Ethan Ram-me’s Rookie

Choices//NSFW WARNING

[alpinebarnesworld]

[superbassbuck]

keep the lambs away.

pairing: lumberjack!bucky barnes x fisher!reader

warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, mean and dark!bucky, hairy bucky, size difference, rough animalistic sex behavior, blood and wounds, animal hunting, manipulation, touch starved, breeding kink, baby trapping, pet names: “sweets, sugar, little doll”

word count: 11.4k main masterlist || 🎨 art's moodboard event

a/n: thank you @artficlly for taking the time to host such a fun, creative event for writers to enjoy! be sure to check out the other works in the masterlist!

synopsis: After a fishing trip gone terribly wrong, you find yourself stranded and stumble upon a small cabin deep in the woods. The man who lives there ends up risking his life to save yours, and you take it upon yourself to stay, return the favor, and make it up to him. But what you didn't know is that Bucky has no intention of letting you go.

Twigs and dark leaves crunched beneath the heavy stomp of your boots, each step forcing you to draw a ragged, tired breath from your overworked lungs.

Your hands gripped the straps of your backpack; the fishing gear inside clinking inside as the weight pressed into your aching spine.

You had set out with friends, a group of self-proclaimed ‘natural adventurers.’ In hindsight, that confidence was your downfall. You had done the one thing every horror movie and survival guide warns against—and that was splitting up.

From there, the trip spiraled.

You lost signal, then your footing, and somewhere in the frantic scramble through the bushes and trees, you had lost your phone.

Now, deep within the woods under a sky of oppressive gray clouds, your legs were beginning to give out. But as you shoved past a dense thicket of damp leaves, the greenery finally parted.

There, nestled in the distance, sat a small cabin. A thin ghost of smoke drifted from its chimney, dissipating into the moist air.

Finally. A small, breathless prayer to whatever deity was watching over you. You weren’t alone out here after all.

The cabin looked small from a distance, but up close, it was plenty big enough to house a whole family.

Your body surged with a newfound spark of motivation at the possibility of finally finding salvation. Maybe they had a functioning phone you could use to call for help—or better yet, a truck to drive you back to the closest town, even if it was miles and miles away.

That hopeful feeling made the gear digging into your spine feel a little lighter as you trudged uphill past the rocks and bushes, closing the gap between you and the house.

As you got closer, you took in the land.

Chopped logs were piled messily at the side of the building. There was a long, wooden table with a large cutting knife sitting on top—presumably where the family cut and prepped their meat.

Drawing in a deep breath of encouragement, you carefully climbed the first few steps of the entry stairway. You reached the porch and raised a hand to knock on the heavy wooden door.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?”

You spun around.

A man was stomping toward the porch, a fresh pile of logs tucked under one massive arm and a grime streaked axe slung over his shoulder. He was intimidating, to say the least. His features were hard and unwelcoming, framed by matted, dark hair and an unkempt beard that shadowed a sharp jawline. A sweat stained red henley clung to his broad chest and muscular forearms, which were mapped with the scars of years of manual labor.

His cold blue eyes pinned you to the spot, glaring at you with pure, unadulterated hostility.

“U-um,” you stammered, taking a quick step away from the door. “I mean no harm, sir. I’m just here to—”

“Get the fuck off my property,” he growled.

He dropped the logs—but kept a firm grip on the axe—as he marched toward you, his heavy boots grating against the dirt.

Jesus Christ. What did you get yourself into?

Just when you thought you’d finally found help, it was just your luck to stumble across an axe-murderer instead.

You quickly scrambled down the steps, raising your hands to show you came in peace.

“Sir, please!” you winced, trying to stand your ground. “I’m lost. I… I promise you. I was out on a fishing trip and I—”

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed. He approached just enough to get a good look at you, yet staying just out of arm’s reach. He nodded toward the heavy pack on your back. “Take it off.”

“… Excuse me?”

“Remove your backpack,” the man clarified harshly. “If you mean what you say, then you should have no problem with me goin’ through your stuff.”

With a hard swallow, you slowly removed your backpack as instructed. It was far too heavy to carry with just two arms, but as you strained to pass it to him, he snatched it out of your hands in one quick motion. You couldn’t help but wince at both his strength and rudeness.

He set the axe on the ground, and you finally let out a small breath of relief. He began to rummage through your pack, taking note of the fishing rods and reels, and digging through the fishing lines and tackle boxes filled with various lures. He sifted through the other emergency supplies—a flashlight, a couple of granola bars, and some first aid stuff— a bottle of rubbing alcohol and bandaids.

“See?” you huffed, a little spark of pride returning to your voice. “I told you. I was out on a fishing trip and I got lost—”

“Hands up,” he instructed, stepping toward you. “I’m goin’ to pat you down.”

You blinked. “Pat me down?” you repeated in disbelief. “For what—!”

Before you could even finish the sentence, and long before you gave him permission, two large, rough hands gripped your arms and started patting down your sleeves. You squirmed a little under his touch, but that didn’t stop him. His hands then moved to your waist, patting firmly through the fabric of your clothes.

To save yourself from the awkwardness of the inspection, you cleared your throat and gave him your name.

“…What’s yours?” you then asked.

He ignored you.

Your breath hitched and your face grew warm as his hands continued further down—to your hips, and then between your legs.

Once the man was satisfied that you weren’t a threat, he pushed himself up with a groan and finally looked you in the eye.

“Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeated softly. “Great. Well, now that we’ve got all this…” you motioned to yourself and your bag that he left on the ground, “sorted out, do you have a telephone I can use to call my friends?”

Bucky’s dull expression didn’t change. “No phone.”

He didn’t bother to elaborate, either.

He reached down, snatched his axe off the ground, and headed back toward his pile of wood. Thunder started to crackle in the heavy clouds above you as you hurried to grab your pack, stumbling slightly as you tried to keep up with him.

“W-wait, okay—no phone. Fine. But do you have a vehicle or something? A ride to take me back to the nearest town, perhaps?”

“No ride,” was all he said, his voice flat as he started tossing the logs into the existing pile.

What?

No ride?

You couldn’t tell if this man was telling the truth—or if he was using these clipped, short answers just to fuck with you. But as you watched him lift his axe and deliver a swing to a log with perfect precision, you realized maybe this guy didn’t have time nor energy to play around.

That conclusion was almost worse than him joking.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have a functioning phone and you don’t own a vehicle?” you questioned in disbelief. “Then how do you get around?”

You could see the irritation building in his already grumpy features.

“Everythin’ I need is right here,” he grumbled. “Catch my own food. Build my own house. Don’t need to rely on anybody else.”

Your heart started to race as panic settled in.

“Do you know where the nearest town is?” you asked, your hands tightening around the straps of your pack. “Maybe I can get there before sundown—”

Bucky looked up at the sky, taking in the thick clouds and the moisture building in the air, before he looked back down at his logs. He delivered another hard chop before answering.

“Not a good idea,” he mumbled. “Looks like a storm is comin’.”

The forecast before you left this morning had promised a sunny day—but with the clouds thickening, the possibility of rain wasn’t low.

Still, a storm sounded like an exaggeration. A light trickle, at most.

“Can you please just tell me where the closest town is? The sooner you tell me, the faster I’ll get out of your hair.” You pressed.

He set the axe down and wiped the sweat streaking his forehead with his dirty forearm. He looked at you, letting out a slow, impatient breath.

“To the south,” he pointed behind you. “Go straight until you hit the road, then make a left. Though if you leave now, you’ll get caught up in the storm ‘fore you even make it to the street.”

You looked in the direction he was pointing—all you could see was a thick density of bushes and trees. You glanced back at him and gave him a short nod.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, though you hardly meant it because he had hardly been helpful.

As you began to turn and tread through the brush toward the south, Bucky called out, making you pause for just a second.

“I’m tellin’ you, lady, s’not a good idea to leave now,” he warned. “There are some dangerous animals out there—and the storm ain’t goin’ to do you any favors.”

You didn’t listen. You had to get back home. Adjusting your heavy pack and pushing through the dense treeline, you left both the man and his warnings behind you.

For the first twenty minutes, you felt pretty confident.

The woods were quiet, and though your legs were on fire and your back was aching, you felt like you were making good progress.

Then, the first cold drop hit the back of your neck.

A light trickle followed, tapping against the leaves above you. Within minutes, the sky seemed to open up entirely. The ‘light trickle’ you had predicted transformed into a heavy downpour, turning the forest floor into a messy slurry of mud that made your boots slip with every step.

The wind began to pick up, howling through the branches and making the trees groan around you. You squinted through the fog and the heavy curtain of rain, realizing you couldn’t see more than ten feet in any direction.

You were shivering, your hair was completely drenched, and your clothes were soaked through to the bone.

Just keep going straight, you told yourself. As long as you keep going straight, you'll be fine.

Then, a low snarl crept up behind you—and that sure as hell didn’t come from the wind.

Your whole body froze. To your right, partially obscured by dense ferns, a lean, gray shape shifted. It wasn’t a coyote—no, it was far too large. It was a gray wolf, its fur matted and dark with rain, stepped into the small clearing.

“Oh… my god,” you breathed to yourself.

Your heart was beating so fast you couldn’t hear anything else. Every survival tip you had ever read vanished from your mind; the only thing you could think to do was run.

And that’s exactly what you did.

The moment your heels spun, the forest became a blurry nightmare. Your heavy pack bounced violently against your spine as you bolted, not even daring to look back. You just ran and ran, your lungs burning with every inhale.

Then, like an idiot, your boot hit a mud covered root.

Your heart leaped into your throat as your feet slipped out from under you. You let out a sharp gasp, tumbling forward until your shoulder collided hard with the trunk of a thick oak tree. The impact knocked the wind clean out of you, leaving you gasping and dazed in the mud.

A hungry growl vibrated through the air, cutting through the roar of the pouring rain. You looked up just in time to see the gray mass of the wolf taking eager steps toward you, its jaws snapping for your throat.

In a blind, frantic panic, your hand slapped against the side pocket of your backpack. Your fingers curled around the cold canister of bear spray you packed but never actually used.

You ripped it out clumsily, shoved it forward, and squeezed the trigger.

A cloud of stinging orange mist exploded into the air. The wolf’s head snapped back as it landed a few feet away, pawing at its face and whining as the chemicals hit its sensitive nose and eyes.

You scrambled to find your footing, your hands shaking so hard you could barely push yourself up. Just as you were about to make another break for it, a massive shadow blurred past you.

“You idiot!” he hissed angrily, his voice a ragged pant. “What did I tell you!?”

Bucky.

Anger clouded his face, his chest heaving as he gripped a knife in one large hand. Without hesitation, he launched himself at the disoriented animal. As he pounced, the wolf lashed out, its claws swiping across Bucky’s leg.

He let out a pained yell. “Ah, fuck!”

It seemed like he had done this a dozen times before, adjusting his heavy weight until he finally pinned the weakened animal into the mud. The wolf snarled, snapping its jaws blindly, but Bucky’s grip was like metal. His large, scarred hand clamped down on the back of the wolf’s neck, the veins in his forearms tensing as he forced its head into the dirt.

With a loud groan of effort, he drove the blade deep into the side of the wolf’s neck, right behind the jaw.

The animal threw out one violent kick that nearly knocked him off before Bucky adjusted his weight again, twisting the knife to sever the artery.

The wolf let out a weak wheeze before it finally stilled. Bucky remained over the carcass for a moment, his clothes soaked with rain and blood dripping down his leg. He let out a slow, steadying breath before he stood up, wiping the blade on his already dirty jeans.

He turned his cold, blue gaze toward you, and for a second, his eyes resembled the wolf’s—angry and grim.

“I told you, stupid girl,” he growled, his voice barely audible over the storm. “I fuckin’ told you.”

All of it happened in a blur.

One second, you were tumbling through the woods, just a moment away from losing your life. The next, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s cabin. Your body felt frozen, your pulse still thrumming wildly as your drenched clothes clung to your skin like a layer of ice. You only snapped out of the haze when you felt Bucky’s hands peeling the pack off your shoulders.

When he reached for the zipper of your jacket, you flinched.

“Hey!” you gasped, your voice cracking. “What are you doing—?”

“I’m helpin’ you,” Bucky grunted, sounding offended.

“I don’t need you to remove my jacket for me,” you snapped, though your hands were shaking too hard to even find the zipper.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, and you watched his jaw tick. He looked terrifying in the dim light of the cabin—water dripped from his matted hair, his chest heaved with the earlier adrenaline of the kill, and fresh blood stained the denim of his jeans where the wolf had lashed out.

He took a step forward, closing the distance between you until he looked down at you.

“Listen, girl,” he hissed impatiently. “I just saved your goddamn life. Now here I am, lettin’ you into my home, about to offer you my damn shower—and this is what you say to me?”

You let out a shaky breath, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. He was right. He had saved you.

Your eyes trailed down to the jagged cut on his thigh. “You’re bleeding,” you pointed out. “You need to take care of that wound, or it’ll get infected.”

Bucky only scoffed, stepping away and shaking his head at you as if you were the most frustrating thing he had ever encountered.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, make a left,” he gruffed, already turning his back on you. “And don’t take too long—I need to use it after you.”

Not wanting to risk upsetting him further, you took it upon yourself to head toward the bathroom.

The cabin was certainly large enough to house a small family, which only made you wonder more if he really lived here all alone. The walls were stripped of anything personal—no photos, no decor—aside from a few scattered post-its and scraps of paper covered in messy handwriting, tacked up with rusted nails.

As you neared the bathroom, you noticed the bedroom right next to it. The door was cracked open just barely and curiosity got the better of you.

Leaning back slightly, you caught a glimpse of his private space. It was sparse, but in the center sat what looks to be a queen sized bed. It looked massive in the small room—certainly big enough to fit another person.

“You found it?” Bucky shouted from across the cabin, snapping you back.

“Yeah—I did. Thanks!” you called back, your heart giving a small, startled jump.

After settling into the hot shower, the steam finally began to sedate the bone chilling cold from your limbs. You scrubbed the mud and gunk from your skin with the harsh lye soap. Stepping out, you quickly reached for one of the rough, oversized towels.

You had just managed to tuck the fabric securely around your chest, shivering as the cool air hit your damp skin, when the door suddenly creaked open.

“Jesus!” you yelped, clutching the towel tighter and stumbling against the counter. “Knock much?”

Bucky didn’t enter the room. He just stood stiffly in the gap of the doorway.

In his hand, he held out a bundle of folded fabric— a worn, massive white T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts that looked like they could fit two of you.

“Not used to company,” he mumbled. He reached out and set the pile of clothes on the edge of the sink without a single glance in your direction. “‘Sides, I’m not interestin’ in lookin’.”

He didn’t wait for a ‘thank you’ or for you to yell at him to get out. He simply pulled the door shut.

Eventually, you changed into the clothes he provided.

With every step you took out of the bathroom, the shorts threatened to slip past your hips, forcing you to yank the drawstrings tighter. The clothes didn’t smell like fabric softener, but it carried a scent that was distinctly him and the rest of the cabin— pine, and woodsmoke.

Returning to the living room, you found Bucky sitting in one of the wooden chairs, his leg propped up as he examined the angry red gashes on his thigh. He hissed, his jaw tightening as he accidentally grazed the wound with his thumb.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower,” you spoke up, catching his attention.

Your eyes caught the deep gashes on his leg.

“Do you need help?” you offered again. “I can help you clean that up. I have some antiseptics and bandages in my pack.”

Bucky didn’t look up, his fingers hovering stiffly over the torn skin.

“No need,” he said roughly, his voice strained.

It was clear to you that the adrenaline was finally wearing off and the real pain was setting in. He gripped the edges of the wooden chair, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to stand. He took a single step, his breath hitching as he leaned heavily on his good leg, and began to limp toward the bathroom.

You frowned. “Are you sure—”

“I told you and I’ll keep tellin’ you,” he grunted through the pain, “I don’t need your help, girl.”

Then, he disappeared down the hall and shoved the door shut.

You tried to make yourself comfortable in the dim cabin, but a sudden, strangled shout of pain echoed through the walls. The sound made you jump—an involuntary yell painfully tore straight from Bucky’s throat. Something heavy hit the floor, maybe a stool? Or a basin? Then it was followed by the sound of ragged breathing and more muffled grunts.

“Bucky?” you called out, taking a careful step toward the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

There was no answer.

You stood outside the door, trying to respect his privacy, until another pained groan reached your ears. Your stomach twisted. Despite his prickly attitude, he was obviously struggling with a wound far worse than he wanted to admit—and standing here, not doing anything to help him after he saved your life, only made you feel worse.

“Bucky, I’m coming in,” you warned, your hand reaching for the doorknob.

You waited one more second, expecting him to curse at you to stay out, but the only sound was his labored breathing.

So, you took it upon yourself to push the door open.

Inside, Bucky was laid out in the tub—naked, of course.

His head lolled back against the porcelain as he fought to steady his breath. His dirty, blood stained clothes were piled in a heap on the floor, leaving trails of mud and grime everywhere. The tub was filled with soapy water, and while he was bare beneath the surface, your eyes didn’t wander—you didn’t care to look.

Your entire focus was pinned to his leg, which he had propped up on the edge of the tub.

Stripped of the dark denim, the damage was more visible. The wolf’s claws had dug deep, leaving uneven, angry furrows that were weeping blood into the water. The skin around the punctures was already beginning to puff and redden, and with the grime from the forest floor mashed into the open wounds, it looked even worse.

“Jesus,” you gasped, kneeling beside him to examine the damage. “Bucky, this looks like it’s already getting infected.”

Without giving him the chance to pull away, you reached out and pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning up—the heat radiating off his skin was alarming, a telltale sign his body was already struggling to fight the bacteria from the wolf’s claws.

“You’re overheating!”

Bucky’s eyes remained shut, his thick lashes casting long shadows against his pale, sweaty cheeks. A low, delirious mumble escaped him as his head rolled further to the side.

“...Tired,” he croaked.

Your frown deepened. “Stay right there. Don’t move,” you commanded, though it was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere.

Before he could argue, you scrambled out of the bathroom. Bucky’s vision was disoriented and blurry, his mind racing through a fog of fever.

Just my luck, huh?

He had been minding his own business until you showed up on his doorstep. His only excuse for following you was a half baked thought about picking berries to go with his meat before the storm broke—and he just happened to grab a knife, and he just happened to head south in the exact direction you walked off to.

Damn. He was a fucking idiot.

You hurried back into the bathroom, clutching the antiseptic, a roll of sterile gauze, and a small bottle of ibuprofen tightly in your hands.

You knelt by the edge of the tub again, popping the cap off the antiseptic. “This is going to sting. Just try to breathe.”

As the cool, medicinal liquid hit his cuts, Bucky’s body jerked causing the water to slosh. A sharp hiss whistled through his teeth, his fingers gripping the wet ledge of the tub. He stared at you warily through heavy, lidded eyes.

Just like the wolf he had saved you from, he looked as if he were ready to pounce.

He wasn’t used to this. For as long as he could remember, pain was something to be swallowed with a bottle of whiskey and a needle and thread. He had built his own house, caught his own food, and bled his own blood without a soul nearby to witness it.

That was the whole point of being out here.

But as you meticulously cleaned the wounds, your touch was... different.

It was soft, steady, and gentle. He hadn’t felt anything like it in years. He had forgotten what it was even like to be tended to.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he watched you focus, your bottom lip caught between your teeth in concentration as you began to wrap the clean white gauze around his thigh.

“There,” you said softly, setting the tools down and offering him a weary smile.

You looked at him as if you were expecting a thank you, but the words didn’t come.

He let out a slow, shaky breath and let his head thud back against the tub. He was a fool for letting a stranger in, a bigger fool for letting her see him like this—but as the pain started to dull into a throb, he found he didn’t really care.

Sensing his need for space, you got up slowly. “I’ll let you be. When the storm clears up, I’ll be out of your hair—for real this time.”

Just as you turned for the door, Bucky’s hand shot out of the tub, catching your wrist and splattering water across the floor.

“Take the bed tonight,” he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You blinked at him. The couch? That tiny thing?

“Sorry, but your couch is far too small for someone like you,” you said, half-insulting his choice in furniture. “Besides, you need proper rest to heal up. I’ll take the couch.”

Bucky’s hand lingered around your wrist for a moment. You expected him to protest further, but it seemed his energy was finally spent.

With a tired sigh, he dropped his hand, letting it hang limply over the side of the tub.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

He had a dreadful feeling it was going to be a long night.

By the time Bucky woke up, the storm had retreated, leaving behind a world that smelled of damp earth and pine needles. Sunlight pierced through the bedroom window, cutting a sharp line across the bed where he lay alone.

He groaned, his eyes snapping open as he braced himself for the throbbing pain in his leg. He reached down, his fingers brushing against the white gauze you had wrapped around his thigh.

To his surprise, the skin wasn’t burning anymore. The fever had also broken. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, testing his strength.

There was a dull ache, sure, but he was steady enough to stand on his own.

He pulled on a clean pair of jeans and limped out into the living room, expecting to find you still curled up on that cramped, uncomfortable couch. A stray thought crossed his mind… that maybe he should’ve invited you to share the bed, but even he knew that would have been going too far for a stranger.

When he reached the living room, he found the couch empty. The rough wool blanket he had given you was folded neatly at one end, and when his eyes shifted to the corner where your heavy pack had been sitting, he found nothing but the bare floor.

His jaw tightened.

A strange, lonely feeling settled in his chest. A feeling he hadn’t felt in years and didn’t care to name. Of course you were gone. You had hiked out the moment the rain stopped, just like you said you would.

All he could do now was hope you made it to town safely.

He grabbed his boots and stepped out onto the porch, intending to finish the woodpile he abandoned yesterday. The air was crisp, and the forest was alive with the sound of dripping eaves and morning birds. He took a deep breath, turning his gaze toward the lake to check the water levels after the storm.

He froze.

Down by the lake, silhouetted against the sparkling reflection of the morning sun, was a figure. You were crouching by the water’s edge, his oversized white T-shirt tucked into those ridiculous drawstring shorts with a fishing line in your hands.

As he watched, you reached down and hoisted a small wicker basket— likely something he kept in the shed for gathering berries—and he could see the shimmer of scales thrashing inside.

By the looks of it, you had already caught three or four good-sized trout.

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He began to descend the porch steps, his limp much less pronounced than it had been the night before. The damp grass flattened under his boots as he made his way toward the bank, the sound of his approach masked by the gentle lapping of the lake against the stones.

“Thought you said you were leavin’,” he called out, his voice gravelly with sleep.

You jumped, nearly dropping the basket back into the water as you spun around. Your hair was a mess of tangled waves and there were smears of mud on your shins, but your eyes were bright—clear of the panic from the night before.

“Oh!” you smiled at the sight of him. “You’re still alive!” You hoisted the basket up with straining arms, making your way toward him. “I caught you some fish—you eat fish, right?”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “More of a red meat kind of guy.”

“Well... fish is good for you,” you informed him, trekking past him barefoot with the heavy basket. “And I’m going to fix you up some breakfast.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as you reached him. “Don’t waste your effort,” he huffed, still looking as grumpy as ever. “I like my breakfast done a certain way.”

You ignored him, walking right past and back toward the cabin. “You should lay back down and take it easy. Consider this a thank you for saving my life yesterday.”

“I don’t need you playing house,” Bucky mumbled grumpily, following you through the cabin and into the kitchen. “I’ve been feedin’ myself since before you were born. Put those down, I’ll do it.”

You didn’t even look back as you set the wicker basket on the wooden counter. “Sit. Down. Bucky.”

He opened his mouth to snap back—to tell you exactly whose house this was and who was in charge—but the stubborn confidence in your voice caught him off guard. Up until this moment, he pinned you as a naive, helpless girl who couldn’t survive a night without his intervention.

He huffed, sounding like a disgruntled bear, and finally lowered himself into the sturdy wooden chair at the head of the table. A low groan escaped his throat as he eased his shoulders, his injured leg pulsing— a none too friendly reminder of why he shouldn’t have been standing anyway.

From his seat, he watched you move.

“Not only can I catch fish,” you said, getting to work, “but I can also cook it well.”

The cabin, which usually felt cold and cavernous, suddenly felt smaller and more… domestic.

You moved around his kitchen, your bare feet moving across his rough floorboards. You looked ridiculous in his clothes; the hem of his white T-shirt tucked into the oversized shorts, and the sleeves rolled up in thick bundles just so you could use your hands.

He watched the sunlight catch the dampness of your hair as you began to prep the fish. The sight of a woman in his space—wearing his shirt, smelling like his soap, and ignoring his bad attitude just to make sure he was fed—hit him harder than he expected.

“Christ,” he cursed under his breath.

For most of his years, he believed isolation was his only sanctuary. But watching you, he realized things he never thought he would feel.

He liked seeing this—a beautiful woman, clean and comfortable, cooking just for him. He could already picture it, coming home from a long day of chopping wood or hunting, only to find you like this. Safe and sound.

He liked the idea of having someone to protect.

Bucky was suddenly feeling very hungry now, and it wasn’t just for the fish.

“You’re gonna burn ‘em,” he muttered, though his eyes were soft as he watched your back. “Pan needs more grease.”

“I’ve got it, Bucky,” you replied, glancing playfully over your shoulder. “Stop worrying that old head of yours.”

“Old?” Bucky grumbled, though a faint, reluctant twitch of a smile played on his lips.

You turned back to the counter as you began to slice the trout into neat fillets.

“You know,” you began, tone light and teasing, “in my friend group, they called me the Fish Whisperer. Or the Fish Butcher. One of those. It depended on how much wine was involved in the cooking process.”

You let out a small, self deprecating chuckle, turning your head to see if you could pull another reaction out of him. But as you looked back down to finish a particularly tricky cut near the bone, your damp finger slipped on the smooth handle.

The blade skidded across the scales, coming dangerously close to your thumb. You let out a sharp, panicked gasp, pulling your hand back just as the tip of the knife bit into the wooden cutting board.

“Crap—!”

Despite his injured leg, Bucky moved with that same quick, almost predatory speed you had seen in the forest.

In a heartbeat, he was already hovering over you, his large hand reaching out to steady your wrist while his other instinctively moved to your lower back to stabilize you.

“Careful, sweets,” he rumbled into a protective growl.

You swallowed hard at his sudden closeness, his chest pressing against your shoulder. His grip on your wrist was firm but careful—the touch of a man who knew exactly how much damage his hands could do and was choosing, with every ounce of his will, to be gentle.

“Bucky…” you breathed, trying to still your heartbeat. “Are… are you okay?”

You stayed frozen, feeling his warm breath against the side of your neck. He let out a shaky breath, as if trying to stabilize his own heart, his thumb tracing a slow, distracting line over where your blood rushed in your wrist.

“I… just don’t want you hurtin’ yourself,” he said slowly, his voice thick and low. “That’s all.”

Since that little mishap with the knife, the tension in the cabin was suffocatingly thick—and you weren’t entirely sure if Bucky felt it, though he was certainly the cause of it.

By the time you finished preparing breakfast, you laid everything out on the table. Even with your back turned, you could feel his shameless stare burning through the thin fabric of the white T-shirt you wore.

“Where’s the cutlery?” you asked, turning to him.

He simply shrugged, his gaze glued on you before he looked down at the food.

“Your hands are the cutlery,” he said flatly.

You didn’t think it was possible, but eating with your hands only increased the tension tenfold.

You picked carefully at the fish, trying to maintain some level of decency, but Bucky was another story entirely. He went after the meal like a ravenous animal, picking the trout apart with his bare hands. You didn’t even need to ask if he liked the food; the way he was scarfing it down told you everything you needed to know.

You swore he didn’t look away from you once.

Leaning forward with his elbows heavy on the wooden table, he used his blunt, calloused fingers to strip the flaky white meat from the bone. Every time he finished a piece, he licked his thumb and forefinger clean with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue. His eyes remained glued to yours, dark and unreadable, as he licked his lips.

All of this made a strange heat crawl up your neck, and with no napkins in sight, you eventually had no choice but to follow suit.

You hesitantly lifted your hand, licking the salty grease from your own fingertips. The moment you did, Bucky stopped chewing. He went completely still, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his dark blue eyes tracking the movement with a sudden, sharp hunger. He watched every motion, his jaw clenching as he seemed hypnotized by the way your tongue moved.

Small, was all he thought as he felt his body warm. But it’ll do.

“I suppose I should take my leave after this,” you announced mid chew. “Thank you for everything—”

“You shouldn’t,” Bucky interrupted suddenly, a piece of fish still caught between his fingers. “There might be another storm tonight.”

Your brows furrowed. Another storm? While the mountain weather was notoriously unpredictable, the sky outside was currently a clear, piercing blue.

Although he proved himself right yesterday, another storm seemed today entirely unlikely.

Pushing out of your chair and grabbing your plate, you made your way to the sink.

“Well, in that case, I should leave now. The sooner the better—”

“Good luck with that,” he huffed, his tone sharpening with what seems like restless impatience. “The mud and the terrain from yesterday’s mess will only slow you down. You’ll be lucky to make it a mile before you’re stuck again.”

He took a quick sip of his water, letting out a satisfied exhale as his gaze settled on you. “Best you wait ‘til tomorrow.”

You stood by the sink, staring out the window as you weighed your options. Your friends and family were likely worried sick, perhaps already calling for a search party, and the thought of them panicking made your chest hurt with guilt.

But then, you remembered everything that had happened yesterday.

The storm, the wolf, the bone chilling rain, and the way the world had turned into a sliding, muddy trap. Bucky was right about the terrain—if you went out there and twisted an ankle or got lost in the washouts, there wouldn’t be anyone to save you a second time.

You were completely oblivious to the way Bucky’s eyes traced your body. You didn’t notice how he was manipulating the trauma of yesterday to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

In his kitchen, in his shirt, and under his roof—permanently in his sights.

“I… I guess you’re right,” you admitted softly, finally turning back to face him. “I don’t think I have another fight in me today. If the mud is really that bad, I’d just be a liability.”

Bucky didn’t smile—that would have been too obvious—but the tension in his shoulders eased instantly.

“Smart girl,” he rumbled, picking up another piece of fish before tossing it in his mouth. “No sense in chancing it. The woods don’t give second chances twice in a row.”

“I’ll just… stay out of your way, then,” you murmured, feeling a strange mix of relief and unease. “I can help with the chores? Or the woodpile?”

Bucky hummed, pretending to ponder the offer, though he already knew exactly what he wanted out of you.

“I’ll take care of the heavy liftin’,” he explained. “You can help me clean the place a bit—or catch some more fish for dinner.”

“You liked my fish?” you asked, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky pushed himself out of the chair with a grunt and met you at the sink, handing you his plate. “Guess you were right,” he gruffed. “You can cook, sugar.”

Your face warmed at the nickname. It seemed so at odds with a man as burly and grumpy as Bucky, yet it fell from his lips so naturally.

“Okay,” you agreed, setting the plates in the basin and turning on the tap. “Anything to help lighten your load. Thank you for letting me stay another night, Bucky. I really don’t know how to repay you.”

A swell of satisfaction and pride settled in his gut.

He liked this.

No—he loved this.

“Look at you, doin’ the dishes,” he noted with a nod toward the sink. “That’s already doin’ more than enough.”

He raised his hand to give you a gentle pat on the back, though his body yearned for something more—to press a kiss to your forehead, the way a husband might for a wife.

“I’ll go fetch some firewood to keep the place warm for when that storm hits,” he said, already turning toward the door. “Just stay here. Clean up, catch the fish. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt or lost again, little doll.”

The storm might not have been coming, but as far as he was concerned, you weren’t going anywhere.

For the rest of the day, you did exactly as instructed.

Despite your insistence that he stay off his leg, Bucky spent the entire afternoon outside. While you cleaned the cabin, the thud of his axe echoed against the trees.

Eventually, you headed back down to the water, but the moment you began fishing, you felt the pierce of a gaze tracking your every move. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, you found Bucky only a few feet away, wiping sweat from his forehead, his chest heaving from the labor— but his eyes never left you.

When you moved down the shoreline, or stumbled over a slick rock, or struggled with a particularly strong fish fight, Bucky was at your side in an instant.

“Careful, sweets.”

“Mind your step. Can’t concentrate on my own work if you’re stumblin’ all over the place, little doll.”

“I saw you fall just a moment ago. Sit down—let me check your leg.”

You kept promising you were fine, but nothing seemed to soothe his protective instincts.

You didn’t want to call him suffocating—he was certainly kinder than when you came across him yesterday—but the unwarranted attention he kept giving you felt restless.

As the day bled into evening, you noticed there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky.

You waited, even as you cooked dinner and set the table while Bucky washed up, but by the time the sun had completely fell below the horizon, the air remained still, dark, and clear.

There was no storm.

And it was too late to start the trek to town now.

You and Bucky were sitting at the dinner table yet again, but since the sun went down, neither of you had spoken a single word to each other.

“Hey, Bucky?” you called out.

He didn’t look up. His eyes were glued to the plate as he scarfed down the meal you made the same way he had earlier this morning. When he didn’t answer, you tried again, firmer this time.

“Bucky. There’s no storm like you said there would be.”

Bucky swiped a hand across his mouth, clearing the grease. “I guess not.”

A slow, impatient exhale left your nose. Bucky sensed your tension, and he narrowed his eyes at you, displeased. He rested both heavy forearms on the table and leaned in.

“It’s good that you stayed,” he pointed out, his voice low like a warning. “It’s better bein’ safe than sorry. You should know that by now—’specially after yesterday, sugar.”

Your frown only deepened, and Bucky’s jaw tightened. He clearly wasn’t pleased by how eager you were to leave him.

“I know,” you sighed, looking toward the dark window. “It’s just... my friends and family must be worried sick. If I had left earlier, I could have been home by now.”

“If you had left earlier, you wouldn’t have made me that delicious breakfast for savin’ your life,” Bucky reminded you, his tone sharp with impatience. He shoved his empty plate aside and leaned back in his chair, making it groan. “You should sleep in the bed tonight.”

“What?” You blinked, not quite comprehending his words. “No. Your leg still needs to heal, and that couch is far too small for you—”

“No one takes the couch,” he cut you off like a command. “We both share the bed tonight. There’s plenty of space.”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the dark hallway that led to the bedroom.

The thought of sharing a bed with him—this hulking, unpredictable man, made your pulse race. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you pointed out softly. “I’m perfectly fine on the couch, really.”

“If you’re gonna trek tomorrow morning, you’ll need all the sleep you can get.”

He pushed his chair back, the heavy wood scraping harshly against the floorboards as he stood and began to limp toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” he grunted, not even checking to see if you were following. “I’ve got a set of clothes you can change into.”

With a defeated sigh, you followed him. By the time you reached the bedroom, Bucky was already rummaging through a heavy dresser in the corner. He pulled out another oversized white T-shirt and held it out to you.

“Here.”

“And the pants?” you asked, taking the soft fabric from his hand.

“All I’ve got are sweatpants that’d be way too damn big for you,” he said, shoving the drawer shut. “Unless you want to sleep in jeans?”

You swallowed hard. Sleeping without pants? You looked down at the drawstring shorts you had been wearing all day—stained with mud and smelling of the lake from your fishing trip.

“I’ll just wear these again,” you decided.

Bucky looked at you, his expression darkening with displeasure.

“No. Those are dirty,” he gruffed. “The shirt’s big enough to be a night dress. You’ll be fine.”

His tone left no room for nos or further objections. It wasn’t a request but rather an arrangement he had already finalized in his head.

After retreating to the washroom to change into the fresh shirt, you returned to find Bucky already stretched out on the mattress, his large frame covered by the sheets, taking up half the bed as he waited for you.

The sight of you standing in the doorframe wearing nothing but his shirt made the fabric of his pajama pants feel suddenly, painfully tight. He wasn’t sure he would even survive the night with you lying right next to him.

He scooted over, clearing a space for you while trying to discreetly adjust himself beneath the quilts.

You made your way to your side of the bed, sliding under the covers and lying stiffly beside him.

You stared up at the ceiling, feeling completely out of place in the quiet, suffocating cabin. Beside you, Bucky lay perfectly comfortable.

To him, this was exactly where you belonged.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t leave today,” he said, though the apology rang a little hollow. “I was just lookin’ out for you.”

You turned your head toward him, your hair fanning out across his pillowcase. Bucky’s heart strummed in his chest at the sight of you.

He could get used to waking up to this every morning.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him with a soft, tired smile, though he could still sense the disappointment behind it. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Exactly right, sugar.”

From your short time knowing Bucky, it hadn’t taken long to notice just how… blatant he was with his staring. Even now, lying together shoulder to shoulder, his blue eyes were piercing right through yours.

Unreadable and unwavering.

You swallowed hard, trying to break the tension. “How’s your leg?”

“Still hurts,” he mumbled lowly. “But I’m feelin’ a lot better lyin’ next to a pretty girl.”

So much for breaking the tension.

His words, intimate and entirely unexpected, filled you with embarassment. Staring back at him, you had known from the very start how handsome he was beneath all that grumpiness, the tired eyes, and the dark shadow of stubble.

You hadn’t pegged someone like him as the flirtatious type. But as you searched his expression, you couldn’t tell if he even realized he was doing it, or if he was simply saying the first thing that came to his mind.

Averting your gaze, you stared into the dark corner of the room.

“Y-you’re ridiculous,” you stammered, breathless.

Bucky’s large, calloused hand reached out, his fingers hooking gently under your chin. He tilted your face back to him, forcing you to meet his eyes yet again.

“For tellin’ the truth?” he rumbled, his voice filling the tense air between you.

You couldn’t move, held captive by his touch and the intensity of his stare.

You watched as his eyes began a slow and hungry journey. He traced the line of your forehead, the curve of your cheek, and then dropped to your mouth, lingering there until your lips parted involuntarily to suck in a breath.

“Pretty,” he mumbled so quiet, it was like he was speaking to himself.

His gaze continued downward, looking at the delicate column of your throat, then further still, taking in the way his oversized shirt draped over your body, shifting with every shallow breath you took.

When his eyes finally snapped back to yours, they were darker than before—pupils blown wide.

“So goddamn pretty.”

“I…” you started, not quite sure what to say, “t-thank you.”

There was a moment of silence between you two, and throughout the quiet, Bucky’s hands began to be more bold in its movements. He caressed your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before trailing his thumb slowly over your bottom lip. He watched with a dark, satisfied grin when your breath hitched.

“You know, bein’ out here alone all these years... it makes a man yearn for things,” Bucky started to explain in a low, gravelly whisper. “Things a man like me thought he’d never have.”

“Like what?” you breathed.

“A family,” he answered with what sounded like a dreamy sigh. “I’ve seen it everywhere in these woods. Bears protectin’ their cubs, birds tendin’ to their nests. It’s the most natural, beautiful thing there is—that kind of connection. I just know havin’ somethin’ special like that... it’d finally bring me peace.”

You weren’t entirely sure where he was going with the confession, but all you felt you could do was nod and offer him sympathy.

“I hope you find that peace one day, Bucky.”

Then, his hand suddenly trailed from your cheek down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around the delicate skin of your neck in a gentle yet possessive squeeze that made you gasp.

“Feels like I already have, little doll.”

Bucky didn’t give you the chance to breathe, let alone retract the invitation he saw in your eyes.

He closed the space between you two, his mouth crashing against yours with a hunger only a man like him—starved and isolated for decades—could possess.

It wasn’t gentle at all. It was more like a claim.

His lips were rough, and his tongue swept against yours messily and hungrily. He moved like a man who hadn’t shared a kiss with a woman in his lifetime—like a man who was dying for the touch of another person.

You melted into the mattress as he moved more eagerly against you, the sheets ruffling as he hovered over you. One of his hands held you still by side of your neck while the other wandered your body through the thin fabric of his own shirt. His rough hand, warm and calloused, groped and fondled you through the flimsy white cotton, making you gasp into his mouth.

Bucky growled low in his throat as your fingers tangled into the thick, messy dark hair at the nape of his neck. His stubble tickled your skin, and the needy noises leaving his lips only made you squeeze your legs together, a deep ache beginning to build.

“Bucky,” you gasped, turning your head sharply to break the contact. You were panting, your lips swollen and tingling. “We... we shouldn’t. This is... I’m supposed to be leaving tomorrow.”

Bucky took this as an opportunity to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath searing your sensitive skin. He trailed a line of wet kisses toward your ear, his stubble grazing your jawline.

“Tomorrow’s a long way off, sugar,” he buzzed against your skin.

“Bucky, please—”

You were cut off with a sharp gasp as you felt Bucky grind his hips firmly against your leg.

Against the soft fabric of his pajama pants, he was hard, throbbing... and leaking. In the short time you two had been making out, he had already made a mess of himself in his own pants.

A shaky groan left his lips as he gripped your hip tight, making you wince slightly. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed, resting his forehead against your collarbone. “M’so hard. It hurts.”

Bucky began to rock himself—slow and shallow—against the soft heat of your leg. You couldn’t help but look down, watching the heavy outline of him throb against the fabric as he pressed into you.

“Just... we can fuck tonight—and you can forget all ‘bout me tomorrow,” he pleaded, his voice wrecked. “You can leave as early as you want—but please, darlin’. I need this.” He rocked his hips against yours again, drawing another gasp out of you. “It’s been so long.”

He drew the long hem of the shirt up and past your hip, and his breath hitched at what he saw.

“… No panties?”

Your face burned with embarrassment. “I… didn’t want to re-wear the ones I had on,” you explained, your voice small. “They’re dirty.”

You said that, but what Bucky was seeing right now felt far filthier. Your pussy, exposed and puffy and glistening, was laid out bare right in front of him—ripe and ready for the taking.

You knew exactly how this looked, and the way Bucky’s eyes darkened as they locked onto your cunt only confirmed it. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaz heavy as he took in every inch of you.

Bucky quickly slid down the bed until his broad chest was wedged between your knees. You tried to pull back—mostly out of shyness—but his large hands clamped around your thighs like iron shackles, pinning you wide for him.

“Bucky, wait—!”

But you cut yourself off with an involuntary cry as his tongue flicked out and lapped at your cunt. He was relentless and wasted no time. He buried his face against you, his dark stubble grazing your sensitive inner thighs as he began to feast like a starving animal.

He was messy and loud. The wet, slapping sounds of his tongue working against you filled your ears—vulgar and completely shameless.

You had never been touched or licked like this before. You had never felt the unabashed hunger of a man’s mouth on your skin, and your body was loving every second of it.

“Oh god,” you gasped, your fingers knotting the bedsheets.

Your hips bucked up against his face, seeking more, but Bucky held you perfectly still, his thumbs digging into your skin to keep you exposed.

He let out a low, muffled growl against your clit, his tongue flickering faster and faster against the sensitive peak until you were sobbing for breath. Every time you instinctively tried to close your legs or hide from the overwhelming sensation, he only snarled, forcing you back open for him.

He was devouring you.

He was treating you like the prey he had spent all day stalking.

Bucky finally pulled away, letting you catch your breath. His eyes were dark and his chin was coated with your sweetness mixed with his own saliva and drool.

“Taste s’fucking good,” he groaned so deep, sounding almost frustrated. “Only makin’ it harder for me to let you go.”

He sat back on his heels, still wedged firmly between your thighs, as he pulled his shirt over his head. You watched, enamored, as his broad chest moved— every muscle flexing under the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Dark hair traced the center of his chest, trailing down to where his hands found the waistband of his pants.

He pulled them down and kicked them to the side of the bed. Lying there between your legs was a man of pure masculinity. Thick hair decorated his body, and his hand—which you already thought was massive—could barely wrap around his cock as he stroked himself to his full length.

Bucky’s jaw went slack as he fucked his hand, his eyes shamelessly taking in the way you were spread out for him in nothing but his cotton tee.

Dark, curly hair sat at the base of his cock, and from where you laid, you could smell him—the salty scent of his precum, the masculine musk of pinewood, everything that was uniquely him. It made you ache, your pussy clenching around nothing as you watched.

“You’re drippin’ all over my sheets, sugar,” Bucky grunted. “Makin’ a reaaal mess.”

“Bucky,” you breathed, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “I don’t think you… I don’t think it’ll fit—”

“No?” he cut you off.

He didn’t let you finish—he didn’t need to—but he already seemed darkened by whatever doubt you were about to voice.

“I don’t care,” he grunted, his large hands grabbing your legs and hauling you flush against him. “M’gonna make it fit.”

Your body tensed as you felt the head of Bucky’s cock poke against your entrance. He groaned at the contact, his eyes fluttering shut in relief. You were already so wet, so warm, and so inviting. And judging by how easily his tip began to slide in, it wouldn’t be long before he was buried deep in your cunt.

Bucky held himself there for a moment, bracing his weight on his forearms as he let you adjust to the stretching pressure of his tip alone.

He looked down, a dark, fond smirk pulling at his lips as he watched you squeezing your eyes shut with the effort of taking him.

“Open ‘em up, sugar,” he rumbled the command. “I want you lookin’ at me for this.”

As your eyes fluttered open, meeting his blown out blue gaze, he began to push.

“Oh—fuck, Bucky!” you gasped as he slid deeper, your tight cunt stretching painfully and perfectly around his length.

A broken groan tore from his throat, his chest heaving as he fought every urge in his nervous system to just slam himself deep inside you. He was trying so hard to hold back that his face contorted into a snarl, his muscles locking with the strain.

You mewled and whimpered as he forced his way in, each movement of his hips more strained than the last. He was struggling with the tightness of you, the stretch a dizzying mix of burn and pleasure. By the time he was halfway in, it already felt like too much.

You began to squirm, your hips shifting and doing nothing to soothe the ache in Bucky’s balls. If anything, your movements only made him groan in pleasure.

When he realized you were trying to escape his length, his hands snapped down to your hips. His fingers dug into your skin, pinning you flat against the mattress and making you yelp.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?” he growled, hovering over you with a snarl that made him look terrifying under the warm lamplight. “You aren’t goin’ anywhere. I told you, darlin’—I’m makin’ it fit.”

With that, his grip tightened on your waist and he hauled you flush against his body in a ruthless motion.

Your legs shook and your eyes rolled back as his cock buried itself completely, sinking to the hilt deep inside your cunt. Your head spun with the overwhelming bliss of being filled so thoroughly.

“Haaah—!” you hissed sharply, your back arching off the bed. “B-Buck—”

Bucky’s entire body was shaking, overstimulated with a desire he hadn’t felt in years.

He hovered over you, dark strands of hair shadowing his eyes as he watched your soft legs shake and squirm beneath him. His cock—the one you claimed was too large to fit—was sunk completely inside you, twitching as it savored every desperate ripple and clench of your tight walls around his shaft.

He watched himself grind his hips against yours, slow and steady at first, letting you adjust to every inch.

“Christ,” he groaned, the sound torn from the back of his throat. “You’re takin’ me so well, little doll…”

When your whimpers finally began to break into soft, needy moans, he took it as his cue to pick up the pace.

He started drawing his hips back and thrusting faster, making your body jolt and shake against the mattress with every thrust. The sight of his cock disappearing entirely into your cunt, leaving only his dark curls pressed against your glistening slit, made him throb and leak deep inside you.

“God… feels s’much better than my hand,” he grumbled to himself.

“Bucky…” you whined softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Feels good, don’t stop.”

Bucky was hypnotized.

He looked down, his vision tunneling as he watched the way you moved helplessly beneath him. Your body was rolling with every thrust against his mattress. Your hands came up to his shoulders, soft fingers digging into his hard muscles for stability.

And when you looked at him with those soft, trusting eyes, something in his chest snapped.

“Fuck. Fuckin’ hell—you… fuckin’… goddammit—fuck!”

His hips began drawing back further before slamming all the way in, drawing a loud, sharp cry from you that only made him want to fuck you harder—right through the bedframe and against the floorboards.

Bucky felt like an animal in heat, his mind clouding with a singular, primal thought that went far beyond just getting off.

He wanted to fill you. He wanted to plant himself so deep that it would take.

“Bucky—it’s too much, ah!” you moaned, clinging to him and wrapping your legs around his waist for support, inadvertently drawing him even deeper.

That didn’t help him at all.

“Oh—fuck, sweets!” he roared, pinning his weight onto you as your legs strapped him down. “Fuck—you’re askin’ for it now.”

The thought of breeding you, of keeping you right here in the cabin he built with his very own two hands, made his blood sing. He could see it so clearly—you, rounded and heavy with his child, tits full of milk, never having to leave the safety of these woods or the protection of his arms.

Every filthy thought of a future together was met with another hard thrust inside you.

“Mine,” he growled. He was so lost in the haze of lust that his mind was a jumbled mess. The only thing he could process was the need to fuck and breed.

Fuck and breed. Fuck and breed.

To breed.

Breed. Breed…

“You’re stayin’ right here, sugar. M’gonna fill you up so full, you won’t even remember how to walk out that door.”

His words were purely possessive. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was just dirty talk—and god, did it work. Your pussy spasmed tight around his cock as you felt yourself getting close.

“Fuuck, Bucky,” you whined, “d-don’t stop…! I’m gonna cum—”

Every gasp that left your lips fueled the dark fire in his gut and the building ache in his balls. He didn’t just want tonight; he wanted years.

He wanted the connection he had seen the animals share in the woods—he wanted a son running around this cabin and you there to be called Mama.

Your cunt clenched as you tossed your head back, letting out a loud cry that rang through the cabin as you came undone all over Bucky’s cock. The feeling was exquisite, your pussy was milking Bucky with every pulse—and at this point, your body was practically begging for Bucky to cum inside.

“I’m gonna breed you,” he rasped, the words sounding like both a warning and a promise.

His eyes were crazed and wild as he looked down at the friction where your bodies joined. “Gonna give you everythin’ you need. Just stay... stay for me, little doll. Let me put a baby in you.”

Your head was rolling back against the pillow, your face drenched in sweat as your vision swam. You were still coming undone, your mind a hazy blur.

“H-huh…?” you managed to whimper with a tired slur of your words. “W-what was that—?”

One of his hands drew up from your hip to your neck, pinning you in place, while the other found your thigh, spreading you wider and bending it back so he could pound into you deeper—making the mattress and wooden bedframe shake and bolt against the cabin wall.

“Oh my god—!”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head ‘bout it,” he grunted, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. “M’just tellin’ you how it’s gonna be. I’m gonna keep this pussy pumped so full of me, you won’t ever remember what it’s like to be without it.”

He pulled back almost all the way, dragging out the pleasure until you cried out, before slamming back in until the hairs on his pelvis hit your slit.

“You’re gonna stay right here,” he reminded you darkly. “Nothin’ but my shirts on your back so I don’t have to waste time undressin’ you. Just easy access... every time I walk through that door, I’m gonna bend you over the table, the bed, the porch... and I’m gonna remind you who you belong to.”

The filth of his words and the overstimulated stretch of your walls was nearly enough to make you pass out.

“I’m gonna fill you up every single night, little doll,” he hissed, his pace becoming uneven and desperate as he felt his own climax nearing. “Until you’re waddlin’ around this cabin carryin’ my name... carryin’ my blood. You’re never leavin’, understand? You’re mine to breed.”

When you didn’t answer right away, he lightly squeezed your throat, making you gasp.

“Understand, sweets?”

“Y-yes,” was all you could muster weakly and tiredly, not understanding enitrely as all you felt was overwhelming pleasure. “Never leaving… fill me…”

You repeated the last few words you remembered him saying, and that was your downfall.

“Yeah?” he huffed a prideful laugh, like he finally had everything he wanted right here—right beneath him. “You gonna make me a daddy?”

His heart leapt in his throat, balls drawing tight as he felt himself finally reaching the edge. This was perfect—a pretty pussy to fuck whenever he pleased, and an even prettier woman to take care of.

Bucky’s entire body buckled, and he let out a loud roar that made you flinch—it sounded more like an animal than a man. His back arched as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself so deep it made you cry out again, his pelvis bottoming out against you.

A thick, hot rush of cum flooded into you, a heavy and pulsing warmth that seemed to go on and on.

His eyes rolled back and his teeth bared in a primal snarl as his entire frame shuddered with his release. He was pumping you full, emptying every bit of himself deep into your womb.

“Fuck—baby—!” he choked out, voice strained and cracking.

He didn’t pull out, even when his cock was completely spent and overworked inside you. Even as his body stilled and his length throbbed tiredly against your used, overstimulated walls, he stayed buried to the hilt.

He panted, his heavy chest heaving against yours as he kept you pinned firmly into the mattress. He was soaking you, making a complete mess of your insides just like he promised.

“There… fuck,” he rasped, his sweaty forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Puttin’ a baby in there right now—you feel it, don’t you? You feel how much I'm givin’ you?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You had absolutely no energy left in your spent body.

All you could smell was the thick scent of sex and sweat, and the only light in the room came from the bedside lamp, which was now flickering weakly.

Then came the thunder. Rain began to pour, hitting against the cabin roof and the surrounding forest floor harshly. Bucky shifted his body, pulling you into his arms and dragging your limp body against his chest, pressing soft, and sweet kisses against your sweaty skin.

“There’s the storm, baby,” he cooed gently, his voice prideful as he proved himself right yet again.

“I told you. You aren’t goin’ anywhere.”

sitting in the drafts since new years oh nah someone save me 🥀 once again, this is my contribution for art's moodboard event hosted here! please be sure to check out the incredible writers who put out their work so far!

if you liked this fic, please be sure to leave a like, comment, hit that sub button while you're at it and make sure to turn bell notifications on and filler text filler text (but seriously, thank you for taking the time to read my work!)

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

[murdock-slvt]

❝ KINKTOBER 2025 ❞

welcome to murdock-slvt's kinktober 2025! I’ve never done this before so please bare with me— also please know, some fics will be longer while others will be shorter, it's all depending on the prompt :) honestly, this kinktober has literally no theme, just filthy smut + fictional men that I’d die forrrr!

my kinktober will have several different characters from very different fandoms so there’s something for everyone (hopefully!) with female readers!

of course, with it being kinktober, a lot of these will have kinks mentioned. some of them won’t be like ‘extreme’ but I hope I can satisfy you! :) I’m like super late with the master list but fuck it.

my taglist is always open, so if you want to be tagged for all, you can be, or if you want a specific one, go ahead and tell me which one to tag you in! I really appreciate the support either way!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 1st — apology sex. praise kink.

╰ ❝ 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 ❞ — BRUCE WAYNE: bruce is a hardworking man, and sometimes you feel lonely, even your slutty pajamas aren’t enough to get him to fuck you… so that’s precisely why you sleep on the couch one night… and bruce can’t have that!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 2nd — dumbification. patronizing.

╰ ❝ 𝐍𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 ❞ — BUCKY BARNES: you hate being patronized. you hate feeling dumb, and you especially hate it when a man does it… but when bucky does it balls deep inside you? you can’t help but love it!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 4th — car sex. tummy bulge.

╰ ❝ 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀 ❞ — DEAN WINCHESTER: right before dean and sam go on another trip to hunt down a demon bothering a single mother… you fuck dean in his impala because sammy is taking too damn long in the bathroom!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 5th — brat taming. face slapping.

╰ ❝ 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 ❞ — LORENZO BERKSHIRE: you hate lorenzo berkshire. lorenzo berkshire hates you… but people who hate each other don’t get jealous of other people… but lorenzo is always open to tame your bratty attitude!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 7th — cheating. fucking your bro’s bsf.

╰ ❝ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 ❞ — RAFE CAMERON: rafe is your brother's best friend, and he cares about you (somewhat)... so what happens when he overhears you complaining about your boyfriend? he takes it in his own hands, and your bedsheets!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 8th — camboys. mommy kink.

╰ ❝ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 ❞ — WALLY WEST: you know spending money on the internet is a bad idea, especially money on a pornstar out of all things... but this redhead that's on your screen is too hot not to spend a little money on!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 10th — object use. hair pulling.

╰ ❝ 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐓 ❞ — ANAKIN SKYWALKER: while on an anniversary getaway with your boyfriend, you and anakin share the same sexual fantasy; anakin fucking you with his lightsaber… and nothing could prepare you for the filth and pleasure it was!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 11th — size kink. hand holding.

╰ ❝ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇 ❞ — SIMON “GHOST” RILEY: you knew your boyfriend was massive, you saw it everyday you could… but you didn’t know just how massive until he’s inside you for the first time!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 13th — forced smoke. degradation.

╰ ❝ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 ❞ — DEALER! RAFE CAMERON: interrupting dealer rafe while he's trying to handle his own business never ends up gentle for you... and rafe has a particular way to make sure you remember that!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 14th — anal sex. overstimulation.

╰ ❝ 𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 ❞ — DICK GRAYSON: you know your boyfriend, dick is mad, purposely ignoring him isn't always the best idea... especially when your boyfriend loves to take his frustration out sexually... and you knew you were in for a long night when you came home after ignoring him all day...!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 16th — church sex. coercion.

╰ ❝ 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐈𝐓 ❞ — MATT MURDOCK: matt murdock is a faith-driven man. he's a man of the community of hell's kitchen through daredevil and through being a lawyer... but you're just a girl who wants him so badly that you'll bone him anywhere... including church!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 17th — boob play. lactation kink.

╰ ❝ 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ❞ — STEVE ROGERS: after giving birth ten months ago, steve has been by your side throughout it all, but there’s always one motherly act that gets him going… breastfeeding… and steve rogers is a very needy man for his wife!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 19th — baby trapping. breeding kink.

╰ ❝ 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ❞ — JASON TODD: jason hates that you broke up with him. it was a mutual breakup, but he hates it every single day… so when you’re in bed with him again, he’s going to do everything in his power for you to stay with him!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 20th — shower sex. almost caught.

╰ ❝ 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ — JOHNNY STORM: johnny is down to fuck anywhere, everywhere, and at any time... and sometimes that can get you in vulnerable positions like in the shower... and what happens when one of his best friend accidentally swings by to ask about something and he has to pretend like you're not moaning for his dick...!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 22th — face fucking. repayment sex.

╰ ❝ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 ❞ — DICK GRAYSON X READER X WALLY WEST: nightwing and the flash, the town's two biggest superheros and hearthrobs. everyone loved them! including you! so, when one night they save you after nearly getting mugged, you decide to repay them in a very special way!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 23rd — role play sex. semi-public sex.

╰ ❝ 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 ❞ — STEVE ROGERS: the night before he has to go to war, captain america comes into your diner and eats, and what happens when you have a sexy captain (who's looking for a great way to end the night) and you, who's just so horny for the captain? well... the alleyway is what happens!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 25th — quickie. revenge sex.

╰ ❝ 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 ❞ — BRUCE WAYNE: two weeks after figuring out (and finding out with his own eyes) that clark and lois fucked in the batcave; bruce wants revenge… and you’re glad to serve it to them… in their bed!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 26th — drunk sex. oral sex.

╰ ❝ 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞ — LORENZO BERKSHIRE: you loved lorenzo when he was sober, you loved the way he loved you and the way he ate your pussy… but when he’s drunk and he needs your pussy? he’s a different animal, and you loved it!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 28th — two at once. jealous sex.

╰ ❝ 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 ❞ — TIM DRAKE X READER X CONNER KENT: tim drake and conner kent aren’t your boyfriend boyfriends, they’re situational and that includes the sex too… but when they notice you flirting with another guy at a wayne gala? they aren’t shy about their jealousy… and you experience it first hand when both of them stuff you!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 29th — hate sex. one night stand.

╰ ❝ 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 ❞ — MATT MURDOCK: you and matt hate each other, you swear you hate him, and he hates you... so if he hates you so much, why is he at your apartment door, and if you hate him so much, why is he currently pounding you on your couch?!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 30th — mating press. mask sex.

╰ ❝ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 ❞ — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY: simon didn't understand why you liked his mask so much; it was a military mask, for the military and nothing else... but he'll do anything for you, and when you ask him, just this once, to wear the mask during sex... he follows your orders!

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 31st — homie hopping. oral/vaginal/anal.

╰ ❝ 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ❞ — DICK GRAYSON + JASON TODD + TIM DRAKE X READER: you know damn well what you're doing is evil, fucking three brothers behind their backs and none of them know they're fucking with the same girl... it's downright malicious... but you were having fun, so you couldn't give a damn! but it was difficult to handle all three when all three want you... at the same time!

hope you enjoy whatever I write for kinktober and all support is appreciated! + little side stories might be posted as well because the content farm will always churn!

✦ comments and reblogs are always appreciated! ✦

MURDOCK-SLVT 2025!

[maiamore]

‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤ‎‎mai's kinktober 2025 masterlist ❤︎

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ18+ content - please proceed with caution

hello loves, welcome to my kinktober 2025 masterlist, all fics will have their own warnings and will not be published in order, please heed the tags before reading. if you'd like to be added to my taglist, comment down below! see you soon.

🂡 ONE // BREATHPLAY - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 TWO // FACE-FUCKING - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 THREE // SOMNOPHILIA - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 FOUR // INNOCENCE LOSS - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕

🂡 FIVE // TIT-FUCKING - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 SIX // THREESOME - 𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 SEVEN // UNIFORM - 𝑹𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑩𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒆𝒚

🂡 EIGHT // OBJECT INSERTION - 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝑩𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔

🂡 NINE // PRIEST - 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒉𝒆𝒘

🂡 TEN // PREDATOR X PREY - 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂

🂡 ELEVEN // VOYEURISM - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 TWELVE // POWER IMBALANCE - 𝑹𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝑹𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔

🂡 THIRTEEN // HANDCUFFS - 𝑫𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒅 𝑴𝒄𝑫𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒍

🂡 FOURTEEN // INFIDELITY - 𝑼𝒍𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒏

🂡 FIFTEEN // GUN/KNIFE PLAY - 𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 '𝑮𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕' 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚

🂡 SIXTEEN // MASK - 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂

🂡 SEVENTEEN // BODY-SWITCH - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 EIGHTEEN // LACTATION - 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂

🂡 NINETEEN // OUTDOORS - 𝑱𝒐𝒆𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

🂡 TWENTY // HUMILIATION - 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉-𝑿!𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 TWENTY-ONE // BREEDING - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 TWENTY-TWO // SHAVING - 𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒐𝒕

🂡 TWENTY-THREE // SEXTING - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 TWENTY-FOUR // SPANKING - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 TWENTY-FIVE // FREE-USE - 𝑴𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝑶'𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒂

🂡 TWENTY-SIX // AUDITORY - 𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 '𝑮𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕' 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚

🂡 TWENTY-SEVEN // SPITTING - 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒕 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓

🂡 TWENTY-EIGHT // BODY MODIFICATION - 𝑰𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒄 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒙 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈

🂡 TWENTY-NINE // COCKWARMING - 𝑩𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏

🂡 THIRTY // ANAL - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

🂡 THIRTY-ONE // WATERSPORTS - 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕

[greensagephase]

I'm trying to see something

[monarchberrysblog-deactivated20]

Maybe… 👁️👁️

[paisa-gaadi-mehenga-ghar]

I hope every "look at the sky" girl finds a "let me take this sky pic for her" guy.

[dovesndecay]

i’m okay with fictional men becoming unhinged over the loves of their lives actually 

[eeethereaaal-deactivated2022081]

[roseofithaca]

Do you think Jesus ever got many carpenter requests after he started preaching? Like did anyone ever go up to him and be like; "My Lord! My Lord!" And the disciples are all: "The Master won't do anymore miracles today." But obviously Jesus is like; "Yes, my child?" And they just ask what his basic rate is to fix their door.

[sweetiepie08]

No one talks enough about the fact that Jesus had a day job.

[ranty9000]

He repaired the relationship between humanity and god, he also repaired the table in his friend Mary's house cuz it wobbled too much.

[firelordderpy]

“Jesus!”

“How can I help you my child?”

“So the Chair I got from you and your dad is great, but I tripped over it and it broke, I was hoping you could fix it?”

“Go home and be at peace, your chair is fixed.”

“Lord, did you really just use a miracle to fix his chair?”

“Luke my son, it was still under warranty.”

[patronizing-deactivated20250728]

why is my teacher roleplaying with me in a formal email

[ifuc]

*pulls you closer* youre failing trigonometry

[buckysbabygorl]

Fanfic writers quaking rn

[itzroseblossom-deactivated20230]

Me @ all the characters in dc

[fragmentedink-archived]

do I like angry vicious female characters because they're nuanced and interesting or do I like angry vicious female characters because I'm a raging homosexual. I guess we'll never know

[comingoutofthecauldron]

stop telling your teenage daughters who say they don't want kids that they'll change their mind

[weirdqueeraltkid-deactivated202]

reblog the shit outta this

[morriganwarrior]

I haven't been a teenager in over a decade. Mind has yet to change on the subject.

At 14, I told my guidance counselor that I didn't want kids. He chuckled, patted me on the back, and informed me that when I got a little older, and I was with a guy, I would change my mind.

At 16, my grandmother nearly had a heart attack because of her three granddaughters, myself and the youngest agreed we didn't want to uave babies. Ever.

At 17, my father asked about my life plan. I told him: graduate high school, get my college degree, do some traveling and writing, go for this particular job I wanted, retired around X age, take month-long vacations to places I wanted to spend time in, etc. He asked, "What about a husband? Children? Normal things a girl is supposed to think about?" My response- a husband if a man came along that could share an adventure with me, kids were a No Go. He assured me I would 'grow up' qnd change my mind.

At 19, I shocked my former babysitter who had known me since I was a toddler, when I confirmed the rumour she'd heard that I didn't want kids. She patted my mom's arm and reassured her in a sweet voice that, "Don't worry, girls say a lot of silly things before they meet the right fella, and wise up. She'll give you grand babies"

At 22, I was talking to a college professor who chuckled at my making a comment about how, "thank goodness I'm never going to have to worry about juggling child rearing eith marriage, work, and life", then she realized I was serious. She asked if I was alright, thinking I could-not (not didn't-want) kids. I told her the truth, could have but didn't want to. She was aghast, then told me that I'd change my mind when my husband wanted some kids.

Well, I'm over 30, still have absolutely no desire to give birth, adopt, raise, or have much of anything to do with children. I don't hate children, I don't think people who have them are crazy (more power to you, to create and/or care for another person), and I don't think it's impossible to have a life AND have children. I recognized at an early age that I don't have that biological imperative to procreate, I don't have the patience to deal with children (something that has shown very little improvement as I've gotten older, in fact it might be getting worse), and I don't feel my life is incomplete without creating another life- I am good with living my own and doing my best to enrich the lives of those I care about (I try my best to be a good friend, to be a good sister, good daughter, good pet-owner, and a good person in general).

So please, please stop telling girls (or really kids at all, but especially girls) that they will change their minds. Please don't tell them that meeting 'the right guy' will make them suddenly feel broody, that their potential future husband's desire to have children will make her reconsider and see things his way. For one, a couple should have had that conversation and decided if it was a deal breaker, LONG before they got hitched. For another, it's her body that gets to grow and birth another human being- her husband's desire to be a father doesn't supercede her autonomy.

Please, let girls make their own choices? Girls are forced to mature too fast as it is and are bombarded from all sides with SHOULD (you SHOULD be a size 2, you SHOULD wear this dress, you SHOULD have a boyfriend to be a normal teen, you SHOULD always smile), they don't need another judgement from someone who hasn't walked a mile in their particular shoes. Respect teenage girls and their ability to look at the world, themselves, their situation, and their future, and make an important choice.

*gets off soap box, slides it back under the sofa, lets out a sigh*

Thanks for attending my TED talk. G'night.

[theclassycandy-deactivated20260]

Drunk Nights - The Elementalists

Summary: Anna is with the Harrington fam for a sleepover and when the alcohol comes out, she gets excited. Beckett is really a sloppy/cutesy drunk and she can’t wait for that version of Beckett to come out! But when a sudden change of attitude occurs in Beckett, Anna and Katrina gets especially worried. Katrina realizes what Beckett thinks of her and how much Anna truly means to her brother. 

Ships: Beckett x Anna

Rating: R

Word Count: 2825

A/N: Alright, so this fic takes place about a few months after Beckett, Anna and the rest of the Pend Pals graduate! Beckett and Anna have moved in together during this fic, but at the Harrington’s manor for this fic. They’re still boyfriend and girlfriend during this time. I truly hope you enjoyed this fic! Please like, reblog or throw me a follow if you can!

Tags: @miss-smrxtiee , @holystxne , @adam-dumortains , @herarmoredheart , @ilikeyellingatmyscreen

“Anna! My dear! So lovely you could grace us with your presence! How was the drive here? Traffic not too dreadful huh?” welcomed Mrs. Harrington, kissing Anna on both cheeks. 

“It actually wasn’t that bad! Wonderful gardens you have out there don’t you? Did you get it redone recently?” asked Anna, pleased with Mrs. Harrington’s friendly question. 

“Oh yes, we had it done a few days after your graduation night! So wonderful of you to have noticed!”

Contrast to Mrs. Harrington’s positive demeanor, Mr. Harrington was a lot more reserved. Anna knew that she has his respect and satisfaction from her reputation and prestige in the tech industry and that it is very apparent that she makes his son very happy. He had never seen Beckett so happy, even just when her name was brought up at family events. 

“Anna, lovely to see you, as usual.” said Mr. Harrington giving Anna a strong handshake. 

Anna returns the handshake, putting on a bright smile and nodding respectfully. She then turns to head to Beckett, where he’s being bulldozed by his sister. 

“I missed you guys so much! It’s hard for me to think that my baby brother is living on his own with his wif- I mean, girlfriend!” expressed Katrina, pulling Beckett in a hug leaving him spluttering. Katrina then lets go and turns around to Anna, arms open. 

“My awesome, beautiful, future sister-in-law! I’ve missed you so much too!” exclaimed Katrina giving Anna a hug, at the same fervor that she did for Beckett. 

Over Katrina’s shoulder, Anna could see the blush form across Beckett’s cheeks at the implication of Katrina wanting to see them getting married. 

The 5 of them walked over to the Harrington’s dinning table, their personal chef giving them some rare kind of magickal lobster and placing a wine in the middle of the table called Krug Clos d'Ambonnay Blanc de Noirs. Mrs. Harrington poured some wine in her glass, swirling it right underneath her nose. Mr. Harrington takes the bottle, doing that same thing. He stretches his arm, bottle towards Anna. 

“Would you like some Anna? It’s a new bottle, it would be great for you to expand you alcohol palette.” said Mr. Harrington. It’s not like Anna doesn’t like alcohol or against drinking/getting drunk in public but she knows this wine. And it’s rare. She’s still getting used to being able to experience such luxuries. She’s only ever had soju. She gives him a polite smile but gulps. But then she turns her head to Beckett. 

“What do you say? Will we see drunk Beckett tonight?” she says with a cheeky grin and teasing tone. When Beckett had gotten drunk with her and the rest of the Pend Pals… let’s just say that he can’t handle more than 2 drinks without being a sloppy drunk. 

“I- I- suppose that I’m not opposed to drinking with the people here. Uhh, sure” he says, blushing taking the bottle from his father, pouring some into his crystal wine glass. Anna then smirks and pours some into hers too. Copying Mrs. Harrington; swirling the wine right beneath her nose. Anna keeps her eye on Beckett, after his first glass he stares at her with a light in his eyes and a pink tint on his cheeks. But after his second drink, he’s right in her face and smirking at her. His chin is propped up on his fist and elbow on the table.

“So Anna,” Beckett places his hand flirtatiously on her arm while he lightly whispers to her, “what’s going through that pretty head of yours?” For a spilt second, Anna’s jaw drops, shocked that Beckett would speak like that to her in front of other people, let alone in front of his own parents. She quickly gathers her composure, leaning in and whispering in his ear in the sexiest tone that she can muster. 

“Not much, just thinking of my incredibly intelligent, handsome and sexy boyfriend. And how much I love him.” she whispers back. She expected him to smirk, or smile bashfully, or at least blush, but the way he did react was took her off guard. His expression changed from sheer confidence to the face of misery in a split second. His eyebrow furrowed, his smirk dropped into a frown and his eyes became lost it’s glimmer. Confused, Anna was about to ask what she did wrong when Mr. Harington asks her something. 

“Anna, how’s the company doing? Living up to your title of most promising up-and-coming company in the last decade, I hope?” questions Mr. Harrington, exceptionally impress with her. 

“Yes, sales in the last quarter are at an all time high!” expressed Anna excitedly. She absolutely loves her job and that it’s impressing everyone especially Beckett’s parents. She knew that they would be okay with her being in a relationship with Beckett but in order to truly earn their respect, she would need to prove her worth. “Live up to the Harrington name” as Beckett would put it. If she even wants a chance to one day be a part of his family, she’s gotta prove that she can bring some sort of prestige in the family. 

A few minutes go by and Anna is talking with Katrina about her plans for the company. And Mrs. Harrington calls out Beckett. 

“Beckett? Sweetheart are you okay? You’re so quiet and looking so sad. Is something the matter?” asks Mrs. Harrington asks Beckett and everyone turns to Beckett in concern, stopping their conversation. Anna reaches out and places her hand on Beckett’s shoulder in concern. Beckett looks Anna in the eye for a second… and then forcefully tears off her hand and runs off upstairs! 

Anna and the other Harringtons all stare after him in shock and concern. Anna rubs her hand that was on his shoulder. Beckett looked so sad but even when he forcefully took off her hand, the touch itself was gentle; almost weak, as if in defeat. Katrina is the first one to go after him, with Anna in tow. The parents look at each other worriedly but decides that they’ll come up if one of them asks them to.  

When the 2 girls, Anna and Katrina hear Beckett getting in his room and shuts the door behind him. They pause in front of the door and Katrina turns to Anna. 

“Before you ask, I genuinely don’t know what I said that made him this upset.” explained Anna. 

“And I one-thousand percent believe you, but something did make him upset so I think it’s best if you wait out here, I’ll tell you when you can come in.” before Anna could form a counter-argument, Katrina opens the door and slowly walks in Beckett’s room. 

Beckett’s sitting in the farthest corner of his bedroom floor. Katrina takes in his appearance, he looks defeated, disheveled and dejected. His face is paler than usual except with the noticeable redness around his eyes as if he’s about to cry. Katrina, tiptoes to Beckett and sits right beside him shoulder-to-shoulder. They sit in silence for a minute.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” cautiously asks Katrina, looking at her brother.  

“It’s Anna. Wait no- I mean-” he starts “It’s me. I was too late, I did this to myself and now she’s happy all on her own without me.” Beckett’s voice gets even more shakier as he goes on. 

“Wait wha- why- what makes you say that? What do you mean ‘I was too late’?” asked Katrina, very much confused. 

“I tried flirting with her by asking what was on her mind and she said her boyfriend that she’s in love with. Oh god, I’m not surprised though; it’s impossible to not fall for her.” Beckett said miserably. 

If Karina wasn’t confused before, she sure is now. Anna’s clearly in love with Beckett and he reciprocates her feeling. Why is he upset with that? 

Beckett continues. “She’s my best friend and I’ve fell in love with her but now she’s dating already and I feel… so- heartbroken.”

Katrina’s confusion is now very visible with her nose and eyebrows scrunched together. “Beckett, what do you mean? Do you think she’s cheating on you or something? Anna doesn’t seem like the type to do that.” 

This time it’s Beckett’s turn to be confused, expression mirroring Katrina’s. 

“What? She’s dating someone! She described him as ‘ incredibly intelligent, handsome and sexy’ who the fuck matches that description?” says Beckett. Katrina can see his discomfort when he says the description. 

“Wait… Beckett, who exactly do you think she’s dating?” asked Katrina, think she knows where this is going. 

“I don’t even know! And quite frankly I don’t want to know. Her being happy with someone else will just remind me of everything I don’t have.” exasperated, a few tears start to flow down his face but he wipes it off quickly. 

Katrina stares at him in shock, finally seeing what happened. “Ohhh… so he asked Anna about what was on her mind, she said ‘her boyfriend’ so she was obviously referring to him. But since he’s drunk he forgot… that they were dating in the first place…? And now he’s crying because he thinks that Anna is in love with someone and now he’s miserable, thinking that he’s not the one dating Anna. Awwwww that’s the cutest! He truly loves her so much.” thinks Katrina, putting the pieces together. She wants to tell him that Anna was talking about him but she decides against it wanting to see how he talks about Anna. 

“Well I see, what made you fall in love with her in the first place?” asked Katrina. 

“Oh where to begin? She’s the smartest person I’ve ever known. You know she runs an extremely successful company that she built from the ground up?” Beckett asks. Katrina smiles and nods at him to continue. “And when I say smart I don’t just mean logical smart I mean socially and emotionally smart too! During our sophomore year, she was able to sweet talk investors for Shreya for her business! She’s beautiful too! You saw her on the cover on that magazine right? She’s done so much and most off all, she- she-…” Beckett trails off. 

“She…?” Katrina goes one, clueing him to continue. 

“She just makes me really, really happy. Happiness that- that I didn’t even know that’s possible! Even when she’s just beside me I can feel just so calm and.. loved.” 

“Oh okay so…” Katrina started but then Beckett cuts her off. 

“And her smile and her laugh! Oh my god, her smile. It’s just make so feel so good inside like, I finally know why I’m here. She’s helped me with so much stuff when it comes to my studies, my parents, you…”

At the mention of ‘you’ she turns her head to face him. Curious what he has to say about her. 

“I mean no offence Katrina but-” he cuts himself off for a second then resumes talking. “but almost everything about our family stresses me out. I love you but being constantly compared to my own sister all the time, whose 10 years older than me is so… so tiring and embarrassing. That’s not your fault at but it’s why I hate it when you’re overbearing. Because not only does it feel like you babying me but also it feels like the only reason why I’ll ever be successful is because of my family and not my own skills. 

Katrina stares off, taking in how Beckett truly feels around her. She couldn’t imagine being compared to someone 10 years older than her during her entire childhood and then thinking that her own family wouldn’t love her unless she could live up to their expectations. 

“Did you know that in high school there would be times that I wouldn’t eat or sleep because I was so stressed out? I didn’t tell you guys because I just couldn’t. I managed to fool myself it was because I didn’t want you guys to worry but looking back? It was because I didn’t actually know if I would be helped or if mom and dad would just pressure me even more, saying ‘your sister didn’t have this much trouble.’ But with Anna it’s different she still encourages me to not just be smarter in terms of school and my career but to be a better man overall. It’s not her herself telling me this, but I just want to make her happy as she makes me.” 

He leans his head back, letting the tears flowing freely at his words. 

“But now she’s with somebody else. I just hope the person she’s with makes her unbelievably happy and they know how lucky they are to be dating her.” Beckett says sorrowfully. Katrina turns her head to him. 

“Maybe you can tell her how you feel. I’m sure she’d love to know.” 

“WHAT? But I can’! I-” he starts and Katrina internally laughs that Beckett still doesn’t know that Anna was referring to him. 

She stands up; “I’ll go get her. You just stay there.” Katrina walks to the door, excited to see how Anna will react. She sees Anna pacing in the hallway, the worry obvious on her face and her face lights up when she sees Katrina coming out. 

“Is Beckett okay? It is sick? Did I really say something wrong at the dinner?” asked Anna, frantic. 

Katrina just smiles at her. 

“What? Katrina, what’s so funny?” asked Anna taken aback by Katrina’s lack of seriousness. 

“Beckett is upset because you said that you’re in love with your boyfriend,” Anna makes a face and Katrina continues on. “However since Beckett is drunk he somehow forgot that he’s your boyfriend, and that you’re in love and dating somebody else so now he’s kind of crying that he thinks that you’re not his.” 

Anna’s jaw drops, her hand coming to her mouth but Katrina can tell that she’s smiling. 

“Awwwwww! But he’s taking it okay right? No throwing up from the alcohol?” she asked. 

“He didn’t. But it looks like he may throw up. Not because of the alcohol but because he thinks you’re in love with someone else.” 

Anna mouth breaks out into a huge, loving smile and walks through the door to see Beckett sitting down on the ground with his wrinkled clothes and tear-stained face. 

“Hey baby, what’s wrong?” Anna coos as she walks over, sits next to him and cups his face with her hands. 

“Look Anna, you don’t need to spare my feelings. I know you’re dating someone.” Beckett says dejectedly, not meeting her eyes. Anna sees how truly sad he is that he thinks she’s in love with someone else so she goes along with it for a little while. 

“I know but I want to know how you feel about me regardless.” Anna says tilting her head so that he has to look her in the eye. 

He just stares into her eyes and Anna can tell that Beckett is being 100% serious. 

“Anna, I- I-… I’ve fallen in love with you. I’ve fallen and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. You make me feel loved and cared for and you’re just.. amazing. I know you end up going back to your boyfriend but I desperately wanted to let you know how I feel.” Beckett blurts out, pouring his heart out for her. 

“Beckett… I already know! And I feel the exact same way!” exclaimed Anna, feeling like she’s in heaven.

“Wait really? What about your boyfriend?” asked Beckett amazed.

“Beckett, who do you think I was referring to when you asked me the question about who’s my boyfriend?” asks Anna. 

“Who?” asks Beckett bewildered.

“You, Beckett! Did you forget we were dating? That we literally live together?” says Anna, watching in amusement as Beckett face turns form sentimental to shock and realization. 

“Ohhhhhh yeah!!” Anna bursts into laugher that was so hard that she couldn’t breathe. Beckett’s jaw popped open as he laughed with her, remembering everything and he he went wrong. 

“So we really are together now huh?” asked Beckett happiness flooding him. 

Anna nods enthusiastically. “Yep! We have need for 2 years, Beckett!” As she laughs even harder, Beckett crashes his mouth to hers. So forcefully that Anna is taken off guard. Beckett lifts her off the ground with their mouths still connected. He then steps over and places her on the bed, his hands exploring her body. Chills that Beckett is giving her are addicting but Anna knows she needs to pull away. 

“Don’t get me wrong; I’d love you to rearrange my guts in your bed but Katrina is right outside your door and your parents are worried about you still.” Tells Anna and Beckett and her get off the bed fixing the wrinkles on their clothes. They make out once more. They then walk downstairs, memories intact.      

[varmajackie]

no one:

absolutely no one:

not a single soul:

the narrative about the patient's illness: and suddenly it hits you

[senseofduties]

i love how so many people were worried about ethan being distant or him leaving mc when this man is (on the clock) thinking about fucking mc on his desk again