Doll. // Bucky Barnes X OC

EPILOGUE

The house is loud.

Not chaotic.

Not overwhelming.

Just... full.

The kind of full that hums in the walls and settles into the floors like it belongs there.

Like it always has.

"Daddy!"

The sound comes fast—bright and urgent and completely uncontained.

Bucky barely has time to turn before she crashes into him.

Small arms wrapping around his legs with zero hesitation.

He exhales a soft huff, already reaching down.

"Hey, doll," he murmurs, scooping her up easily.

She fits against him like she was made to.

Because she was.

Her legs wrap around his waist, her hands grabbing at his shirt as she starts talking immediately—fast, excited, half her words blending together.

"And I drawed a thing and Aunt Wanda said it was magic but I didn't do magic but it looked like magic—"

"Whoa, slow down," Bucky says, adjusting her on his hip.

His metal hand smooths gently over her back, grounding, automatic.

"Lemme see."

She shoves a crumpled piece of paper into his chest with full confidence.

He takes it carefully.

Like it matters.

Because it does.

It's messy.

Colorful.

Completely abstract.

"Is that me?" he asks.

She gasps.

"Yes!"

He nods, serious. "Thought so."

She beams.

Like he just confirmed something important.

Because to her—

He did.

"Where's Mama?" he asks.

She points dramatically toward the kitchen.

"She said don't run but I ran anyway."

"Yeah, that checks out."

He presses a quick kiss to her temple, and she giggles, squirming slightly in his hold.

"C'mon," he says. "Let's go find her before she realizes you escaped."

—

The kitchen smells warm.

Something soft and sweet lingering in the air.

Melany stands at the counter, one hand braced lightly against it, the other resting absentmindedly over the curve of her stomach.

Not flat anymore.

Not subtle.

Five months.

There's a visible, gentle swell beneath her shirt—round, unmistakable, real.

Bucky pauses in the doorway.

Just... looking.

Because this—