your oldest child, a girl with long locks of chestnut brown hair and huge blue eyes, stands impatiently waiting for your response.

"Prom shoes? Is it prom? I thought that was last month?" Poor Bucky looks absolutely clueless.

Ignoring your husband (as you oftentimes do) you say to Lucy, "Check under your bed where we put your old dresses. I may have stuffed them there."

Lucy waves a hand behind her head as she hurries off again.

Bucky looks to you with a worried brow. "Why does she need prom shoes?"

Poor, poor Bucky... You know you'll have to tell him eventually, but he seems so carefree and happy right now: you can't possibly imagine the stress it'd put him in to know that his sweet baby girl is going on her first date tonight. She's seventeen, it's perfectly normal, but in Bucky's eyes it'll be Armageddon.

"Honey," you begin in a fluffy voice. You grab his shoulder and give a soft squeeze. "It's... well, you see..."

Before you can finish, though, the back door opens once more. This time: the doorway is filled up with the bulky fixture of a man called Uncle Steve.

"Uncle Steve!" Three rowdy boys come dashing back in from the family room. The two Wilson kids know Steve too, obviously, as all three families have grown up in the neighboring houses of this dead end street for the past eighteen years. There's not a day that goes by where one family isn't interacting with the others.

"Hey!" Steve laughs.

"Is Maggie home?" Todd asks of Steve's only daughter: a girl of barely thirteen whom has gathered the attention of all three young boys, but not for the reasons one may imagine. She's the biggest, baddest girl on the block: fastest kid on the track team, best basketball player in the district, and wittiest sass-queen the town's ever seen. She's the perfect child for Steve, it's a wonder that she was adopted and not crafted straight out of his DNA. They fit together so well it's uncanny.

"Margaret's in her room over at our place. You can go over and get her, if you want." Before Steve can even finish his phrase the kids have bolted out the door to fetch their favorite friend. She leads those lost boys, and they'd be bored to death without her.

Bucky, who's seemingly forgotten about the prom shoe situation, leaves the counter to check on what Jasper's got going on at the stove. The two talk for a minute but you can't hear what it is that they're saying over the sound of Family Feud on the TV and Steve's crunching of an apple he just picked up from the fruit bowl you keep for decoration on the table.

"How many for dinner, babe?" Bucky asks as he gathers up plates.

"Probably eight." You slide from the counter and start searching for enough cups and forks.

"Eight?" Bucky mimics with a confused look on his face.

"I figure the Wilson boys, Maggie, and Steve too. You staying, Cap?" you can't help but revert back to your old nickname for the guy that you met when you were fresh SHIELD meat and working under his reign.

"I have no plans to cook tonight."

"So yeah," you say, "You, me, Todd, Jasper, Willie and Nelson, Maggie, and Steve. Eight plates."

Bucky blinks. "What about Lucy?"

As if in answer to his question, the doorbell ceremoniously rings.

Bucky's eyes meet yours across the kitchen. He must see it on your face, because the next thing you know he's whispering, "Oh hell no," into the suddenly frigid air.

He's figured it out. Damn all those years as a super-spy, because your husband has figured out that his favorite child is being taken out by a strange teenage boy on a date.

And he's already stomping towards the door.

"Now hold on, Buck," you try to calm him before he can try to make a scene. Hand on his chest and your steps falling in sync with his you attempt to slow his pace.

"No one was gonna tell me? No one was gonna fill me in on this?" Bucky brushes you off of him and stops in front of the door to peep through the peeking hole. Hissing as to not be heard by the unwelcomed guest, he questions, "Who the hell even is this ugly kid?"

"Bucky!" you shriek and slap his hard bicep. "Be nice! I didn't tell you about it because I knew you'd be like this!"

Steve damn Rogers butts his nose into your business: just like always. "What are we whispering about?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose as Bucky turns to fill him in. "There's a loser kid outside my front door waiting to take Lucy on a date or some shit."

Steve gasps. Maybe Bucky was right and Steve is the true drama queen. "No way! Let me see." Steve pushes you and Bucky out of his way so he can peek out at the front porch. "No, no, no. No—I don't approve."

Bucky nudges back to the peeking hole again. "Why? What about him?"

"Look at his shoes! He's taken out the laces! What kind of crazy person does that?!"

"That is enough!" You yank both grown super-soldiers away from the wooden door by the slacks of their shirts. They huff and let you drag them against the wall near the fake potted plants. "You two are going to go right back into the kitchen and wait for me to bring this poor boy inside. You're being rude. He hasn't even had a chance to prove himself yet. Lucy really likes this kid and I'm not going to have you two idiots ruining her night by making snap judgements based on his shoes."

Bucky's quiet for a moment. He knows there's no arguing with you, even though he hates it.

"Go." You shoo them away. Grumbling, Bucky takes Steve with him back to the kitchen—following the smell of cilantro and pasta sauce perfume.

You straighten out the ends of your shirt and take a gathering breath. Opening the door, you see the poor lad on the other side who has his hands jammed in his pockets and a weary smile on his lips.

"Hi, you must be Andrew." You welcome the boy in.

"Hi, Mrs. Barnes." The kid, looking freshly seventeen with acne freckling his cheeks, steps into the house. "It's so nice to meet you."

"Lucy's upstairs getting ready. How about I show you to the living room and you can wait for her there?" You glance back at the lad who is attempting to take off his shoes—making you stifle a laugh as you realize Steve was right: there are no laces there. "Don't worry about your shoes, honey, you can leave them on. This house is plenty lived in—it can handle a bit of dirt."

Andrew smiles nervously and you feel sorry for him. It's got to be scary stepping into this scene, especially when he's most likely fully aware of whom exactly it is that he's dating: the daughter of the infamous Winter Soldier and godchild of Captain America.

Just as Andrew is settling down on the couch, you hear hollering from the kitchen across the house.

"No!"

"NO!? What do you mean no!?"

Oh god. It's Bucky and Lucy.

"I'll, uh, be right back with your date, Andrew." You smile fleetingly at the boy before hurrying off in the way that the chaos came. Much to your disliking, your teenage daughter is squaring off with her dark-haired, brooding father in the middle of Jasper's dinner prep.

"What the hell is going on in here?" you hiss in an attempt to not be overheard by your guest.

Lucy turns to you for support. "Dad said I'm not allowed to go out with him."

Bucky's already defending himself before you can properly glare. "The rule is no dating until 18!"

"That's a stupid rule and you know it!" Lucy shouts.

"Enough, both of you." You hold your hands up between the two brunettes who stand opposing at the center of the room. First you turn to your husband and say, "The rule was until she got to high school, Bucky, and she's plenty mature enough to be going out on her own with a boy."

Lucy tilts up her chin proudly at this.

"But... but..." Bucky stammers. He waves his metallic arm around, nearly smacking a tray of bread out of poor Jasper's hands who tries to walk past. "She's just a kid! And that's your dress! Your grown-up, much-too revealing dress!" You can tell Bucky really hates the fact that his daughter, who is nearly your size, is fitting into one of your favorite black dresses—one that Bucky likes tearing off of you, and now will NEVER be able to see you in it the same way again. Besides, that's his little girl there in the heels and curled hair! What the hell does she need red lipstick for, he keeps thinking on repeat.

"I let her borrow it. I'm sorry, honey, it's just a part of growing up." You rest a ginger hand on Bucky's shoulder and he only shakes it off. Grumbling, he stomps over to where Steve just was at the counter.

Speaking of Steve... "Wasn't Steve just here?" you ask the room.

Lucy's eyes go wide. Suddenly she sprints to the hallway to peer across the house. "Oh no. Uncle Steve's in the living room."

"With Andrew?" you yelp.

Lucy grimaces. "Oh my god, oh my god, this is getting worse."

You hurry to take your daughter by the crook of her arm. "Come on, let's save him." You tug her off—not unaware of the fact that your overprotective husband walks closely behind. Turning your head, you whisper quietly, "Behave yourself, James, or we're going to have a serious talk later."

He rolls his eyes.

Like you said: he's just another big child.

"... And that's when Bucky and I took out forty armed men with only the power of our fists and our thighs." Steve pauses in the retelling of a probably exaggerated story just as you, Lucy, and Bucky come into the room. "Oh there you all are! I was just telling our friend Andrew here some Avenger's stories: ones far too graphic to find in any of books at school."

Captain America is threating a seventeen year old boy whose about to take his goddaughter out on a date: classy.

Steve appears proud to have made the kid pee his pants a little before meeting your hard-set eyes. Then his smile falls and he hurriedly stands. "I, uh, might go see if Jassie needs any help with dinner..." Then he scurries out of the room on sock-covered feet.

Lucy smiles sweetly—shyly, as it seems—at her date. "Hi."

Andrew pops up from his chair. "Hey." He takes a few steps closer to Lucy and she does the same—leaving you and Bucky in her dust by the fireplace. When Bucky tries to follow, you hold him back by the arm.

"You look really pretty tonight," Andrew compliments quietly.

Lucy, as far as you can tell from behind, bashfully glances to her feet. "Thanks, Drew."

Bucky clears his throat.

"Oh—oh, hello Mr. B—" Andrew hurriedly realizes his mistake in not addressing the other man in the room. The fear in his voice is palpable.

Bucky interrupts to say, "Sargent Barnes, to you."

"Right, right—so sorry, Sargent."

Lucy gives you a look that lets you know she wants to scream.

"How about you two kids head out, yeah? Don't want you driving around too much after dark." You keep Bucky rooted beside you as the darling teenaged duo heads for the door. "Don't be out past twelve and let me know if you decide to go anyplace else besides the theater and the restaurant, okay?"

Lucy smiles and you know she wouldn't dare say anything else besides, "I promise, mama." She's a good girl, so you have no reason to not believe her.

"It was nice meeting you Mrs. Barnes. And Sargent Barnes," Andrew quickly adds the last part without making proper eye contact, most likely out of fear.

Bucky grits his teeth and watches with steam billowing out of his ears as the front door shuts behind the teens and they leave giggling down the driveway towards Andrew's mom's borrowed SUV on the street.

"We're tracking her phone, right?"

You shake your head. "No, Bucky. We're giving her space."

"What if he's Hydra?"

Your husband's lame attempt to get his way in getting Lucy back into his house for sentimental sake makes you chuckle. "Hydra's been gone for ten years, Buck. But nice try." You pat his shoulder as you pass. You can see him in the glass of the nearest photo frame—staring wistfully out the front window at the empty driveway. Deciding to pity him for old time's sake you turn back and scratch your nails softly down his back. "She's going to be OK, Bucky."

"I know, I know." Bucky shakes his head. "It's just," he pauses and swallows stiffly. His eyes flicker to meet yours. "She's my little girl, ya know?"

"I know, babe, I know." You smile softly at the sincerity in his eyes. It's the same pale blue that overcomes you whenever another baby is born, when someone needs help tying their shoes, and when one of the kids calls him "dad". It's a look he gets quite often now that he's settled into this mundane life with you by his side, but you never tire of seeing the azure shine in his once ashen-grey, grief stricken eyes.

"Come on," you take Bucky by the hand and coax him gently. "Jasper's really excited to make this dish for you tonight. He says he found it in one of your mom's old recipe books."

There's that soft expression again. "Aww... really?"

You giggle lightly. "Yes. And I need you to wrangle up the Wilson boys, Maggie, and Todd. They listen to you the best."

Bucky glances back at the door one last time before following your soft command. There's tension in his shoulders and a bit of fear in his face, but he eventually looks back to you and says, "Okay, honey," as if he finally believes you that everything for his first-born, light of his life, sweet baby girl is going to be OK.

...

Eleven days later

You stand at the kitchen counter—fingers tapping against the shiny black granite. At the sound of the front door swinging open your head cocks to the side. Your ears catch on to Bucky's familiar footsteps and you let out a relieved sigh.  Your body turns and anticipates him coming into the room.

"Sorry I didn't answer your call, babe. I was driving and my phone keeps doing that damn thing where it doesn't let me pick up calls while I'm in the car." Bucky unloads his arms of the bright blue reusable Walmart bags. He stoops down to pick out a few things to start putting away, grabbing a bag of chips and some paper towels, before stopping upon seeing the look on your face. "What's goin' on?"

"We have two crises in the Barnes' house tonight." You stand with your arms crossed stiffly.

"Oh no." Bucky sets down the paper towels. "What did I do?"

"Nothing." You shake your head and smile lightly. "But you're gonna need to grab your keys and go pick up Todd from school."

"What? I thought they got out half an hour ago."

"They do," you agree, "Unless they have detention."

"Detention?" Bucky nearly squawks. He looks around as if finding proof. There's no sign of Todd. Jasper's and Lucy's book bags are the only ones on the hooks by the patio door. "What did he do?"

"Honestly, I'm not even sure. The voicemail they left me was so vague: but he needs someone to come pick him up and sign him out."

Bucky runs his metal hand through his tufts of brown hair. "Alright, alright." He lets out a breath before sucking it back in. "Wait: what's the second crisis?"

Your shoulders slump. "Andrew broke up with Lucy."

Bucky's hands turn into fists. "Seriously? Seriously!?"

"I know," you sigh. "She's been upstairs in her room crying all afternoon. I've been waiting to follow her up there until you got home." You push away from the counter and kiss Bucky's cheek. "Jasper's in his room, studying, but would you check on him?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Bucky sounds distracted as you make your way towards the stairs. You pause when you hear him say your name. "Wait, Y/N." You turn back towards him. "Can I...?" He fiddles with his fingers nervously. "Can I take Lucy and you get Todd this time?"

You stare at him with confusion. "Seriously? You wanna talk boy troubles?"

Bucky nods. "I mean, there were a few years a hundred years ago that I was the boy causing those troubles. I know a thing or two about 'em." He smiles softly. "And I wanna talk to her. I wanna make sure she's OK." The softness in his voice rips apart your heartstrings. You never thought it was possible to fall in love with someone over and over again every day until you married Bucky.

You nod. "Alright, Sargent. Boy trouble's all yours. Pass me the keys."

...

Bucky's fleshy, calloused knuckles rap softly against Lucy's bedroom door. There's a slight pause before he hears her voice call, "Come in," very softly.

Slowly, because he's slightly afraid, Bucky enters the bedroom. The walls are soft green and the furniture all white and trendy. Little trinkets clutter shelves where gymnastic awards and sci-fi books sit side by side.

"Hey, princess."

Lucy's surprised to hear her dad speak. She expected you—her mom—to be the one to come in.

She rolls over and wipes her sticky face on her sweater sleeve. "Where's mom?"

Bucky tries not to let that one bruise his ego too much. "She's picking up Todd." He shuffles into the room and sinks onto the corner of Lucy's white bed. "I thought I'd come up and check on you." He lets his eyes travel over Lucy's puffy pink face and her dried tear-tracks. "Are you okay?"

"Well, I'm not dead." She huffs and tries again to clean her face. "So I guess it could be worse."

Bucky reaches over towards her—taking her cheek in his metal hand and using his soft thumb to brush away the damp tears he can see. "I guess it could be." He swallows stiffly as she attempts to smile at him softly. "But it doesn't mean that you're not hurting."

"I am." She sniffles. "I thought he liked me..." she silences herself as she realizes the stupidity. "But he doesn't like me. He likes Veronica."

Bucky's eyebrows gnarl defensively. "Who the hell is Veronica?"

"Exactly."

Bucky shakes his head. "Forget about her," he says. Lucy looks away from her lap and up at her dad again. "Hell, forget about Andrew, too."

"But I really like him, dad."

"I know, I know you do." Bucky tries to remind himself to be patient. "But, but kid, he's not worth it. He's a real loser—I could see that from a hundred miles away. And he's an even bigger loser than I first thought for leaving you."

Lucy takes a deep breath.

"Listen," Bucky goes on to say, "I know it's hard to see now—but there are going to be a lot more Andrews. I'm going to probably hate every single one of them, and I'm gonna want to kick their asses for even looking their way, but that's not the point." Lucy chuckles a bit at this one and Bucky grins proudly. "The point, princess, is that this won't be your first heartbreak and he won't be the one who got away. There will be another, and there will be better. And hopefully—I pray to god every night that it comes true—there will be a man who wanders in who is at least half as amazing as you, because there's no way they'd be any more perfect than that."

Lucy shows off a teary-eyed smile on her pretty, freckled face. "Thanks, dad."

"Come 'ere." Bucky reaches over for her arm and she hugs him around the neck—pushing her face against his chest where she can feel his steady, sturdy heartbeat. "I love you, princess."

"I love you, too."

Bucky smiles softly as he combs down her hair. He wishes it could always be this way—his little girl cuddled up against his chest like she used to do when she waddled around with only one tooth. But now... now she's big. She's wearing heels and makeup and dating disgusting boys that he knows will break her heart... he can only hope that she'll get the chance to break a few of her own, too.

"Hey—wanna grab some ice cream?"

Lucy pulls out of the hug with a roll of her eyes. "Dad, that trick is so old."

"What?"

She responds with, "You used to take us kids to ice cream when we'd do bad on a test or one of the boys would scrape their knees. It doesn't fix everything, you know."

Bucky hums. "So..." He raises a brow. "No ice cream?"

Lucy can't fight the smile. "Okay. Maybe a chocolate cone would do me some good."

Bucky pops up from the bed. "You get your shoes, I'll get your brother. If we're fast, we won't have to share with your mom."

Lucy's laughter is the only thing Bucky's completely aware of as he leaves the room with a big, stupid grin on his face.

...

Two weeks later

Well, it looks as though Bucky's prediction has come true.

"A date? Another one? Really? I just finished healing my emotional scars from the last one," Bucky whines as he follows you around the laundry room.

"She says she really likes this one," you laugh. "And you promised to behave yourself."

"I did, I did." Bucky groans and leans against the doorframe.

"When is this boy supposed to get here?" you hear from out in the dining room.

"Steve? What the hell are you doing here?" you call out. You turn on the dryer and walk out. Bucky follows like a puppy.

Speaking of puppies, Steve is playing with your labradoodle on the kitchen floor. "I heard Lucy had a date. I had to come and check it out."

"You told Steve?" you ask Bucky. Before he can respond, you remind him, "I told you that you men were gossip queens."

The doorbell rings.

"He's here!" Steve and Lucy both scream. The latter, dressed in white skinny jeans and a pink sweater, rushes down the stairs into the room.

Everyone, including you, make for the foyer. But before Bucky can properly make it there Lucy has stopped him by the hand.

"Dad, I don't want you to freak out."

"I promised I'd behave." It sounds like he's reminding himself more than anyone.

Lucy smiles—it's a bit suspiciously, Bucky thinks. "Okay..." She stands on her heels to give her dad a kiss on the cheek. "Just remember that I love you."

"I love you too, princess, but why would I...?"

Suddenly, you've opened up the front door. Into the home walks the boy of the hour.

"Oh hey Bucky!"

Standing in the doorway is a tall, broad shouldered high-school hunk. Skin deep in color and eyes of the same rich shade he's strikingly similar in appearance to his dad, but thankfully carries the beauty of his mother.

Because looking exactly like Sam Wilson would be, in Bucky's opinion, awfully bad.

"Grant...Wilson...?" Bucky can hardly get out the words.

Steve's jaw has hit the floor.

Sam Wilson's son, the oldest of them, smiles charismatically. "Yeah! Good to see you! By the way, I returned the lawn mower just like you asked. It's in the garage." His eyes flicker to where Lucy stands. "Wow! Lucy Goosey, you look absolutely stunning." He holds out a hand for her to take. She smiles as he kisses her wrist. Looking back up at the astounded group, the suave Grant waves goodbye. "I'll have her back soon! And I'll see you all at church on Sunday."

When the door properly shuts behind the two, there's really only one thing that Bucky Barnes can think to do.

"WILSON!" he turns on his heel and heads for the back door—where he plans to stomp straight into Sam's stupid back yard and have a long, long word. What about? He's not exactly sure. But he knows where this kid lives, and more importantly, who is stupid-ass dad is.

You let your laugh/sigh flutter into the room. "Lord, help me," and drag still-gawking Steve out of the room—letting Princess Lucy and her frog-date load up in their carriage and drive happily away.