i use lace dividers by @/cursed-carmine! all images are found on pinterest.
i only post my fanfiction here and on ao3, under the username literallysteverogers. if it’s found anywhere else/under a different username, it is stolen and you can report it.
i don’t post anything NSFW myself, so i don’t consider my account MDNI, but i do reblog NSFW content. please keep this in mind, and heed warnings on fics i reblog. MDNI warnings from the original poster should be followed.
Warnings: smuttt, crying babies, parenthood, everybody's favourite family <3
Summary: You and Leon think it's safe to let loose during sex after you spent the day at the pool, getting all of your kids' energy out. Little do you know your 3-year-old, Ollie, has his own interpretation of the noise he hears.
a/n: So this is actually a combination of a bunch of requests I'm realising. Because in order for Ollie to be old enough to be able to speak, that would also coincide with the time reader and Leon were trying for baby Alva. Also the pool thing fit, but that was Mermaids. Either way, based on this request and can be read as a spin-off to my Cooperative Parenting series.
ENJOY xx
Special shoutout to my dealer @mrswinterbarnes for sharing some fantastic nsfw aeon artwork by @ariespsyche with me that inspired the smut in this. Good fics are a community effort guys!
word count: 2.1k
Masterlist
“Oh my god,” Leon moaned, as he pushed into you in this new position. “Oh fuck.”
You cried out his name, holding on to his thigh and his biceps for dear life. “Oh fuck yes, ah—”
The kids had been getting their energy out at the pool all day and were out cold. There was no way anyone in this house would wake up before tomorrow morning, no matter what they heard. So you and Leon were going at it like you’d never get the chance again. In fairness, with two young kids, this was an opportunity that didn't present itself very often. It was too good to pass up.
The soundscape of your bedroom was absolutely obscene. Between skin slapping, panting and loud moans, you had lost your entire sense of self, completely melting into the pleasure Leon was causing you.
You whimpered, as you felt your inner walls clench around him.
“Look at yourself baby,” Leon panted. “You look so fucking pretty.”
You opened your eyes, watching your and Leon’s reflection in the mirror across from your bed. It was hot as hell. You with your head hanging over the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide for Leon to thrust into you and rub your clit at the same time. His handsome face was somewhere between agony and pure bliss, mouth agape, brows knitted together and both of your bodies were covered in a sheen glint of sweat.
You looked absolutely delicious.
“Oh my god,” you moaned, your breath being cut off by Leon slamming into you to the hilt. “Yes, Leon, harder. Oh fuck yes, just like that. Oh fuck.” You cried out again as he did as he was told. He tended to do that when he was balls deep inside you.
Your body was moving further off the mattress, skin slapping against skin becoming even louder as your sex god of a husband pounded into you, setting your every nerve ending on fire, a strangled moan falling from his lips.
You wanted to tell him how good he was fucking you, you really did, but you had lost all speech, you feared. The only thing coming over your lips were uncontrollable moans and screams of pleasure.
Leon whimpered when you clenched down on him again. “Fuck yes, oh just like that, cum for me baby, I love you so much.”
He was so close too, he was trying to drag it out a little longer, so you could have an orgasm so intense it would shake your entire body but he was having an increasingly hard time. You could tell from the way he was gritting his teeth and the strangled noises slipping past his lips. It was music to your ears.
You had married the best man in the entire world. The most generous, sexy, thoughtful, absolute porn star of a man.
“Oh fuck, oh my god, Leon,” you cried out, your fingernails digging into his skin as you came hard enough for your soul to leave your body. The sounds that were coming out of you were worthy of an exorcist. But god was nowhere near you right now, this was all Leon.
He loved how loud and completely helpless to your own climax you were. You could tell. Because his thrusts became sloppy, as he spilled into you with low, guttural grunts, all elegance lost to the intensity of your orgasms.
This was glorious. You rarely had the chance to completely let loose like that and boy had you made the most of it.
When you were finally done, Leon gently pulled you back onto the mattress so you could come down without your head hanging off the bed. How thoughtful. How orgasmic. How absolutely perfect.
“I love you,” you panted, lying next to him, both of you wondering if you had died and were in heaven.
“Yeah, I could tell,” Leon said, breathlessly, a smile playing on his lips. “I’d say you really like me a lot.”
“I do,” you confirmed, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.
“Do you think that got you pregnant?” he asked, still trying to catch his breath, gently placing a hand on your lower belly.
You smiled against his lips. You were trying for a baby. For the first time, funnily enough. This wasn't your first child. You already had two kids but both of them had been unplanned. As much as you loved your surprise babies, you wanted another chance to do it right, tracking your cycle and everything.
You had already been at it for the past several months but there was no second line to be seen on the pregnancy test yet. It was like a cosmic joke. Your reproductive systems apparently only cooperated when you were in fact not actively trying to conceive.
“I don’t know. Maybe we should try again in a bit, just to be sure?”
Leon chuckled. “Give me a couple minutes and I would love to—”
A distraught cry made your heart clench.
“Mama,” a child's voice sounded from across the hallway.
“Oh shit, that’s Ollie,” you whispered, immediately shifting out of sex goddess and into mom mode.
Your youngest was screaming like a banshee, only stopping to hiccup as he was catching the breath he so desperately needed to continue his assault on your ears.
Before you even got up from the bed, Leon had already pulled on a pair of boxers and rushed out the bedroom door.
You took one last deep breath to fully arrive on this plane of existence and shrugged into your robe. Ollie would no doubt stop screaming once Leon appeared in his bedroom door, chasing the monster under his bed away.
But Ollie did not stop. He only screamed louder and more frantically.
“Not you,” he shrieked and you tied the belt around your midsection, rushing down the hallway.
Ollie was completely fixated on you. Ever since he had been born, he was a real momma’s boy. You had also breastfed him for longer than usual because he had a hard time letting you go. But that was okay. If your baby needed you more, then he needed you more. You weren't on other people's timelines. Just like with getting pregnant. This was your family, everything would come together in its own time.
However, Ollie had never full-on rejected Leon like that before.
“Ollie, what’s up? Hey, buddy, it’s okay, I’m here,” Leon cooed softly, trying to pick his son up and calm him down, as he was sobbing and thrashing.
In his distraught state, Ollie sent a forceful kick straight to Leon's jaw. Leon winced, squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, before backing off and leaving his son to his tantrum.
“Where’s mommy?” Ollie shrieked, hot tears streaming down his face.
“I’m here, baby,” you said softly, crouching down next to his bed. Ollie frantically freed himself from the duvet and flung himself into your arms.
You cradled him against your chest, his face buried in your neck. “Ollie, hey, shhh,” you shushed him, gently stroking his soft curls. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Ollie gurgled and sobbed against the skin on your neck, barely able to compose himself. “No, he was hitting you. Why was daddy hitting you?”
“Your dad wasn’t hitting me, Ollie,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his head. “You had a bad dream.”
“No, I heard it, you were screaming and he was hitting you,” Ollie insisted, hiccupping again. He was so stressed, his little body was shaking.
Leon’s wide eyes found yours. “Oh no.”
“Uh…” You paused, not quite sure what to say, as your cheeks turned hot, looking at Leon for help.
Leon shook his head, just as lost as you were. He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, closed it again.
Your son was three. He had no idea what was going on. Neither did you want him to. You were mortified that he had heard what you and Leon had been up to. No kid should ever have to hear that.
“Ollie,” Leon said softly, scooting over to you and his son.
Ollie shrieked again, his voice breaking into a sob. “Make him go away.”
Leon looked like he had been slapped across the face.
You softly rocked your son from side to side. You had an idea.
“Leon, can you get his sippy cup?” you whispered and Leon already pushed himself off the floor, disappearing into the kitchen.
“Ollie, I’m okay,” you whispered, taking a deep breath in, your chest expanding against your son's body. After a couple of breaths like that, Ollie started to regulate his breathing too, his crying becoming less frantic. You pressed your cheek against his, repeating the motion.
Leon appeared in the door with Ollie’s cup, handing it to you from a safe distance.
You took the cup from him, offering it to your son. He wordlessly took it into his hands, drinking from it.
If they’re having a tantrum, just add water. Old mom trick from Rhonda. That could be for drinking, gently washing their hands—just add water in some way, shape or form.
Back when Lottie had been going through her terrible twos, Rhonda had seen you completely overwhelmed and struggling to keep it together. You had tried everything but nothing would work and it was getting increasingly harder not to snap when the devil seemed to have taken over your child at every meltdown. Sensory reset. For the both of you. It was so simple sometimes.
Ollie swallowed and you smiled, running a gentle hand over his head again.
“I’m okay, Ollie. Your dad didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do,” you said.
“It sounded really bad,” he sniffled, blinking, tears streaking his chubby cheeks.
You wiped the tears away from the soft skin. “You weren’t supposed to hear that, baby. We’re very sorry. That was grown-up stuff.”
“Do you promise?” Ollie looked at you, face all red and puffy.
You nodded. “I promise. Your father and I love each other very much, we would never hurt each other.”
Ollie wrinkled his forehead, shooting an angry glance at Leon. “Do you promise?”
Leon put a hand over his heart, crouching down behind you. “I promise. I love your mom. More than anything.”
Ollie sniffled again. “Good. Because she’s my mom.”
Leon chuckled, nodding. “I know.”
“Ollie, I’m also your sister’s mom,” you said, smiling softly at his possessiveness. “And I’m your dad’s wife. We all belong together. It’s important to me that you know that, okay?”
Ollie nodded hesitantly, throwing his head down onto your shoulder again, gripping you a little tighter. “Can I sleep in your bed?”
You chuckled, being very familiar with his shtick. “Try and sleep in your own bed, okay? We won’t wake you up again.”
“I don’t want to,” he said immediately, voice quivering, threatening to start screaming the house down all over again.
“You need to sleep in your own bed sometimes. Like your sister does. You’re a big boy now.”
“Daddy’s bigger than me. He sleeps in your bed every night.”
You chuckled. “That’s different.”
Leon pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You know, he kind of has a point.”
“We’re supposed to be on the same page, Leon,” you hissed.
“I know,” he said, offering his hand to his son. “I would never hurt your mom, Ollie. Never.”
Ollie gave Leon a tired high-five. “Okay.”
“How about your mom stays here with you until you’re asleep? Does that sound good?”
Ollie nodded and you lifted him up and into his bed. Leon leaned forward and pulled the duvet over his son’s shoulders.
Ollie made a grabby gesture and you took his hand, sitting by his bedside.
Leon tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his lips finding your temple and lingering for a little too long. “He won’t remember this when he gets older, right?”
You shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I hope not.”
“I’ll go check on Lottie,” Leon whispered. “And when you come back to bed I have plans for you.”
“Quiet plans,” you reminded him.
“Oh very quiet, you’ll see,” he murmured, pulling you in for a kiss on the lips, sending tingling sensations all over your body.
You gasped.
“Leon,” you yelled, jumping up and rushing to the bathroom door.
“What?” Leon called back, stepping into the hallway and freezing when he saw what you were holding in your hand.
“Is it …?”
You nodded.
He rushed toward you, taking the pregnancy test from your hands. The second line was pale still, because you were only supposed to get your period that day, but it was definitely there.
“Oh my god, you’re pregnant,” Leon whispered, his face lighting up.
“We’re having another baby.” You couldn’t stop the wide smile appearing on your face.
Leon pulled you closer to him, resting his forehead against yours. He gently placed his hands on your lower belly, caressing your skin with his thumbs. Your eyes fluttered shut, a happy sigh escaping you at the thought of the next eight months.
“Boy or girl, what do you think?”
You chuckled. “Leon, I have no idea. There’s no way to tell.”
He captured your lips in a gentle kiss. “We actually planned this one, start to finish.” He sounded so proud.
You nodded. “Shocking, I know.”
“Took us a while, though.” He whispered, gaze falling down to your still flat belly. Not for much longer. You would be able to show off your baby bump in no time and you couldn't wait.
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” you teased him, nudging your nose against his.
He chuckled. “This is our last pregnancy. We have to enjoy this and take so many pictures. Maybe go on one of those babymoon things or whatever they’re called.”
You nodded again. “This is the last time we’ll do this. Our last baby.” Why did you feel a little teary-eyed all of a sudden? Hormones weren’t supposed to spike this early on.
“It feels so weird not to be surprised with it,” Leon said. “I had time to look forward to finding out.”
“I’m so excited,” you replied. “I can’t wait to see what Lottie and Ollie are going to say.”
Leon's gaze trailed down and he bit back a laugh. “Do you want to pull up your pants before we tell them, though?”
“Oh,” you exclaimed, reaching down.
a/n: experts will know this was of course not their last baby. surprise, bitches as per Cooperative Parenting - Epilogue
"When I look in your eyes I see the entire galaxy reflecting back at me"
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Pairings: re9!husband!leon x wife!reader
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
Genre : fluff, romance, banter, emotional intimacy, soft leon, flirt
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
Summary - Waking up beside your husband: Leon, every morning was a feeling not even the seven heavens above could compete with.
And as you lay there beside him, watching the quiet rise and fall of his chest, all you could feel was utterly enchanted by beautiful scene before you.
WC : 1.3k
As soft morning light filtered through the blinds of your bedroom, brushing your skin in pale gold, your eyes slowly fluttered open.
And a sleepy sound escaped your lips as you turned your head toward the bear of a man sleeping beside you.
Leon was literally completely out of it.
And somehow that made you far too aware of him. Then you rolled over on your side, beneath the blankets, taking your time as you admired him.
God. He looked gorgeous like this. His messy blond hair had fallen across his forehead during the night, stubborn strands sticking out in every direction.
His soft brown freckles decorated his pale skin, scattered across his nose and cheeks like tiny constellations. And you smile faintly as you notice his nose scrunched lazily before relaxing again, while his ridiculously long lashes rested against his eyes.
You groaned at the sight, then your eyes traveled to down to his lips and you were actually shocked; because of how good they looked at first thing in the morning. You simply stared at them for a bit and the sight before you made your heart swell pleasantly against your ribs.
And a soft hum escaped you as you reached across the duvet and gently brushed your fingers against his cheek, tracing his skin softly.
But of course he didn't react.
And that alone gave you a beautiful idea.
Your smile widened as you leaned over him, your gaze lingering on his sleeping face for a moment longer.
Then, overcome by a sudden wave of what could only be described as cute aggression, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, letting your lips linger there briefly before pulling away.
A fond smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned in again, pressing another gentle kiss against the side of his temple.
He doesnt move.
So you kissed his cheek, and a giggle bubble up your chest. Then slowly you pressed your lips on his nose.
"God, Leon you're so pretty."
Then his jaw.
"My husband." You smiled and murmured against his skin.
Though still nothing, so you pulled back a bit, Leon wasnt making any noises except few snore that sounded way too fake.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him, because he was way too still and there was absolutely no way Leon Kennedy slept this deeply.
Determined now, you gently brushed your fingers through his hair before trailing them down his arm, slowly tracing the muscles beneath his shirt.
Goosebumps rose over his body as his breathe deepens but he doesnt wake.
"Uh-oh you are gonna play this game, hm?" you whispered and poked his cheek.
He was still-still.
Then you cradled his face before squishing it slightly. Your eyes narrowed further at him and you playfully hum, “Guess I could bite him now.”
Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched upward, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly even though he still refused to open them.
The moment you caught it, you immediately sat upright, a betrayed smile spreading across your face. "You're awake." you accused and in same breath you gasped dramatically. "You are a terrible actor!"
But still he plays pretend and lies still, then slowly sighing you lean closer to him, "Leon."
The next thing you knew, a strong arm slipped around your waist. You barely had time to let out a startled squeak before the world tilted beneath you.
In one smooth motion, Leon pulled you down onto him, and suddenly you found yourself sprawled across his chest. "Leon!" you yelped, gripping his shoulders as his laughter rumbled beneath you.
"You were saying?" He chuckles deeply, his words vibrating in your chest.
"You were pretending to sleep!"
"You kissed me like twelve times." Leon grins.
"You counted?"
"I counted every single one."
Your face immediately warmed, as heat spreads across your chest and the traitor only looked pleased with himself.
And you notice his one arm remained securely around your waist while the other settled behind his head. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, yet amusement danced inside them.
"You look very proud of yourself," you giggled, rubbing your chin lightly against his chest as you settled more comfortably on top of him. The motion only seemed to make his smug expression grow wider.
"I am." He mumbled.
"For what?"
"Catching you." Leon teased as he rubbed his chin across your hairs, making you giggle again.
Then as you gaze up at him, his smile softened a moment later, and his eyes slothfully locked on yours, like he was seeing something worth millions.
Your heartbeat stumbled at his softened reaction. "What?"
For a moment he simply looked at you. Then his hand came up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
His expression turned unexpectedly gentle and he whispers with a smile, "When I look in your eyes," he paused then takes a big deep breath before continuing, "I see the entire galaxy reflecting back at me."
Your breath get caught in your lungs again, "Wow."
The smug smile returned instantly on his face. "Wow?"
"You are so cheesy first thing in the morning," you teased, though your heart was already betraying you, drumming frantically against your chest as warmth spread across your face.
"I was being romantic," he pouted, his lips jutting out ever so slightly as he looked at you with exaggerated offense.
You mumbled against his chest. "Fine, fine... it made my heart stutter."
Leon chuckled softly at that before pressing a kiss against your temple.
Then he rested his chin lightly atop your head as you settled more comfortably against his chest. Your own chin found its place on his shoulder while his arms remained securely around you.
You stayed like that, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing beneath your ear.
After a while, you glanced up at him and found his eyes closed, a peaceful expression settling across his features.
A small smile tugged at your lips at the sight. For all his toughness, Leon was an absolute softie when it came to you, and moments like these reminded you of that more than anything else.
For a while you just stayed there tangled in each other as morning sunlight continued to spill across the room.
While the blankets tangled between your legs.
You felt so comfortable lying on top of him that it genuinely felt as though you were resting on a cloud.
As the two of you gradually relaxed into the quiet of the morning, you tilted your head upward, your chin brushing lightly against his chest. "When did you wake up?" you asked, letting out a soft sigh against his skin as you looked up at him.
Leon didn't even open his eyes this time, instead he hummed and replied, "When you were staring at me."
You laughed shaking your head and lifted your head to look at him. "You were awake at that point?" you asked, disbelief and amusement slipping into your voice.
"You know when you stirred I though you were going to be awake and I can't sleep when you're not near me. Can't help it, baby," he said, his eyes softening as he looked at you.
A quiet sigh escaped you at his words, and you melted further against his chest, feeling strangely safe there, almost as if you were being held by an angel, instead of Leon.
The sound you made earned another kiss against your temple. Then Leon pulled you even closer against his chest, his arms tightening around you as though he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
Absentmindedly, your fingers found his biceps, tracing lazy circles over them while you settled comfortably against him.
Neither of you made any effort to leave the warmth of the bed, content to remain tangled together in the quiet comfort of the morning. Because after all, some mornings were simply too good to rush.
hi this is just me announcing that I’m very pleased to see that the Leon love is still going strong <33333 quite proud to have caused this! love u babes, have a great day
i only have you to blame/thank<3 GODDDDDDD i love him so much
so I’m back in your ask box like a desperate ex is back in your DMs right? and there’s this thought in my head that I have zeroooo motivation to write but I need to read it and also I need your gorgeous writing style to do it justice okay? okay. SOOOOO… Loki with a reader that complains about their ex or their current partner all the time and one day he just gets fed up with it because at the beginning he doubted himself but at this point he’s confident even he can treat them better.
ALSO I’M WORKIJG ON YOUR YELENA DRABBLE I PROMISE. You will have that soon jsyk!!
How does the one audio go. like. “55 BURGER 55 FRIES 55—“ yeah something like that ANYWAY envision me pulling up to your ask box like one would a fast food drive thru. Can I get a short Natasha special w a perfectionist reader who refuses to stop working until physically like dragged away…?
come to bed.
.ᐟ pairing: natasha romanoff/reader.
.ᐟ word count: 383
.ᐟ summary: natasha can’t get you to hit pause on this stupid project. she’ll make you, sooner or later.
.ᐟ content: pure fluff, no smut, just natasha being a caring and loving partner. gn!reader, no descriptions of reader. not beta-ed
.ᐟ notes: this ask awoke something in me, i got ts out SO quick. love you darling thank you for sending this in<3 hope you enjoy! also sorry for the break in posting i got into a really bad car accident and just got surgery yesterday so i’ve been a bit busy 😭 ao3 curse really got me
“I thought you said you’d come to bed in a sec.”
Oh, Natasha. Your beautiful, perfect Natasha. She just doesn’t get it, does she?
“I will. Just let me finish up this page.”
“Just a few minutes. One sec. I’ll be done soon. When does it end, baby?” You can hear the small upturn in her lip as she teases you. She’s so beautiful when she calls you out like that. But then again, she’s beautiful all the time.
She comes up behind you, wrapping her arms around you. She’s wearing one of your old t-shirts, you can tell by the hole in the sleeve and the smell of her perfume mixing with that scent you always wear.
“Come to bed.” She mumbles to you, her voice soft and groggy.
Words can’t express how much you would love to simply abandon this project and go to bed. To curl up in her arms, bury your face in her hair, and finally let your body rest. However, rest hasn’t been in your vocabulary for a long time.
You sigh, leaning back in your chair and putting your hands on her arms. Her skin is still soft from the lotion she puts on before bed.
“Nat… The project…” You close your eyes, breathing in her presence for this fleeting moment.
She huffs, grabbing your arms and dragging your chair back.
“No. You’re coming to bed.”
You whine, trying to pull your arms away from her, but she wins. She always wins.
She could ask you to pull the moon out of the sky for her, and you’d oblige easily.
“You are working too hard, too much. Your girlfriend wants you in bed with her.”
Who are you to turn her down?
You change out of your clothes and into your pajamas—the ones she bought you a few months ago, just because. “You’d look cute in them,” she’d said.
Curling up in bed, you bury your face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. She’s perfect. She’s so, so, perfect.
You’re about to drift off to sleep when you hear her whisper to you. “I love you, baby.”
You mumble something along the same lines, and she lets out a sleepy laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You’re never letting her go.
hope you enjoyed! don’t forget to like, reblog, or comment<3
hot take: the patriarchy is so inherent to society that most of the x f!reader fanfiction written for older male characters (joel miller, bullseye, soldier boy, etc) is written by women with internalized misogyny so deep-seated, they’d rather make the reader half the man’s age and fetishize the age gap, instead of aging the reader up for something more sensible and balanced. it just goes to show how men will always be praised for aging, whereas women will be demonized for it, even in the world of fanfiction. even on paper, we exist solely to fulfill fantasies and meet standards that were forced upon us.
edit: y’all need to stop haggling me in the comments idgaf about your age play and freudian relationships... you guys have boiled this post down to controversial age gaps, when it’s about women aging being demonized while men aging is celebrated. date who you want! goon to who you want! i don’t care!
summary : leon and his growing obsession with miniskirts.
tags : car sex, a bit of guided masturbation, i know i said this was re 9 leon but i changed it to pre re9 leon so he's probably 45-47 here, reader is in her mid 20's, fem reader, a hint of leather glove kink tbh, not proofread i just be balling
notes : should i write a diary entry where leon and reader are being cutesy and domestic? xoxo also guess where theyre gonna do it next 🤭
diary entries : 1
credits to the owners of the photos and dividers!
"had fun teasing me the whole day, dove?". leon asked lowly with his gloved hand gripping the wheel tightly. his eyes are focused on the road as he drives you guys back to your apartment.
he took you for a date the whole day today, and you never wouldve thought that the man you slept with a week ago would be taking you to a date to be honest.
a week ago, when you woke up at his apartment sore and feeling so good, you thought he'll be kicking you out just like any other one night stands but you were shocked that he made you some simple breakfast first. you can guess what happened after that, you guys talked about some things, trivial and other personal but not too personal of course.
then he kinda fucked you in the kitchen after that cause you were unintentionally giving him the bedroom eyes. unintentionally yes, because you couldnt help it, his biceps were just so big whenever his arms move or the way it strains his shirt when he crosses his arms.
he was so delicious and that you just started giving him the eyes, along with your lashes fluttering softly. he was down bad at it, the way you just went doe eyes on him and kept humming whenever he talks. you just couldnt speak anymore because you were busy drooling over him cause he looks so handsome and all.
soon enough though, he finally drove you back to your apartment feeling sated and asked if he could see you again. he never really wouldve thought that he'll be asking that kind of question to a person half his age but can you blame him? you were so beautiful, he couldnt let the opportunity pass.
and so, you gave him his number, wrote it on his hand before pressing a kiss on it.
after that, things just happened naturally. you guys call each other at every free time that you guys have or he'll be at your apartment, seeking for your company and your pussy too to be honest.
he actually liked being with you though, he just met you but it feels like he's being bewitched.
the only problem is that he notices how much you love wearing miniskirts, its killing him cause you look divine in it. the way it hugs your hips, the way it looks tight on your upper thighs or the way it flows whenever you move.
its maddening.
it makes your thighs so beautiful that he just wants to grab at them all the time. you dont know how much you were affecting him with your little miniskirts.
and today, today you are wearing another miniskirt of course. you wanted to look pretty and good for him so you wore your favorite miniskirt, a flowy black leather one paired with a white lace top. you even put on some black leather jacket to pair with him cause he always have his black one.
"was i....". you thought as you pursed your lips and looked at him with a tilt of your head. "teasing you?".
you were, for the whole damn day. you made sure to always cross your legs to give him a little tease of the back of your thighs and you always managed to find a way to bend down a little to give him a peak from time to time. then you'll have the most innocent smile whenever you caught him trying not to look.
you also made an emphasis as you hang around his arm, squeezing his biceps all the time and just leaning your chin up at it while looking at him through your lashes.
you like seeing his expressions, he's been looking at you like youre the only person in the whole place. you like how you always feel his gaze on your miniskirt down to your bare legs then up to your eyes.
it gave you a boost of confidence and just feel wanted.
"couldn't help yourself, huh?". he hummed thoughtfully, his leather glove squeaked a little when he tightened his hold on the wheel.
"i dont know what youre talking about". you said in a sing song voice before moving to cross your legs again but before you could do so, his other hand darted out and pressed it on your thigh.
you felt yourself shiver as the leather glove bites on your bare legs, you tried to squeeze your thighs together but his hold was tight. so you glanced at him and you noticed how his jaw is clenched.
before you guys went back inside the car earlier, you "accidentally" dropped the shopping bag that you were holding while he was holding the car door open for you. you let out a giggly whoops when it dropped before you bent down, way too down and it was enough to finally give him a peek of your lace panties.
leon swore his heart dropped, it was red and it was hugging your ass tight but from right there, he figured he's had enough.
"legs open". leon ordered and you widened your eyes a little.
"w-what?". you breathed out as you held the seatbelt across your chest.
a nervous flutter stirred in your stomach. as you glanced at him. you've been thinking about him ever since he picked you up earlier and not just him to be honest. when you saw him earlier, your heart thudded against your ribcage cause he looked so handsome in his usual leather jacket and henley top inside.
you knew right there and then that you want him inside you again. it had only been two days since you'd last seen each other, but somehow it felt much longer. you missed him more than you cared to admit, him and his cock apparently cause youve been feeling needy the whole day too.
are you really about to do it in the car though? in his porsche car?
"you heard me, sweetheart". leon said as he glanced at you at the corner of his eyes and his hand on your thigh eased it slowly to guide it open.
you gulped and licked your lips as your miniskirt moved up as he spreads your leg wider causing you to adjust in your seat. he laid his hand on your thigh for a few more moments before squeezing it softly then moving it away to rest it on his lap.
you couldnt help but move your eyes on his pants and immediately, you saw the tent thats growing in between his legs. you let out a small noise at the back of your throat as you felt a sudden surge to close your legs again and rub it together but you cant.
you want to be good for him.
"are you wet?". he asked it so casually, as if he wasnt asking something so crude.
you still nodded though, you could feel your lace panties getting damp and your clit is tingling with need.
"use your words". leon said with an ever loving soft voice yet firm.
"y-yes, im wet". you licked your lips as you rests your head on the seat while starting to get desperate for a friction.
you could feel your throat getting dry as your pussy cries out for more. the fact that youre about to do something sexual inside his porsche is doing some things to you.
"why dont you touch yourself, hm?". he asked as he turned into another street. you teased him the whole day so now, its his time.
"i want your fi-".
"im driving, sweetheart. use your soft little ones". he denied you causing you to whine softly and your bottom lip jutting out. "come on now, tell me how wet you are".
you licked your lips to try and stop another whine coming out from your mouth. your heavy breaths filled the car as you trailed your hand down to your miniskirt and down to your bare legs. you watched goosebumps raise on your skin as the cold air suddenly felt warm and hot, you spread your legs more to give your hand a space and finally, your fingers touched the wet spot against your lace panties.
"leon". you breathed out as you tap your fingers against it before rubbing it softly to spread it more.
"wet?". he asked and glanced down at where your hands are buried between your thighs.
god, he wants to be buried between your thighs.
"uh huh". you wordlessly nodded your head as you arched your back while rubbing your pussy through your wet panties.
leon just hummed causing you sniffle, you want him, you want his fingers rubbing on you not yours. they couldnt do what he usually does to you.
"take off your panties". like on autopilot, you immediately followed it and wiggled on your seat to take it off. when your bare ass hits the seat again, you couldnt help but sigh.
it feels cold but it feels good against you.
he grabbed your panties out of your hand and sneaked it inside his jacket pocket before taking one of your leg to spread it again. hand tight on the wheel, he then glanced whats in between your legs.
its your pussy, wet and aching for him. he could see the sticky mess between your thighs and its glistening against your skin. your pubic hair was even matted on top of your mound, he could see your juices all mixed with it.
"go on, touch yourself". he said lowly as his gloved hand rubbed your leg to warm you up.
you looked at him through your lashes with needy eyes and a small whine coming out your mouth, you just want him and his fingers.
why is he not giving it to you?
with a small pout that he wants nothing more than to kiss it away, you brought down your hand again against your wet sloppy pussy. you moaned when your fingers touched the wet, slimy juices that is coming out steadily and you rubbed it all over your pussy.
your breathes are starting to get heavy as you make a mess on his passenger seat before you started to tap your clit. you jolted a little at the feel of it then rubbed circles on it as pants came out of your mouth. it felt so good and wet that after rubbing circles on your clit, you teased your hole with your middle finger.
just the tip, like he always do before he slides it in and stretches you out.
"good, sweetheart?". he asked as he hears the wet slick of your ministries. he could hear how youre moving your fingers and how it squelches on his leather seat.
"want more". you whined as you buck your hips against your hand as you went back on rubbing your clit again.
you could drown in this feeling, you could feel how wet the seat is now as your pussy continued letting out slick and you cant help but rub it all over you while teasing your clit.
"insert a finger for me then, sweetheart". he softly said and rubbed your leg again, as if he's soothing your aching need for him.
you whined when you followed his word, you pulled it in and out while thinking of his cock. his finger be damned, you need his cock now. you could feel yourself tightening up but it wasnt enough so you sobbed and buck your hips again, clit deliciously grinding against your hand.
"leon, please. m-more, i want—". you babbled endlessly at him causing him to clench his hand on the wheel while feeling his cock straining against his pants.
"another finger, sweetheart". and you put another one in, fingers now moving harshly causing a wet squelch to fill the car along with your moans.
"ahh.... oh p-please". you begged as you arched your back to try to chase the pleasure with your fingers.
he knows he could just let you cum there on his seat, he knows he could just drive straight ahead back on your apartment but all the rational thoughts are slowly leaving him. all those training for self restraint had come off the window ever since he saw your sweet pussy earlier.
he could definitely feel that the one talking right now is his dick, its begging for him to release it and to just burrow it inside your tight, wet heat.
"leon". you cried out as the sudden feel of orgasm was licking at you.
leon is definitely thinking with his dick right now cause he immediately halted the car and parked it into a corner where no one could see. his windows are tinted and the place is dark, so this the perfecr place but a sickening thought at the back of his mind says that he doesnt really care if someone sees them.
let them watch and know that he's fucking someone so good.
"backseat". he told you with a clenched jaw before he opened his door to get out of the car.
still dazed, teary eyed, and a bit annoyed from the sudden stop of your almost orgasm, you moved through the space on the console and wiggled your way to the backseat. you squealed when he suddenly grabbed you from behind to turn you on your back and adjust you.
he already has his pants open and his hard, leaking cock is out. he gripped it by the base as he strokes to spread the precum around. its a tight fit inside his car but he'll manage cause right now all he wants is to be inside you.
you groaned at the sheer size of his cock, you already took it for so many times but you still never really got used to it. its not too big but the girth of it is always enough to stretch you open. the way it moves inside you just hits the right spot always, you could even feel it pulse most of the time.
the tip is an angry red right now as it spurts out precum nonstop and the veins bulged out all over it causing you to bite your lip. god, you wanted it.
"you dont know how much you drive me crazy." leon breathed out as he looks at your face before he brought a hand up to caress the side of it. "youre a fucking tease, but youre so beautiful".
your bottom lip jutted out at his words and he couldnt believe that his cock could get any harder as he saw your cheeks go pink. you raised your head to pressed your lips against his and he groaned at the taste of you.
he could still taste the dessert that you both had earlier and a small taste of your lipgloss. he's addicted to your taste, he just wants to keep all of you.
he bit your lip and sucked causing your back to arch against the seat. you guys exchanged kisses and spit between your mouths before one of your hand sneaked down to grab at his cock.
"f-fuck, sweetheart". he cursed as he pulled away when he felt your hand rubbed at his tip then glided down to his base.
"fuck me". you begged against his lips as you made his cock touch your pussy and you clenched on nothing. "please, leon".
and that broke something in him. you screamed at the sudden action as he doved inside you, a sickening sound came out as he bottomed out inside you and a guttural groan vibrated on his chest.
you felt so warm and wet around him. it felt like home and he never wants to leave.
he gave you time to adjust on his size while pressing kisses at the side of your face. you wrapped your arms under his leather jacket, held on to his shirt and one of your hand rested near on his shirt covered back dimples as you sigh. his warmth and weight on you felt so good.
"fuck me". you told him again and you moaned loudly against his ear when he immediately pistoned his hips to drive his cock inside you.
wet sounds, heavy breathing and moans filled the car as leon moved like an animal inside you. all of his self restraint rolled off away from him and all he could think was you, your arms clinged to him as your body moved harshly against his thrusts while his arms bracketed around you. his biceps bulged beside your head as he puts more force on his thrusts like he wants it deep and nestled inside you.
"s-so soo good, oh fuck". you exclaimed when he delivered a short, hard thrust as his balls hits your pussy again and again.
"youre taking it so well, sweetheart". he grunted from above you and he could feel sweat building up on his brows. you clenched on him at the sudden praise and his cock throbbed. "just wanted my cock, didnt you? been teasing me the whole day".
you sobbed as you held on to him, his shirt is probably so crinkled under your hands.
"you couldve just asked, sweetheart". he groaned as he moved his hips to ease his cock on your tightening pussy. "s'fucking tight in here, but all for me right?".
and if you had just asked him for it earlier, he'd be fucking you at every place that he took you the whole day.
all you could do is nod your head and just cry at him cause his cock drilling up inside you made you all speechless. your mind just turned off that all you could feel was him and your body felt so sweaty against the leather seat.
"dont cry sweetheart, i got you". he leaned his head down to yours when he noticed tears clumping on your lashes, you looked so beautiful. "my good girl".
you nodded your head at him cause you are his good girl. soon enough though, you felt your arm cramping so you moved it down to clutch at the front of his shirt instead.
"c-cumming.... a-ah please, wanna cum". you let out as he run his nose against your wet cheek while his hips started to lose control.
the wet slapping sound became louder and his grunts became more prominent as his teeth bit your ear. you mewled at the sensation that it caused you to buck up your hips against him to meet his thrusts.
the pressure against your abdomen was tightening up and your pussy is holding him inside tightly causing his cock to jerk inside.
he could feel it, he could himself close to cumming.
"so fucking good, never wanna leave". now its his turn to babble, he's saying more words that turns your inside into a mush and your head to just go dizzy. his cock drilling into you and his voice literally up against your ear is doing things to you.
"always so tight for me".
"she just just wants my cock all the time, doesnt she sweetheart?".
"fuck me, thats good. youre doing so good for me, dove".
"gonna cum, sweetheart? gonna give it to me, huh?". leon panted as he brought his head up again to watch you scrunch up your face in bliss and your tears rolling down your perfect face.
you look so beautiful and all for him.
"give it to me, come on". he hissed when you clenched and he felt your pussy throb as he grinded down to hit his pubic hair against your clit.
it always gets you hot and bothered whenever he does that.
"leon". you cried out when you arched your back as you felt yourself cumming and it coated his cock inside.
"thats a good girl, f—fuck". he groaned as your pussy pulsed all over him and he immediately held your hip before slamming his cock deep inside you causing you to choke.
when his tip hits your cervix, that's when you felt him spurt his own cum and it all went inside of you before flooding out of your pussy. his hips never really stopped moving but it slowed down, he's still grinding his cock inside as you twitch under him.
he buried his face on your neck to breathe you in and you shivered while one of your hand still clutched the front of his shirt. you blushed softly when you felt the cum dripping down the seat and you felt it get wet beneath your ass.
"too fucking good for me, dove". his voice was tired when he spoke against your neck.
the exhaustion, the warmth and the dilemma are all swirling inside of him as he tries to get his breath back.
but you just closed your eyes to try to feel all of him. you love it whenever he's close like this, it feels like both of you are just intertwined.
"mhm, but i aint going anywhere, old man". you replied after a few more seconds before you moved your head to press a kiss on his head.
leon shuddered at the sensation of your kiss, it felt so soft and lingering. it sent a feeling inside of him and just stayed there close to his heart, while your pussy just continued squeezing him.
avengers!bucky seems to hate you, and you find his hatred for you kinda hot
cw: 18+ minors dni — fem!reader, avengers!reader, frenemies to lovers, reader is lowkey a freak, suggestive content
bucky barnes masterlist ༻ navi
you honestly shouldn’t find bucky’s hatred for you hot.
the way he sighs when you walk into a room, or the way he grumbles under his breath when you’re both paired together on a mission. the way his eyebrows furrow and his lips pinch together in a thin line, just makes you want to climb his big body like a tree and maybe that thought is crazy, but god forbid a girl is attracted to a six foot something man with massive biceps.
you let out a proud grin when you manage to sneak your leg under bucky’s and slam his back onto the mat.
you see the way bucky clenches his jaw, sitting up with a frown.
“awh dont be upset that i kicked your ass while sparring… again.” you let out a high pitched laugh, running away as soon as bucky jumps to his feet.
“you piss me the fuck off.” bucky grumbles, going to the side to take a sip of his water.
“i know.” you shrug, coming closer to him since he’s made it obvious that he’s not going to chase after you like last time.
“i don’t know why though.” you sigh, sitting down on the bench beside him. “i really don’t do anything bad to you, i just… exist and to you that is somehow a problem.”
you hear bucky let out a long, loud sigh, before he gets up. “cmon let’s go again.” he says, cracking his neck.
you roll your eyes, realising that he just completely ignored everything you just said.
this happens all the time and now it’s starting to get annoying. every time you try and have a normal conversation with him that doesn’t include cussing or cursing, he ignores you.
you stand up crossing your arms. “no.”
“no?” bucky repeats, his eyebrow raising.
“no.” you say again. “im done. im always nice to you, i never cause any problems for you and you. you’re just ugh.” you throw your hands in the air because you can’t exactly tell him that even though he’s never once said a positive thing about you, you still want him to rail you into the fucking mattress.
you let out a frustrated sigh, picking up your water bottle and walking out of the training room.
before you can even get close to the door, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back.
you gasp, when you’re spun around so you’re facing bucky. bucky who’s jaw is clenching so damn hard, you’re surprised he still has his teeth in his mouth.
“wha—mmph” you eyes widen in surprise, when bucky roughly crashes his lips against yours. your eyes quickly close, when you feel him push you against the nearest wall, his hands sliding around your waist. you kiss him back more fiercely, pushing your tongue in his mouth and nibbling on his bottom lip. he groans, one of his hands wandering down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze before he pulls his mouth away.
he pants, resting his forehead on yours. “that’s fucking why i can’t speak to you. or look at you. or be any fucking where near you, because everytime you smirk at me, or look at me with those damn ‘fuck me’ eyes, all i can think about is bending you over the nearest fucking surface.” and with that, he turns around and walks out of the training room.
for the first time ever, you’re left speechless.
you wanna be one of the first to read my bucky fanfics? why don’t you ask to join my taglist :)
AN: hehe just a lil something until i publish my main fic 💋
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?”
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 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.
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!
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hii! can I request an angst bucky fic where he has a really bad nightmare from his hydra days and when the reader tries to wake him up he freaks out and chokes the reader with his metal arm, thinking he’s back at hydra and not realising it’s her, resulting in him hating his arm even more. after that, he keeps talking down on himself. and worries about the fact that he is capable of hurting the reader again. Ty xx
my head is full of poison
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
summary: request above
word count: 3.3k
content warnings: angst, fluff, mention of hydra, brainwashing, torture. zemo is here (sorry), bucky wants kids, vomiting, blood, graphic depictions of violence, bucky is self-sacrificing and insecure, not proofread
author's note: hello my love! thank you so much for the request, i hope you enjoy this! thank you also for being so patient with me<33 i've also updated my masterlist for new characters (esp the pitt & off campus! so take a look if you'd like to send some requests<33)
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── ·
You knew better than anyone that Bucky struggled with sleeping. It had taken you a little over the 6 month mark of your relationship for him to feel comfortable letting you sleep over.
You hadn’t mentioned the firmness of the mattress when you slept, as if it was barely used. Nor did you mention that you’d happened to feel him sneak out of the bed when he thought you were asleep to curl up on the floor next to the bed.
You didn’t probe then, only because you though it would do you no good. It was still considered the early days back then, Bucky courting you the only way he knew how—flowers, chocolates, walks in the park.
He was nothing like the man Steve described back in the army. He was awkward, shy, stumbling over his own words and an overall sweetheart. Nothing like the ladies’ man you’d heard about.
You suppose that came with the over 70 years of isolation and torture. It was entirely understandable that one would have trouble sleeping with all that he’d been forced to endure.
You’d only attempted to bring it up once with him before.
“Hey,” you started out nervously, running your hands up and down the contours of his back as he laid over you on the couch.
You’d been watching some new nature documentary, something Bucky had been looking forward to—you weren’t necessarily too invested into the topic, but you found is endlessly endearing how his eyes seemed to sparkle in wonder as the commentator continued to speak.
“Hm?” Bucky muffles into your collarbone, barely looking away from the screen but letting you know you had his attention.
“Do you—uh, do you like your bed?” you cringe inwardly as soon as the line exits your mouth. Seriously? Did he like the bed? God you sucked at this.
Bucky snorts softly, a smile upticking his lips slightly as he shrugs noncommittally, “It’s a lot better than the ones they had back in the day—softer than anything I’ve ever had. S’nice.”
You bite your tongue, hesitating when you ask quietly, “You—” you clench your jaw.
“I’m worried that you don’t sleep well.” You admit, shrinking into yourself when Bucky tenses in your arms, still staring straight ahead at the screen.
You watch as his face shuts down, his expression hardening. Yet he doesn’t leave your embrace, instead blowing out a sharp breath through his nose.
“No. I don’t.” he says gruffly. He doesn’t elaborate further.
When you open your mouth to speak again, to try and help—he squeezes you tighter this time, quietly asking you not to push any further.
So, you don’t, even though questions bounce around your head like thought bugs without a home, you relent. There are just some hills you can’t bring yourself to die on.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
Unfortunately for you, Bucky seemingly takes that conversation as a sign to stop hiding the fact that he won’t sleep with you.
Instead of crawling into bed with you to snuggle under the covers before you inevitably give into sleep first—his blanket and pillow is already laid out onto the floor when you shuffle into the bedroom.
You stare at it, unflinching. How are you supposed to fix this? Would he even accept your help?
You know the answer to that. If there was one thing Bucky Barnes hated more than anything else in the world—it was accepting help.
So, little by little you plan. Granted it’s not the most convoluted plan you could come up with, if anything it’s a little juvenile.
It stars with you purposefully sleeping on the side of the bed that he lays his blanket down on, so you can turn and see him at any chance.
It puzzles him slightly judging by the furrow in his brow the first couple of times you do it, but he gets used to it soon enough.
Then you start to leave your hand dangling off the side of the bed, sometimes you’ll wake up on your stomach in the middle of the night to the feeling of Bucky tracing small shapes onto your fingertips and palm.
It makes you smile sleepily and clutch his hand softly in your own, feigning sleep when you hear him whisper into the dark, asking if you’re awake.
It works for a while and you’ve almost made peace with the fact that maybe this will just be your new normal for a while, you could deal—it wasn’t really like you were the one getting the shorter end of the stick here.
Until the night you wake up due to your own nightmare.
You can barely remember it, maybe the sound of screaming and blood but it’s all a jumbled mess of yarn in your head that you’re unwilling to tangle at this moment.
You stumble out of bed, mindful that Bucky looks like he must be in the middle of his second hour of uninterrupted rest. It’s been long enough for you to know that he rarely gets more than that in one night, usually having them broken up by a multitude of his own nightmares.
You make yourself comfy on the couch, turning on something mindless that’s quiet enough so that you can barely even hear it because you also know that any louder will wake up your super soldier.
The fleece blanket is wrapped around you as you move to lay horizontally onto the couch, blinks growing slower as most of the adrenaline in your system seems to slowly filter out.
You’re startled though by the sound of shuffling before footsteps pad quickly over to your position, you rub your eyes slowly and blink up at the sight of the sleep ruffled brunette.
“Hey,” you murmur sleepily, snuggling further into the couch cushions with a hum as you smile up at him.
He stares down at you with a frown, “Come to bed.” He insists.
Your smile stretches your lips thinly, but you make no movement to leave your position, “I’m c’mfy here, go back to bed.” You retort with a sleepy snuffle.
Bucky’s frown grows more distressed when you dismiss him. He doesn’t want to go back to bed. He’s gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping practically next to him that he refuses to go back to sleeping alone.
“It’s not good for your back.” Bucky mumbles, resisting the urge to pick up the bundled up version of you and take you back to the bed.
He can’t protect you if you sleep out here, there’s not enough space between the couch and coffee table for him to sleep on the floor and the distance between the bedroom and the living room gives an attacker too long of an opening to hurt you before Bucky could get to you.
You need to go to bed. Now.
“Says the guy who sleeps on the floor,” you mumble, a delirious giggle leaving your soft pillowy lips.
Bucky crosses his arm, that’s not fair. (It’s entirely fair).
You sigh, not hearing him move so you lift the corner of the blanket keeping you warm and shuffle further back into the frankly humongous couch.
“C’mere.” You order him, opening your arms for him to lay down. He looks perplexed.
“’s only for a couple of hours, the couch is harder than the mattress and I’m not getting up—you either come sleep with me or you go back to the room. You pick.”
Bucky wants to throw his hands up in a tantrum, to force you to go back to the bedroom and to not fight with him when he’s concerned for your safety, but you look so soft and so—so goddamn sweet that he can’t help himself
Let it be known that Bucky Barnes is a spoiled, rotten, selfish man.
He climbs onto the couch with you, exhaling as you wrap yourself around him, entangling his legs with yours and his arms cocooning your form.
It’s the best feeling in the world, feeling like he has the whole world in his hands.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
Sleep comes surprisingly easy, which should have been the first warning sign that something was wrong, sleep never came easy.
An ache eases in his chest at the feeling of having you in his arms, soft breaths puffing against his collar bone as the heaviness of sleep weighs on his eyelids.
He dreams of you, blissfully smiling in a warm lit home. The sun cascading through the kitchen windows and the happiest smile on your face.
You look…ethereal. Something he would never imagine himself finding or deserving of, in this lifetime of the next.
When his eyes focus, he notices something—or rather someone on your hip. A baby.
A baby that looks just like the two of you, an adorable head of dark hair with eyes that match your own, a cherubic smile on the tyke’s face that has Bucky’s heart bursting through his chest.
“You wanna say Hi to Papa?” you whisper enthusiastically to the baby, who claps his hands—a startled squeak of laughter leaving his small frame as you bounce him on your hip.
“Yeah? Say hi Papa!” you encourage him, and Bucky feels his legs moving before his mind catches up. With his arms outstretched he makes the small walk around the kitchen island to where the two of you stand.
“Pa!” Squeaks his son—his son his son his son. He has a baby—you—the two of you have a baby, a family like one he used to let himself dream about before the world decided he was undeserving of all peace and tranquillity.
“Hello—Hey Пусик” Bucky coos, hands shaking as you lift the baby into his arms. He’s so little, barely even encompassing Bucky’s forearm—so small, so precious. How can something so small be so important?
“He’s been fussy this whole morning, I think he just wanted his Papa.” You admonish the squirming baby in his arms with a faux annoyed expression. Bucky inhales sharply, staring down into the perfect irises of his child.
“You—you wanted me? P-papa?” he chokes out the word like it’s painful to exert. The baby gurgles in his arms, little hands slapping at his forearm as he wriggles in excitement—cooing nonsensically as drool slips from his little lips.
It’s simultaneously adoring and disgusting at the same time.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
He’s not sure how long he spends there in that moment, only that he’s aware that even forever would not be long enough.
It’s in the quiet moment that it comes for him, whilst he’s snuggled with you on the couch, watching as your little boy—Roman, you had mentioned—crawls around his playmat, stuffing various toys and objects into his mouth.
Желание (Longing)
He jerks with a startled gasp, his body tensing as the familiar words seemingly seeps into the memory.
“Bucky?” your distorted voice whispers to him, the memory fading around him as he twists and turns around the room in agony.
Ржавый (Rusted)
“No,” Bucky whispers horrified, turning to look at you and his baby but the both of you are nothing more than formless shapes.
His arms outstretch, trying to reach for you but you’re gone. No. No—no no no, please bring them back to me—give them back.
Memories flood through him, the cryo chamber, the testing, the amputation, the serum—it all comes flooding back.
Pain. Steve. Russia. Death. Blood. Murder.
I’mnotakillernaymore he chants to himself, rocking back and forth as he tries to ignore the trigger words being thrown at him.
Shuri fixed him, she promised—she wouldn’t lie to him. She told him he was free.
Девять (Nine) Добросердечный (Benign)
“Are you ready to comply soldier?” A leery voice grates his ears. Zemo.
He—how is he here? What—?
“You think you are free James, that are you are no longer under our control—but you are what you have always been, a soldier. You were born to follow orders—to carry out the orders of men more powerful than you can imagine—”
Bucky shakes his head, clenching his hands over his ears in a panic. He’s not a killer anymore—he’s been pardoned, they know he was under mind control.
“You think you can leave it behind you? Pretend you are a new man? You carry the lives of hundreds under your belt—you are a killer Barnes. The same way you will carry the life of your sweet—”
“Don’t you dare,” He snarls to the vision of Zemo. “I would never hurt her—”
“But can you promise that? Swear on her life that you would never hurt her?”
Bucky feels like crawling out of his skin, it’s all wrong—this, this is wrong—he wants to go back to his family, you in the sunlight. Your baby—his baby, he wants his son.
“I would never—” he chokes out.
“But you cannot promise.” Zemo echoes.
Bucky lurches forward, the growl tearing from his throat is animalistic and guttural as he wraps his metal arm around Zemo’s neck—who only grins devilishly.
“You. Are. A. Soldier.” Zemo whispers and Bucky’s vision grows dark.
“—ck, Buck—I can—” the strangled sound of your voice rips him out of his nightmare.
He’s transported back to his couch, leering above you with the same metal arm wrapped around your throat. He can feel your pulse under his grip, the thumpthumpthump of your heartbeat.
Your eyes are wide and teary, both of your hands wrapped around his hand around your throat, trying to pry him off. He snatches his arm away like you’ve burnt him—forcing himself away from you on shaky legs.
You cannot promise
He—he almost—Oh god.
“Buck,” your raspy voice makes him flinch, he did that. He’s the reason you sound like that. He could have crushed your windpipe if he applied even the slightest more pressure—he could’ve, he could’ve—oh.
He sees it so viscerally it scares him, the sight of you in a pool of blood, looking so similar to the countless unnamed people he’d murdered before. He can’t hide anymore—he will never not be a soldier.
Without another word, he bolts to the bathroom ignoring your calls of his name and the footsteps that follow him. He locks the door behind him before purging into the toilet, his vision turning blurry and his stomach cramping in on itself.
“Buck,” you call helplessly through the door. “Open the door,” you say, knocking softly as he hears the dull thump of your forehead against the wood.
Bucky can’t even look at you, let alone open the door. He doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more.
“You need to leave.” He grunts out, loud enough for you to hear as he slumps down against the cabinets, pulling his legs to his chest.
“I’m not going anywhere until you open this door.”
It’s not the answer he wants to hear, yet funnily enough it’s the one he expected. He knows you’re not going to let this go, that you’re going to want to work this out like mature adults.
He can’t let you do that; he’s worried he’ll cave the second you look at him.
“I don’t want you here.” He insists despite the wobble in his voice. He presses his wrists into his arms, scrubbing the pinching tears that threaten to fall as he sniffs harshly.
“You don’t mean that,” you plead with him, your voice muffled by the wood but heartbroken all the same.
Bucky can still feel your pulse under his fingers, he is sick. Sick sick sick.
He hearts your heartbeat growing faster with anxiety as you continue to plead with him.
“Just—just come and talk to me okay? I’m not mad, I’m not scared of you. I know you didn’t mean it and you’d never hurt me—”
“Well, I did it anyways didn’t I?!” he bursts out, frustration escaping his grasp as he lashes out at you. He wants to take it back the minute he says it, he has no right to be upset with you—he’s not the one who woke up being strangled.
He doesn’t know how you still can even stand to be around him, anybody else would be running for the hills.
“I. don’t. care.” You retort. He hears as you take a seat on the floor outside of the bathroom, the small creak of the door echoing as you lay your back softly against it.
“I knew you were struggling; I knew what I was signing up for when I started dating you and I—alright, maybe I could have pushed more, asked more about how I could help but I just thought—” you sniff, breaking Bucky’s already tender heart.
“I thought it would be okay, that you’d come to me. And now—now it’s like you’d rather do anything else than talk to me and I—fuck!”
Your words taper off and in replace of them are body wracking sobs. You hate that you’re breaking down so obviously when Bucky is already struggling and some devilish part of you thinks that this looks like you’re trying to manipulate him.
“I’m sorry,” you blubber uselessly, trying to stop your tears as you scrub harshly at your face, irritating your skin.
“Don’t apologise.” His gruff voice comes from inside the bathroom. Sorrow tinges his every word, and you fight the urge to just completely break down the door behind you.
But you know Bucky locked it for a reason and you doubt violating his boundaries will get anywhere near where you need to be.
“I—I should have—”
“It’s not your fault.” He insists.
“Well, it isn’t yours either.” You say softly, laying a hand onto the door frame as if it’ll magically deteriorate the barrier between you two.
“Bullshit,” he voices, “I’m the one who almost—who almost crushed your windpipe. I don’t think it gets much more cut and drier than that.”
“You were having a nightmare.” You persist.
“You should be scared of me; you shouldn’t even want to be near me because of what I did” he sounds so sure of himself that it breaks your heart.
“You don’t get to decide that for me. I love you; I’m not leaving you just because you think you deserve to be alone and miserable for the rest of your life.”
Bucky pauses, the silence stretching between the two of you. “Maybe I should be.”
Your chest grows tight in agony, “Do you love me?” you whisper brokenly.
“What?” Bucky breathes out.
“Do. You. Love. Me?” you ask sharply, eyes never leaving the chipped paint of the door.
“…yes.” He admits, hesitant and resigned.
Your heart blooms softly with hope.
“Then we can work through this.”
“What?” Bucky asks, confused.
“If you love me then we can work through this. I’m not going to up and leave you unless you give me an actual reason to.”
Bucky scoffs, “The risk of me hurting you again isn’t enough of a reason.”
“Not if you’re willing to work on it with me. Meds, therapy, hell even going down to talk with Sam at the VA.” You say softly.
“I don’t care what it is, if you love me and you’re willing to work on it then you have nothing to worry about.”
Bucky speaks so softly that you have to strain yourself to hear, “And if it doesn’t work?”
You soften, “Then we exhaust every opportunity we have. You’re not broken Buck, you’ve gotta give yourself a chance.”
It’s silent for a couple of seconds before the sound of shuffling ensues, the lock clicking and the door opening has you scrambling to your feet.
Bucky looks like a mess, hair a tangled mess and red rimmed eyes. His lips wobble when he speaks, “I—I would like a hug, please?” he mumbles.
You all but throw yourself into his arms, tucking his head into the crook of your neck as he sobs.
