#buckyforbreakfast

It was over a month since Rhodey turned forty-nine and no one had even mentioned yours as it neared.

Bucky Barnes, as attentive as one is when they have a crush, wrote your birthday down on his calendar the first time you’d mentioned it. He’d deny it, but he knew your birthday before you had the chance to say it because he’d looked up your file in Tony’s database.

If you’d, for whatever reason, been in his room and saw it before you told him when it was, he figured that might be a little creepy. More than creepy.

The poor man hadn’t even said six whole sentences to you in the year and a half that you’d been there. You’d noticed this, of course, but dismissed it as he isn’t really a conversationalist with anyone but Steve.

You decided he didn’t really care for you, and that was fine. There wasn’t much reason for you and him to interact enough to be friends, but boy was he good looking.

Birthdays were never a big thing for you. You never wanted to have a big party or have a bunch of people celebrate your being another year older. Once when you were younger, it had been a big deal. It inconvenienced a lot of people and you never made a big fuss over it again.

Bucky didn’t know this, nor would he care if he did. He wanted you to be praised. If he could put you on a pedestal, the man wouldn’t hesitate. It was evident that the team had forgotten.

The world was winding into danger again and it had slipped their minds. You knew that. He knew that. It was sad all the same.

Almost he’d said something about it to Steve, but held his tongue on second thought. The world ‘selfish’ came to mind. He wanted to be the only one.

He had two weeks to get information out of you. Two weeks and he’d barely spoken to you. It would be suspicious, but he had to try.

Your schedule was something he’d memorized early on so as to make sure he was in the same room with you after you came out of a meeting, or catch you as you return from a jog, and accidentally run into you when you head to the gym.

In a few minutes you’d be strolling into the kitchen to fix a sandwich and he’d take his shot.

You were wearing those blue running shoes he liked most and a purple theme to your workout gear.

“Finally find time to get a run in?” he commented casually, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter.

The suddenness of his voice made you jump, “Oh, yeah, finally.”

Beads of sweat still held on to your forehead. There was no one in the gym today. They were all in the boardroom, contacting the rest of the Avengers. It’d been hectic in the gym the last few days and your usual schedule had been interrupted. They were all going to be on the field soon. You didn’t want to get in their way.

Bucky was a sight for sore eyes. He must’ve been staying out of the way too, because it was rare that he made conversation with you. The loneliness made its way to him as well, you hypothesised.

He cleared his throat, “Mind showing me how to make those sandwiches you like?” Hopefully something small like this wouldn’t make you think too much. He had no idea what to get you for your birthday and it was most definitely not going to be a sandwich; it was a start though.

“Uhm, yeah. Tired of eating fruit snacks?” you giggled a little, attempting to make it more personal instead of two strangers.

The teeth you’d never seen flashed into view, they were perfectly white and you were taken aback by his beauty. Everything from his teeth, to his lips, and the way his tongue ran over his bottom lip.

How have you never noticed that?

Bucky grabbed the avocado from the fridge, “I have no fucking idea what this is, but it must be good if you eat it everyday.”

Once again you couldn’t help but grin. So he was funny? You were so eager to get to know him, having only admired him from afar before. His personality was breaking away the shell he’d created.

Grabbing two knives, you handed him one, and showed him how to cut the vegetable. Next, you did the same with a fresh tomato.

“Bacon?” the surprise in Bucky’s voice made you snort on the soda you’d opened, having to put a hand to your face to maintain composure.

You nodded repeatedly, pointing to the stove for him to turn it on.

“Steve’s gonna be real happy he don’t have to buy me fruit snacks anymore,” Bucky joked, watching for your reaction.

“Aw, now I can tell Wanda they’re no longer off limits.”

He gave you a playfully warning glare and took a bite of his BLT with avocado. It was Bucky approved, “Fuck this is so much better than artificially flavored gummies!”

Reaching for a napkin you added facetiously, “Is there anything else you eat?”

“Chocolate cake, one hundred percent.”

“Me, too!” you agreed, mouthful of bread.

One week until the day

Bucky had managed not to scare you away with all of his questions. He was pretty proud of himself with all the new information he’d gathered. There was a small notebook in his dresser that he used to jot everything down.

You liked those weird sandwiches and chocolate cake. He’d seen you eating chinese takeout late one night. There was also a million empty cans of cola in your trash can.

Just from intuition, Bucky gathered that you took a liking to the color blue and a tv show that you sometimes got immersed in.

“Friday,” he called from his spot in bed.

The A.I. answered almost instantly, “Yes, Sergeant Barnes.”

A sigh fell from his lips, “I’ve told you that it’s okay to call me Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky. What is it?”

“Is there anything you can tell me about Y/N?” he pushed the pillow off of his head to listen in.

A moment passed before Friday replied, “Well, it is her birthday in a few days.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “I know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“She spends a lot of her time at night on the roof. You could surprise her up there.”

“Anything else?”

“Mr. Stark might suggest a bottle of champagne.”

Of course he would.

Bucky quickly showered and exited his room to return to the kitchen. There were plenty of ingredients for a cake. He didn’t remember much of what his Ma taught him about cooking, but that’s something Friday could assist him with.

On the other end of the compound, you sat in the window of your room. Work was never completed and there was always more to do.

You were writing letters on the daily to General Ross’s team to no avail. They continued to stand in the stubborn position they’d chosen. Rhodey assisted you with this, handing the wheel over to him when something needed a further push.

Small mission reports also needed revising. When those were taken care of, Agent Hill had you accompany her on the short field missions she partook in.

“Ever do anything else but work?”

Bucky stood in your doorway, sporting a pair of shorts. You’d never seen him in shorts.

“You caught me, Bucky. I’m married to my job,” you halfheartedly laughed, trying your best to alleviate the stress. The truth was you were married to your job, increasing your efforts to ignore your approaching birthday made it easier.

It actually made you rather sad. Even though you weren’t one to hype up your own birthday, no one had actually forgotten it before.

The long haired man still lingered in the doorway, “Let’s go. We have to get you a life Y/N.”

His sarcastic remark worked, pulling you from your concentration, “Says you. I’ve never even seen you leave the compound.”

“I’m more of a go-out-at-night-because-there’s-less-people type of guy.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Barnes.”

The banter between you two was something you’ve caught yourself playing over again in your head at night. Admiring him from afar was no longer a part of your regular routine, but rather spending time with him.

Bucky wasn’t as shy as you’d mistaken him for. He wasn’t afraid to poke fun at you or make the occasional sexual innuendo. He was actually one of the most laid back people in the compound, especially for an “avenger”.

It was the forever attraction you had to him that made it all the sweeter.

Even if he was just lonely while Steve and the others were busy, he wasn’t reminiscing too much. Bucky didn’t even know when your birthday was, and for that you were glad. His time was genuine.

His time was more than genuine. With everyone off tending to more important business, he’d finally gotten you all to himself. Whatever nerves he’d had about talking to you before had all but vanished.

The day

“Friday, no one can come in the kitchen.”

“Are you making a cake for Y/N’s birthday today?” the A.I. inquired.

Bucky frantically wandered about the kitchen, yanking open drawers in search of the right tools and ingredients.

He paused, looking over the stuff he’d thrown onto the counter, “Do I have everything?”

“You’re missing cake flour and candles.”

Returning to the pantry he hastily grabbed the cake flour from the top shelf, a little too roughly with his metal arm, and made a hole in the side, “Shit.”

The whisk had clattered to the floor as he reached for the duct tape to fix the spilling bag of flour. A thin white layer had covered the kitchen tiles as he rushed around, picking up what had fallen.

“Where are the candles?” he panted.

Friday chuckled, “Check the drawer next to the sink. I think someone put some trick candles in there.”

Sure enough, there was a box of candles in the drawer. They were thrown into the pile of ingredients and forgotten as Friday read out the instructions that Bucky needed to follow. She laughed at his frustration, keeping him calm as she advised him not to crack the eggs midair.

After two hours of Bucky’s making mistakes and having to remake the batter, there was finally a cake in the oven. No one but Bucky could’ve messed up a prepackaged cake mix so badly.

He leaned up against the counter, prematurely popping the bottle of champagne. He was so glad in that moment that his serum allowed him to feel the alcohol unlike his friend. Your tiny, lumpy, stressful chocolate cake definitely called for the champagne.

The oven beeped, alerting Bucky that the cake was ready. If the kitchen got any hotter he was gonna take that cake and eat it himself in the pool.

“You did well, Bucky,” Friday complimented, “care to share?”

“Not on your programming,” Bucky replied, focused on icing his creation, “but thank you, for helping me not fuck this up to surprise her.”

The A.I. responded, “I’m sure Y/N would like it even if you did.”

The super soldier huffed, even his metal arm tiring out from the precision it takes to ice the damn cake. He’d opted to use vanilla icing and found it took many layers to conceal the chocolate underneath.

He didn’t even know if it would taste good.

Finally he’d reached for the candles, confused when reading the package, “Friday you said trick candles earlier. What does that mean?”

“Those candles are really hard to blow out. The flame disappears for a second before igniting again, making it really funny for the person blowing them out.”

“Okay well, I guess I’m done. I’m gonna test these out before I surprise Y/N with it. You can unlock the kitchen doors now,” Bucky mumbled, placing too many candles on the cake.

There were about ten candles ignited on top of the cake, burning and sparkling brightly as Bucky blew air on to them.

Not one candle blew out.

His chest heaved, annoyed that even his super soldier lungs couldn’t best the “trick candles”. He tried once more, slamming his hands onto the counter beside the holder, puffing his cheeks out.

“Friday!” Bucky yelled in panic as the candles’ flames joined. Instead of ten, small, short flames there was one large fire topping the cake.

The lights in the kitchen were dim against the large fire on top of your birthday cake and the room darkened, “Friday the fire detector! Now!”

After what felt like hours, she set off the fire detector. Bucky was pressed into the cabinets, putting as much space possible in between him and the fire.

“Bucky is everything okay?!” he heard your voice from behind the door, knowing you could see the silhouette of a flame from behind the semi transparent door.

“Everything’s fine! Don’t come in! I got it under control!” he shouted, his chest pounding frantically because he’d ruined your birthday cake.

Friday chimed in at the last second, announcing, “I’ve sent out an alert to the compound that there is a fire in the kitchen.” Immediately after the A.I. said that, the emergency sprinklers overhead came on, drenching the kitchen, Bucky, and the dessert he’d put so much effort into.

The fire extinguished and Bucky stood in defeat, his shoulders slumping, watching disappointed as the cake suffered under the water.

You busted through the kitchen door, holding the fire extinguisher you’d scrambled to find. Squeezing its hose, you sprayed the kitchen with the contents of the red can, stopping when you opened your eyes to see no fire.

Bucky stood in front of you, his eyes screwed shut and covered in the white foam. He wiped his face with his shirt and blinked hard a few times.

“Happy Birthday Y/N!” he cheered unenthusiastically, his hair and clothes dripping wet.

The can was discarded on the floor as you looked around the kitchen. There was flour on the floor, eggshells in the sink, an empty bowl of batter, and the wet cake with too many candles in it.

Bucky cleared his throat, spitting out some of the foam you’d sprayed him with, “How’s takeout sound?”

You tried to stifle a laugh, stepping closer to him and helping to clean his face, “Takeout sounds wonderful.”

He looked downwards, embarrassed, and you pressed a small kiss to his cheek. The cake was ruined but in the back of your mind, you knew you’d both be eating it a few hours from now when the water had seeped into it.

Bucky left to go change clothes and run his hair under some water, before joining you in the common area.

“Thank you Bucky, for making me a cake. But, if I may ask, how in the heck did you manage to catch it on fire?” you smiled and playfully elbowed him.

“God it’s a long story.”

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BUCKY TAGS:

Today, he’d allowed his hair to hang natural. Most days he had it slicked back, but the weekend had come and he couldn’t wait to get you settled in. It was a rare but glorious sight to see. James Buchanan Barnes in his realest state. Hair product was something Bucky took very seriously.

You gazed upon him under your lashes, the setting sun was etched on his already sculpted face. The hollows of his cheeks casted shadows, putting a lump in your throat. Bucky kept his face shaven, and it was heavenly. When he clenched his jaw is what weakened you most, something you wouldn’t be able to witness if he’d sported a beard.

Although you knew the James Barnes would’ve put all other beards to shame if he grew one out.

Kissing his chin you whispered, “Let’s go inside.”

He made a small noise of satisfaction and settled back down next to you, grabbing your hand to kiss it, and then putting it inside his own. Closing your eyes, you breathed him in, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

You’d been in his apartment a million times, but somehow you still managed to catch those little nerves. It was about to be your place together.

It was that airy feeling in your stomach you’d felt the first time you rode the Cyclone roller coaster. It was that feeling you got when Bucky had said he’d loved you the first time. It was that feeling he made every time you kissed. Today was no different.

Bucky sat up after a long while, helping you to get up as well, and put his shoes back on. He grabbed the lever on the side of the door and manually rolled his window up, nodding at you to do the same.

You grabbed your small suitcase, following Bucky and opening the car door. The summer weeds flattened under your steps, unlike the tan grass which crunched that the truck was parked on. Warm air filled your lungs, the smell of flowers and dirt heavy in the area behind the houses.

That kind of beauty would probably be a parking lot someday, or more buildings. Right now, it belonged to you and Bucky, and years after it’s gone you can cherish the memory of the gardens and the children playing, turning it into their own playground, energized by the sun that most of New York never gets to see.

He held your hand the entire walk to the backdoor, squeezing gently with anticipation.

Gently smiling he came to a stop, “Set your bag down.” You obliged, setting it down on the wooden porch right by the door. Bucky’s cheeks sunk in with the mischievous grin he gave, moving one arm to your back and the other at the back of your knees. The confusion on your face transforming into an expression of pure joy.

“Buck, we aren’t married, you don’t need to do this,” you complained with the corners of your mouth lifting anyway. The tiny hairs that were usually locked in place tickled your forehead when he bent down to grab your suitcase. He kicked the door open, having already turned the knob, and carried you over the threshold.

Bucky set you down, “Just practicing, doll.”

You looking into his eyes sheepishly, before he set you down, your arms free again. Instantly the nerves returned, causing you to twiddle your thumbs. He winked at you before disappearing down the hall where his bedroom was, your bedroom.

He came back without your suitcase, having placed it on the bed for you to unpack later. Bucky exhaled and gave a big smile, excited and giddy about your first night over as a resident.

Plenty nights you’ve spent over at his place. Being the gentleman his Ma raised him to be, Bucky would refuse his own bed and sleep on the sad, blue couch in the living room. His bed was the most comfortable thing you’d ever known, always feeling a tad bit of guilt when he gave it to you for the night.

“You wanna make those tiny pizzas we used to make as kids?” Bucky lifted his eyebrows, inching toward the kitchen.

Your eyes lit up, no longer feeling skittish, “Oh gosh, Buck, yes. That would be wonderful!”

Following him behind the counter he began pulling stuff from cabinets and from the fridge, “I got all the ingredients the other night for us. Can you get the pizza cutter, it’s in the drawer beside the sink.”

The two of you fell into a rhythm, having never cooked together, it went quite smoothly. Bucky tossed the dough for you both and you stuck them into the oven when you finished decorating them.

Bucky reached for both of your hands and pulled you close, kissing you softly, “Look at us, doll.” You were moved into him as he brought you in for a hug, standing in the warmth radiating from the oven and the dim lit apartment.

~~~

He’d insisted you showered first after you unpacked. Bucky had went ahead and cleared a few of his drawers for you and made room in his closet for your clothes. Not that you had an abundance of stuff, but the gesture was too sweet of him.

You sat in the bed, your nerves agitated again, knowing well that once Bucky got through with his shower that he’d be joining you in the bed. No longer would you part ways and him grab a blanket and pillow for the couch.

“You look so pretty,” he muttered, leaning against the door. Hot air rushed into the room and you could see that the mirrors had fogged up in the bathroom. Your cheeks heated up.

Silently you were grateful he’d changed and not walked out in a towel. His hair was damp and ruffled, having dried it vigorously with a towel. Bucky wore blue boxers and a thin green shirt. You helped him pull back the sheets and he settled in, groaning with the feeling of finally getting to rest.

He was still warm from his shower when he got comfortable, you snuggled into him and used his arm as a pillow, enjoying the water heat radiating off of him.

Inhaling, you grinned, “You sure do smell good.”

Bucky chuckled, knowing what you were getting at, “Who knew ‘cranberry and honey’ would smell so good on me?”

You rolled your eyes at him, ruffling his hair and pecking his cheek. If you weren’t careful he might get into your perfumes as well.

The nervous man next to you kept moving, reaching to turn out the lamp, adjusting his shirt, and placing his arms in different positions. He couldn’t get settled down for sleep for anything. “Y/N, little spoon,” he whispered, rubbing your shoulder.

Before turning away from him, you held a hand under his jaw, “You alright, James?”

He hummed, staring in awe at the little he could see of you in the dark, how your eyes caught the light of the moon, “Just some nerves. We’ve never slept in the same bed before and I don’t wanna be a bad bed partner, I guess. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s alright Buck. I’m a little nervous, too,” you glanced away from him, “I don’t think you could ever be a bad anything.”

Your joke had loosened his nerves a little, causing him to laugh, “I love you so goddamn much, Y/N.”

Bucky pulled you into him, making himself the big spoon, before finally closing his eyes and feeling at peace.

“I love you too, Buck.”

~~~

The clock hanging up on the wall was too dark to see. Bucky could tell the small hand was at an early hour, just not sure which one.

He rubbed his eyes, clearing away the sleep that had built up in the corners and was careful to move back the comforter. You were fast asleep, but he still wanted to make sure to be as quiet as he could.

The wood floor groaned when his feet hit the floor. He pulled the covers back over you and stood in place for a moment to confirm you were still asleep. You were, and he slowly moved toward the bedroom door, leaving it slightly open so as to not make noise.

There was no blanket on the little blue couch. From experience, he’d learned the decorative pillows weren’t any good for his neck, but had forgotten to grab a pillow and blanket from the bed. It was too late to make another trip back in there and risk waking you up.

Bucky settled on the old cushions and curled up on his couch, adjusting some of the pillows around him to retain warmth. Summer had made it to where his apartment was colder than normal. He cursed himself for getting out of bed, now having to deal with the shivering. Most nights he wouldn’t have slept with a shirt, thankful for the thin fabric keeping him even slightly cozy.

With Bucky as a natural heatsource now absent from bed, the lack of warmth prompted you to wake. The covers were tucked around your body, making it harder to turn around. When you did, there was no sleeping Bucky to be found.

Lights weren’t on in the bathroom so he wasn’t there.

You got up from bed and walked up to the clock hanging next to the doorframe. It was two in the morning. Pushing the door open you could see straight into the living room. No Bucky upon first glance.

Walking further into the room you could still see his truck parked in the same place as earlier. He hadn’t left. Where had he gone?

There was no James standing in the kitchen, having a midnight snack as he often did. However, there was a James shivering on the couch.

He hadn’t even bothered to switch the television on or grab a glass of milk. The decorative pillows were placed over him, acting as a blanket. You sighed and went around the couch, bending down in front of him.

Bucky didn’t even see you at first he was so cold.

“Whatcha doin’ Buck,” you whispered, placing a hand on his.

His eyes slowly opened, blinks close together, not wanting to fully open his eyes, “I didn’t wanna disrespect you. I was guilty sleeping in the bed with you.”

The sleep was thick in his voice, barely making any sense without articulation. Your hand found itself in his hair once more, kissing his forehead, “You could’ve stayed.”

“What will your Ma think?” he sleepily protested, eyes now fully opened.

“Come back to bed, silly. Now we’re both cold,” you ran your hands along his arm, taking the pillows off of his back and legs.

“But your Ma,” his head raised up.

Bucky sat up anyway, despite his poorly made argument, and put a hand on your waist, following you back to the bedroom.

“You’re somethin’ aren’t you, Barnes?”

Even in his groggy state, Bucky could only smile and kiss your cheek, glad you’d brought him back to bed and back to you.

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BUCKY TAGS:

His best friend was denied a life after the war. Bucky didn’t believe Peggy or the Colonel when they told him what happened. The shock had racked Bucky’s body, he didn’t even remember what his friend’s last words were.

Bucky wanted Steve to stay behind. His little heart, however, prevented him from not enlisting. Captain America was something else for sure. The Steve he’d known since they were little was suddenly a hero of war.

You had the baby not long after that. Bucky had gotten tears all over your letter, making the ink bleed. Even being on the train to go home, three years after you’d sent the letter, his heart was beating as fast as it had when he’d read those words.

His son was three years old.

Nervous would be an understatement. Not only would he be seeing your face again for the first time in forever, but the face of a child he’s never known.

Bucky straightened his hat, preparing himself for when he saw you. He loved you more than anything in the world and wanted to look his best before the tears came. Swallowing, he dusted off his uniform and looked out the train windows, searching. He was so ready.

He wanted to know your touch again.

The whistle blew. Hundreds of people filled the station, some parting a path for the soldiers to step out. His heart was up in his ears, louder than the train itself. If he had to guess, there was no way in hell he looked as good as he did when he first boarded the train. If the war aged him any, he hoped you didn’t mind.

Families were buzzing everywhere. The capacity of the station was no doubt filled two times over. Eyes were everywhere, searching for their loved ones, calling out names, holding up signs. Bucky recognized some last names.

When his shoes met the concrete, the noise became overwhelming. Women were crying and people were tripping over one another. He hoped you were looking for him and making your way over, because there was no way he’d be able to pick you out in that crowd.

A man from the 107th clapped his back and pulled him into a hug, bidding him goodbye before leaving with his family. It was too loud for Bucky to hear what he said.

You weren’t anywhere to be seen. Your face wasn’t in the crowd. He knew you were here, you’d said you would be there when he got dropped off. Should he be looking for a three year old? He didn’t even know what a three year old looked like!

His mouth was slightly open, searching for you, eyes darting all around him.

All sound vanished when he neared the back wall. There weren’t any screaming people to be heard. No pushing bodies. No arms reaching out. There was just you.

Bucky stood still when he found you, maintaining posture for mere moments before you gave that damn smile. Your eyebrows lifted and your face lit up and so he ran. Hands wrapped around you and you were spinning. Any strength Bucky had left was to pick you up in an embrace.

“Sergeant,” you greeted, “you are looking just fine.”

He brushed away the hair that was lingering in your face, “Just kiss me doll. You don’t have to be formal.”

You lunged for his lips, cupping his face in your hands and kissed him as you would behind closed doors. Today was the exception for public displays of affection. Anywhere and everywhere you looked, families were reuniting. Couples were having small reunions. You and Bucky were no exception, being among the many young couples loving on one another.

Bucky’s welcome home kiss was cut short when you pulled away, a small hand tugging on your dress. Not knowing why you broke the kiss, Bucky tightened his grip on your waist and leaned in towards your neck.

You laughed at his eagerness, “Bucky, there’s someone you have to meet.”

He pressed one more kiss beside your mouth before letting go, his heartbeat fighting control. He looked down to see the smallest human hiding behind your leg, holding your free hand.

“Y/N?”

Bending down, you pulled your husband to follow. The small boy attempted to hide further behind you when the strange man had crouched to his height.

“Buck, this is James Grant.”

Not averting his gaze from his son, his eyes watered, “Oh, hell, Y/N you didn’t.”

James looked up to you and terribly whispered, “Mommy, why is that man crying?”

Your face softened and you held Bucky’s hand as well, “James, this is daddy.”

The boy finally stopped trying to hide himself from Bucky and walked closer, hesitating only for a second before throwing himself into the man and hugging his neck. The tears Bucky was trying to desperately to conceal broke loose. James wriggled to wrap his legs around his father and lay his head on his shoulder.

“We go home now?” the tiny voice asked and Bucky cried harder. He couldn’t believe this tiny person was his son, that he loved him already.

In the midst of their father and son embrace, Bucky’s hat falls to the ground. Not missing a beat, you pick it up tuck it under your arm. Climbing down the stairs and into the night sky, Bucky reaches out for your hand, keeping James in place with the other. Smiling at you, he leans in and kisses your temple.

“I’m at home right here,” he whispers, winking at you.

Little James’s head perks up and his hand reaches out towards you, “Mama. Hat.”

You take the hat and step out of the way of other families. Tiny hands take hold of Bucky’s hat and place it on, with you making sure it won’t fall off. He looks right at Bucky and grins, proud to look like daddy.

The walk home was silent, save for James getting comfortable every few minutes. It was a beautiful homecoming, watching as people filled the streets, walking home with their soldiers. There wasn’t a house in Brooklyn that didn’t have its lights on. All boroughs in the city were awake, enjoying the company of one another.

When you rounded the corner to your street, James got down to walk on his own. He tugged on Bucky’s pant leg to hurry inside. Bucky looked over to you and laughed, supposing that James didn’t know Bucky lived there before he did.

He stopped and kissed you hard before following his son inside, “I don’t suppose you know what’s for dinner yet, Y/N?”

You placed a hand on the back of his neck and whispered in his ear, “You’re lookin at it.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and playfully celebrated before catching up with James.

The front porch came into view and Bucky felt as if it had only been one night that he’d been gone. Their green door was still paint chipped and the screen door still squeaked. It was so foreign to watch as a little boy maneuvered his home, coming to the realization that it was his home too. Bucky still knew his way around their home, even if it had been three years.

Bypassing the armchair and the tv set, he followed as his child led him down the hall, “Come see my woom, daddy!”

His run was the most adorable thing to watch, stubby legs not really going anywhere fast compared to Bucky’s long strides. His hair bounced under the hat as he went to open the door to his room. Last time Bucky was in there, you were planning the nursery for after the war. James had come a bit sooner than expected.

The once tan colored room was now a shade of light blue. A twin bed was in the corner, a dresser that was too tall for him on the wall beside the door, and stacks of toys and books were everywhere.

James set his hat on the bed and Bucky sat down next to it. While his son rummaged through his toys, he observed the room. His room theme in particular was most intriguing.

Everything in there was Captain America themed. His bedsheets had stars on them, there were newspaper cutouts and star spangled posters with none other than Captain Rogers’s face on them.

Bucky was in awe.

His son loved Steve Rogers as much as he did.

“So you like Captain America, huh?” Bucky almost teared up again.

James turned around with his mouth open, “I wuv Captain Amewica!” He stood up and ran over to his dad, two toys in his hand. He handed them to the soldier and crawled onto the bed to sit next to him. Bucky held the two plush toys with gentle hands.

“These my favowite,” James stated matter-of-factly.

One was a worn out bear. If he had to guess, this was the bear he carried around everywhere. The other toy was undoubtedly newer. It was a small Captain America toy, with a helmet and shield. He could instantly tell this was Y/N’s handiwork.

Bucky admired them, handing them back to his boy, “You’re a big Captain America fan, James. Me too, I love him.”

The child smiled with all of his little teeth and proceeded to hand things to Bucky, excited more than anything to finally share things with him.

Over dinner, James was so ecstatic to find out that his daddy actually knew Captain America, and even more so to discover that they were best friends. Bucky told him the story of how he was once a scrawny guy but then turned into the biggest man in the army. You’d already heard most of your husband’s stories through letters, but became entranced all the same with his actual words.

James was way past his bedtime as it was, but insisted anyway that Bucky read him a book in bed. Already, the toddler was Bucky’s weakness. He read more books than James was usually allowed until the excitement had drained him. Somehow, his little boy was even more adorable when he slept.

“Goodnight, buddy,” he whispered.

Bucky’s feet found themselves walking into his room, seeing you already in bed.

“He hasn’t stopped talking about you since I said your name for the first time,” you lifted the covers for Bucky to get in.

The man wrapped himself around you and planted his face in the crook of your neck, “I love him so much. And god I love you, I’ve missed the hell outta you.”

With one hand in his hair and the other rubbing his back, you laid there in sweet silence for a long while, relishing in the feeling of each other; making up for lost contact. Bucky pressed chaste kisses all over your arm, starting up what you’d promised from earlier.

“ Y/N,” your soldier sighed, shifting to hover over you only to lay in your lap.

“What?”

“Woman, you can’t just hit me with James Grant like that, first thing,” Bucky clarified.

A warm blush settled on your cheeks, your hands carding in his hair, and you hummed. You’d kept his middle name a secret. After Bucky wrote to you about Steve, you had to. Besides, the two of you couldn’t come up with a middle name to save your lives.

Bucky sat back up and touched his nose to yours, asking in the softest voice, “Like Steve?”

You nodded.

His lips ghosted around yours, “God I love you.”

PERMANENT TAGS:

@saharzek / @just-add-butter / @jitterbuck / @strawberrybucky / @laurfangirl424 / @bestbebucky / @sweetboybucky / @aletheladyinred / @impalaimages / @pizzarollpatrol / @lokigodofsasss / @xxashy999xx / @finecelle / @buckyofthemyscira / @thisismysecrethappyplace / @maefisher2003  / @lolabean1998 / @yenneffersstuff / @fabtasticass / @booksmarvelandfanfic  / @crazybutconfidentaf / @piensa-bonito / @chinalois / @siriuslyimmoony / @marvelous-avengers / @queenofkings121/ @gravedollie666 / @thesassmisstress / @givemethatgold / @jfabro79 

BUCKY TAGS:

It was sweltering outside and there was no part of you that felt reasonably comfortable; your forehead shiny with perspiration and legs throbbing from your gawkish sprint.

Places that weren’t supposed to sweat, were sweating.

The big blue pullover you’d thrown over your head was turning out to be your worst decision yet, next to the one where you’d decided to sprint in three-digit weather.

Because you’d overslept, the heat warning was lost in your notifications; but in order to run out the door at a reasonable time, the pullover was the only thing you’d managed to grab.

You opened the large white doors to the library, looking for Chris’s signature NASA shirt and the books that he was always hunched over, reading instead of asking if anyone needed help.

Right away, the heat took the air from your lungs. It was hot outside for sure, but to call it hot inside the library would be an understatement. You could almost see the heatwaves swaying by the front desk. The blue pullover was now molded into your skin, burning the back of your neck.

“Hey sweet boy.” You set down the iced lemonade you’d bought for him a few minutes ago, taking a break from sipping yours and smiling down at him.

He wasn’t buried in a book at the main desk today, but rather sitting in one chair and propping his feet up in another. This was probably the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. It also might’ve been the least amount of clothes you’d ever seen on him, causing you to fight off a blush that threatened to engulf your already flushed face.

The usual bootcut style jeans were replaced with basketball shorts. His grey NASA sweatshirt was traded out for a thin short-sleeved one. The books, however, stayed.

You marveled at the absence of sweat on his skin, provoking a brief jolt of annoyance.

A red covered book lay turned over in his lap, arms stretched out behind his neck. You had half a mind to know he wasn’t sleeping, as much as he’d liked to be. The responsibility of his job would prevent him from it.

“You know, usually I’d tell you, ‘Y/N what did I say about buying me stuff all the time? You don’t have to do that’ but it’s just so hot today,” Chris mumbled, eyes still closed. He sat up and used his wheely chair to move closer to you, grabbing the sweating cup of lemonade and taking a large gulp of it, making an appreciative grunt. “Thank you Y/N.”

Chris nodded his head toward the door for the front desk, wanting you to join him behind the counter.

You complied, ready to feel the air that Chris got to sit under all day. That’s why you’d reached for such a thick item of clothing, because it could get colder there than anywhere else in the library. The cold temperatures of the library were highly sought after for those with summer classes, and for everyone come back-to-school time.

But you quickly found that it wasn’t the case today.

Sitting down in the chair next to Chris, you mouth fell open, “God Chris, it’s so hot back here, why are you working in this?”

He sighed, “The air conditioning broke this morning. Some people came in here to adjust it because of the heat warning but messed it up.” He leaned his head into his hand and gave you the most concerned look, “Your face is so red.”

“Yeah. I was running to my one o’clock class when it got cancelled. Then I stayed in a line at the food trucks to get the lemonades,” you spoke slowly, putting the back of your hand to your cheek.

The two of you sat there for what felt like hours, actually watching the water make rings around your lemonades, the ice slowly melting. You even went as far to watch the second hand on the wall clock.

No one had the energy to come to the desk and ask for assistance. There were actually more students in the library than you expected, for it being so unbearably hot. Everyone had compiled on the bottom floor, finding that it was too hot to be anywhere higher than the first floor. They were all spread out, none too eager to bake in anyone else’s body heat.

You kicked off your shoes, “You look really good today Chris. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your arms or legs before.”

He tried to suppress the way his cheeks grew rosy, putting his face in his shoulder. A small giggle escaped him, sounding muffled through his shirt.

The shy librarian went to compliment you back, before his face fell, “Your face is even redder than before, Y/N. Are you okay?”

You hadn’t even noticed it until he brought it up again. Your slow speech and loss for concept of time now accounted for. The chunky pullover wasn’t letting up under the claustrophobic heat. Looking down, you could see the slight sheen on your thighs.

Everything was clammy.

It might’ve been the realization of what conditions you were under, or the amount of time you’d been enduring it, but you suddenly felt light headed. The back of your neck burning again made you want to claw the skin off.

“Chris?”

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he lunged from his chair to steady your shoulders.

Your face fell colorless and he sat on his ankles before you, grabbing your warm hand and moving his upwards to feel the heat radiating from your arms. He whispered a hurried ‘Come on’ before picking you up from the desk chair.

He moved you a few footsteps away to where the mini-fridge sat on a short table, opening the door so that your legs could dangle where the cool air was flowing out.

The new sensation slowed your beating heart, causing you to slump up against the cinderblock wall.

Chris swallowed, his throat feeling dry, “Y/N, you gotta uh.” He didn’t know how to get the words out. The library was slammed and you were barely concealed by a sharp corner in the wall. If anyone were to walk up they’d see you sitting there, close to unresponsive.

You had to though. You needed to.

His fingers became very restless, twisting and rubbing together, “Y/N.” He felt fucking awful asking you to, but it was for your health. If he had learned anything in his classes, it was that humans were only so fragile. Going to school to be a flight surgeon required him to know these things, knowing what would better you.

“You need to take off your shirt.” The words cracked in his throat and he looked up to your eyes, searching for any kind of response.

Knowing he meant no harm, you nodded. He had that doctoral look in his eyes again.

Putting your hands on either side of the mini-fridge, you fixed your posture, and averted your gaze from Chris. You had a major crush on him, and him on you, but nothing had ever been acknowledged verbally.

You gave the slightest head nod and reached for the hem, lifting the thick material from your torso, almost if you were shedding a snake’s skin. With every inch you raised, your exposed skin felt more pleasant.

Cooler, but still warm.

The concrete wall hugged your back. It wasn’t retaining any of its usual temperature from the ac, but was a refreshing change from the pullover you’d discarded.

Chris’s mouth fell dry of any moisture. Looking at you in your navy colored bra, slumped up against the wall, and legs dangling in front of him wasn’t something he could tear his eyes from.

All it took was your anxious bite on the inside of your cheek, for him to lunge forward. His chapped lips collided with yours, knocking your head back into the wall with his fervent kisses.

Grabbing your face, his shoulders moved to lean in closer; meet you in the middle even if it meant he had to lean down some. The small table that the mini fridge was sitting on hit against the wall with his eager force to stand between your legs.

He suck into your body and you succumbed to his touch, combing your fingers through his hair in attempt at bringing him closer. It was sloppy and sweet and needy with your tongues and teeth clashing.

You’d barely even kissed Chris before. Sure, there had been dates and small pecks on the cheek, in which you expressed blatant desire for one another, but nothing yet had declared any kind of title.

This though? There was nothing you could compare this to. Built up romantic and sexual tension both had let to the palpable need permeating the room.

He reluctantly pulled away to get some air. The two of you were panting, foreheads leaning on the other for support. You were both breathless from the intense makeout.

Both of your cheeks were hot and lips puffy.

“I’ve wanted,” Chris laughed and looked up at you, “to do that since...since we met in Astrology...last semester.” He could barely get the sentence out without taking too many breaths.

You admired blissfully at his hooded eyes and mussed hair; taking note of his staggered breaths for a second longer before giving in and taking his shirt by the fistfull, lowering him back down into you.

His mouth tackled yours for the second time, hungrily taking your lips between his. Chris moved his arms behind you, falling into you and drawing you closer to him so that you sat on the edge of the small fridge.

One arm supported your back, as he tenderly pressed kisses to your jaw, greedy to get his lips on every part you.

Chris’s fingers played with the hem of your running shorts, teasing the flimsy material and finally dipping underneath. Your black shorts moved past your hips and past your aching core before he stopped.

“Y/N…” Chris trailed off. He was a tongue tied mess.

It was now Chris’s turn for a rosy color to crawl up his face. “Y/N you don’t have any,” his heart rate could be seen with the rise and fall of his chest, “you don’t have any underwear on.”

You didn’t. “It’s been hot lately. I wasn’t anticipating anything like this to—”

“Shh,” he leaned in for a kiss before flashing his teeth.

He tightened his knuckles around the waistband and yanked the shorts below your knees, letting them fall to your ankles.

Your mouth fell open. Who knew Chris could be such a sly little tease.

You kicked off the restraining item of clothing so that Chris could be flush up against you.

Chris ran his hands along the expanse of your thighs, whining with the soft contact. How could you be so soft?

The heat from your core pressing against Chris’s thin shirt made him audibly groan. His eyes squeezed shut and you both looked down to see the wet spot you’d made on him.

“Baby,” Chris licked his lips, biting down on them.

He gave an appreciative shake of the head and it sent you craving more.

A hand was placed on the back of your neck so he could get his footing, moving aside so that your pussy was on full display in front of him. He lined up two fingers at your entrance to prep you and looked to you for confirmation.

You nodded, once again taking hold of the sides of the mini-fridge. The soft flow of air it was giving off was something you were more than thankful for. If it weren’t for Chris’s idea then the two of you might be having a heatstroke right about now.

His fingers eased into your wetness, wanting to relish in the pleasure it gave you. He wanted to watch as your eyes rolled back into your head.

After you grew used to the steady motion of his fingers, Chris picked up his pace. Your breath hitched in your chest as he plunged deep into you, pumping into your heat. His knees went weak at your soft moans, the short puffs of air you were letting out.

Chris didn’t even take notice of the throbbing in his pants.

He was too focused on how good he was making you feel. If he wasn’t in awe at your facial reactions, he was admiring the way your juices coated his hand.

He slowed his actions to glance over his shoulder. Everyone was still sweating in their seats, studying.

You furrowed your brow, still moaning from the ruthless curling of Chris’s fingers.

“Someone could see us,” a mischievous grin unfolded on his face. Instead of stopping and waiting to continue later, the thrill of being caught only excited him more.

It would be a lie if you said it didn’t make you hot either.

He stood back up, running his fingers over you once more.

His fingers went into his mouth and he sucked, waiting to taste you properly later on. The sight of sweet Chris doing such a thing turned you on even more.

The hem of his basketball shorts were all but shoved down. Chris’s cock was red, agitated from being subdued for so long. His head was swollen and dribbling with the pre-cum that you alone had caused.

Chris was blushing like crazy, aware of exactly what you were thinking.

You could help but admire him, shameless that he’d see you ogling him.

Sweet, shy Chris was hung like a horse. The awkward and timid boy who had trouble talking to people was hiding that in his pants?!

He was a flustered mess, insecure about the size of himself and a bashful to show you.

You only smiled, locking eyes with him and reassuring him with no words needed. Chris came closer, and carefully ran the length of his cock against you, gathering your juices to make an easy transition into you.

A sharp gasp escaped you when Chris pushed himself in. Even he couldn’t hold back his own sounds with your walls surrounding him. His moans were broken up in your ear as he filled you.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.

It was the soft curse from his innocent lips that prompted you to whimper. That word was something you’d never heard him say, let alone be used as a praise.

You clenched violently around him when his momentum increased; face scrunching up and hands gripping the fridge even tighter.

A single, dragging moan escaped you. It was so audibly from pleasure that if anyone heard they’d know exactly what it was, and you clenched your teeth to keep from continuing.

Chris hurriedly placed a hand over your mouth, glancing back, and whispered, “Try to stay quiet, understand?”

You nodded frantically, worried that someone might’ve heard you. Chris’s sudden, dark command caused the coils in your abdomen to tighten.

“They’d fire me if they found out,” he managed, the blush returning to his cheeks.

He held a vice grip on you, keeping you in place underneath him. His thumb pressed bruisingly into your hip with each fervent thrust. Your arms all but flung around him, hanging onto his back for dear life, no longer trusting the unstable fridge.

Chris pounded into you and so close from giving in; he pushed deep into you, unmoving. His hips began jerking erratically and you could sense he was about to come.

The thrusts into your throbbing cunt grew sloppy, irregular in pattern. Below him your legs began shaking, your body convulsing, and walls tensing up.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Chris cursed once more before bottoming out inside of you, bringing you with him.

He lay there on top of you, unable to move, still coming down from his high. Your combined fluids dripping down the back of your thighs and off of his cock. A deep groan came from the bottom of his throat as he lifted himself off of you.

The drawer next to you opened and Chris reached for his NASA sweater, using it to clean the both of you off.

All too soon, there were a set of footsteps approaching the front desk. In a frenzied attempt to clear the evidence, he pulled up his shorts and bending down to hand you yours.

“There. Go, go,” he pointed to the wall facing away from the counter for you to hide behind. You had more clothes to put on than he did and there was no way you could get dressed as fast.

A friend of Chris’s held a couple books in his hand, “Beck, you alright man? You’re still sweating like crazy and the ac kicked on like fifteen minutes ago.”

Chris put a hand on his hip, “Has it? Huh, it’s not working back here.”

He checked out the books for his friend and after their small talk Chris returned to your hiding place behind the wall.

You were standing where he’d asked you to hide, no fully clothed. From overhearing his conversation, you realized the air conditioning had come back on.

His gave you that dorky smile and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts, “So I take it you do like me?”

Chris’s light-hearted joke was definitely in character for him, unlike the sex the two of you just had moments ago. You would’ve never expected the soft Chris Beck to perform like that.

“And how’d you figure that one out?” you played along.

He took your hand in his, “Let me get you a lemonade. My shift is over and I hear it’s hot outside today. That, and I’ve been trying to ask out the most gorgeous and funny girl for months now and I’m just too shy every time.”

You giggled, “Was that your way of asking me out, Chris Beck?”

“If it was, what would your answer be?” he asked, hopefulness crowding his voice.

“Then I would say that I’d love to get a lemonade with you.”

PERMANENT TAGS:

@saharzek / @just-add-butter / @jitterbuck / @strawberrybucky / @laurfangirl424 / @bestbebucky / @sweetboybucky / @aletheladyinred / @impalaimages / @pizzarollpatrol / @lokigodofsasss / @xxashy999xx / @finecelle / @buckyofthemyscira / @thisismysecrethappyplace / @maefisher2003  / @lolabean1998 / @yenneffersstuff / @fabtasticass / @booksmarvelandfanfic  / @crazybutconfidentaf / @piensa-bonito / @chinalois / @siriuslyimmoony / @marvelous-avengers / @queenofkings121/ @gravedollie666 / @thesassmisstress / @givemethatgold / @teh-nerdette / @sebbysimblr / @nerd-without-a-cause / @awkwardfangirl2014

CHRIS BECK TAGS: