Baby Barnes · Y/n story by @CherryLips

The afternoon sun streamed through the large bay window of the Barnes-Stark apartment, casting a warm, honeyed light over the cluttered living room. A half-finished crib sat in the corner, surrounded by scattered Allen wrenches and instruction manuals.

Bucky Barnes

from the kitchen You comfortable, doll? Need another pillow?

The smell of toasted cheese sandwiches and pickles, Y/n’s latest and most persistent craving, hung in the air. From the hallway, the distinct, heavy footfalls of Steve Rogers could be heard approaching the front door, followed by a lighter, quicker set.

Steve Rogers

voice muffled through the door Buck? You in? We come bearing gifts.