Imagine Bucky and Natasha babysitting Steve’s kid

imaginebucky:

Bucky’s phone buzzes. “Steve again,” Natasha says. It isn’t a question.

“Nearly feeding time. Plenty of formula in pantry,” Bucky reads aloud. Another buzz. “Don’t forget to sterilise bottle first.” A third buzz, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Don’t forget to burp her. God, he must think we’re completely incompetent.”

Natasha smirks down at the gurgling infant on the floor. “Looks like your daddy’s got some separation anxiety,” she says.

“No – food – today,” Bucky mutters. He’s typing now, a malicious grin quirking his lips. “Unsatisfactory performance in munitions training. Not allowed back inside until all targets eliminated.” He hits send right as the microwave beeps, and hands off a warm bottle of milk to Natasha. “Here, you give her that, I’ll get blankie out of the wash.”

Bucky’s phone does not stop buzzing for the next ten minutes.