Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

109. BUCKY: Princess & The Frogs

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!

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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.