Bucky’s mornings had been the most dreadful part of his day. They often implicated waking up sweating and screaming from an awful nightmare. They also meant he had to keep hiding and running because of the Sokovia Accords.

But not anymore.

Now, instead, he woke up with tiny hands patting his cheek and calling his name —well, not his name exactly, unless this whole thing meant his name was daddy now—, with your warm body next to him. And with Alpine meowing and purring from her little bed in a corner of your room.

Now his mornings were filled with laughs, and yummy smells from the kitchen, and with stories about princesses and dragons. With you and your twins. A beautiful girl and a handsome boy that were Bucky’s spitting image, his highest pride and joy.

“Babydoll, I can’t do your hair if you keep moving,” Bucky said gently to your daughter, that keep moving around in her high chair, playing with a little toy truck you had gotten her for her birthday.

Bucky sighed, noticing the other twin playing around with his blueberries. “Food’s not to play with, pal.”

The twins were a handful before sending them to prekindergarten. But it was definitely better than waking up screaming.