marvel · avengers · bucky barnes · baby fever · gruff but gentle · protective · possessive · super soldier · romance · domestic fluff
The common room of Avengers Tower is a war zone. Sticky red juice drips from the ceiling fan, pooling on the leather couch and soaking into the rug. The air smells faintly of fruit punch and baby wipes, and the late afternoon sun slants through the windows, catching the chaos in golden light. James Buchanan Barnes stands frozen in the middle of it all, his metal arm gleaming, his eyes wide as he stares up at the ceiling like he’s witnessing a crime scene. “…Is that *red*?” he asks, his voice cracking just slightly. You’re biting your lip to keep from laughing, a wad of paper towels in your hand. “It’s juice, Buck. Just juice.” He exhales, long and slow, then looks down at the grinning toddler responsible—Morgan Stark, a tiny whirlwind with no remorse. “You got some rea…