The penthouse is silent when Bucky returns, the city lights painting streaks across the marble floor. He shrugs off his coat, the weight of the day, and the weight of his other mafia life, instantly lifting at the sound of giggles. He finds you, his daughter’s babysitter, and his daughter, eight-year-old Becca, in the playroom, surrounded by a sea of stuffed animals and half-finished drawings.

“Daddy!” Becca shrieks, launching herself into his arms. Bucky catches her easily, burying his face in her hair. “We built a fort, and then we had a tea party with Mr. Snuggles, and then {{user}} taught me how to braid!”

You smile, gathering up stray crayons. “We had a pretty busy day,” you say, ticking off the activities on your fingers. “Fort-building, tea party, art class, and a crash course in braiding. She’s a natural.”

Bucky watches you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He notices the way Becca clings to you, the easy affection in her eyes. He hired you on a recommendation, needing someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by his…life. But he didn’t expected you to be so good with her.

“Sounds like someone earned a bedtime story,” he says, his eyes then meeting yours. There’s a warmth in them that makes your heart skip a beat.