⭐︎ a/n: happy fourth of july! this mini-series will contain sensitive topics. each fic will be tagged accordingly. no posting date, but they will eventually all be written. series playlist
main masterlist | more steve and bucky x reader fics
★ chapter one (coming soon)
synopsis — Your dad always kept his inner circle of friends small and close. Steve Rogers was one of them. He was respectful, kind, and someone you looked up to and trusted. What you didn't understand, though, was how your dad could also be best friends with a broody, grumpy man like Bucky Barnes. But when your dad leaves for a work trip over the Fourth of July, Bucky decides to remind you exactly why he’s so close with your father—except Steve keeps getting in his way to stop him.
★ chapter two
★ chapter three
★ chapter four
I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.
summary: winter never came for bucky barnes because he's living in eternal brat summer! welcome to a completely new masterlist of fics created by bucky writers' association to make your holidays even hotter. dial 999 in case the temperature gets too high! bwa takes zero responsibility for the horniness or the emotional damage you suffer while reading.
warnings: minors do not interact. each fic has its own set of warnings, tread carefully. you are responsible for your own media consumption. if you don't like it, stop reading. you have been warned.
credits: dividers by @/strangergraphics, graphics, video and the bwat divide by me. thank you, bri @iamthatonefangirl for helping me to organise this collab. i genuinely wouldn't be able to handle this without you, mwah!
❝ 360 ❞ by @houseofhyde — Sat, June 28, 2026
fleeing from a messy situationship, you embark on a journey to travel across the globe and discover the hidden beauties earth has to offer. you find the rarest beauty of all in him, bucky barnes. honey eyed, smooth-talking, and capable of working just about every job under the sun. as you continue to crash into him with every country you travel through, a chilling thought starts to take hold of your heart: is fate pushing you together, or is something darker chasing you?
❝ Club classics ❞ by @superbassbuck — Wed, July 1, 2026
If managing a housing complex in Greece during peak tourist season wasn't hard enough, your stupid, DJ manchild of a tenant, Bucky Barnes, goes one step further to make it even more difficult—that is, until he overhears an argument between you and your boyfriend, John, and decides to prove that he actually cares about you for more than just pissing you off with his loud music.
❝ Sympathy is a knife ❞ by @tw1sters — Sun, July 5, 2026
Your lives have always moved in parallel: close enough to touch, yet separated by an irreconcilable distance. Bucky is a prince and you are his sister's lady-in-waiting. But love ignores rank, and so does the kingdom's newest desire-inducing substance.
❝ I might say something stupid ❞ by @superbassbuck — Wed, July 8, 2026
While Bucky Barnes is back in New York navigating his feelings, love unexpectedly becomes one of them. It’s a beautiful, natural emotion—something a man like him never thought he would get to experience again. But he can’t. Not when the person he’s falling for is his therapist.
❝ Talk talk ❞ by @pinksplace — Sat, July 11, 2026
What if the hottest thing Bucky Barnes has ever heard is a language he can’t understand? While everyone else is trying to translate your words, Bucky is far more interested in the way they sound rolling off your tongue. The more time he spends with you, the less he believes he needs to understand you at all. There are plenty of ways to talk.
❝ Von dutch ❞ by @houseofhyde — Wed, July 15, 2026
one brand campaign. two models who hate each other’s guts. three months of torture, bickering, and looks that linger. bucky barnes might have a pretty face, but his heart is rotten to the core and his ego is larger than life. his need to make his dislike of you know is borderline obsessive, never failing to keep your name in his mouth... so maybe it’s time he just confess it: you’re his #1.
❝ Everything is romantic ❞ by @heldbybarnes — Sat, July 18, 2026
when you and bucky reach for the same bag of lemons at the farmer’s market, the touch triggers flashes of the many lifetimes you’ve spent loving each other. as those memories keep surfacing, the two of you have to figure out what it means to fall in love again in the life you’re living now.
❝ Rewind ❞ by @tw1sters — Wed, July 22, 2026
Two names just landed on your hit list: your father, who dragged you back to the tiny town you swore you'd never see again, and Bucky Barnes, the infuriating farmhand whose smart mouth and sexy smiles threaten to ruin your career and your heart.
❝ So I ❞ by @firingstars — Sat, July 25, 2026
notorious for a reputation he worked so hard for, bucky barnes is certain the world is his. he has it all- money, good looks, a fraternity that hangs on his every word; what more could he possibly need? ah, that's right. the pretty girl he met back in freshman year of university that refuses to give him time of day.
❝ Girl, so confusing ❞ by @danysdaughter — Wed, July 29, 2026
bucky barnes can handle almost anything except the way you make him feel chosen one moment and disposable the next. loving you would be simple, if you weren’t so fucking confusing.
❝ Apple ❞ by @54nboo — Sat, August 1, 2026
after hundreds of years of corrupt ruling and tyranny your family had wrought upon your kingdom, a disease wipes out half of the continent. as the last remaining royal in your family, the crown finally falls into your hands. with your council plotting your deposition, you are left with only your knight to support your claim to the throne. can you fix the years of ruin your ancestors had left to you, or does the apple not fall far from the tree?
❝ B2b ❞ by @barnesonly — Wed, August 5, 2026
as a rising singer, signed and promoted by Barnes Records, you try to find your way through the overwhelming whirlwind that is LA. Little do you know, your producer, Bucky, is determined to do everything to keep you as his biggest star.
❝ Mean girls ❞ by @iamthatonefangirl — Sat, August 8, 2026
it seems as though everything is finally falling into place for you: you’ve just won your first Oscar academy award for your film Rendezvous, and you’ve just scored your first deal with the world-renowned film studio, Piston Pictures. it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. that is, until the leading actor in your new film, the up-and-coming Bucky Barnes, makes a grave mistake that completely destroys your carefully crafted reputation overnight. except the mean girls of Hollywood can’t stop you from honing your craft, and they certainly can’t keep Bucky Barnes away from you, no matter how hard they try.
❝ I think about it all the time ❞ by @unificsation — Wed, August 12, 2026
bucky makes you think about having a child all the time. but the funny thing about time is it always, always runs out.
❝ 365 ❞ by @pinksplace — Sat, August 15, 2026
There are eight million people in New York City. Statistically, you shouldn’t keep running into the same man. You definitely shouldn’t keep fucking him.
── .✦ due to outside circumstances, our beloved @/spdrveil & @/artficlly cannot take a part in the collab. but don't worry, they're out there bumpin' that .ᐟ
lots of fluff, smut but not necessarily my main priority, ANGST with a capital A N G S T, dad!bucky!, dad!steve, avengers!bucky, thunderbolts!bucky, literally any bucky or steve!!!
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, jealousy, porn, masturbation, fleshlight, sex toys mentioned, p in v sex, innocence kink, sex recording, even more coercion, blowjobs, dirty talk, threats of baby trapping, degrading, praising, size difference kink, breeding kink, humiliation kink, rough and possessive sex, exhibitionism, bucky is a little mean here, and he still has a cringy username
⭐︎ word count: 7.7k
⭐︎ a/n: nearly a year later, here we go again. this is part two of my p*rnstar bucky. read part one in order to understand this part. thank you for all the love and support you've shown me in the first part. i didn't plan to write a pt2, but with pt1 hitting 10k along with 7k followers, i had to do it for ya'll. i hope you enjoy!
synopsis:
One video isn’t nearly enough for Bucky. He wants more of you—wants to make you his star, his girl. But it isn’t just him who’s hooked. His viewers can’t stop talking about the voice in the video he’s been jerking off to. Now everyone’s desperate to know who the mystery woman is… the only thing is, it's been ten months since you two last spoke.
← previous fic | main masterlist
Ten months.
It had been ten long, grueling months since Bucky last got a taste of you.
After taking your virginity, he paid for your groceries—as promised, because he believed himself to be a gentleman—and messaged you a few days later, inviting you to film another video with him.
You were his loyal fan.
You were there for every single one of his videos.
Hell, your own username was dedicated to him.
So when you left him on read for ten months without leaving a single trace behind, he grew furious. He tried making excuses for you—perhaps you were too busy? Or maybe you went on vacation? He tried circling back to your social media, which was how he had first found you, but you had privated all your accounts and deactivated your TikTok.
Naturally, pessimistic thoughts began to fill his mind.
Was he too rough when he took you? Did he freak you out by finding you at the grocery store? Worse, had he scared you away for good?
Bucky knew where you lived. It would’ve been easy to just show up at your front door and demand answers—but he couldn’t do that. Not with the threat of a restraining order looming in the back of his mind.
Ten months. He couldn’t believe he had let you stray away from him for that long.
There was so much you could’ve done during that time. You could’ve moved, had sex with other men, or even found a relationship.
You went from being his loyal fan to a ghost.
Bucky knelt on his mattress, holding up a clear silicone toy that looked tiny compared to his hands. He squeezed a generous amount of lube into his palm and spread it carefully along his half-hard cock, making sure none of it dripped onto the sheets.
His camcorder was propped against a pillow, angled perfectly to capture him from the waist down. With his bare abs and thighs fully in frame, he settled back on his heels, gripped the toy firmly, and guided it toward his cock.
A rough groan escaped him as he teased the sensitive tip against the entrance. The lubricant made every movement slick and audible, the wet sounds filling the otherwise quiet room.
“Fuck. Been waiting for this all day.”
His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly worked the toy against his shaft. He continued at an unhurried pace, his grip tightening as he lost himself in the sensation.
“Good girl,” he muttered without thinking.
The words slipped out on instinct, a praise that always led back to you. As the room filled with the sounds of his grunts and movements, his thoughts drifted to the memory of you. They always did. He pictured your soft lips wrapped around his dick, the way he had your face pressed into the pillow as he took you from behind—the moments that had replayed endlessly in his mind over the past months.
At some point, imagination alone had stopped being enough.
Whenever he wanted to relive it, he would pull up the private video he recorded of the two of you, letting it play in the background while he lost himself in the pleasure of his toy.
“God,” he groaned, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless rasp.
He made a mental note to cut the part where he whispered your name like a prayer before uploading the video to the site.
“Shit—fuck. I miss that tight little pussy.”
With a loud groan and both hands holding the toy tight, he drove his hips deep into the toy until it made an unmistakable tearing sound. Too lost in the haze of his own desire, he didn’t even realize he tore through yet another toy to the memory of you.
Seed filled the silicone, marking every cloudy surface with his thick cum.
Once he caught his breath, he let the toy fall from his grip and pushed it aside.
From there, the rest of the evening followed the same familiar routine.
He would take a shower, get dressed, make himself something for dinner, then spend the rest of the evening at his computer. He would spend his time editing the footage, preparing it for upload to the same porn site he had been posting on for years.
Except this time, there was no excitement after hitting the ‘post’ button, because you wouldn’t even be there to watch them.
After the video went live, he waited for the likes and comments to start pouring in, holding onto the faint hope that your username might appear among them.
As usual, it never did.
Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t what disappointed him this time.
Every time he jerked off with the intention to post a new video—your video was always in the background. It got to the point where people started to leave comments asking who the mysterious girl was. Who those sultry, seductive moans belonged to.
He would even get comments asking if he’d be willing to record another video of the two of you together and post it online.
Every time he read those comments, he would scoff, laughing to himself.
I would like to know the same thing.
After posting his latest video, his comment section had been flooding with the same demands for weeks.
wankingandspanking: hell yeah man! love the new video. but who’s the babe in the video you’re watching??
StraightJorkinIt: U breaking ur toy was so hot, but what’s even hotter is the girl moaning in the back. xx
Bwasexual: The toys are getting a little old, don’t you think?? Bring a real woman in. especially the one in the vid you’re jerking to ;)
Each comment was a direct insult to Bucky’s pride.
He was one of the platform’s top creators—yet now, his community was entirely consumed by you.
He had spent the last ten months trying to get you out of his head, trying to just use your video as a quick jerk off aid and move on. But how could he when his own fans wouldn’t let him forget?
How could he, when he couldn’t even cum to anything else anymore? His memory was flooded of the way his cock had disappeared in and out of your tight pussy while he had you bent over from behind. By the recollection of your cute, virgin mouth stuffed full of cock—his cock—for the first time ever.
How could he possibly forget how sweet your tight little body was, like it was made for him?
Bucky’s frustration was peaking. At the very least, he was making money off of this.
Just as he was about to shut down his computer and call it a night, a new notification popped up.
He clicked it, and what he saw made the air in his lungs vanish completely.
Pleasure_Ring: Love the video!
Bucky blinked.
Was he seeing this right?
He rubbed his eyes, but lo and behold, your comment was still there. He double—and triple—checked the username, ensuring every single letter matched and that it wasn’t some random copycat trying to impersonate you.
But no, it was you.
When he clicked your profile, the interface loaded your old message thread. He saw the green indicator showing you were currently online, sitting right above his last unanswered message asking you to film with him again.
He couldn’t believe it.
You were real. You were still here, ten months later, watching him.
Bucky didn’t realize he was holding his breath as his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to spam you with messages—to demand where the hell you’ve been, to beg for your phone number so he would never lose track of you again.
No, he couldn’t risk ruining this moment. He had to stay rational and seize this chance before you slipped through his fingers again.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: I saw the comment you left.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Where have you been?
A minute passed. Then another. He propped both elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hands, his foot tapping impatiently as he waited.
Three minutes went by. Your little icon was still green—you were still online.
Then, his heart leaped.
Pleasure_Ring is typing…
Pleasure_Ring: Why? Did you miss me?
Bucky’s brow twitched. Your messages from ten months ago had been sweet, alluring, and almost innocent. If you had been texting him consistently, he might’ve read this as a flirtatious little comment to make his dick hard.
But right now, he just felt pissed off.
Lord_Of_The_Rings_1917: Quit playing around. Of course I missed you. Where did you go?
There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t risk scaring you away just yet. His heart raced as he watched the screen.
Pleasure_Ring is typing…
Your bubble kept appearing and disappearing. You would type, then silence. You would type again, then nothing.
Bucky felt like he was going insane. He was just about ready to send another message himself, until one finally popped up under your name.
Pleasure_Ring: I think it’s best that we talk in person.
Pleasure_Ring: Can we exchange numbers?
And of course, Bucky gave you his number without a second thought.
You sat alone at the coffee shop Bucky had agreed to meet you at, fiddling with your mug and glancing anxiously out the window.
The meetup was set for noon, and the closer the clock ticked to the hour, the more your mind began to spiral.
It had been ten months since he last saw you. Ten months since he had you bent over your own bed, your face pressed into the pillows, ravaging you like an animal.
You were growing anxious. What if he had lost interest? What if he took one good look at you and realized you were nothing like the woman he had been infatuated with all this time?
The bell above the door chimed. You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat.
Bucky was right there. He looked just as handsome as the day you met him. His presence seemed to take up the entire space of the coffee shop, just as it had when he first approached you at the grocery store.
His eyes swept across the room. The moment they landed on yours, your thighs instinctively clenched together. He was wearing that same cold, stern expression he had when he first told you to strip for him.
Naturally, it did things to you.
He marched over to your table, dragged the chair back, and dropped into the seat directly across from you. He didn’t bother with a polite smile, and his gaze didn’t warm up at all.
Was he angry? Was this a nuisance to him—taking time out of his busy day just to see a girl he slept with ten months ago?
“Bucky,” you breathed, forcing a polite smile. “How are you—”
“Where have you been?”
You blinked. You were about to stammer out a quick excuse, but he breezed on past.
“Ten months without a single word from you.” He leaned closer across the table. “Where have you been?”
Despite his harsh tone, he was anxiously bracing himself for your answer. He expected you to say you had lost interest, or that you found a boyfriend to practice your new... sexual experiences on. You hadn’t even given an explanation yet, and he was already fuming with jealousy.
You looked down at your coffee mug, avoiding his gaze. Looking him directly in the eye right now was simply too much to handle.
“I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” you mumbled. “Ever since… that night, I’ve been… uh—how do I even say this?” You chuckled awkwardly, scratching lightly at your cheek. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little ashamed of myself.”
Bucky watched your shoulders slump as your hands fidgeted nervously in your lap.
“Ashamed?”
“Ever since we slept together, I’ve felt insecure about not being able to... keep up with you.” You winced. “I mean, you’re obviously experienced—I had a great time, and everything—but it made me realize that, at my age, when everyone else seems to be out there having fun and figuring things out, I’m nowhere near as experienced as they are.”
Your voice dropped lower as you glanced around the room.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation suited for a small, intimate coffee shop.
Bucky frowned, crossing his arms. Your explanation wasn’t giving him the reassurance he had hoped for.
“So you were embarrassed about sleeping with me?”
Your eyes widened.
“No! It’s not like that.” You shook your head. “I had an incredible time with you. You gave me an experience I’ll never forget. I mean...” You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a conspicuous whisper. “You were the one who took my virginity, after all.”
That, at least, managed to draw the hint of a smile from him.
“It’s just...” you hesitated. “I’m ready to start dating, and in the current dating scene, sex matters, you know?”
There it was.
The sentence Bucky had been dreading.
While he had spent the last ten months thinking about you—worrying about you, searching for some way to reconnect, replaying the video you’d filmed together and jerking off to it, moaning your name—you had spent those same months looking forward to a future with someone else.
“So...” You hesitated. “After reading all those comments on your videos, the ones talking about how good I sound, and remembering the offer you made ten months ago to film another one...” Your gaze dropped briefly. “If that offer still stands, maybe you could teach me?”
“Teach you?” Bucky repeated, the words leaving him almost like a scoff.
Just as innocent as the day he first met you, you nodded shyly.
“Teach me how to be better at sex.”
An awkward silence took the space between the two of you.
You were preparing yourself for rejection. For Bucky to push back his chair, walk away, and decide this conversation had been a mistake. After this, you wouldn’t be surprised if he even blocked your number and your profile, cutting off the last connection between you.
Instead, he studied you for a very long moment.
“You know,” he said slowly, his gaze finding yours, “the comments have been asking us to film a video together, right?”
The look he gave you was difficult to read—careful, calculating, and almost suspicious.
“I know,” you said bashfully.
“If you want me to teach you,” he said, leaning forward as his voice dropped soft and intimate, “then we’re going to do the same thing we did before, but I want this done at my house instead. I’ll record.”
He paused, studying your reaction.
“And this time, I’m posting it online.”
You sat there frozen.
It wasn’t exactly the compromise you expected, but you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised. After disappearing from his life for months, after leaving things unresolved between you, part of you knew he would want something in return.
Bucky leaned in closer, his hand finding yours on the table. His fingers curled around yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
“You’ve read the comments,” he said. “You might be insecure about your experience, but my viewers love you. They’re curious. They want to know who the woman behind that voice is.”
Heat rushed to your face. The confidence in his words only made your pulse quicken, and the slow sweep of his thumb across your knuckles wasn’t helping at all.
“I’ll teach you everything you want to know,” he continued. “I’ll take care of you. You know I will.”
For a moment, his confidence faltered and his eyes looked pleading, revealing something almost hopeful beneath it.
“What do you say, doll?”
Your heart had been pounding ever since Bucky sat down across from you at the coffee shop. It hadn’t slowed once—not during the conversation, not during the drive over, and certainly not now as you stood behind him while he unlocked his apartment door.
Bucky stepped aside, holding the door open for you. After a moment's hesitation, you stepped inside.
The studio apartment was dimly lit. The blinds were drawn, leaving only the warm glow of a lamp to light the room. In one corner sat a computer setup—his workstation where he recorded and edited his videos.
Your breath caught at what was displaying on the monitor.
Your chat history.
His studio was the definition of a man cave. What caught your attention, however, were the sex toys scattered throughout the apartment without a hint of shame.
Some of the toys were immediately recognizable from his videos. Having been a longtime viewer, you had seen them often enough to identify them at a glance.
Bucky tossed his keys onto a nearby surface and motioned for you to follow him toward the bed. As you approached, your gaze landed on something unfamiliar at his bedside table.
“What’s this?” You pointed to a toy shaped like the lower half of a woman’s body. Unlike the others, you didn’t remember ever seeing this one in any of his videos.
Bucky glanced at it. “Oh, that?” He came to stand beside you. “Custom made. I use it off-camera.” His tone was casual, almost dismissive. “Had it modeled after you.”
You were suddenly grateful for the low lighting, because that meant he couldn’t see the stunned expression that immediately crossed your face.
Modeled after you?
Your eyes drifted back to the toy, taking in the details—the shape of the hips, the skin tone, it was an unmistakable similarity. What shook you up, though, was the tear in the toy around her upper abdomen, a sign that Bucky’s cock tore right through the silicone.
The sounds of his belt buckle being undone drew your attention back to him.
“Had it set to the maximum tightness,” he explained gruffly, setting the belt down on his chair and reaching for the familiar camcorder he used before. “Still not nearly as tight as you felt—but it made do during those ten months you were gone.”
A moment later, he lifted the camera and pointed it in your direction, the red light flickering to let you know it was on.
“Go ahead,” he prompted, watching you. “Undress.”
You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, feeling far more self-conscious than you expected.
For some reason, the atmosphere felt infinitely more tense than it had the first time you undressed for him.
Bucky seemed to notice your hesitation immediately. He lowered the camera slightly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don't know about this, Bucky.” You fiddled with your fingers, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on your bare feet against the floor. “What if I'm not good at this?”
A slow, patient sigh escaped him.
Without a word, he set the camera on the bedside table. It remained angled in a way that still captured your body, but his attention had shifted entirely to you. His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, letting his fingers tickle your lower belly.
“Are you feeling shy, doll?” he murmured softly.
The question was quiet enough so that the camera wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t meant for an audience. It was just for you.
“Look at me,” he commanded gently. “You’ve got a perfect, tight body. There are a lot of people that would kill to be in my position, and you’re scared to show it off?”
He lifted your shirt up until it exposed the lace of your bra. His large hand cupped over your breast, giving it a squeeze that made you gasp softly.
Bucky grinned. “Ah, there she is.”
While his left hand fondled your tits, his other hand crept up to your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to look at him. His eyes wandered down to your lips—exposed, plump, and vulnerable.
“When you get a boyfriend—you’ll have to learn how to kiss,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know how?”
The question felt almost condescending. He should already know the answer. You were still inexperienced, still clueless, but despite it all, you couldn’t help the ache that began to form between your legs from the way he talked to you.
Your voice came out soft and trembling, but to Bucky, it sounded like music to his ears.
“… Teach me?”
A low growl vibrated from his lips as he closed the distance in one, smooth motion. His lips collided with yours—hungry and consuming—letting his tongue delve past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth.
He held your face tight, forcing you to take every inch of his tongue and every surface of his lips. It was hot, messy, and wet. During every second of his ravishing, his hands continued to explore your body, groping you through your bottoms. He held you so close, you could already feel him throbbing against your leg.
“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling away slightly to catch his breath. “Still taste so good. So sweet, just for me.”
He stepped away, breathing just as hard as his dick felt.
With the warm lamp glowing next to him, it outlined the sheer size of his dick throbbing in his pants. You watched it pulse, a little wet spot forming near the tip, before his large hand came down with deep, circular rubs to soothe the ache.
“Bucky…” You gasped softly.
His other hand snatched the camera off the bedside table, nearly knocking down the picture frames. With a shaky hand, he lifted the camera up to you again.
“Strip.” He commanded, rougher this time. “Strip. Now.”
Your heart raced. His patience was fraying, and without upsetting him further, you began to undress. You abandoned your top, your pants, all until you were left standing in nothing but your panties and bra.
Bucky groaned at the sight, his palm working faster over his clothed erection.
“God, look at that,” he zoomed in on the wet spot collecting at the front of your panties. “You’re fucking soaking for me, doll. And all I did was kiss you.”
Shame flooded your face. As you unhooked your bra and worked for your panties next, Bucky’s voice pulled you to a stop.
“No,” his hand shot out, catching your wrist. “Keep those on. I want to see the mess you’ll make after having my dick in your mouth.”
With his grip tightening around your wrist, he ushered you to the ground until your knees made contact with the floor. He tugged his pants down with force, and his cock sprang out heavy—slapping you in the cheek and making you wince.
He was big and hard. Seeing him up close like this, with his hand around his shaft and his tip rubbing against your cheek, you weren’t sure how you took him the first time.
“Do you remember the first time you sucked my cock? When you tried fitting it all in on your first try?” he rasped a chuckle, slapping his cock against your face and smearing his pre-cum over your wet lips. “Your mouth was so small—you could hardly fit anything past the tip.”
You flicked your tongue out, giving his cock a shy kitten lick just to tease him.
“Oh, fuck,” he shuddered. “You slut. You want it in your mouth again? Wanna try again for me?”
He pointed the camera closer to your face, his other hand tangling in the back of your hair, nodding you closer to his shaft.
“Come on. Open up. Show me what you remember.”
You licked the pre-cum that was beading at the tip. It tasted just like it did the first time—salty and thick. Bucky groaned, his hand tightening in your hair, pushing you forward for more.
You opened your mouth, letting your lips wrap around the swollen head. His cock was warm and hot, already twitching in your mouth and he wasn’t even halfway. Encouraged by the camera and his breathy grunts, you sunk your head deeper.
Bucky felt like he could cum right there. Your mouth was still so tight and inexperienced. He was half tempted to pin you against the side of the bed and face fuck you until his balls were dry—but he forced himself to hold back.
“God. Is this—fuck—the best you can do, really?”
He brought his camera down, the lens pointing right where his tip disappeared in and out of your plump lips, making sure to pick up every wet squelch that left your mouth.
“You can do better than that,” he hissed, pushing his cock deeper into your throat. “I know it hurts, baby. Just remember what I said the first time. Stretch those lips, relax your jaw, breathe in and out of your nose.”
You fluttered your lashes as you looked up at him. Your eyes were sheen with tears that threatened to spill out from the ache of your mouth being stretched open. He rocked his hips forward, making you gag and choke.
“Oh, christ,” he grunted, his cock twitching as your throat tightened around him. “You guys listening to that? She’s gagging for me.”
He was talking to his potential viewers. Your eyes widened with embarrassment as an instinctive moan left your lips and vibrated around his cock.
“Mph!”
“Fuck, she’s sloppy—drooling all over my floor, but her mouth is so tight. Could cum just from this,” he started drawing his hips back and forth, forcing himself deeper.
He angled the camera closer to your face, capturing your pleading eyes and stretched mouth.
“Does it taste good, sweetheart?” he asked, despite knowing your inability to answer. “Come on, show that pretty face off for the camera.”
With your mouth stuffed full of his cock, all you could do was nod in desperation.
“Damn, what a good girl. The fans are going to love this,” he let out a shaky laugh.
His hand kept your head still, and without warning, he pushed his hips even deeper into your mouth. He pushed until your jaw ached from the stretch and your nose made contact with the dark, musky curls sitting on his pelvis.
Bucky tossed his head back, letting out a deep, pleasurable moan.
“Ohh, shit.”
You gagged and choked, your hands finding his bare thighs as you attempted to push your head away for a quick breath. His cock was sitting heavy on your tongue, and drool began to shamelessly drip down your chin and onto your thighs.
Despite your mouth being overworked, you were getting wetter by the second.
“Shh… shh. I know, baby. Just stay right there.” Bucky cooed, his blue eyes hazy with lust. “Just let it sit in your mouth. Breathe in and out through your nose. That’s it.”
You did as instructed, keeping your mouth stuffed full of cock like a good girl. But every time you breathed in, all you could smell was him. His musky, masculine scent only made your head spin with desire even more.
Another deep groan tore from his chest before he gripped your hair tight, pulling you away from his cock with a wet pop. Saliva mixed with his pre-cum drew from your lips like a silver string as you coughed for air.
“Fuuck,” he groaned, fucking his hand for a few pumps as he watched you struggle.
Bucky’s cock was angry, pulsing and throbbing with a mind of its own. His cock was sheen with your saliva, and he was dripping out so much pre-cum, he looked just about ready to cum right then and there.
“Goddamnit. Ten months later, and your mouth is still good enough to make me almost fucking cum,” he hissed angrily. He bent down, catching your stray tear with his thumb. “Don’t cry, pretty girl. You wanted me to teach you, didn’t you?”
He spoke so gently in a way that might’ve fooled his viewers, but every word that left his lips felt hauntingly patronizing.
You nodded with a sniffle. “Y—yes…”
Bucky smiled, his eyes softening as he took in your utterly debauched state.
He knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help it. It’s what you deserved after ghosting him for ten months.
“That’s a good girl. My girl.” He nodded to his bed, standing up. “Go.”
Swallowing hard, you pushed yourself up—your mind dizzying and your legs feeling like jello from standing up too fast. You crossed over his crisp, white sheets—the mattress dipping under each crawl.
You didn’t know what position he wanted you in, so you played it safe and laid flat on your back.
Bucky’s expression was completely unreadable. His eyes were dark, his breathing labored, but his cock was still stiff, angry, and unsatisfied.
He adjusted the camera, zooming in on the cute bow on your panties.
“Spread your legs. Show everyone how wet you are after getting a taste of my cock.”
Biting your lip and turning your head from shame, you slowly spread your legs. With your thighs wide and your damp panties on full display, Bucky’s gaze somehow felt even heavier and more tense.
He growled, a deep rumbling sound of satisfaction. He stepped closer, meeting you at the bed. Every dip and creak from his moving weight made your heart race. His camera lens was focused solely on your panties, highlighting the growing wet patch on your crotch.
“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers dragging up and down your underwear, letting the fabric cling against your slick folds just underneath. “So wet. Could smell you from here, baby.”
You felt your body growing weaker by the second.
You wanted to beg him to fuck you—to take you just as he had the first time. But with the camera pointed steady in his hands, you knew he was trying to drag this out for as long as possible.
“Bucky,” you panted, eyes pleading. “I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock—”
“Aw, you’re begging?” Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ten months without a single word, and now you’re in my bed, demanding for my cock. That’s real cute, doll.”
Bucky brought the camera up to your face, and instinctively, you shied away from it. Despite your agreement to film, the lens pointing directly at you made you burn with an embarrassment you didn’t feel the first time.
Maybe because, in the back of your mind, you knew he’d be posting this one online—meaning you’ll be watched by thousands of people.
Sensing your hesitation, he lowered the camera with a slight frown, brows furrowing.
“Do you want to stop, doll?”
Stop?
Your heart clenched, eyes widening as you faced him.
“Stop?” you repeated softly, making sure you heard him right.
The softness in his eyes made your body feel warm. Bucky lowered his camera completely and angled it in a way that wouldn’t capture you in this vulnerable state. He was serious. He would stop for you if you changed your mind, despite your initial agreement to this as the compromise.
“If you don’t want me to upload this, I won’t.” He reassured. “I’ll keep this video for myself—just like the first one.”
His hand found your hip, his thumb tracing soft and gentle circles with a tenderness that only encouraged you to give yourself to him completely.
“I promise,” he added.
“No. I… I want to do this,” you searched his eyes, trying to soothe your nerves. “I can do it, Bucky. Please teach me.”
It was hard to ignore the way his cock hung heavy between his legs—twitching at your admission. The corners of his lips tugged up in a satisfied, smug smile.
“That’s my good girl.”
While one hand repositioned the camera back to you again, the other found the waistband of your panties, giving it a gentle tug downwards. With the fabric slipping slipping down your thighs and past your ankles, you hissed at the cool air greeting your wet cunt.
“Christ. You soaked the fabric right through, doll.” He held the garment up, the lamp highlighting every glistening wet spot as he made sure to capture your essence on camera.
He leaned over you with a grunt, setting your panties down on the side table. Your eyes followed his movement, and you sucked in a breath at seeing the toy he modeled right after you—resting there with a loose hole and an obvious tear in the abdomen.
It was haunting, almost like a warning for what you’re about to take.
Bucky nestled himself in the space between your legs, letting his length rest heavy on your stomach. His tip tickled your belly button, grinning proudly at the size comparison of his cock to your body.
“Did you fuck anyone else after me?” he rasped as he rocked his hips back and forth, grounding his cock against your belly.
You shook your head, face blistering from the sensation.
“No, Bucky. There was no one else…”
A satisfied groan tore from his lips. He grabbed himself at the base, guiding the tip toward your entrance.
“Is that so?” he mumbled. “Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”
With a slow forward push of his hips, his tip fought against the tightness of your entrance. He sucked in a breath as he slipped in deeper, and your walls immediately clenched around the intrusion. You were so tight—Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep his composure.
Whimpering, you held onto his shoulders for support as he stretched you from just the tip. “Fu—fuck..”
“Fuck, baby. Still so goddamn tight. Just breathe in and out,” he gasped, his voice thickening in a way that made it sound like he was trying to calm himself down. “In and out while I sink into you deeper. That’s it. Good girl…”
Your back arched off the bed as he filled you. Your legs were stiff around him, your lips whimpering and mewling with every inch he was forcing your tight body to take. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple as he stretched your pussy out with just half his cock.
“Have you been keeping up with my videos?” He asked.
You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You were too stuffed—too concentrated on trying to get your body to accommodate the sheer size of him.
“I—I haven’t—” you answered truthfully.
He clicked his tongue in disapproval, pointing the camcorder to where the top half of his cock disappeared in and out of your tight cunt.
“The videos would’ve scared you,” he pushed his cock a little deeper, making you cry out. “Kept breaking my toys. All my damn fleshlights are torn right through. Had to keep ordering new ones, but fuck, they didn’t feel nearly as good as your tight, virgin pussy did.”
The broken sex doll that laid on his bedside table was certainly a testament to that.
Bucky’s hand found balance near the side of your head, his muscles and veins popping from holding his weight while the other hand was too occupied filming every inch of his cock delving deeper in your pussy.
“How does it feel, baby? Still as big as you remembered?”
“Still big, Bucky,” you winced when he angled his pelvis, his cock twitching in time with every clench your pussy gave him. “I’m trying to take it all—to big the good girl that you remembered—”
He tossed his head back with a groan. He tried his best to control himself—he really did. But the longer he stayed inside your warmth, the more his mind started to fray.
“Fuck—so cute. Such a good girl,” he groaned, sheathing himself completely inside until his dark curls were greeted with your wet folds. “Oh my god.”
Bucky stilled inside you, basking in your warmth. Your body felt like a wet, tight hug wrapping around his cock. This was the sensation he sought after the day you left. The very feeling he’d been looking for in the useless sex toys he was constantly ordering.
Now that you were finally here—pinned beneath him and his camera—he was afraid that if he moved, he would cum right there on the spot.
“Bucky?” your voice was soft, breaking into a gentle moan. “Are you okay?”
His eyes fluttered down to look at you, and his breath caught.
Your hair was fanned out so beautifully against his white sheets. Your body was laid bare and perfect for him. You asked the question in such a soft and innocent tone—it did nothing to dull the ache in his balls and did everything to make his heart heavier.
He should be asking you the question, with you lying there stretched out with more than you can take, but alas.
“You’re asking if I’m okay?” he huffed a raspy laugh, shifting his hips to deliver a deep and hard thrust inside you. “No, I’m not okay. I want to fuck you right through the mattress. Want to split you open and make you cry on my cock. But I can’t—I have to control myself and teach you how to take me again.”
The red light of the camcorder flickered in the dark room as he began rocking his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you—capturing every moment of him claiming you a second time.
The bed started to creak, accompanied with his grunts and your soft moans of pleasure.
Bucky’s breathing was heavy, every deep, punishing roll of his hips making your eyes roll back.
The tip of his cock was kissing your cervix so sweetly, you felt your body giving out. He was right—your pussy was acting like a vice, wrapping impossibly tight around his thick shaft, refusing to let him go.
The camera shook in his hand as he aimed it directly at your hips. He had failed to capture the moment he pumped you full of his cum last time, and he was going to make damn sure he got it right tonight.
“Not a single drop going to waste,” he panted, his hips rutting uncontrollably against yours. “Gonna pump you full—God. Should fill up your womb so you’ll never leave me again.”
Your heart started to race as his words danced in your mind. Surely, this was just make-believe dirty talk. A performance he put on for the camera to secure a good payout from his loyal subscribers, right?
But as his body moved even more erratically, the bed groaning under every hard, bruising thrust, you began to fear otherwise.
“Fuck—this little slut thought she could use my cock to practice for other men,” he laughed, the sound deep and condescending. “Said she wanted to learn how to take dick for her future boyfriend. What a fucking joke.”
Your face burned with humiliation. You couldn’t believe Bucky was airing out your private confessions to his viewers like this.
“Oh my god! Bucky, please don’t say that—”
But your protests were useless. Your pussy was already spasming, clenching around him in a tight, weeping mess at every degrading taunt that left his lips.
“Ah, fuck. My sweet girl is milking me so hard—she doesn’t want to let go.” He chuckled, watching the wet friction of your hips through the camera screen. “You want to cum for me?”
You nodded, letting out a pathetic whimper.
Bucky leaned over you, shoving the camera close to your face. “Come on, baby. You’re on camera. I need you to speak up so everyone else can hear you.”
Pleasure was coursing through your body in ways that a simple vibrator could never match. Ten months without Bucky—and without touching anyone else—had left you chasing a high you couldn’t replicate. It was never like this.
You nodded frantically, losing all control over your own autonomy as tears of pleasure blurred your vision.
“Yes, Bucky! Please—please, please, I want to cum!”
Your cries were loud enough to peak the camera’s built-in microphone. Your walls clamped down around his cock, pulsing and fluttering as your back arched off the mattress with a loud moan, letting the climax rip straight through your core and down to very tip of your toes.
Bucky groaned, his entire body going stiff as your pussy milked him ruthlessly. Fuck. He missed this. He missed the tightness of your cunt. He couldn’t find this sensation anywhere else.
“Christ. Look at that,” he growled into the camera, his hand shaking as he kept the lens focused on where you squeezed around him. “She’s squeezing me so tight—it nearly hurts. Fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”
His balls slapped against your pussy with every hard thrust. He was chasing his release—his face twisted into a mask of pleasure as he felt his balls tighten and his cock twitch. You were already past your high, but Bucky forced you to ride it out for him.
“Shit, the idea of her having sex with someone else...” he snarled to the camera, his voice breaking as he slammed deep into your pulsing heat. “...of someone else’s cock buried deep in what’s supposed to be mine. I’m gonna fucking lose it.”
You cried out his name, your nails digging into his back as he used your body ruthlessly, just like one of his sex toys.
“Fuck, fuck—shit—fuck!”
A litany of curses spilled from his lips as his cock buried all the way to the hilt.
He shuddered violently, pinning your hips flat against the mattress as his orgasm tore through him, flooding every surface of your womb with thick, warm seed. He held himself deep, marking you from the inside out, leaving his cum to fill you completely until it was dripping onto the sheets.
Bucky brought the camera down with a shaky hand, capturing the way your puffy slit was pulsing around his cock, and the way his cum trickled out of you.
“There we go,” he breathed, satisfied. “Captured every second of it, baby.”
Ensuring that you kept your end of the bargain, Bucky uploaded the video to his profile.
Before hitting post, he texted you multiple times to make absolutely sure you were comfortable with your face and username being shown.
When you finally agreed, you never expected the video to blow up overnight. You knew Bucky was a popular content creator, but perhaps the sight of a woman’s body—your body—in the thumbnail stood out against his usual solo content.
Today, you sat at your desk, pulling up his profile out of habit, just like the ritual you used to have ten months ago. Your mouse hovered over the video, and you hesitated before clicking.
Two million views.
A wave of nerves hit you—the thought of being perceived by two million strangers while completely bare and vulnerable was overwhelming. Yet, for some reason, the idea of it excited you more than a girl like you should admit.
You finally clicked the link. The video started with you stripping for him, then dropping to your knees, and just minutes later, you were sprawled out bare on the mattress while he pumped you full of his cum.
You were already soaking through your underwear just watching it, your thighs rubbing together shamelessly from the memory of being filled by Bucky. The way his breathy moans sounded so much more enthusiastic than they ever did in his solo videos filled you with absolute pride.
You made him feel that good.
And apparently, you made his entire comment section feel good, too.
Daddywants2play: hooooooooolyy fuck. she’s so hot. my balls are so heavy just from watching her tits bounce. u lucky dog
Bwasexual: Omg!!! Do you guys need a third?
pegm3please: God so fucking hot. Is she going to upload anytime soon?? Just gave her a follow.
Your brow rose at the last comment.
Gave her a follow?
Instinctively, your mouse hovered to the top right of the screen where the notification bell was displayed.
It showed over 99+ alerts. You were used to seeing two at the absolute maximum—a like from Bucky on one of your comments, and his reply.
Bracing yourself, you clicked it, and a wall of notifications flooded the screen with dozens of different usernames following you. Your follower count had gone from exactly one—Bucky’s account—to well over a thousand in just a single night.
You couldn’t believe it.
People loved watching you.
They loved you enough that, despite you having zero videos posted, no profile picture, and an entirely blank description, they were hitting follow anyway—eagerly expecting to see more. You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to remove the links to your personal social media accounts beforehand.
A warm flush traced your face. The crazy part was, it wasn’t from embarrassment at all.
It was pure excitement.
Without thinking, you snatched your phone off the desk and dialed a familiar number. It only rang twice before a deep, sleepy voice answered on the other end.
“Hey, doll,” Bucky rasped. “Everything okay?”
“I just saw the video,” you said, the words tumbling out fast. You couldn’t contain your excitement. “I woke up to a little over a thousand followers—and there are so many comments!”
He paused on the line. You could hear the rustle of sheets as he sat up.
“… And are you okay with that? Do you want me to take it down?”
You bit your lip. You couldn’t believe what you were going to say next. “I’m more than okay with it. But… um…”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. He pulled the phone away from his face for a split second to make sure you were still on the line.
“Sweetheart, what is it?”
A breathy sigh left your lips. “I… I want to become a content creator, too. Will you teach me?”
And just like that, the air left Bucky’s lungs completely.
Everything he could possibly want—and more—was finally being served to him on a silver platter.
This meant more videos, more collaborations, and endless opportunities to have you completely to himself.
“Yes,” he swiped at his camcorder and car keys. “I’m coming over. Be ready for me.”
hopping off the bed turn my swag on. happy almost one year anniversary to pornstar bucky and the first bwa collab. once again, thank you to my dear friend @unificsation for the premise. thank you to @barnesonly for the cyber sex bucky edit she made inspired by this fic that i goon to nightly. thank you to @blowingbarnes and @buckybunni for being pornstar bucky's number one fan (i never forgot) thank you to @houseofhyde for giving me the inspiration to write this after sum silly joke. and thank you for all the love and support for part one. i would like to dedicate this oscar to you guys /j
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Summary: Ever since Bucky moved out to the woods, he’d grown used to his routine. He lived comfortably and without anyone around to bother him, and he liked it that way. Then you stumbled your way into his life and changed it forever. Instead of simply helping you and sending you on your way, Bucky starts to like the way you fit right into his life, and he realizes he doesn’t mind the sudden change that came with taking you in. The longer he spends with you, the harder it is to let you go, and luckily for him, the feeling is mutual.
WC: 29.6k | Warnings: 18+, coarse language, fluff, angst, smut, toxic family environment, mentions of abuse, descriptions of injuries, mentions of starvation, running away from home, use of guns, descriptions of hunting, ex military Bucky, shy/inexperienced reader, age gap, unprotected sex, gentle sex, needy sex, use of plan b, oral (f receiving), fingering, pining, size difference, protective Bucky, possessive Bucky, big dick Bucky, beefy Bucky one would say, let me know if I missed anything. | Masterlist
It was hunting season, which didn’t mean much to Bucky since he hunts all the time. Specifically, it was deer season, but despite him being quite successful during this season throughout the five years he’s lived out here, this year was really testing him.
Either the deer were really shy this season, or there simply weren’t many around this year. He’d had very little luck over the last few days, sitting in the treestand he’d made a few miles away from his house and not seeing much movement in the forest at all.
Usually by day three he’d have lost count of how many deer that were around, but it was pushing day five and he hadn’t seen a single one.
Bucky lived, for lack of better words, out in the middle of nowhere. It was secluded, a tedious twenty five minute drive from the nearest town, and the majority of that drive was through the wooded and rocky terrain of the forest. As far as he knew, no one else lived close by, and he hadn’t heard any sounds of guns going off in the woods that would suggest someone else was hunting around the area too.
He had a feeling this was just one of those unlucky years where the deer population decided to skip over the forest he’d lived in for almost six years now. It was smart, because he’d gotten extremely lucky the last few years with deer, and had enough meat frozen to keep him fed for a long time, so for them to not be around this year was a lucky call for them.
It was unlucky as hell for Bucky, because that meant he’d have to settle for other options for food, which wasn’t the biggest deal, but still. He’d gotten used to the routine that had sort’ve fallen into his lap the year he’d packed up and moved out here.
He’d been hunched over in the stand for the majority of the afternoon, and the prime time for deer hunting had long since passed, but he didn’t have anything else to do for the remainder of the day, so he stayed a little longer.
It turned out that his patience had paid off since he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when Bucky turned his head, he saw the slow, careful steps of a deer passing through the trees, and he moved just as slowly as he lifted his rifle, being sure to not make a single sound.
He dipped his head down and peered through the scope, noting the size and weight of the deer, and he knew he’d get a good few weeks of meat off of it to freeze, which was a better score than he thought he’d get at this point.
The deer hadn’t noticed him, its eyes slowly blinking as it remained blissfully unaware of the rifle pointed at it. It bowed down to nip at the grass scattered all over the forest ground, and Bucky took that as his cue to press down on the trigger, but before he could fire, he heard shuffling to his left, and watched as the deer perked up, clearly having heard the sound as well.
He tried to ignore it and secure his kill, but then more shuffling was heard, and when the sound of rushed footsteps, followed by the beam of the stand he was currently crouched in shaking with the force of something hitting it, Bucky flinched, his rifle firing off but missing the deer completely.
He’d been caught off guard, his balance momentarily shifting, and the deer took off running, leaving behind the sound of leaves ruffling and twigs snapping as it disappeared into the distance.
“Fucking Christ,” Bucky cursed under his breath, then moved over to the side of the stand, peering over the edge and preparing to rip into whoever had interrupted him and scared off his kill.
What he saw had him freezing in shock, his brows furrowing together as he met your wide, terrified eyes. You looked up at him with nothing but fear on your face, and your chest was heaving with uneven breaths that told him you’d been either running or walking for quite a long time, and by the looks of it, with no water.
You didn’t say anything as you braced your hand against the support of the stand, your other hand lifted in a way that looked like you were giving up a fight that wasn’t even happening.
There was no denying that you’d been out here for a while, if the dirt staining your clothes and skin was anything to go by. Your hair was messy and he could see dried leaves in it, and your cheeks were stained with sweat streaks, but it wasn’t exactly hot at the moment, so he assumed you had just been running to the point of breaking a sweat, or you had not too long ago.
Standing up a little straighter, Bucky let his gaze sweep you up and down. There was really nothing to you, your legs all scratched up thanks to your denim shorts, and your shoes were muddy and worn out. Your t-shirt was covered in dirt, and there was a rip in the side of it, a scrape visible along your ribs. But the giant bruise that took up most of your left side was a lot more noticeable than that.
There were other noticeable bruises on your body, some more faded than others, and he saw a healed scar just under your jaw on the right side of your neck. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and your body seemed to be running on the last of its adrenaline as you shook your head.
You looked scared, like you were horrified of him and what he might do to you. Your lips parted then trembled, like you were struggling to speak as you lifted your hand higher in a pleading gesture, but no words left your mouth as you took a weak, unsteady step forward.
“Hey,” he called out, concern lacing his tone as he lowered his rifle. Bucky was too high up to do anything about the way your legs buckled, and the way your hand slipped from its place on the beam before you stumbled forward and became completely unbalanced.
The sound of your head hitting the trunk of the tree had him wincing and instantly putting the rifle down, swinging his legs over the edge of the stand and jumping down.
His boots hit the ground with a thud, and he immediately crouched down, confusion and concern written all over his face. You were no longer conscious, your body too weak to keep going at this point, and Bucky frowned as he reached forward and brushed your hair out of your face.
He didn’t recognize you from town, though he supposed he didn’t go there much with the intent to seek out pretty girls. He only went there every once in a while for supplies and to see his family, but he had a feeling he would notice you if he’d seen you before.
You looked like a mess, your body beaten and bruised and your clothing torn and ruined to the point of almost being unwearable, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest.
What the fuck happened to you?
When Bucky carried you to his house, he discovered that you were extremely light in his arms, and it felt like he was carrying a few bags of groceries rather than a human who appeared to be in her mid twenties.
He didn’t know what the hell to do with you, but he wasn’t going to just leave you out there. You’d clearly already been through hell, and he refused to turn a blind eye and mind his business when it was so obvious that you needed help.
It had just started to rain when he began making his way home with you in his arms, and he had a feeling that you would’ve probably died if he’d left you out there, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let that happen.
You were cold, your skin clammy and splotchy, so the first thing Bucky did when he got home was lay you down on the couch, sacrificing the soft throw blanket that was thrown over the back of it, and draped it over you.
He lowered the strap of his rifle down his arm before setting it aside on the coffee table, then crouched down in front of the couch. You were out cold, your body limp and unresponsive as he examined you a bit closer now that you were safe inside and away from the harsh elements outside.
Your lips were dark, and he knew you were probably even colder than you felt, your body fighting to keep itself warm in the minimal clothing you were wearing. You didn’t have a bag with you, nor a phone or wallet, so he had no clue who you are or what your name is, or even where you lived.
He’d never seen you in the woods before this, and by the small silver hoops you had in your ears, it was clear you were from the nicer part of town, which helped make sense as to why he’s never seen you around before.
But that didn’t answer any of his questions, one being how the hell you ended up all the way out here.
Bucky reached out and brushed your hair out of your face, and he couldn’t deny that you were very pretty. You had a certain innocent look to you, like someone as sweet and fragile as you had no business being out in the middle of the woods, looking like you’d been to hell and back.
His eyes focused on the gash on the side of your head, and he knew it was from when your head hit the tree and what had caused you to lose consciousness. He guessed you’d been out in the woods for a while, the exhaustion in your bones obvious since you hadn’t moved at all since you passed out on the forest floor.
He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, where he grabbed the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. As he walked back into the living room, he shrugged out of his damp jacket, setting it aside on a chair as he passed by it, then he was on his knees in front of the couch once again.
The first aid kit was open on the coffee table, everything he needed messily stored inside of it. He’d been careless a few times during hunting or fishing or wood cutting, resulting in him needing to patch himself up, and he never bothered to tidy up the kit.
He huffed as he rummaged through the kit in search of peroxide, and he found it a few moments later, then grabbed a cotton pad, pouring some of the liquid onto it. The gash on your head didn’t look too bad, but he also couldn’t see much since you were bleeding. This was one of many injuries he knew was on your body, but it also appeared to be the worst and the easiest one for him to access, so it was his priority at the moment.
Bucky pressed the cotton to the wound, and the white fabric turned red quickly, the sound of the peroxide sizzling its way into your flesh barely being heard. He cringed, because he knew that would fucking hurt when you wake up, so he tried his best to limit that pain as best as he could.
After cleaning up the wound, he taped a clean cotton pad to your head that had some sort of healing gel he’d used countless times before on it, then sat back on his knees. He couldn’t see much of you, your shivering body hidden beneath the blanket and your head turned in a way that only allowed him to see half your face.
Now that he’d cleaned up your head, he had no fucking clue what to do next. Your head would probably be pounding in a few hours, so he stood up to go grab some aspirin and a glass of water, and he set them down on the coffee table.
Your blood had dried on your face, and for some reason he felt the need to clean that too, so he grabbed a wet cloth, then cleaned you up as well as he could. And then he just simply looked at you.
There was concern in his eyes, but mainly he was just confused. How did you end up here? What happened? Why were you wearing bruises and marks that seemed like you’d gotten before you ended up in the woods?
He felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, something he had no business feeling for someone he didn’t even know, but he couldn’t help it. You were broken, bruised and in need of help, and you could’ve died had you not stumbled upon him and inadvertently forced yourself into his life.
Why had you been running? Who were you running from? Were you in danger? Was he in danger now that he’d taken you into his home and rescued you from the woods?
That should’ve had him feeling a little on edge, but as he looked at you and took in the way you already looked a little more relaxed as you slept on his couch at seven in the evening, he didn’t give a shit if he’d just accidentally put himself in danger.
There was no way, in any life, that he’d just leave you out there.
It’d been almost two hours since Bucky had taken you in when you finally woke up.
Your body moved before your eyes slowly opened, and he watched as they instantly landed on the rifle that was still on the coffee table, then shifted over to the water and aspirin, before they flickered up to him.
He was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his arms crossed as he looked down at you, and he could see the flicker of realization in your eyes before they filled with the same fear he’d seen in them out at the hunting post.
You tried to push yourself upright, your head shaking slightly as you held up your hands in a defensive gesture. “I-”
“It’s okay,” Bucky quickly assured you, his own hands lifting in a similar way as he refrained from touching you, knowing it would just freak you out even more. Of course the first thing you see after waking up in a stranger’s house being a fucking gun would scare you. He should’ve moved it after he’d cleaned your wound. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
You squinted at that, your hand moving to your head where the makeshift bandage is, and you winced when you pressed your palm against it. “Ouch. Shit,” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut.
Bucky stayed still, lowering his hands and bracing them on his thighs as he watched you take a few shaky breaths. “Are you okay?” he asked after a few seconds.
You glanced over at him, your expression guarded and on edge. “What happened?” you asked, slowly sitting up, making the blanket fall around your waist.
“You fell. Hit your head on a tree and passed out. I brought you to my house, cleaned you up a bit and got you warm,” Bucky answered, tilting his head as he looked at you. “That’s all I know. Might need you to fill in the rest for me.”
You pressed your lips together as you kept your hand against your head, most likely trying to will the throbbing to go away. “I fell?” you asked, closing your eyes again as you swayed slightly, even though you were still sitting on the couch.
Bucky nodded slowly, his brows furrowing together. “What happened to you?” he gently asked, “How did you… end up out here?”
You took a few more seconds to answer, then lowered your hand to your lap. “I ran away from home,” you simply answered, your voice low and your words mumbled.
Bucky sat up a bit, making you flinch, and he quickly reached out a reassuring hand. “It’s okay,” he said, giving you a small smile as he tried to look as least threatening as possible. “Why did you run away?”
You shrugged, looking so small and miserable on his couch. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” you said, and those five words somehow managed to answer a handful of his questions.
He softened his gaze, his lips turning downwards in a frown. “You have bruises on you,” he stated, watching the way you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. “They’re not all from running away, are they? You didn’t get some of them from just being out in the woods?”
You slowly shook your head, and you ending up out here was starting to make a little sense.
You’d run away from an abusive home, got lost in the woods, and had probably been out here for days before you found him, but how exactly you ended up here was still one question that hadn’t been answered.
But Bucky didn’t pry. This was a delicate situation, and even though he hadn’t been in one quite like this before, he understood that he had to be the level headed one out of the two of you, and not push you into a mental breakdown.
He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath in as he braced his elbows on his knees, moving to be at your eye level. “What’s your name?” he asked, watching the way you seemed to instantly be thrown into an inner debate with yourself. He had no idea what was going through your head, and he knew you had no reason to trust him at the moment, but he wanted you to know that he wasn’t going to hurt you. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna do anything, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you or force you to answer me. You don’t need to be scared of me.”
You swallowed harshly, blinking away tears as you lowered your gaze to the floor. “Isn’t that what every serial killer says to their victims?”
Even though you were still so on edge and uncertain, your voice still held a hint of humor, and Bucky felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t know,”
That had your own mouth curling upwards, and even beaten and bruised and bandaged, you were still quite pretty. You looked down at the floor for a few more seconds before you gave him your name, then looked up at him again when he repeated it.
“I’m Bucky. Well, James, actually, but I’ve always gone by Bucky. Did you take anything with you? A phone or ID or… anything?” he asked, wondering how you’d managed to stay alive for as long as you did with just the clothes on your back.
You shook your head. “No. No phone or ID. I had a bag with me, my old school backpack, and I had some food in there, but I had to leave it when it started attracting… unwanted visitors,”
Bucky lifted his brows. “You mean, like… bears? Or wolves?”
“Both?” you answered, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark when I had to leave it behind. I heard footsteps and growling, but I couldn’t see anything, so I got up and ran. That was… I don’t know, a day ago?”
Bucky tried to mask his surprise as best as he could, but it was extremely hard to believe that you’d gotten that close to being mauled or eaten alive just a day ago, and had somehow ended up in his part of the woods afterwards. “When did you run away?” he asked.
“Um… I don’t know. I don’t really know what day it is or how many have passed,” you said, glancing at the glass of water next to him with interest, and Bucky reached over to pick it up and hand it to you. “Four or five days ago? I think…”
“Jesus,” he muttered as you sipped on the water, and you almost finished it in one go, revealing just how dehydrated you must be. “You’ve been out there for five days? Have you slept at all? When was the last time you ate?” he fired off questions, still in shock that you were even alive right now after what he just heard.
“I slept here and there. I was too scared to sleep for long, and it was really cold at night,” you mumbled, setting the now empty glass on your lap. “The last thing I ate was a granola bar, and that was before I had to ditch the rest of the food in my bag.”
Bucky shook his head, sitting up straight as he ran his hand over his mouth. “You must be starving,” he said, and you shrugged, shyly meeting his eyes. He gestured to the glass, and you let him take it from you as he stood up and walked over to the kitchen, filling it once more.
When he came back, you took the fresh water from him with a grateful smile, sipping on it this time instead of gulping it down. “Thank you for helping me,” you murmured, looking over your shoulder at the window. It was dark out, and the temperature had dropped even more, the cool breeze coming in from the screen door. “I won’t stay long or… intrude anymore than I already have.”
Bucky furrowed his brows. “You can’t go back out there. Your head is injured, and I know other parts of you are too. It’s late and dark, and I… I can’t let you go back out there,” he said, propping one hand on his hip as he gestured at you with his other. “Not like this.”
You gave him a look that had his knees buckling, and one that made him want to do everything in his power to help you, because who the fuck would ever drive you to the point of running away and putting your life at risk?
“You don’t need to help me anymore,” you whispered, tearing up again as you gave him a tight lipped smile. “You’ve already done enough.”
Bucky took a step towards you, then crouched down in front of you so he wasn’t towering over you. “You’re not intruding. You need help. I can help you,” he said, using his softest tone of voice. “If you’ll let me.”
You were a bit more timid now as you held his gaze, then you slowly started to nod, holding onto the glass with both of your hands. “Okay,” you whispered, and Bucky gave you a small smile as he nodded towards the hallway.
“Why don’t you go clean up? You can use the shower and anything else you need in there,” he offered, taking the glass from you and setting it aside on the coffee table. “I’ll make some dinner.”
You quickly waved him off, “Oh, you don’t have to-”
“Please. Let me help you,” he cut you off, watching the way you deflated a bit, as if being offered help was something completely new to you. You nodded again, and Bucky offered you his hand. “I’ll set aside some clothes for you and get started on some food.”
You looked at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and before he could let it fall back down to his side, you reached up and took it. “Okay,” you said again, letting him assist you to your feet. You were still a little unsteady, your body still weak from what he now knows is a lack of food and rest. He helped keep you steady for a few moments, his hands gently holding onto your arms, and when you were stable, you looked up at him. “Thank you.”
Bucky felt his heart clench again at how broken you sounded, and he had to hold off on locking his jaw as he felt a surge of anger build up inside him at the fact that someone had obviously mistreated you so horribly for you to end up here.
“C’mon,” he said, guiding you towards the bathroom. “I’ll show you where everything is.”
You’d been in the bathroom for quite a while, and dinner had been ready for some time now, but Bucky refused to rush you.
It was obvious that you didn’t trust him, at least not fully, but he could tell you were already warming up to him, and he didn’t want to backtrack in any way and risk you leaving before your body could actually rest and heal.
Bucky had set out a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt for you, but also told you where everything is in his dresser in case you needed anything else, then he let you take a shower and no doubt take in all your body had been through over the last week in the mirror.
He’d been sitting at the kitchen table for the last ten minutes, having heard the shower turn off five minutes before that, but again, the last thing he wanted to do was rush you.
While he waited, he went over his options for this unusual situation he’d found himself in.
You’d run away from home, and there was no way you’d willingly go back, and Bucky didn’t want you to go back, because he was sure the abuse would only intensify since you’d taken off. But how realistic was it for you to start over somewhere with little to nothing to your name? Bucky would drive you into town, pay for a bus ticket for you, and he’d even give you some cash so you could get by, but where would you go from there? Why was he wondering that if you weren’t really his concern?
And why did the thought of you being out there on your own with only a handful of cash and no stable home make that protective feeling from before come back in full swing?
You’re a stranger to him. Simply someone who needed help, and he’d given that to you and more. Where do you and he go from here? After he’s fed you and given you a place to rest your head for a while, what the hell happens after that?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening, and he quickly sat up straight, his head instantly turning in the direction of the hallway.
You slowly walked into the kitchen, clad in his sweats and shirt that looked huge on you, and now that you were clean, he was able to get a better look at you.
Your arms were littered in bruises and your face was blotchy in certain spots, and even though you were a lot cleaner, your body was still, for lack of better words, a mess.
The fabric of his shirt was damp from your hair that now had no leaves in it, and you’d somehow managed to keep your bandage mostly dry, but he would still offer to change it later anyway.
Bucky gave you a warm smile as he stood up and gestured to the chair across from his. “I’ll make you a plate,” he offered, and you returned the smile as you moved to sit down. “You scared off what was planned to be on the menu tonight,” he said as he began putting grilled peppers, chicken and scrambled eggs on a plate. It was the best he could do for now, and he’d used up the last of his eggs he was saving for breakfast tomorrow, but he honestly didn’t give a shit that he’d have to go pick up some more sooner than planned. As long as you had options. “I hope this suffices.”
You perked up in the chair as he turned and set the plate down in front of you, and you fidgeted a bit as you looked down at it. “Wow,” you said quietly, and Bucky fought off a grin as he made another plate for himself.
“What, never had eggs for dinner before?” he teased as he moved back to the table and took his seat across from you. He’d never actually cooked for a girl before, or for anyone other than himself, really, so he was kind of nervous to have his culinary skills on full display right now, but he hid it as best as he could. He was pretty decent in the kitchen, as far as he could tell, but he’d also never gotten someone else’s opinion, so really, what did he know?
“No,” you answered, curling your fingers into your hands where they rested on your lap. “Well, no, and… no one’s ever cooked for me before.”
That had Bucky pausing, his hand halfway to grabbing his fork as he looked over at you. Not only had you come from a place that physically abused you, but also potentially kept food from you, or at least let you fend for yourself food-wise.
He swallowed harshly, finally picking up his fork as he looked away from you, not wanting you to see the sudden anger he felt taking over his expression. “Well… I’ve never cooked for someone before,” he said back instead of pushing for answers to the questions that had begun forming in his head. “You get to be my first customer.”
Your lips curved at that, and you looked back down at the plate. “I have to pay for this?” you asked, and there was a playful edge to your voice he was surprised to be hearing from someone in your state. It calmed the anger down inside of him.
“You get to be my first critic,” he corrected himself, then nodded down to your fork. “If you actually eat, that is.”
Your face flushed at that, and you picked up the fork quickly, a small smile on your lips. You started with the eggs first, and he tried not to watch you the whole time, but this was feeling strangely domestic, and he tried not to think about how good you looked in his house and in his shirt.
“It’s good,” you said as you chewed, your eyes flickering to meet his, and when you caught him staring, your smile only grew. “But then again, I have nothing to compare it to,” you trailed off as you swallowed, reaching for the glass of water in front of you. You brought it up to your mouth as you added, “Still, it’s very tasty.”
Bucky hummed, finally tearing his eyes away from you as he began eating as well. “I was kind of rushing,” he said, “You should see how good it is when I’m taking my time.”
You laughed quietly at that as you bit down onto a pepper and chewed slowly. “I’ll take your word for it,”
Fuck, this was really starting to feel domestic. Why was this so… comfortable? Why are you and he already talking as if you’d known each other for more than a few hours?
Bucky cleared his throat as he chewed, his brows furrowing as he nodded at the bandage taped to your temple. “How’s your head?”
You lifted your free hand and ran your fingers along the cotton, wincing slightly. “Hurts,” you answered, “I tried to not mess with it in the shower, but… yeah, it’s really sore. I have a raging headache too.”
“You might have a concussion,” he said, then nodded behind you at the coffee table in the living room. “There’s some aspirin over there you can take after dinner to help with the pain.”
You nodded at that, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you,”
A few moments of silence passed after that, and Bucky spent most of it trying to find the right way to offer you a place to stay for the night without it sounding too forward or creepy.
He braced his elbows on the table as he leaned forward, his dinner momentarily forgotten. “I don’t… feel comfortable sending you on your way tonight. You need rest and an actual place to sleep. And your head isn’t in the best shape,” he said, watching as you stopped eating as well and looked up at him. “You can stay here tonight. Take the bed and get a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow or… whenever you’re feeling better, I can drive you into town, get you a bus ticket or something.”
You gave him a look of surprise that you tried to suppress, but he caught it anyway. “You don’t have to do all that, really,” you said quietly, “I can just… maybe sleep here tonight, and I’ll see myself out tomorrow morning.”
Bucky let out a sigh as he shook his head. “I want to. I want to help you,” he said, “I have to go into town anyway to get some stuff. I’ll give you a drive anywhere you want to go, alright? You don’t need to be stumbling around the woods again on your own.”
Your shoulders dropped at that, like you were relieved to hear that you wouldn’t be forced to travel on foot again in an unfamiliar place. “Okay,” you agreed, poking at the eggs on your plate with your fork. “But I don’t need to sleep in your bed. I can sleep on the couch.”
Bucky felt one side of his mouth curve upwards at that, and he looked down at his own plate. “We’ll see about that,” was all he said, then the two of you went back to eating.
After dinner, you offered to clean up, but Bucky just shook his head, saying he’d do it later, then he led you to his room.
“I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed,” he offered, already starting to pull off the current ones as you quickly shook your head.
“Really, you don’t have to. It’s fine,” you insisted, but when he turned his head and gave you a look, you deflated a bit and pursed your lips. “Thank you.”
Bucky huffed out a laugh as he shook his head as well, gathering up the sheets, pillow cases and blankets into his arms. “You don’t gotta keep thanking me. I’m just doing what anyone else would,”
You gave a small, defeated laugh as he walked past you. “No, you’re not,” you said, and he realized that you must’ve been wronged countless times in the past by countless people to truly believe that what he was doing was him going above and beyond for you. He really didn’t think he was doing that much, he actually thought he wasn’t doing enough, and he wanted to do more for you, he just didn’t know how.
Bucky didn’t say anything at that, and headed down the hall to the laundry room, where he grabbed some fresh sheets.
Once he’d returned to his room, he made the bed and tidied up the clothes scattered around on the floor as you stood glued to the spot beside the closet. You were looking at his bed as you chewed on your fingernail, wincing slightly as you turned to face him. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to sleep in here? I mean, it’s your bed and you’re a tall guy. That couch out there isn’t small, but it probably won’t be very comfortable for you. I don’t mind sleeping on it,”
Bucky huffed out a laugh of disbelief. Here you are, a broken human being who’d suffered unimaginable things over the last few days, and probably the last few years, and yet you were still putting his comfort over your own. A stranger’s over your own. “I’ll be fine,” he assured you, stuffing his clothes into the laundry bin inside his closet. “I’ve slept on that couch many times now. It hasn’t done me wrong yet. Besides, after all you’ve been through, I think you could use a night on an actual bed.”
You nodded at that, scratching at your arm. “Thank y-” you cut yourself off when he lifted his brows at you, and your face flushed once again as you looked away.
Bucky felt a smile form on his face as he gestured to your head. “Let me look at that one more time before bed,”
You nodded, then moved to sit down on the edge of the bed as he walked past you to go retrieve the first aid kit from off the coffee table. He sat down in front of you on the bed, setting the kit between you and him, then got to work on slowly peeling the cotton away from your wound. It didn’t look much different from before, which was expected, but it looked cleaner, probably because you’d gotten water on it from your shower.
He replaced the bandage, neither of you speaking the whole time as you let him patch you up once again, this time with you being fully conscious. You winced when he pressed the new one against your head, but you didn’t move, fully trusting him to be as careful and as gentle as he could, and he was sure he’d never been this careful in his entire life.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” you asked a little awkwardly, like this was your way of distracting yourself from the pain. “Am I gonna live?”
He fought off a growing grin, smoothing down the cotton before pulling back. “You’ll live,” he answered, “Ninety eight percent certain of that.”
That had you fighting off a smile of your own, and you quickly looked away.
Bucky had refilled your water glass and grabbed the aspirin from off the coffee table when he’d gone to get the first aid kit, and after he was done replacing the bandage, he handed you both the water and aspirin.
He waited until you’d taken them before he stood up from the bed, putting the kit on the dresser, as well as the bottle of aspirin in case you needed more later. After that he turned to face you, and he propped his hands on his hips, pressing his lips together.
What does he say to the girl who’s about to spend the night in his bed? This wasn’t the first time a pretty girl has spent the night in his bed, though he’s usually in bed too, but he’d be spending his night on the couch instead. What was an appropriate way to end the interactions with you for the night?
“I’ll leave you alone now,” he said, holding back a cringe at his words. He wasn’t usually this way around girls. He’d been with his fair share of women, and even though he hadn’t been super close to any since moving out here, he liked to think he still knew how to talk to one. You made it hard to think though, let alone speak. “I’ll just be on the couch. If you need anything.” he added for good measure.
You nodded at that, your lips pursing to the side as you didn’t say anything.
Fuck, was this as awkward for you as it was for him?
“Goodnight,” Bucky said, giving you one last look before starting to turn around, but then you quickly stood up and reached for his arm.
He turned back to you instantly, and you didn’t say a single thing as you moved towards him and wrapped your arms around his middle. You pressed your head against his chest, and he felt the way you trembled with nerves. “Thank you,” you whispered, and he knew he’d let that one slide, because he could only imagine how much it took out of you to hug him after everything you’d been through.
Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around your much smaller body, his big hands splaying along your back. “Of course,” he said back, pressing his chin against the top of your head.
The moment ended not too long after that, with you pulling away first, and Bucky noticed the tears in your eyes but he didn’t comment on them. Instead, he gave you a tight lipped smile. “Get some rest,” he said, and you nodded again as you backed away and got into his bed, and he quickly turned and left the room, closing the door almost all the way behind him.
He lingered in the hallway for a few moments, not wanting to leave you alone just yet for some reason, before he forced himself to walk into the living room, choosing to leave the hall light on for you in case you needed to go to the bathroom, or wake him up for any reason.
Bucky naturally wakes up super early, despite him sometimes really needing a few extra hours of sleep.
Like today. He’d ended up staying up for a few hours after he’d left you in his room and got comfortable on the couch, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall asleep.
He’d been on edge, constantly keeping one eye open and listening out for any noise coming from the bedroom. He was worried about you, not wanting you to need something but be too shy to come out and ask him for it. He’d tossed and turned all night, and even though he’d been telling the truth when he told you that he’d comfortably slept on the couch countless times before, he just couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep.
If he had to guess, he assumed he’d gotten about four hours of sleep in total before he was fully awake at six in the morning.
Bucky stayed up after that, not bothering to try and get a couple more hours of sleep and instead deciding to turn the TV on as a distraction.
He kept looking down the hall, wanting to go in and check on you, but that would probably freak you out if you were to wake up just as he was peeking in, or worse, you already being awake and seeing him poke his head in.
His eyes were a little sore from lack of sleep as he crossed his arms, his mouth opening in an unflattering yawn as he looked at the TV mounted on the wall. His head tipped back as his throat made a sound he had no control over, and just as the yawn began to fade, he heard the sound of a soft laugh to his left.
Bucky looked over immediately, seeing you standing at the entrance of the hallway, and you already looked so much better than you did yesterday.
You looked more rested, more light and happier, and the sight brought a smile to his face as he sat up, pulling the blanket off his lap and setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted, the TV now completely forgotten about.
“Morning,” you said back, shifting on your feet.
“Morning,” Bucky repeated, then nodded towards the loveseat a few feet away. “You wanna sit?” he offered, and you nodded before making your way towards the seat and sitting down on it. You brought your knees up to your chest as Bucky ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the messy strands he knew were sticking up from when he was asleep. “Did you, uh… sleep okay?”
You nodded again, wrapping your hands around your shins. “Yeah. I slept good,”
Bucky nodded, huffing out a breath of air. “That’s… that’s good,” he said, and he was growing more and more convinced that his natural, charming way of talking to a woman was fading by the day. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”
You shrugged a bit, his shirt slipping down your shoulder just an inch or two. “I’m feeling… better. I’m still a little tired and sore, and my head still hurts. But I feel better,”
He smiled at that, leaning over and bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s good,” he repeated, much softer this time. He watched as you gave him a small smile before turning your attention to the TV, and he let his eyes linger on your side profile for a little longer before he looked away. “I, uh… I can give you a ride into town if you feel up to it. I have some cash I can give you to, you know, help you get started somewhere else.”
You looked back over at him, and your expression faltered a bit as you pressed your lips together. You shifted, reaching up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear as your lips parted, but Bucky quickly spoke up before you had a chance to.
“If you’re not feeling well enough, that’s okay too,” he said, watching the way your shoulders fell a bit, and he hadn’t realized how tense you’d gotten at the thought of being alone again. “If you still need some rest and time to heal, you… can stay here. For as long as you need.”
He wasn’t sure if he was being too forward or offering too much, or simply not offering enough, but the smile was back on your face now, and that made one form on his own as well. “I don’t want to intrude. I know this,” you waved a hand around the living room, “is what you’re used to. Your normal way of living doesn’t involve looking after a girl you found in the woods,” you trailed off, hesitating briefly before you let out a shaky breath, “I’d like to stay… for a few days, maybe? If that’s okay. I won’t bother you or get in the way, and I can help out around the house if you need it. I don’t want to freeload. But… I’d like to stay. Just for a bit.”
You were rambling, as if he didn’t offer you the choice to stay in the first place. And now you were offering to do chores around his house? While sporting a nasty gash on your head? Where the hell had you come from?
“It’s okay,” he said, putting your rambling to a stop as you met his eyes. “You can stay. I don’t mind,” he leaned back on the couch, draping his arm on the back of it. “But that means we’re gonna probably be scavenging for food since I won’t be going into town today after all. And maybe we’ll see if you’re any good with a fishing rod, if you’re up for it.”
You let out a soft laugh as you nodded, “I think I can handle that,”
Bucky was standing on the dock at the lake that was a short walk from his house. It was later in the day and much warmer than it had been yesterday, but the air still had a chill to it, so he’d given you one of his jackets to wear while by the lake.
He was standing close to the edge of the dock, putting bait on the hook of his fishing rod while keeping a careful eye on you. You were standing off to the side by a tree, your arms tense at your sides as you watched him with interest he found oddly adorable.
You still looked a little tired, even though Bucky had put this off for most of the day, letting you rest some more on the couch while he did some chores around the house.
When he mentioned heading down to the lake to try his luck at fishing, you perked up at that and asked if you could tag along, and then you slid on your muddy shoes and accepted his jacket when he agreed.
Bucky wasn’t sure what he was doing. He’d lived a pretty normal life prior to taking you into his home and patching you up. He’d wake up early every day, make himself a hearty breakfast, do some house work or some yard work, then either go hunting or fishing, eat dinner, call his sister and chat with her for a while before going to bed.
He’d served in the military for a while before moving out here, and he’d received quite a large amount of money during his time he served, and he’d been getting cheques every few months that allowed him to live comfortably. He’d go into town maybe once or twice a week, stock up on things he needed, maybe stop at a bar and let loose for a bit, then go home.
His priorities had shifted drastically over the last few years. When he was still living in the city, he’d have no problem spending his evening at a bar, chatting up a pretty girl, then spending the rest of the night with her, and that was something he’d done many many times.
But as he got older and reached his early thirties, he realized random hook ups and money wasted on bars wasn’t what he wanted in life, and he wanted a change.
So he’d moved out of his apartment and relocated to where he is now, and he’d been living a much healthier and efficient lifestyle, and he hadn’t looked back since.
With that being said, it’d been a while since he’d had a woman around for as long as you’ve been, with the exception of his sister. He didn’t quite know what to do or how he could go back to normal now that he’s taken it upon himself to try and heal you and help you in any way he could.
Bucky didn’t know how long you’d be here, in his home and in his life, before you decided you needed to get a move on and try your luck on your own, but the thought of you heading back out into the world with essentially no one at your side didn’t sit well with him.
He doesn’t know you very well, but there was an obvious trust between you and him that was growing more and more. It’d been over twenty four hours since he met you, and already he’d found that, despite him being on his own for quite some time now, you kind of fit in just right here.
But that seemed crazy to think about, and way too fucking soon. Realistically, how long would it be appropriate for you to stay with him without it becoming weird? He’d found you in the woods and taken you in, which was already weird enough.
But Bucky had always wanted to help people. He was good at it, and he didn’t like the thought of someone struggling when he could so easily help out.
The whole situation was weird and unexpected and kind of overwhelming, and yet he didn’t mind the odd addition to his life - that being in the form of another person he had to look after rather than just himself.
Once the bait was securely attached to the hook, he cast it out into the water, then turned his head to look over at you as he waited for a bite. “How are you doing?” he asked, and you crossed your arms over your chest.
“I’m fine,” you answered, gesturing to the lake. “I don’t want to be in your way.”
Bucky let out a laugh, “Well, that’s really nice, but it wasn’t what I meant,” he said, watching the way you became flustered at the teasing tone in his voice. “I mean, how are you feeling? You don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to. You can head back and rest some more if you need to.”
You shook your head slowly, giving him a grateful smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said, then gave him a small smirk, “I need to learn how to do this if I’m gonna pull my weight around here.”
He poked his inner cheek with his tongue, then nodded, “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he agreed, though he didn’t expect you to do really anything since you’d already been through enough lately. You deserved to have someone do things for you for a while, and that person was obviously Bucky.
A few minutes pass with not much else being said, and as Bucky looked out at the setting sun that was making the water look orange and pink instead of blue, you moved a little closer to the dock. “How long does this usually take?”
Bucky shrugged, keeping his eyes on the sun as it slowly moved towards the water. “Depends. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours,” he answered. You walked a little closer until you were standing next to him, and he instinctively looked over at you.
Despite the bruises marring your skin, it still looked almost flawless in the orange glow of the sun. You looked soft, if that made any sense at all, and innocent in a way that had him questioning how anyone had ever treated you so badly in the past.
He almost commented on how beautiful you look, but quickly caught the words before they could leave his mouth, and he cleared his throat. “You wanna give it a try?”
You quickly met his gaze as your lips parted, your eyes widening a bit. “I’ll probably be terrible at it,”
Bucky shrugged as he started to reel in the line, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to teach you,”
He moved to stand behind you, then offered you the rod, which you hesitantly took. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” you said as you held it awkwardly, only further proving that you’d never gone fishing a day in your life.
Bucky laughed as he lifted his hand. “It’s okay. I can show you,” he said, then paused once he’d moved a little closer to you. “Can I… is this okay?” he asked before he pushed you too far.
He didn’t know your limits, didn’t know how you’d react if he just suddenly touched you. This was a lot different than him cleaning your wound and changing the bandage for you, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way.
You looked over your shoulder, saw how close he was, then hesitated a bit before you started to slowly nod. “Yeah. It’s fine,” you said quietly, “Gotta show me somehow, right?”
He nodded in agreement as he moved closer to you, then wrapped his arms around your frame and guided your hands into the proper position on the rod. “Just tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”
You gave a slight nod and allowed him to position your hands, then he guided your arms back a bit, the line coming with it.
“Let go of the line as soon as it passes the edge down here,” he said, knocking the edge of the dock with his boot, and he waited until you looked down and nodded before he guided your arms into a swinging motion.
You’d caught on fast, your finger releasing the line as soon as it crossed the water line, and then it was cast into the lake, reaching almost as far as his had before. “Did I… do it right?” you asked, and Bucky felt his lips curl up as he took a step away from you.
“Yeah, that was good,” he said, letting his arms drop back to his sides, and when you turned your head to look over at him, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a flicker of disappointment on your face as you glanced down at his hands, but it was gone before he could question it too much.
“How will I know if I caught anything?”
“You’ll feel something start to tug, then you’ll have to reel it in,” he said, and as if you’d predicted that very thing happening, there was a tug on the line, and you let out a gasp.
“Oh, fuck,”
Bucky couldn’t even take a second to reflect on how funny that word sounded coming from someone as seemingly innocent as you since you’d reached for his arm and tugged him to you as you pulled on the fishing rod.
He helped you reel the line in, then got to see how excited you became when he pulled on the hook and lifted it out of the water, a decent sized trout stuck to the end of it.
Your mouth opened in surprise as you held onto the end of the rod, and you looked so happy, it was hard to believe that you’d been so close to death just yesterday. “I caught a fish?” you asked, as if he wasn’t currently unhooking the proof right now.
Bucky stood up straight, holding the fish in one hand as he looked at you. “You caught a fish,” he confirmed, and couldn’t stop the grin that took over his face at the squeal you let out.
It had still been pretty early in the evening when you’d caught your first ever fish, but you and Bucky still returned to his house soon after.
You were giddy as you stood next to him in his kitchen, still wearing his oversized jacket and sweats as you watched him clean the trout, because of course you and he were having it for dinner. You were so excited that you’d managed to catch a fish on your first try, and he wanted you to be able to reap the benefits and see for yourself how good it feels to prepare and eat something you’d caught all on your own.
He’d found out himself the very first year he lived here how much better something tasted when he actually worked for it, and he wanted you to experience that as well.
You ended up getting in his way quite a bit the entire time he was making dinner, pairing the trout with fresh vegetables and rice, but he didn’t mind. Of course he was used to being alone and having no distractions as he made dinner, but you were a welcoming one.
You’d finally calmed down a bit as he began plating the food, and you took it upon yourself to set the table, with him needing to tell you where everything was in the drawers and cupboards.
“Thank you,” you said when he set a plate down in front of you, and Bucky laughed as he sat down in his seat across from you.
“For what? You’re the one who provided dinner tonight,” he pointed out, and a warm feeling filled him at the fact that this was the second dinner you and he are having together, and you were evidently a lot happier during this one.
“I just caught it,” you said, as if that was easy for someone to do on their first try. “You’re the one who cooked it.”
Bucky hummed, picking up his fork. “It was a team effort,” he decided, and you nodded in agreement.
After dinner, neither of you made any move to quickly get up from the table. You’d been in the middle of explaining how you’d almost failed Math in grade nine since you had massive crush on the teacher and couldn’t focus every time he taught something, and Bucky just let you talk, because the version of you in front of him right now was so different from the version he met and saw last night.
You seemed brighter, like the darkness he’d seen in your eyes and face yesterday had faded throughout the day, leaving behind someone who seemed far too sweet to have ever gone through any form of abuse at all.
There was a certain light in your eyes, a happiness in your voice that had him leaning closer and letting you say anything that came to mind, because your voice was soothing to him. It was beautiful, and it seemed out of place in his home that had been quiet and void of anything but his own presence for so long.
That domestic feeling he’d noticed before was coming back, and it didn’t help that you propped your elbow up on the table, and his shirt had slipped off your shoulder once again, revealing a glimpse of your skin under it.
Bucky had to tear his eyes away from you as he stood up, beginning to gather the plates and utensils as he fought off the growing heat he felt building up inside of him. You weren’t here to stay. You were merely a guest he was helping out. He had no business feeling the way he currently is.
“I can help,” you offered, beginning to stand up, and when Bucky tried to protest, you’d taken the dishes out of his hands and gave him a small grin before you moved past him and began washing them, and he had to lean back against the table for a sense of stability.
Those feelings didn’t go away. They only grew tenfold.
“It’s not about how fast you hit it. It’s about how you swing and how much force you put into it,” Bucky said as he demonstrated what he’d just finished explaining to you.
He lifted the axe above his head, keeping his eyes firmly on the log in front of him that was placed on the trunk of a tree that had fallen over way before he’d even moved here. He swung the axe down in one smooth, quick motion that had the blade hitting it dead-on, the wood easily splitting into three pieces.
You watched from your place a few feet away, his shirt rolled up with one side tied in a knot at your hip to keep it from reaching your knees. His sweats were rolled up as well, reaching just below your knees as you observed him, your head tilted curiously. “That looks really hard,” you said, and Bucky huffed out a laugh as he reached down and put the newly split wood into a pile next to the trunk.
“It’s not super easy,” he said, placing another one in its place. “But it’s not super hard either.”
You’d been here for a few days now, and your head had healed up quite nicely to the point where you could ditch the unflattering white bandage for a smaller, less obvious one. Though you still somehow managed to make the bandage look good, he didn’t tell you that.
Most of the bruises on your body had faded, leaving behind faint purple spots that would also be gone soon enough, and you’d gotten more rest in the last couple days than you had in the last couple years, or so you’ve told him.
The heat was quite noticeable today and the sleeves of his Henley were rolled up to his elbows, and he took note of the way your eyes kept lingering on his forearms every so often, but he didn’t comment on it.
He’d be a liar if he were to say he hadn’t been looking at you in the way you’d been looking at him more than a few times now.
Just as Bucky began lining up the axe again, you took a step towards him. “Can I try?”
He paused, the axe lifted above his head, and without thinking much about it, he lowered it and nodded. “Sure,” he said, gesturing for you to come stand where he is.
You and he had grown rather close in the short time you’ve been here, so he didn’t feel like he was going too far when he wrapped his arms around you after handing you the axe.
He helped guide you into a few practice swings, his front pressed quite close to your back, but you weren’t tense like you had been the first night you were here. You almost welcomed it now, and you didn’t shy away from him. That was progress, and he was really fucking proud of you.
Once he thought you’d had a good handle on it, he stepped back to give you some room. “Just stay still and put some force into the swing,” he instructed, and you nodded, squinting at the log for a moment before swinging the axe down. It didn’t break the log, but got stuck in it, and you looked over at Bucky for help. He laughed under his breath and reached over, pulling the blade out of the log before stepping back again, propping his hands on his hips. “It’s okay. Try again. Aim for that same spot.”
You let out a deep breath and nodded, then swung again. The axe got stuck in the log once more, and you huffed. “I’m terrible at this,” you said, letting go of the axe, leaving it stuck in the log.
Bucky laughed again, moving past you to retrieve it as you stood off to the side. “It’s alright. It’s not easy for someone just trying it out for the first time,”
“Yeah, but I caught a fish the first time I went fishing,” you said, and he scoffed.
“Oh, so that made you think you’d be good at every new thing you try for the first time?”
“I was hopeful,” you said back, and he shook his head. But he could feel you looking at him as he positioned his hands on the handle of the axe, and before he swung, he looked over at you, noticing the frown on your face. “What? What’s wrong?”
You shrugged, looking down at your shoes that weren’t as muddy as they were before since he’d taken it upon himself to clean them for you. “I feel useless just standing here,” you confessed. “You’ve done so much for me. I want to help as much as I can.”
Bucky lowered the axe, then looked around as he tried to think of something you could do that didn’t take a whole lot of effort since your body was still healing. “Why don’t you stack what I split?” he suggested, nodding towards the already stacked wood pile against the side of his house a few feet away. “That way I don’t have to do it after.”
You smiled at that and nodded, “Okay,” you said, then bent down to retrieve a couple pieces of wood he’d just split before heading towards the pile, and Bucky let his eyes linger on your backside before he lifted the axe again and swung, splitting the log you’d failed twice at with ease.
Later that night, it’d cooled down and since he’d had the windows open all day, it was kind of cold in his house.
Bucky had lit a fire in the living room, the fireplace lighting up the room and making shadows flicker all over the walls. You were sitting on a blanket on the floor, your back pressed against the side of the couch as you watched him, a small smile seeming to have a permanent place on your face.
You were wearing one of his hoodies, his wardrobe having become yours as well since there was no saving your old clothes. He’d tried to get the mud stains out of your shorts and debated on whether or not it was worth trying to sew your shirt, but it was a hopeless cause. And Bucky rather liked the way you looked in his clothes, almost as much as you seemed to like wearing them.
The orange glow from the fire made you look like something that’d fallen straight out of heaven and landed directly in his path, inserting yourself into his life without a second thought about it. And yet you fit right in.
You’d only been here for almost a week, and yet Bucky had already become used to having you around. Every time he cooked, you cleaned up, and every time he busied himself with work around the house, you were right there, offering your assistance and taking it upon yourself to help in any way you could.
You and he sit together for every meal, and you end up staying at the table well after you’ve finished eating and talking for hours, and he’s made you laugh so many times now, he’d gotten used to how it sounded in his usually quiet house.
It felt like you’d known each other for a lot longer than you had. You’d fallen asleep on the couch yesterday while you and he watched TV, your head falling to his shoulder as your soft breaths fanned across his cheek.
And, obviously, Bucky didn’t move a single muscle the entire time you slept, earning him a sore arm that was well worth it.
You and he ended up messing around by the lake yesterday, splashing at each other, which resulted in both of you becoming completely soaked but also not giving a fuck about the uncomfortable walk back home in wet clothes. The smiles on both your faces never faded once.
He rather liked the little bubble you and he had been living in for the past week, and he didn’t want to think about what it would be like when you inevitably had to go. His life would return to normal, but what would that feel like when he’d already gotten so used to having you in his space and in his life?
You and he had pretty much gone through all the food he had in his cupboards, and while he had a pretty nicely stocked garden around the back of his house, eating just peppers and tomatoes and onions wasn’t sufficient.
That meant he would have to drive out into town tomorrow to get some groceries and other things he needed, and that meant you’d probably be taking him up on that offer to drive to the bus stop.
Bucky sat next to you on the blanket, lifting one leg and planting his foot firmly on the ground as he forced himself to not look at you. The hue from the fire made you look achingly pretty, but that wasn’t saying much since he’d found you pretty in every type of lighting.
A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, with both you and Bucky watching the fire flicker and create harsh shadows all around his dark living room.
He knew he was a little tense, because he had to bring up the trip to town he was planning, and that would bring up the topic of you tagging along and getting a bus ticket.
You shifted next to him, and he had a feeling you could tell something was on his mind, but you didn’t push him to tell you. You’d been as patient with him as he’d been with you, and Bucky was growing more and more aware of the fact that if you were to leave town tomorrow, he’d really fucking miss you.
Even though it would mean you’re starting a new chapter in your life somewhere nicer than where you had been before, and you’d be happier, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to be in that chapter with you.
Maybe you and he would be able to stay in touch, though it wasn’t likely.
Bucky swallowed harshly, looking down at the small space between your thigh and his. “I’m, uh… heading into town tomorrow. You’ve managed to empty out everything I had in my kitchen,” he started, trying to keep the mood light, and it worked as you let out a soft laugh. He lifted his gaze to you, and he found you already looking at him. “Have you thought more about maybe getting a bus ticket? Just… getting away from everything that happened?”
He held back a wince when he asked that, because the thought of you being all alone again after this made his heart clench in his chest. The thought of him being alone again was even worse.
You pressed your lips together and looked away, bringing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, I’ve… thought about it,” you confessed quietly, and Bucky’s heart clenched again.
Because as much as he liked having you here, you’d been thinking about leaving him behind and disappearing. And you weren’t selfish to think that or want it, but he sure was for wanting you to stay.
Fuck. He wants you to stay.
He cleared his throat harshly, tearing his eyes away from you. “So you, uh… accepting that drive to the bus stop?”
You looked over at him at that, but he didn’t look at you in return. He could see the way you deflated a bit out of the corner of his eye. “If you’re still offering it,” you answered softly, and Bucky wanted to take that offer back so badly.
“I am,” he said instead, shifting a bit on the blanket. “We can leave tomorrow morning after breakfast. If I can find any food to make for breakfast, that is.”
That had you huffing out a breathy laugh, and he couldn’t stop the way his head turned to look at you. He couldn’t help it. He liked the way you looked when you laughed.
You turned your head and met his eyes, and your expression softened. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, then slowly, hesitantly, you reached down and placed your hand over his where it was on the ground between you. “For… for everything. You… saved me. Took me in and you made me feel like I’m not just… a punching bag. So thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for that.”
Bucky clenched his jaw, because he felt it starting to tremble a bit, and you’d trusted him to be the strong one up until this point. He didn’t want to let you down. “I already told you,” he said just as quietly. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with yours, giving them a soft squeeze as his eyes held your gaze. “You don’t have to thank me. I couldn’t just… leave you out there. I couldn’t. I knew you’d been through hell and I couldn’t add to it. I couldn’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
You smiled at that, but your eyes started to water, and you started to turn your head when his other hand instantly lifted up. His fingers cradled your jaw, halting your movement and making your breath get caught in your throat.
“Is that… is this okay?” he trailed off, guiding your gaze back to his, and he watched the way your eyes darted down to his mouth as you nodded slowly. “Words, sweetheart.”
You inhaled at the name he hadn’t used until right now, and then you leaned a little closer. “Yes. It’s okay,”
Bucky grinned softly at that, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip as he leaned in as well. “I can stop,” he said, meaning it with everything in him.
But you shook your head, and before he could remind you to use your words again, you spoke up, “I don’t want you to stop,”
And that had him leaning all the way in until his lips brushed along yours in the softest, most gentle kiss he’s ever had. You kissed him back, smiling against his lips and making him smile right back, his hand moving to cradle your jaw.
It ended all too soon, but it was still already high on the list of the most intimate moments Bucky has ever experienced in his life, and that was bad.
Because you were leaving tomorrow, and he wouldn’t get to experience that again.
There was a heavy feeling weighing down Bucky’s chest as he sat with you in his truck that was parked on the side of the street.
A few feet behind the truck was one of the bus stops around town, and in approximately four minutes, a bus would come and take you out of his life just as quickly as you fell into it. Literally.
His elbow was propped up on the window frame, his fingers covering his mouth as he looked at the street with a bitterness he couldn’t remember feeling for quite some time now.
You were sitting in the passenger seat, wearing an old pair of jeans that didn’t fit him anymore since he’d gained quite a bit of muscle since he started living on the outskirts of town, and one of his flannels. At your feet was one of the many bags he had lying around his house, and in it were a couple of his shirts and sweats and jeans, as well as a couple snacks and water and the extra toothbrush you’d been using at his house. There was also a stack of cash he’d slipped in without you noticing, because you refused to take his money when he offered it to you back at the house.
You felt guilty for taking his clothes, but Bucky honestly didn’t care about that at all. As long as you had something to get started with, he didn’t care how many shirts he’d need to replace in the future.
The truck was off, not even the sound of the radio able to fill the silence that filled the cab. There was tension in the air, but it wasn’t angry or uncomfortable or heated. It was more sad than anything else, because even though you hadn’t been in his life for long, this was still a hard goodbye.
Bucky had grown attached to you. He’d taken on the role as your protector, and he wanted to keep that role for much longer. He had, like you told him last night, saved your life, so he was feeling protective over you, and the thought of wishing you well then sending you on your way made him feel like he was throwing you out to the wolves.
He shifted in his seat, glancing over at you. You were sitting comically still, the bus ticket he’d bought you sitting on your lap, ignored as if you didn’t want to hold it in your hands or even look at it. “You sure you’re… well enough to go off on your own?” he asked, more than ready to take you right back to his place. “It’s okay if you’re not. You won’t be intruding or anything like that. You don’t even have to stay with me if you don’t want to. I can give you some money and you can stay at a hotel for a bit. I just… don’t want you pushing yourself into something if you’re not ready for it.”
You looked over at him, forcing yourself to smile. “I’m ready,” you said, and you sounded truthful, and yet that didn’t help soothe the ache he felt in his chest. “I don’t want to take up anymore of your time. You’ve been amazing, Bucky, and I truly meant it when I said you saved me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to pay you back.”
Bucky frowned and shook his head, “Sweetheart-” he started, but the bus rounded the corner and began slowing down, and his time with you was up.
You gave him a small smile as you grabbed the bag and opened the door, hopping out of his truck with a lot more grace than you’d moved with before. He’d healed you. And you healed him too, in a way.
He’d been content by himself before, willing to spend the rest of his life alone in the woods and preparing meals for one and sleeping by himself in the big bed in his room.
But you’d opened a part of him up, and he no longer saw himself being alone forever. He saw himself settling down, living his life with someone by his side. And he wanted that someone to be you so fucking badly.
His heart physically ached as he watched you stand on the side walk and close the passenger side door. “Bye, Bucky,” you said quietly, and there were tears in your eyes that matched the ones he felt forming in his.
You turned and started walking towards the bus stop, your grip so tight on the straps of the bag he could see your hands starting to shake.
Bucky stayed in the truck, not trusting himself to step out and walk with you to the bus stop. He was afraid you’d turn to hug him like you had done the first night you spent at his house, and he wouldn’t be able to let go of you.
So he just watched as you walked towards the bus shelter, then stopped just as the bus pulled up to the stop. He watched with a heavy heart, his knuckles pressed to his mouth as he suppressed the tremble he felt in his lips.
But when the doors of the bus opened, you didn’t get on. Your back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see your face, but he could see how tense you were as you stayed completely still on the sidewalk.
Before he could realize what he was doing, Bucky tore off his seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out onto the street without even checking to see if any cars were coming. He rounded the truck and got onto the sidewalk, moving towards you and stopping just a few feet away.
You hadn’t turned around to face him yet, but you did turn your head when the bus driver let out a huff. “Are you on or off, Miss?” he asked impatiently. You didn’t answer him, and the man let out another annoyed sound. “Ma’am, are you staying or getting on?”
That hit Bucky hard, because he wanted you to stay. Maybe it wasn’t realistic, and maybe it was way too soon, but he didn’t fucking care. He didn’t want you to go.
You turned your head even more until you were looking at him, and when your eyes met his, your shoulders dropped, the tension leaving your body instantly. You turned to face him fully, your grip on the bag loosening, “Stay,” you said quietly, “I want to stay.”
That had Bucky closing the remaining distance between you and him, and you met him halfway, dropping the bag in your hurry to get to him. Your body collided with his just as the bus pulled away from the curb, and Bucky cradled the back of your head with one hand, his other arm wrapping tightly around your middle.
He pulled your body flush against his, and your arms banded around his shoulders as you leaned up and connected your mouth to his. He lifted you up just slightly so you could kiss him a little better, and he deepened it instantly. This was even better than the one you and he shared on his living room floor last night, and he had no doubt that he’d just become obsessed with you.
Bucky couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out of his lips when he pulled away for air, “You want to stay?” he breathed, his hands cupping either side of your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “With me?”
You nodded slowly, keeping your arms locked around his shoulders. “Yes, I do. Can I?”
Bucky let out a soft groan, his lips covering yours once again. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, you can stay,” he muttered against your mouth, and you broke the kiss as you laughed. You laughed even more when he pressed a series of fast kisses to your cheek before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, taking you with him as he walked the few steps to retrieve your discarded bag, then he guided you back to his truck.
He opened the passenger door for you, helped you inside, leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your lips before pulling back and shutting the door, tossing the bag into the backseat as he did so.
“First stop, the store so we can stock up on food,” he said when he got back into the driver’s seat. “Then I’ll take you back to my place.”
“Then I’ll help you put all the groceries away,” you added, and Bucky couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried.
This was fucking crazy, but as he looked over at you, sitting in his passenger seat and looking so much happier now than you did before now that you’re staying, he didn’t give a single fuck about how crazy this was.
Bucky stocked up on things even more than he normally does, his counters littered with grocery bags that were filled with food and other things he was running low on.
He didn’t want to go back to town for a while now, though he would have to sooner rather than later because he planned on buying you some better clothing options - ones that actually fit you, but this was just fine for now.
Bucky had just finished bringing in the last three bags, and he set them down onto the table as he looked over at you. His flannel was tied around your waist now, his white shirt hanging loosely off your body as you placed the eggs and milk into the fridge.
You must’ve felt him staring, because you leaned against the counter beside the fridge after you closed it, a teasing smile on your lips. “You should think about investing in livestock,” you suggest, crossing your arms. “It would save you a fortune on eggs if you were to have your own chickens in the backyard.”
Bucky laughed, slowly starting to close the distance between you and him. “I live in the middle of nowhere, sweetheart,” he said, “I don’t have a backyard.”
You pursed your lips, suddenly becoming a little fidgety as he stopped right in front of you and lifted his hand. But instead of touching you like he knew you were expecting, he reached into the bag behind you on the counter, pulling out the bread. “That might be true,” you said, a lot less confidently than before, and Bucky smirked a bit. “But my point still stands.”
He hummed, “Which was?”
“That you’d save a fortune on… on eggs,” you said, your eyes flickering down to his mouth for a few seconds.
Bucky had a lazy smile on his lips as he turned a bit and opened the breadbox that was next to the sink, putting the two loaves he’d bought inside before closing it again. “I appreciate your concern. It’s quite sweet you’re worried I’ll break the bank on eggs each month,” he said, and you flushed, leaning further back against the counter. “But it’s not needed, sweetheart. I think I made sure I wouldn’t be stressed over whether or not I could afford eggs every month before I moved all the way out here.”
You pressed your lips together, reaching behind you to hold onto the edge of the counter, as if him towering over you like this was making you unsteady, but you didn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest, so he didn’t move away. “Yeah, I guess that sounds pretty logical,” you mumbled, and Bucky’s smirk softened, his hand lifting up again, but this time to cradle your jaw.
The way you leaned into his touch immediately, like you trusted him so much to never hurt you, like you’d grown accustomed to it, made Bucky feel a little feral, and he closed the gap between yours and his mouth before he could voice that to you.
You kissed him back quickly, your fingers tightening on the counter for a brief moment before you reached up and curled your fingers into his jacket, pulling him closer.
Despite you and he only doing this twice before, the first time being only last night, you and he had already found an easy rhythm. He was slowly memorizing the way your lips feel against his, and as he deepened the kiss, he was starting to memorize your taste as well.
The way you were kissing him told him that you were trying to memorize his taste and the feel of his lips too. You’d been so shy, so timid and closed off for days, but you were letting him in now. You trusted him, and somehow that made him feel better than anything else ever had.
Bucky’s hands were on your waist, gripping you still so gently as he pulled away from your lips, his breathing having already picked up drastically. “Is this okay?” he asked, his lips brushing along yours with each word.
As much as you seemed to be completely comfortable and relaxed with him now, he didn’t want to accidentally get caught up and touch you in a way that brings you right back to the very thing you’d run away from. He knew any touch could take you back there, reset your progress, and drive you away from him since he’d reminded you of that dark place.
But then you nodded your head, the tip of your nose gently bumping against his each time it passed by. “Yes,” you breathed, and then you were reaching down and grabbing onto his wrists, slowly pushing his hands further down.
His palms smoothed over your ass, then slid lower and grabbed onto the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, setting you down on the counter. Your breath hitched as he did so, your hands coming up to grab onto his shoulders while his grabbed onto your waist.
He kissed you again, this time a little deeper than before as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, and you all too eagerly parted them. He stepped between your thighs, his hips pushing them apart as he pressed closer to you, one hand sliding up into your hair.
Bucky had, without a doubt, become addicted to kissing you. Even just this felt so much better than anything else he’d done with a woman before you. There was something about you being so shy on the outside, nervous and fidgety when simply talking to him, but so eager and needy when it came to him kissing and touching you that turned him all the way on.
You had a dirty side to you despite your innocent persona, and he wanted to discover every single other side you might have.
But he could feel himself starting to throb, his jeans growing just a bit tighter, and he broke the kiss with a sigh. He pressed his lips to the band aid on your temple, his eyes closing briefly as he tried to get ahold of himself. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a soft laugh at that.
You didn’t initiate another kiss after that, thankfully, because Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d be able to will his dick to not get hard, or harder. It’d been some time since he’d been with a woman, and even then he knew you were definitely the sexiest one he’s seen.
And while you and he were no longer kissing, you still wanted to be close as you wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your face against his chest. Bucky wrapped his own arms around you, pulling you against him and burying his face in your hair.
As much as you are sexy, you are also so fucking sweet.
It’d been a few days since you decided you wanted to stay, and while you and Bucky probably should’ve had a talk about where to go from that, you simply hadn’t.
Because even though you were new to each other’s lives, you fit right in, and you’d become each other’s new normals.
It was hot today, and instead of sweating all day doing things around the house, Bucky had pushed aside the house and yard chores, opting to spend the afternoon by the lake instead.
He’d given you a pair of boxers and a shirt to wear, the two acting as a makeshift swimming set since he still hadn’t taken you out to town to get you some clothes of your own.
Tomorrow, he’d do that.
Right now, he liked seeing the damp fabric of his shirt stick to your body.
You were standing in the lake with him, the water up to the middle of your thighs while it was only up to his knees. He didn’t know how long you and he had been out here, but the sun was just starting to set, the heat not nearly as bad as it had been before.
The water felt nice, and it cooled you both down tremendously. You and Bucky were both soaked, your clothes sticking to your bodies as you simply let the world pass by.
You’d begun collecting a bunch of rocks that were at the bottom of the lake. You’d set them aside on the dock, and there was a growing pile of… pretty normal looking rocks starting to form. But you found them pretty, so Bucky didn’t judge you for it.
Bucky left you to do that, bending down and grabbing at rocks you’d felt along the sand with your feet, and turned around to watch the sun as it began slowly lowering down towards the waterline.
As he took a step forward, he felt his foot brush against something sharp, and he winced, pulling back before he fully stepped on whatever it was. He looked down and through the ripples of the water, he saw part of what looked like a beer bottle sticking out of the sand.
He grunted and reached into the water to carefully grab it, then looked around the area for a few moments in case there were other pieces nearby. When he couldn’t find any, he moved back towards the dock, shaking his head, “Be careful, sweetheart. There might be glass around where you are. I almost cut my-” but the words died on his tongue when he looked over at you after setting the piece of glass on the dock.
Bucky shouldn’t be looking. His eyes shouldn’t be lingering where they currently are, but they’d dropped down there without his permission, and he was having a hard time looking away.
His throat went dry and he stuttered a bit as he tried to finish what he’d been saying, but it was no use.
It was bad enough that you looked unbelievably hot in his clothes, but the air had gotten cooler, and the water was naturally cold. He knew you couldn’t help the way your body reacts to the cold, more specifically, the way a certain part of your body reacts to it.
His shirt clung to you, wet and heavy, and he could see the peaks of your breasts pressing against the fabric, and the sight was really doing something to him.
You furrowed your brows, giving him a look of confusion as you stayed still, and you either didn’t know about the way your nipples were straining against his shirt, or you didn’t think it was a big deal. And it wasn’t, really. That was a natural and normal thing and yet… it had Bucky swallowing harshly as he started to move a little closer to you.
“You almost what?” you asked, your arms hanging loosely by your sides. When he didn’t answer, you shifted a bit, letting out a soft laugh. “What?” you asked again, then followed his gaze to your chest, and you pressed your lips together tightly. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize I- the water’s cold and I’m wearing wet clothes and the air is kinda chilly.”
You were rambling now as Bucky stopped right in front of you, and the fact that you thought you needed to give excuses for your own body and its reactions had that protective feeling taking over him.
When you went to cross your arms, he reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist, stopping you. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough from the growing arousal he felt building up inside of him. “Don’t be sorry. And don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to be either of those things. Not with me.”
You looked up at him and swallowed quickly, and he could feel the goosebumps that had formed on your skin - ones he wasn’t sure were just from the cold water and air. “Bucky,” you said, and he dipped his head down and kissed you before you could get another word out.
His hand released your wrist as he wrapped his arms around you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened the kiss right from the start, and you moaned into his mouth as you melted against him. Your arms wound around his shoulders, and you leaned up on the tips of your toes, trying to get as close to him as possible.
Bucky’s hands slid down and grabbed your ass, lifting you slightly so you weren’t straining yourself as much, and you moaned against his mouth again, making his cock twitch in his shorts. “Fuck. Let me take you home,” he grunted against your mouth, his hands greedily bunching up the fabric of his shirt that hung off your body. “Please. Can I?”
You let out a needy sound, your fingers tangling in his damp hair as you nodded, whispering a soft, “Please,” against his lips.
And that was all Bucky needed to hear before started to walk you backwards towards the shore, and he was so caught up in the moment, he forgot to keep an eye out for any other pieces of that bottle. Thankfully, you and he made it out of the water with no incidents or injuries, and he kept one arm around your waist, keeping your body against his as you walked the short distance back to his house.
The front door swung open, the force of it hitting the wall making a few pictures rattle before he shut it loudly behind him. His hands were on your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you against his body, his lips finding yours once again in a deep kiss.
Your hands slid up his arms, your nails skimming along his skin and making him feel feral. He licked into your mouth as he guided you backwards towards the hall, and you clung onto him a little tighter, fully trusting him to get you to his room without letting you back into anything.
When you and he entered his room, Bucky’s hands slid down the backs of your thighs, and he lifted you up, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. He didn’t care that both you and he were still wet and your clothes were soaked as he walked you over to the bed and laid you down on it, his hips settling between your thighs.
You leaned back on the pillows as he pulled away from your mouth, his hands reaching down to pull off his shirt, and he dropped the wet fabric to the floor before leaning down towards you.
One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours as your other hand splayed along his abs, and he felt you grin against his mouth. “You’re so big,” you mumbled against his mouth.
Bucky smirked against your lips, his biceps instinctively flexing at that as he pressed his hips to yours. “Am I?” he questioned, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice as he ran his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Maybe you’re just really small.”
You shook your head at that, your hands wrapping around his biceps, but they couldn’t wrap all the way around them. “No,” you murmured, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer. “The guys I’ve been with before, they weren’t nearly as big as you. You’re so much broader and wider and… bigger.”
Bucky’s smirk grew at that, and he was surprised he didn’t feel that jealous at you mentioning you being with other guys, because you just told him that he’s bigger than all of them. That made him feel superior, and he wanted to erase those guys from your memory and replace them with just him.
“Yeah?” he hummed, giving a slow, experimental roll of his hips against yours. When you let out a soft moan, he did it again, pressing his growing hard-on against you. “Seems like you’ve been with some scrawny dudes then, huh?”
You blushed at that, your teeth digging into your lip as you shook your head. “Maybe,” you whispered, “Or maybe you’re just fucking huge, Bucky.”
He felt his cock twitch at that, and he groaned as he buried his face in your neck. “You have no right to make swearing sound that fucking hot,” he muttered against your skin, and you let out a laugh as you tipped your head back on the pillow. “You just look so sweet and innocent. Doesn’t seem like this sweet mouth is capable of saying things like that.” he murmured, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw, and his thumb brushed along your lower lip.
You hummed, turning your head and nipping softly at the shell of his ear. “I think you’d be surprised at some of the things that come out of my mouth,”
Bucky perked up at your words and he lifted his head, meeting your eyes with a smug grin on his face. “Oh yeah?” he rasped, leaning in and pressing kisses along your cheek. “My sweet girl’s got a dirty side to her?”
You shrugged, reaching down to guide his hands to the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “Guess you’ll just have to find out,”
Bucky groaned, and he kissed you harshly as he bunched up the fabric of his shirt and lifted it up your body, breaking the kiss to rid you of it entirely. He pulled back and looked down at you, feeling his desire spike at the sight of your bare breasts and the full view of your nipples. “Fuck,” he grunted, shaking his head as he moved down a bit. He kissed along the tops of your breasts, gently sucking at your skin as he grabbed onto your hips. “I don’t believe you. You’re far too fucking sweet.”
You bit down on your lip, your eyes locked onto his every move as you shifted under him, your hands sliding up his shoulders and into his hair. “Bucky,” you whimpered, and the sound of you saying his name like that had him bucking his hips against yours.
He dipped his head down even lower. “You look sweet. You sound sweet,” he mumbled against your skin as his lips brushed along your nipple. “You taste sweet,” You let out a weak moan at that, and he smirked against your skin once more. “Think my sweet girl is incapable of being dirty. But I’ll get you there. I’ll make you mine in every way.”
You moaned louder, your back arching a bit as you tried to push your chest closer to his face, just as greedy for him as he is for you.
“You want that?” he asked, his voice deeper than before as his big hands came up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing along your nipples.
“Yes,” you gasped, writhing under him. “Please, Bucky. Please.”
As pretty as you sounded when you begged, Bucky didn’t want to make you wait any longer. He wrapped his mouth around your nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth. He grunted, his eyes closing as he sucked on the peak, his tongue running along the bud as you let out a moan.
His other hand continued to roll your other one, tugging gently as your head fell back on the pillow, your own eyes fluttering shut. When he switched to your other nipple, you whimpered, pushing your chest up against him more firmly. “You’re so responsive,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses all over your breasts as his hands slid down your body. “You gonna let me touch you down here?” he asked, running his finger along the waistline of his boxers.
You pressed your lips together as you opened your eyes, your gaze instantly meeting his. “Yes,” you answered softly, “Please.”
Bucky grunted, kissing his way down your body. “Listen to you. You’re so fucking sweet,” he muttered, his fingers hooking into the damp fabric. He slowly pulled it down your thighs, then your legs, then let it fall to the floor to join the other shedded clothing. He leaned in close, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he settled in between them. Before he did anything else, he looked up at you, his eyes focused while his mouth watered with need to taste you. “You let me know if I need to stop, okay? If I’m doing anything that makes you uncomfortable or if you don’t feel good, you stop me, yeah?”
Your eyes widened at that, as if you’d never had someone say anything of the sort to you before, and you nodded slowly. “Yeah. I will. Promise,”
Bucky smiled, small and genuine, before he let himself look at the most private, and in his eyes, one of the most beautiful parts of you. He leaned in close, his lips dragging along your inner thigh before the tip of his nose brushed against your clit, and you jolted at just that. “Sensitive, hm?” he teased softly.
“Been awhile,” you breathed, lifting your hips as you looked down at him with a pleading expression on your face.
Bucky smiled up at you, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “I’ll make you so spoiled, baby.”
Your breath hitched at that, and he finally allowed himself to taste the part of you he’d been dying to taste for a shamefully long time. He ran his tongue along your folds, collecting the wetness that had gathered there on the muscle while also leaving behind some of his own.
A deep, pleased grunt came from the back of his throat, and just from that first taste alone, he was hooked.
Bucky grabbed onto your thighs with gentle hands and guided your legs over his shoulders, then buried his face in your pussy. He basked in the string of moans you let out, your body shifting while you tried to push yourself closer to him.
He pinned your hips down, his thumbs running along the bones as he slid his tongue along your seam yet again, then dipped it inside. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he grunted, breathing you in as his fingers curled around your waist. “Taste so fucking good, baby. Could stay down here for the rest of the night.”
You whimpered, already greedy for him as you shook your head. “No,” you moaned, “Want you to fuck me, Bucky.”
He let out a pleased hum, purposely bumping his nose against your clit. “And I will, baby,” he promised, “But I need my fill of you first. I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart. Make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
You squirmed at that, your body heating up as your hands fisted the sheets at either side of your hips. “You already do that. You’ve been doing that since the night I met you,”
Bucky felt his heart clench, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze. “I want to keep doing it,” he said, sliding his hands up your body until they were covering your breasts. “If you’ll let me.”
“Yes,” you moaned, nodding quickly afterwards. “I will. I want you, Bucky. I only want you.”
He grinned, turning his head and giving your inner thigh a chaste kiss before he slid his tongue between your folds again then wrapped his lips around your clit. He gently sucked it into his mouth and he could practically feel the way your nerves throbbed against his tongue. “That feel good, baby?” he asked when he briefly pulled away and watched as you nodded again, just as fast as before.
“So good,” you moaned, “Keep going. Please.”
Bucky had a feeling he’d never deny you of anything, especially when you begged him like that. He was already so down bad for you, he was certain he’d do anything you wanted, and right now you wanted his mouth back on your pussy.
His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you down to the bed as he buried his face in you, his eyes shutting as he drank you in. Your taste, your scent, the way you sounded when he slipped his tongue inside of you.
Your hips tried to lift off the bed, but he held them down, easily overpowering you in a way he knew you enjoyed rather than felt threatened by. You only shared a little bit of your past with him, short stories here and there that gave him a glimpse into the way you were forced to live before. You didn’t have a choice, but now you do, and he wants you to always know that.
A soft, needy sound left your lips, and it went straight to his cock. Bucky refrained from thrusting into his bed, opting to hope that he’d get his relief later after he’s made you cum on his tongue.
Your hands slid down into his hair, and your fingers tangled in the strands as you moaned for him. The feeling of your nails gently scratching along his scalp felt unbelievably good after not feeling it for so long. You mentioned it being a while for you since you’d last done this, and it had been quite a while for him too.
When he returned his mouth to your clit and sucked on it, you jolted in his hold, your fingers pulling on his hair. “Fuck,” you moaned, looking down at him with worried eyes. “Is that okay? Did I hurt you?”
You’d suffered unimaginable pain, so it made sense that you were cautious when potentially inflicting pain onto someone else, but in all honesty, Bucky didn’t think you’d ever be able to hurt him. At least not like that. Your hands felt like heaven, and he was greedy to feel them all the time.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. More than okay,” he promised, removing one hand from your hip and sliding his fingers along your folds, collecting your wetness. “You didn’t hurt me. You can do whatever you want to me, okay?”
You pressed your lips tightly together at that, looking down at him at the same time he lifted his gaze to you, and your fingers ran along the length of his cheek as you gave him a look that told him everything you didn’t say. “Okay,” you whispered, your brows furrowing when he slowly pushed two fingers into you.
The tight, wet walls of your cunt stretched around his fingers, only further proving that it had definitely been a while since someone touched you. That or you were just tighter than normal. Either way, Bucky was more than willing to get you prepared and to make sure he didn’t hurt you in any way.
You gasped when he pushed his fingers in all the way, your tight walls clinging to him as you let your eyes flutter shut.
Bucky kept his eyes on you as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, trying to read your every expression. “You like that?” he asked, his voice a lot deeper than before as his own desire built more and more. He was unbelievably turned on, and the sounds you were making for him weren’t helping his case at all, and yet it would be even worse if you were to stop making them.
You nodded slowly, going silent with your words as you gently scraped your nails along his scalp. And while he liked to hear you confirm how you’re feeling with words, you’d been incredibly vocal about it since the very beginning, so he didn’t feel like he was overstepping this time.
His mouth returned to your clit, his tongue gently flicking over the bud a few times before he wrapped his lips around it once again. Your body jolted, your fingers tightening in his hair as you let out soft sounds and whimpers that only fueled his desire for you.
When his teeth grazed your clit, you gasped, your hands tugging at his hair seemingly out of instinct. He could feel how you were tightening even more around his fingers, your moans becoming louder and more consistent. “You’re close,” he murmured, not a question but simply an observation as he thrust his fingers into you a little faster than before.
“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding quickly as you arched your back and bucked your hips, trying to get impossibly closer to him. “Please… please.”
Fuck, you sounded so pretty.
Bucky worked his fingers in and out of you, his tongue running over the pulsing, sensitive bud above where his fingers are. “Want to feel you cum for me,” he rasped, his other hand sliding up your body until it reached your breast, and he covered the soft mound with his palm. “Want to make you feel so good, sweetheart.”
A sharper, more desperate sound tumbled out of your mouth at that, and you were starting to shake, your legs beginning to tremble at either side of his head. Your back arched even more as your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucking them in deeper as he felt you grow warmer and wetter. “Fuck,”
“That’s it, baby,” Bucky praised, keeping the pace of his fingers for a few more moments before he pulled them out, only to replace them with his tongue. He licked you all over, cleaning up your mess while leaving behind one of his own, and he only relented when you cried out and jerked away from his mouth, your fingers scratching at his head as he worked you to near over stimulation.
He pulled back, sitting up on his knees and bringing his hand up to his lips. He sucked his wet fingers into his mouth, cleaning them of your wetness with a deep, satisfied and shameless groan, all while looking at you like you were the single most hottest thing he’d ever seen. You definitely were.
You writhed on the bed, and he wanted to burn the image of you like this into his head, because you looked undeniably sexy and sated but also needy and desperate.
When his hands moved to your thighs, your own came to cover them as your chest rose and fell unevenly, your eyes hooded and your bottom lip puffy from how hard you’d bitten on it.
Bucky smiled down at you, his hands running up and down your smooth skin that was now void of bruises, and only had faint scratches that were almost fully healed. “Anyone ever tell you how fucking beautiful you are?”
You blushed at that, writhing more as you wrapped your hands around his wrists and tried to bring him closer. “Not very often,” you mumbled, and Bucky shook his head.
“Too bad for them,” he muttered, spreading your thighs once more and guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he settled his hips between them once again. “‘Cause you’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Every single fucking part of you.”
He leaned in and kissed you after that, not letting you say anything in return as he shared your taste with you. His hips rolled forward, the rough material of his shorts rubbing against your bare, sensitive core and making you whine into his mouth. “Bucky. I need you,” you breathed, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck. “I want to feel you. Want to make you feel good now.”
Bucky hummed against your mouth, kissing you deeply again. “Sweet girl,” he mumbled in between kisses. He placed a few more before pulling back. “Trust me when I say that what I just did to you made me feel good too. Never wanted to see someone cum so badly before in my life.”
You huffed out a gasp at that, your legs locking tighter around his waist as you pulled him closer. “Bucky,”
He smirked softly, pulling back just enough to be able to reach in between yours and his body. “Alright, baby,” he murmured, unzipping and pushing down his shorts and boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and long, already slick at the tip with pre-cum.
Bucky hadn’t been this painfully hard in a long time, to the point where even the pressure of his own hand stung a bit before it faded to relief. He saw the way your head lifted to look down at him, and his smirk grew when he saw the way your stomach muscles fluttered a bit. “Oh… shit,” you breathed, your hands coming up to wrap around his biceps.
He kept one hand around his cock, giving himself a slow, almost teasing stroke as his other hand grabbed your hip, his thumb rubbing gentle circles onto your skin. “What’s the matter?” he murmured, having a feeling he already knew exactly what you were thinking.
You confirmed it when you whispered, “You’re… really big,” in a voice that held both need and obvious shock.
“Yeah?” Bucky cooed softly, his hand raising to your face, and he tucked some of your messy hair behind your ear. “You don’t think it’ll fit?”
You shook your head, your grip on his arms tightening. “No, I really don’t,”
Bucky guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing its length along your folds. “But you’re so wet for me, baby,” he said, his voice holding a hint of teasing as he watched himself become coated in your slick. “Bet I could just slide right in and you’d just take me.”
Your body shuddered at either his words or his actions, or possibly both, before you looked up at his face. “Okay. Just be slow, please?” you asked, as if he’d rush you into anything after you’ve already told him it’d been a while since the last time you had sex.
“Of course,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
“Do you… have a condom?” you asked, making him wince, his lips turning into a frown against your skin.
He pulled back and groaned, shutting his eyes tightly, “No. Fuck,” he grunted, pulling back even more. “I haven’t really been with a lot of women while living here, so I never bothered to have those around. Really wish I did now though.”
You gave him a small smile as you cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs rubbing along his stubbled cheeks. “It’s okay,”
Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. We kinda rushed into this without thinking of that, huh?” he muttered, “I can get you off with my mouth and fingers again, and then I can… jerk off or something. I didn’t think I’d be having sex anytime soon, sweetheart. I’m sorry I wasn’t prepared for this.”
You let out a quiet laugh as you shook your head in return, guiding his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. “Bucky, it’s okay,” you said again, pulling him back to you so he was flush against your body once again. “I don’t… I’m okay with not using a condom tonight, if you are. You said you wanted to take me into town to get some stuff at some point, maybe we can go tomorrow and get, like, Plan B or something? And condoms.”
Bucky felt his shoulders drop at that, shamelessly feeling relieved that, despite the absolute lack of protection between you and him, he was still allowed to fuck you. He braced himself on one hand beside your head, his other one trailing down your body. “You got it all figured out, huh?” he teased, watching the way you squirmed a bit under him.
“I want to feel you,” you said simply, shrugging after, “I want you to fuck me.”
And fuck did he want that too. It sounded so good coming from your mouth, and he had a feeling you wanted it nearly as much as he did, which was an ungodly amount.
“Yeah?” he said lowly, reaching down to grasp his cock again, and he guided himself to your entrance but didn’t push in yet. “Good. ‘Cause I want to fuck you too.”
You whined at that, bucking your hips against his as you wrapped your legs around his waist, as if you were trying to push him in yourself. “Please, Bucky,” you begged, tugging him into a kiss, and he was done for.
He slowly pushed the tip of his cock past your folds, sinking the first few inches inside you and feeling the way your walls already fluttered around him. “Fuck,” he grunted into your mouth, sliding his hand up to your hip and holding onto you tightly. His other hand fisted the pillow beside your head, his jaw clenching as he held back from thrusting all the way inside you.
You were tight. Really fucking tight, and it felt impossible to push any further without hurting you. Your cunt was gripping him like a second skin, clinging onto him as tightly as he was clinging onto you, and he broke the kiss to bump his forehead against yours.
“You… you gotta tell me if I hurt you, okay?” he said, sounding a little desperate as he twisted the pillow between his fingers. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. I don’t wanna… fuck, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”
Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly, your body tense under his as you squeezed your eyes shut. “You’re not hurting me, Bucky,” you breathed, knees digging into his hips as he stayed still. “You’re just… big. Really big.”
Bucky smirked softly, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You need a minute?”
Shaking your head, you slid one hand around to his back, pressing on it gently. “No. You can keep going,”
He nodded, burying his face in your neck as he pushed in deeper, going all the way until his hips were against yours, and his cock was buried all the way inside of you. He stilled once again, letting out a deep, strangled groan against your skin as he felt you tighten around him, your hand sliding up his back and into his hair.
“Fuck,” he muttered, slowly pulling his hips back just a bit before pushing forward again, his eyes closing at the feeling. “God, you feel so fucking good.”
You moaned at his words, then again when pulled his hips back and repeated the motion, your head falling back on the pillow. “So do you,” came your quiet reply, your fingers tangling in his hair.
After a few moments, he found a deep, steady rhythm, one that had him pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in again to the hilt. Each thrust allowed him to see how tight you were, your walls stretching around him every time he pulled back. His cock was covered in your slick, making every slide back in easier than the last.
Bucky’s fingers dug into the soft skin of your hip, his deep groans lost to your neck as he kept his face buried there. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to physically stop himself from coming way too soon if he were to pull back and watch you - the sounds you were making already being too much to begin with.
He kept his pace slower than he’s used to. Usually he has no problem with a quick fuck with a girl that left him and her satisfied and straining himself just enough to fall asleep afterwards.
But he wanted to savor this with you, even though you’d made it clear that you wanted to do this many more times in the future, as did he.
His hips rolled against yours, knocking gently against your own with every thrust. Your moans were going directly into his ear, each one making him push a little harder every time he pulled back.
Your hands grasped at his face, pulling his head away from your shoulder. “Bucky,” you moaned, and he grunted instantly in response. “Look at me.”
He shook his head, his cheek pressing against yours as his hand finally released the pillow and grabbed onto your other hip. “I can’t,” he rasped, his eyes falling shut as he fucked into you a little faster. “You feel too fucking good, sweetheart. Too perfect. I can’t-”
“Please,” you begged, your heels digging into his lower back and trying to pull him impossibly closer despite him being as close as he could physically be. “Please, Bucky, look at me.”
And he couldn’t deny you.
He pulled back, his eyes opening and meeting yours. The way you were looking at him was the exact reason he refused to look at you before. You were looking at him like you trusted him more than anyone else in the whole world, like you were willingly giving him your heart and letting him do whatever he wanted with it.
Your brows were pushed nearly all the way together, your eyes were hooded and glazed over, and your lips were curved upwards in a soft, lazy smile.
The way you were looking at him made him feel unlike anything he’d ever felt in his entire life, and he knew right then and there that he had fallen in love with you. He didn’t care that it was fast, and he had no idea when he’d fallen in love with you, but somewhere along taking you in, healing your wounds, and becoming your safe place, he’d fallen in love with you.
Bucky dropped his forehead to yours, his breath gently fanning along your lips as he rocked into you quicker, his hand sliding around you to your backside. “I need you to cum for me, baby,” he breathed, his hand covering one side of your ass as he pulled you against him with every thrust. “Need to feel you cum for me, sweetheart. Want to make you fall apart again.”
You moaned at that, pulling his chest down against yours so he could feel the way your breasts bounced softly every time he bottomed out inside of you. “Don’t stop, Bucky,” you murmured, keeping one hand tangled tightly in his hair while your other one raked down his back, your nails barely dragging along his skin.
He leaned in and kissed you deeply, swallowing each and every moan you let out for him like the greedy man he’d become for you. His teeth bumped against yours as he started to fuck you a little faster and a little harder, his hand squeezing your ass while the other one slid up your back and tangled in your hair. “Cum for me,” he grunted against your mouth, the sound of the bed beginning to creak alongside yours and his moans. “C’mon, sweetheart, let go for me. I want to feel you cum all over my cock.”
You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his skin as he felt your cunt clench tightly around him. “Fuck,” you moaned against his mouth before detaching your own from it. Your eyes squeezed shut, your body tensing up in the way it did before when you came on his mouth and fingers, and only a few seconds later he felt the way your walls became slicker, warmer and tighter, squeezing and sucking him in deeper.
Bucky grunted, keeping the same pace as he watched your every move and reaction, wanting to memorize the way you look right now and keep the sight locked away for the rest of his life. He held off as long as he could until you were whining and writhing, then he was there too.
You insinuated before that you were okay with him coming inside you, and he’d planned on asking you again before he did it, but the only thought on his mind was how perfect and wet and tight you are, and any rational thought left his mind as he buried himself inside you one last time before he came.
He filled you up, his hips jerking a little out of his control as he dropped his forehead back to yours, deep, tired groans leaving his mouth. His chest heaved unevenly against yours as he stilled, feeling the excess beads of cum leak from the tip of his cock as your walls fluttered around him.
You looked like you were in a daze under him, your lips kiss swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your body covered in a light layer of sweat. He could only assume he looked similar to the way you do right now.
Your arms locked around his shoulders, your legs staying around his waist as you pulled him down onto you, his body completely covering yours as you kissed him again, a lot less deeper than before but just as needy.
Neither of you said a word for a long time after that. You stayed cuddled in each other’s arms, kissing each other’s mouths and bodies as you both came down.
It wasn’t until what felt like an hour later when he finally pulled back and almost fully detached himself from you when he asked if you were okay, and if he had hurt you at all while being caught up in the moment.
But you’d simply shook your head, pulled him close again, and then fell asleep with your head on his chest.
And after that, his bed became his bed again, and it also became yours.
It was late in the morning since you and Bucky had both become quite worn out after the intense night you’d both had, you ended up sleeping in longer than either of you thought you would.
He had no idea what time it was. All he could think about was you, more specifically, the way you felt around him.
After last night, he’d become addicted to you like he knew he would. You’d completely fucking ruined him, and now he was sure he’d never be able to get into this very bed without thinking of the first time he fucked you on it.
You were on your side, your fingers laced loosely with his as he filled you with his cock over and over again from behind. You told him you were a bit sore, so he was being as gentle as he could right now, his hips rolling slowly against your ass.
His arm was wrapped around your middle, holding your body flush against his. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in as your cunt swallowed him over and over again.
While the sex had been quite passionate last night and nothing short of amazing, this time it was much slower, much lazier and less desperate. He was still just as fucked up on you now as he’d been last night, but he felt more assured that this was it for him, that he’d get to do this with you for a long time. Last night gave him all the reassurance he needed.
He squeezed your fingers between his, turning his head and pressing kisses all along your bare shoulder, trailing them up to the scar just under your jaw. It’d been a long time since he’d woken up with a woman in his arms and an ache on his chest from where your head had been resting all night, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted to wake up just like that for so long now.
Bucky had been by himself for so long, purposely distancing himself from too much interaction with people he wasn’t close to, he’d denied himself the privilege of allowing someone into his life to change it for the better. He’d never allowed himself to find his person, never gave anyone a chance.
Until you fell over your own two feet and stumbled head first into his life, and it didn’t get any more literal than that.
But he has you now. He wants you, and he wants to wake up with you like this every day now.
He wanted to watch as you slowly woke up, see first hand how beautiful you look first thing in the morning after fully relaxing all night. He wanted to share his bed with you every night, share his house with you every day, and become as important to you in your life as you’d become to his.
He wanted to start and end each day with you, feel the way you squeezed him so tight whenever he’s buried inside of you, watch how you become even prettier each time you fall apart for him, and he wanted to watch you blossom into a happier, confident and more carefree version of yourself that was so unlike the one he’d met what felt like months ago.
Because even though he’d fallen in love with that version of you too, he was head over heels for the one currently shaking in his arms and coming on his cock.
You buried your face in his arm as your body trembled against his, and Bucky wasn’t far behind you as he filled you up just like how he did last night.
He huffed out a laugh when you turned in his arms and cuddled up against his warm chest, and he pulled you close as he caught his breath. “I think we need a shower first,” he said, propping his chin on the top of your head. “Then I’ll take you to town and we’ll get you some new clothes and whatever else you need.”
You hummed, placing your hands flat against his chest. “And condoms?” you teased, making him laugh again.
“Yes, and condoms,”
It took you and Bucky another two hours to pull yourselves together, detach yourselves from one another, get ready and go into town.
He didn’t really know where to take you since he’d never gone out shopping with a woman solely in mind, but he did know that the part of town with all the shops attached together along the street was a good place to start.
A pharmacy was across the street from where he parked his truck, and the first store he saw on the right side of the street was a clothing store, so he guided you into that one.
“I don’t need much,” you quickly said as you and he walked through the doors, one of his arms wrapped around your waist as he let you lead. “Just, like… maybe a new bra? The one I’m wearing might rip before we even make it home. And maybe a couple pairs of underwear? And a couple shirts, and a pair of jeans.”
Bucky held back his laugh as he looked down at you with a lifted brow. You were wearing his jeans that were held up by a belt he had to poke a new hole into since the tightest one still didn’t keep the jeans up on your hips, and they were baggy at the bottom. You were also wearing one of his shirts and a jacket, both of which looked huge on you since none of his clothing would ever fit you, and yet you thought you just needed a single pair of jeans and some shirts?
“I think you need a bit more than that, sweetheart,” Bucky said, giving your hip a gentle squeeze. “You can pick out some outfits you like and some jackets too, so you can have options.”
You winced, shaking your head as you stopped just in front of a table stacked with different sized jeans. “I don’t want to spend all your money,”
Bucky actually did laugh at that, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, right on your healing wound that no longer needed a band aid on it. “We’ve been over this. I won’t be breaking the bank from buying eggs every month, and I won’t break it by buying you more than one pair of jeans either,”
“That’s different. Eggs are food and you need food-”
“And you need clothes to wear that don’t make you trip every time you walk. Though I do find you very hot in my clothes,” he said, smirking when he saw you shrink a bit at his words. “I can afford to buy you things you need too, like clothes and hair products that don’t smell like pine and whiskey and… whatever else you might need.”
You bit down on your lip, looking down at the various different shades of blue jeans in front of you. Your hand reached out and ran along ones that were close to the same shade you were wearing right now, but in your actual size, then you looked up at him. “Okay,” you relented, giving him a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”
Bucky smiled back, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back and nodding towards the back of the store where the shoes were. “Pick out some new sneakers and boots too,”
After that, you became less shy and appeared to be feeling less guilty about having him spend money on you, even though he assured you that he had more than enough to cover anything you might need.
You’d picked out three pairs of jeans, a couple shorts, eight shirts, five sets of pyjamas, a new jacket, sneakers and boots, and you had to look away when the total came up on the register, but Bucky simply swiped his card before taking your hand and the two bags and pulling you along.
You looked at the various choices of underwear, but you felt a little self conscious for some reason, and he offered letting you go into the store just up the street that was full of just bras and underwear by yourself with his card so you could get an update on your size and pick out some stuff without him hovering, and you agreed.
Just before you left the store, you stopped when you saw the display for the jewellery. There were rings varying from engagement rings to ones you’d wear around the house, some bracelets and some necklaces, and you paused when you caught sight of a silver necklace with a charm of a tree on it.
Before you could look at it for too long, you tried to pull away and tug him with you towards the exit, but Bucky stayed still, tugging you back to him. “You can look at these, sweetheart, it’s fine,” he said gently, guiding you back over to the display case.
You gave him a grateful smile as you stepped towards it again, standing just in front of it. “Just a look,” you agreed, your eyes going back to that same necklace with the tree charm. You smiled a bit bigger as he came up to stand behind you, wrapping one arm around your middle as he leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder. “This is pretty. Reminds me of your place since it’s surrounded by trees.”
Bucky hummed in agreement, his hand splaying along your lower stomach. “That’s true. It is pretty too,” he said, “Maybe you should add some accessories to all these new outfits you got-”
But before he could finish his offer, you turned your head and tensed up in his hold, your body going rigid against his. He turned his head instantly, looking in the direction you were before you pulled away and grabbed his hand. “We should go get that Plan B,” you said, surprising him with the sudden change of subject, but he didn’t resist as you pulled him with you towards the exit. “The sooner you use it, the more effective it is, right?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Bucky said back, looking over his shoulder in another attempt to see what had set you off like that, but he only saw the backside of an older woman further in the store, then he couldn’t see anything as the door closed behind him. He turned to you, noticing the way you didn’t meet his eyes as you looked across the street at the pharmacy. He frowned as he hesitantly took your hand in his, and you thankfully didn’t pull away, instead lacing your fingers with his. “Everything okay?”
That made you look over at him, and your worried expression softened just a bit as you nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yes,” you answered, “Just realized we had sex twice in the last twelve hours, and I don’t know if that will impact the pill at all. And as much as I strongly believe you’d make some really cute kids, being a mother right now is not high on my list of priorities.”
Bucky laughed at that and nodded in agreement, guiding you with him as he walked across the street once it was safe to do so. “Yeah, as much as I want to be a dad someday, I’m also not in a rush,” he said, pulling open the door to the pharmacy and holding it open for you.
After buying both a Plan B pill and a twenty four pack box of condoms, Bucky took the pharmacy bag from you and led you back across the street where his truck is. “You can head to that store down there and pick out some stuff,” he said, opening the backseat door and putting the bags inside. He turned to you and handed you his card, giving you a smug smile. “Get whatever you need. Maybe something pretty for me too,” he added, loving the way you got all flustered whenever he said things like that to you despite him finding out for himself that you have a dirty side to you as well. “You can just tap it, but if it doesn’t work, the code is 1977.”
You pressed your lips together at that, taking the card from him, “I can’t believe you trust me with that. What if I were to run off with your card and steal all your money?”
Bucky shrugged, shutting the truck door and locking it afterwards. “Guess I’ll just have to give all the stuff in my backseat to the next girl who gets lost in the woods and scares away my dinner,” he said back, and you glared up at him before grabbing his shirt and pulling him down into a firm kiss.
“I’ll be back soon,” you said against his mouth, and he grinned, kissing you again.
“Take your time,” he said back, “I’m in no rush.”
He watched as you turned and made your way down the street, and he waited until you entered the store before pushing himself away from where he was leaning against his truck, and he walked back into the store you and he were in only ten minutes ago.
He forgot about the woman or whatever you’d seen that made you leave the store so quickly before, his eyes locked onto the display case with the necklace you were eyeing inside it.
Bucky stopped an employee as she was walking by and asked if he could see the necklace, and she all too happily unlocked the side of it and pulled it out for him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around town, James,” the woman said, and he looked up at her when she placed the necklace on top of the case.
He kind of recognized her from when he lived closer to town, and he was sure he’d talked to her a couple times at one point if she knew his name. “Oh, yeah,” he said, reaching for the dainty silver chain and picking it up. “I don’t go shopping very often, especially not around here, no offense,” he added, but she just waved him off. “Just needed to grab some stuff for my… girlfriend.” he finished, unsure if he should be calling you that since you and he hadn’t actually talked about what you are yet.
“Yeah, I saw you with her when you first came in. She’s really pretty, seems sweet too,” she smiled, looking down at the necklace in his palm.
“She’s so fucking sweet,” Bucky agreed, forgetting to use his manners for a second as he gave her an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I meant… she’s way too sweet for me. But I think I’ll keep her around anyway.”
The woman laughed and waved him off again, then nodded at the necklace. “Well this is a great way to ensure she’ll stick around,” she teased, “It’s a beautiful necklace.”
Bucky nodded in agreement, dangling the chain from his fingers as he looked at it for a few more seconds. “I’m gonna surprise her with it,” he said, setting it down as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet.
“Perfect,” the woman said, reaching back into the case and pulling out the box the necklace had been placed in before. Once it was secured in the box, she nodded for him to follow her to the register. “She’s one lucky girl you got there, James.” she added as she took the cash he’d handed to her.
Bucky smiled at that, sliding the box into his jacket pocket. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” he said back, giving her a kind nod before telling her to keep the change as he left the store to go back to his truck and wait for you.
You were in the bedroom, changing into one of the new outfits you’d got today while Bucky was in the kitchen, sipping on the coffee he’d picked up on the way home.
He stripped himself of his jacket, draping it over the back of one of the chairs as he opened the fridge and looked inside to see what he felt like making for dinner. The windows were open, letting the chilled evening air fill the space of the living room and kitchen and create a comfortable temperature throughout the house.
Just as Bucky took a step towards the open fridge to pull out the chicken he decided he wanted to cook, the sound of the bedroom door opening made him pause, and he looked over at the hallway just as you stepped out.
You were wearing a pair of your new jeans that were a baby blue shade and fit you perfectly, and a white fitted top, and on your feet were the new pair of sneakers you’d picked out that were pristine and clean compared to your old, dirty ones.
The outfit was simple, and yet to Bucky you looked hot, especially when he let himself think about what was hiding under those clothes. He let the fridge door close as he stepped away from it, letting out a low whistle as he moved towards you. “Damn,” he said, making you laugh as you met him halfway. “You look good, sweetheart. Real fucking good.”
You smiled up at him, draping your arms around his shoulders at the same time his own wrapped around your waist, and he pulled your body against his. Before you could say anything, he leaned down and kissed you, making you sigh against his lips as you kissed him back.
Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled back just a bit, smiling against his mouth, “Just wait until you see what I picked out when you weren’t with me,” you said against his lips.
Bucky groaned, already prepared to forget all about dinner and just take you to bed now, but just as he grabbed your hips and turned you so he could walk you right back down that hallway and into the bedroom, the sound of the front door opening made him stop.
“Oh,” he heard the sound of his sister’s voice, and he groaned against your mouth again, pulling away from you. He looked over and watched as she shut the door behind her, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well. This is a surprise. Hello.”
You pulled back even more, looking over at her with wide eyes. “Hi,” you said, giving her a kind but confused smile before looking up at Bucky.
He gave you a tight smile, dropping his arms to his sides. “That’s Becca, my sister,” he told you, and you looked over at her again with a bigger smile.
“Oh,” you breathed, “I didn’t know Bucky had a sister. Hi.”
Becca laughed, looking between you and Bucky with equally confused eyes. “Hi,” she said back, “That’s okay. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend either.”
Bucky winced, closing his eyes as you let out a sound of shock. “No, we’re… well, I guess we kind of are? Maybe? Probably?” you said, looking over at him again for help, and Bucky just propped his hands on his hips.
“You staying for dinner, Becs?” he asked, “I’m making chicken parm.”
Becca lit up at that, and she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it aside onto the couch. “Oh, well, I couldn’t say no to that,” she said, striding over to you. “It gives me time to get to know your kind of, maybe girlfriend.”
She wrapped her hand around your wrist, and Bucky instantly noticed the way you jumped a bit at the contact. He’d been the only person to touch you since you ran away from home, so to have someone you didn’t know grab you like that was probably very alarming for you, even if Becca’s intentions were nothing but good.
Bucky stepped forward, gently pulling your arm free and guiding you over to the couch. “Here, sweetheart, why don’t you sit with Becca and talk while I get started on dinner?” he said quickly, looking over his shoulder and noticing that the confused expression was once again on his sister’s face.
“Okay,” you agreed slowly, sitting down on the couch he’d put you on that very first night. You looked up at him, and you must’ve been able to see the concern in his eyes, because you gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You’ll let me know if I can help?” you asked, and Bucky smiled and nodded.
“Of course,” he said, leaning down and kissing the side of your head. He turned back to Becca, then wrapped his arms around her in a hug, finally properly greeting her as he muttered, “She’s been through a lot. I’ll tell you later, okay?”
Becca nodded, not understanding fully but agreeing anyway as she returned the hug before pulling away and walking over to you. He watched her sit down next to you, and he smiled at the way you already seemed to have calmed back down and were smiling at his sister again.
He let himself watch for a few more seconds before he walked back over to the fridge to get started on dinner, the sound of you laughing at something Becca said filling the space that had been quiet for far too long.
“Sorry for interrupting earlier,” Becca said as she leaned back in the chair, her plate empty like yours and Bucky’s were. “If I had known my brother finally landed himself a girl, I would’ve knocked or something. I usually come by twice a month since Bucky grows the best tasting tomatoes ever, and I steal them from him.”
You smiled at her as Bucky scratched the back of his head, but the smug grin on his face told you both that he wasn’t embarrassed at the interruption at all. “It’s okay,” you said, wiping your hands on a piece of paper towel. “I’m really happy you came over. I was curious when I’d get to meet Bucky’s family.”
Becca perked up at that, looking over at him. “Is that so? Well, Buck, you need to bring her over to mom’s place and let her experience how good her cooking is,” she said, her gaze returning to you. “Our mother is a natural cook, and she’s probably one of the best cooks in the world, if I do say so myself.”
You smiled at that, nodding, “I’d love to meet her one day,” you said, and Bucky felt his heart clench in his chest. He wanted to take you to meet his mother, too, which is something he never thought he’d do with anyone any time soon.
He began gathering the dishes, but you quickly stood up and waved him off. “Bucky, leave it. I’ll clean up,” you said, but he shook his head.
“It’s alright, baby, I-”
“Bucky, you cooked, let me clean, okay?” you cut him off, making him pause, and he heard the snort from Becca at the interaction before he set his plate back down.
“Alright. Fine,” he said, stepping away from the table.
“Thank you,” you said, already beginning to gather the plates and utensils. “Go give your sister your tomatoes and talk for a bit. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
Bucky smiled at that, trying to not show his sister how gone he already was for you as he gestured for her to get up. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, reaching for his jacket and pulling it over his shoulders. Becca gave him a teasing look, then cackled as he gently shoved her towards the door, but he stopped when he was close to you. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, watching how you instantly smiled. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
You smiled bigger, then shooed him away.
Outside, Bucky caught up with Becca, who was already rounding the house to his garden. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation he knew he was about to have with her, so he just said the first thing that was on his mind, “Thank you for being so nice to her,”
Becca shrugged, bending down in front of the tomato plants. “She’s a nice girl herself,” she said, beginning to pick at the ripe ones.
“Yeah, she is,” Bucky agreed, moving to kneel down next to her.
“She must be special if you’re giving her things like that necklace you have in that jacket pocket,” she said casually, and Bucky paused.
He looked down at his jacket, then back at her with narrowed eyes. “How did you-” but the look she gave him had him shutting up, because of course she somehow managed to snoop around in his things. She had been sitting on the chair he’d draped this jacket over, and he had no doubt she’d managed a peak at it while he’d been distracted by you. “Yeah. She is special,” he said, and she nodded, “How much did she tell you? About what happened?”
Becca shrugged, handing him the tomatoes before she started picking at the other plant. “Not too much. She just said that my brother helped her out of a really dark place and saved her, and how she wants to be able to spend the rest of her life making up for it,”
Bucky’s heart skipped at that, and he suddenly felt the urge to turn around, go back inside and take you into his arms. He blew out a soft breath, nodding, “Yeah, that’s part of it. She ran away from home, an abusive home, and she would’ve died if she didn’t find me that day. I took her home and let her stay until she felt like she was ready to be on her own again, but…”
Becca paused and looked up at him, “But you fell in love with her already, didn’t you?” she said, not a single trace of judgement or pity in her tone. Bucky nodded slowly, and she tilted her head. “And you didn’t want her to go, because you didn’t want to be alone again.”
Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face. “Is that selfish?”
“She stayed, didn’t she?” Becca shrugged, “You didn’t force her to stay here, did you?”
“No,” he quickly answered, “Of course not. I was prepared to watch her walk right back out of my life if that was what she wanted to do, but… she wanted to stay.”
Becca stood up, making Bucky look up at her from his knelt position. “Then I see nothing selfish about that,” she said, and somehow those words made him feel ten times better about everything, because he had been worried he’d been keeping you from living your life, giving you a place to live in the middle of nowhere when you could be somewhere more lively.
But you wanted to be here. With him.
Bucky stood up too, giving her a small smile. “Thanks, Becs,”
She smiled back, beginning to walk back to her car so she could put the tomatoes in the basket she has in her backseat. As they passed by the kitchen window, Bucky looked over and watched you as you washed the dishes, looking relaxed and comfortable and safe inside his home.
Becca nudged his arm with her elbow, making him tear his eyes off you. “I know she said you saved her, and quite literally at that,” she started, a genuine smile taking over her face. “But I’m pretty sure she saved you too. From a lonely life here all by yourself, with only your hand to keep you company.”
Bucky scoffed out a laugh at that, nudging her right back. “You’re the worst,” he said, but he knew the first part of her statement was true. He believes you saved him just as much as he saved you.
“You love me,” she said, opening her car door and grabbing the basket. “I’ll get outta your hair soon so you two can get back to mauling each other.”
The sound of loud knocking at twelve in the morning woke both you and Bucky up, your body jumping against his under the sheets.
It had been just over two weeks since that trip into town, and you and Bucky had been living in pure bliss. He’d ordered you a phone he planned to pick up in town soon, and you’d started to look for jobs on his laptop he rarely used, and you both discussed getting new forms of ID for you since you’d left all of your previous when you ran away.
On your nightstand was the necklace with the tree charm he’d bought you two weeks ago, and had given you a week ago, and you only take it off when you go to sleep. The reaction he’d gotten when he gave it to you was priceless, and you started crying right then and there, and when you told him that no one had ever gotten you anything before, he almost started crying too.
You and he had only gone to bed an hour ago before the knocking had woken you up, and Bucky let out a groan as he kept one arm around your waist and rolled onto his side a bit, reaching for his phone. “Who the hell knocks on someone’s door at…” he squinted at the harsh brightness from his phone screen. “Twelve eighteen in the morning?” he grunted, setting his phone aside again.
But you were already half asleep again, cuddling up against his side. You were wearing one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, the new sets of pyjamas in the dresser drawer being used as lounge wear instead of your sleep attire - something he secretly loved since he’d been very vocal about how good you look in his clothes right from the very start.
“Ignore it,” you muttered, nuzzling your face against his chest. “They’ll probably go away soon.”
Bucky grunted, too tired to care at that point as well as he leaned back on the pillow. He was almost back to sleep when the sound of knocking jolted you both awake once again, and he cursed under his breath. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he muttered, sitting up in the bed and pushing the sheets off his body.
You hummed, propping your head on your palm as you looked up at him with tired eyes, and Bucky wanted to quickly find out what the person at his door wanted so you and he could go back to sleep.
He pulled on a pair of sweats, deciding that answering the door in just his boxers was probably not the best idea, before pulling open the bedroom door and making his way through the house.
Whoever is at his door started knocking more consistently, and rather obnoxiously, and Bucky gritted his teeth. He forced himself to calm down as he peered through the window next to the door, pulling the curtain back to see who it was.
It was a man he’d never seen before, and a woman who looked kind of familiar, but Bucky couldn’t place her anywhere specific. He wasn’t even sure if he’s ever seen her, but something about her was familiar, he just didn’t know what it was.
He let go of the curtain and stepped back, unlocking the door and pulling it open with a neutral expression on his face. “Yeah?” he asked, bracing one hand on the door frame while keeping his other one on the door knob in case he needed to slam it in their faces really quickly. “Can I help you?”
The man lowered his hand, his eyes widening a bit in surprise as if he was expecting a much warmer greeting from someone who’d just been woken up at midnight. “Uh, yeah. I hope you can,” he said, moving to stand back beside the woman. “We’re looking for our daughter. She ran away from home a few weeks ago, and we can’t find her anywhere.”
The woman piped up with a fake sadness in her voice that was almost comical if Bucky hadn’t instantly picked up on what the man just said. “We’ve looked everywhere, and she still hasn’t turned up. We’re just worried sick about her,”
Bucky straightened up at that, his eyes flickering between the two before he shrugged causally and shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen her,” he said, and the man narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t even know what she looks like,” he pointed out, and Bucky narrowed his eyes right back, then realized that if these were in fact your parents, he might be coming off a little too protective and guarded for them to believe him when he says he hasn’t seen you.
“That’s true,” Bucky said, softening his gaze as he lowered his shoulders he didn’t realize had raised almost to his ears. “But I haven’t had anyone come by in months. Just my sister, so again, I don’t think I’ve seen her.”
The woman lifted a photo up and all but shoved it in his face, making Bucky reel back a bit. “This is her. It’s a little old, maybe two or three years ago, but it’s the best one we have of her,” she said, and Bucky held back a grunt as he took his hand off the door frame and plucked the photo from her.
This was the best photo they have of you? Just one glance at the picture, Bucky could tell it definitely is you, but definitely isn’t from two or three years ago. You looked like a teenager in this photo, not twenty three or twenty four like you’d be if it were from two or three years ago.
It looked like an old yearbook photo, maybe from your second year of high school. What pissed him off even more though, was the obvious black eye you had in the photo. It was faded a bit, like maybe you’d gotten it just a few days before the picture was taken, but still. The proof that you’d been putting up with this for years was staring right back at him with younger features, and even more innocent eyes.
The photo was old, not only in regards to your age, but also physically. The edges were worn and the picture itself was dirty, like it had been sitting in an untouched drawer for years before someone picked it up again. It was given the same treatment you’d been given.
Bucky pursed his lips instead of locking his jaw, and he handed the photo back to the woman. “Yeah, no, sorry. I haven’t seen her,” he said, beginning to close the door when the sound of the floorboard in his hallway creaked, and Bucky stepped in the line of sight of the hall just as your dad tried to peer over his shoulder at the sound.
He flared his nose, his shoulders lifting slightly. “Does someone else live with you?” he asked, “Maybe they’ve seen her-”
“No,” Bucky said, standing firm when your dad tried to take a step into his house, and he found it very easy to lie to these people, especially after everything he knew they did to you. “No one else is here. That was just my cat, who will try to escape the longer I keep this door open. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
Your dad tensed up even more, visibly growing angrier by the minute, but so was Bucky. Before either of them could say anything else, your mom stepped in. “Of course,” she said, pulling on your dad’s arm to tug him away. “Thank you for your time. We’re sorry for coming by so late. Have a good night.”
Bucky didn’t say anything. He simply stayed where he was and watched them get into their car, and he waited until the tail lights had disappeared beyond the trees before he shut and locked the door.
When he turned, he saw you peeking your head out of the doorway of the bedroom, and you looked just as terrified as you did the day he met you. Bucky quickly walked over to you and tried to pull you into his arms, but you placed your hands on his chest, keeping a sliver of distance between you and him.
“That was- they were- my… my-” you stuttered, clearly having heard that whole interaction.
“Shh, hey. I know. I know, sweetheart,” he said, his hands gently grasping your upper arms. “It’s okay. They’re gone, okay? They don’t know that you’re here, I promise. They’re gone.”
You were shaking as you nodded your head, and you finally let him pull you into his arms, your face pressing up against his chest. You melted against him, and he felt the warm wetness of your tears against his skin, making him hold you a bit tighter. “I saw her,” you whispered, clinging onto him. “My mom. At the store a couple weeks ago when we went into town to get some clothes and the-the Plan B. I saw her, right before we left.”
Bucky tensed up at that, because that was where he knew your mom from. He’d only been able to catch a glimpse of her while you tugged him out of the store, but it was enough for him to remember what she looked like, and how scared you’d suddenly become that day. “Jesus, baby,” he muttered, cradling the back of your head with one hand as his other ran up and down your back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You cried quietly, shrugging. “I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want to bring attention to myself or risk her seeing me and taking me back there and-”
“Okay, it’s okay,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning his head and kissing your temple. He could feel the way you were starting to get worked up, and that was the last thing he wanted right now, for you to be back in that place mentally. “It’s okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re not gonna go back there, okay? You’re home, baby. Here with me. You’re safe.”
You looked up at him with wet eyes, and he had to hold himself back from going after your parents and giving them both the same treatment they’d given you. “Okay,” you whispered, then wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly.
Bucky picked you up and carried you back to bed, and he cuddled under the covers with you once more, letting you lay half of your body on top of his. He hoped you could feel the protective way he held you, and hoped you knew it was his way of telling you that he meant every word he said.
You are home now, here with him. He’d never let anyone hurt you or take you back to that horrible place you’d come from. He’d never let you go through that kind of pain ever again, and he’d never let your parents near you ever again.
A week had passed since that night your parents came by, and it was still unsettling how they managed to stumble upon the very house you were now living in, even though Bucky had told them he’d never seen you.
You’d come very close to being found by them that night, and you’d been a little on edge ever since, so Bucky suggested postponing the trip to town to get you a new phone and to get new copies of your ID, because it was obvious your parents had been snooping around the area in search of you.
It was nice out, the last few weeks with good weather dwindling down before the fall chill took over and it became Winter.
You were sitting under the canopy attached to the front of his house, your legs pulled up as you sat on the swinging seat he’d built with his best friend the second year he was up here after realizing he needed more places to sit on outside in case he had company.
Open on your lap was a book, one of the many ones he had tucked away on the shelf in his living room he shamefully hadn’t touched in a very long time. It was okay though, because you’d become quite fond of the collection, and you were putting it to way better use than he ever had.
He was cleaning up the area around the front of his house, putting things away to prepare for the harsher weather that would be coming his way in the following weeks. He was currently making sure he was stocked up on firewood so he’d be able to keep the house warm, and he was in the middle of chopping up what remained of a tree that had fallen over during the last bad storm when he heard the sound of tires on the dirt path that led to his house.
Bucky paused, briefly wondering if he forgot that his sister was coming by again, but then he saw the same car your parents were in that night a week ago, and he stood up straight. “Sweetheart,” he called out to you, keeping his eyes on the car as it came closer to the house, still partially hidden by the trees. “Go inside for a minute, okay?”
He heard the way you put your foot down to stop the chair from swinging. “What? Why?” you asked, but then he heard your sharp intake of breath, and you quickly got up and headed inside, closing the heavy door behind you.
Bucky rolled his shoulders just as the car drove up and stopped beside his truck, and this time he didn’t even try to be nice. “I told you, I haven’t seen your daughter,” he said to your dad when he got out of the car, your mother following his lead afterwards.
Your dad flashed him a so obviously fake smile as he strode over to him, but paused abruptly when he saw the axe Bucky was still holding in his hand. It didn’t scare him away fully though as he nodded towards the house. “I thought you said no one else lived with you?” he asked, and Bucky froze for a second, worried that they’d actually been able to see you before he quickly told you to go inside.
But then he saw how your dad nodded towards the swinging chair that was still swaying as if someone had just been sitting on it and had gotten up in a hurry. Bucky sighed deeply, before shrugging, “Must be the wind,” he said, “It’s pretty strong out here.”
Your dad’s smile faltered, and he took another small step forward. “And that book?” he asked, nodding towards the copy of Wuthering Heights you’d been reading before abandoning your spot on the swing to retreat inside. “I’m sorry, but you don’t seem like the type to read that kind of book.”
He was trying to get him to admit to having seen you, and possibly to hiding you inside, but Bucky was done at this point. Your parents had a lot of nerve to, not only treat you like shit, but to come onto his property twice and try to snoop around as if they had any right at all to do so.
“I’m sorry too,” Bucky said, keeping his grip loose on the handle of the axe as he took a few steps of his own. “That you think you have any business coming onto another man’s property and sticking your noses into other people’s shit. You must think you’re royalty or something if you think you can do whatever the fuck you want, say whatever you want, when you’re on my land.”
Your mom visibly shrunk at that, and she stepped away instantly as your dad swallowed nervously. “Well-well, I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. I was just-”
“Accusing me of something? Trying to stick your nose in my business?” Bucky cut him off, coming to stand only a few feet away from your dad. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, man. Clearly no one has ever taught your old ass a lesson, huh? That you can’t just walk up to people and talk out of your ass and not expect to have it handed to you in return.”
Your dad took a staggering step back, his eyes wide as he pushed your mother around the front of the car towards the passenger side door. “You’re crazy. All I did was come by to ask-”
“You know exactly what you came by to do,” Bucky said, getting right up in your dad’s face. “It won’t work here. Now get the fuck off my property before I make you regret ever coming here in the first place.”
Your dad looked terrified, and Bucky held back a laugh at the sight as he watched him quickly turn around and pull open the door. “You’re fucking insane,” he spat, getting into the car. “I know my daughter is in there. I know it. But you can have that little brat. You hear me?” he yelled, looking towards the house again. “He can have you! Because we don’t want your spoiled ass anymore! You’re gonna wish you never left, because no one else will ever want to put up with you or want you! Good luck with that little-”
The sound of the blade of the axe hitting the left headlight of the car shut him up, and your dad scrambled to start the car just as Bucky swung the axe back and took out the other headlight.
“You’re insane!” your dad scoffed, backing the car up rather carelessly and nearly hitting a tree.
“I’m glad you figured that out,” Bucky called back, watching the way the car sped down the dirt path and disappeared beyond the trees again.
He turned, planning to go find you in the house and promise you that they were gone for good, but then he saw you standing next to the swing, a small smile on your relieved face.
Bucky dropped the axe instantly, meeting you halfway when you started to walk quickly towards him. He picked you up and held you against his body as your legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed you back as soon as your lips touched his. “I can’t believe you did that to my dad’s car,” you said against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair. “He’s spent more money on that thing than on anything else.”
He grunted against your lips as he held you tight, his forehead pressing against yours. “I was gonna do a lot worse,” he said, walking over to the swing and sitting down on it, making you sit on his lap. “They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. I promise you that. I have you now. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you ever again.”
You were in a much better mood this time than you were the night your parents swung by at midnight, and he was so happy you hadn’t slipped back into that mindset they’d put you in before. You didn’t look scared or worried or anxious, but happy. Genuinely happy and relieved. “I know,” you whispered, cupping his face in your soft hands. “I love you, Bucky.” you said, and he felt his heart spike at that, and the biggest smile formed on his face.
“I love you,” he said back instantly, watching as an equally big smile formed on your face. “Damn it, I wanted to say it first.”
You laughed, pulling him into another kiss. “You did everything for me, and you saved my life,” you said against his mouth, “It’s only fair that I got to say it first.”
Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, “There’s nothing fair about that, but I’ll let you have it anyway,” he said, and you smiled even bigger before pulling him closer and kissing him once again.
I have returned with a stupidly long fic. I hope you enjoyed it.🧡
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, fluff, sexual tension, reader is a college student, age-gap (reader is early twenties, bucky is presumed mid 30s) voyeuristic and exhibitionism, homoeroticism, "slut" "good girl" "whore" public sex, fingering, dry humping, groping, dirty talk, degrading, size difference, mechanic!steve, slight steve x reader, reader is a pervert but bucky is too highkey, player!bucky, bisexual awakening!!!!
word count: 10.2k
main masterlist
a/n: happy pride month!!! if it wasn't obvious enough, yes, it is based on the song call me maybe by carly rae jepsen. real ones know the parodies to this song on youtube. wasabi productions ifykyk. gif by sebstangif
synopsis:
There’s a new guy who moved in right across from you. He’s a total mystery, but his looks certainly aren't. Since he's subtly trying to get your attention, how could you not entertain him? Especially when you have your best friend, Steve, in your ear telling you to go for it.
Hand washing the car on a hot summer’s day was something you would never normally do.
You always let your dad handle a job like that. He’d always tease you for being ‘spoiled,’ always hitting you with the typical line of, “What happens when I’m gone? How will you take care of yourself?”
And every time he hit you with that line, without fail, you would find yourself grabbing the plastic bucket, soap, and sponges out of spite, just to prove a point.
Now, you were outside, drenched in a mixture of sweat and water as the sun beamed down. You were splayed over the hood of the car in a way that looked anything but sexy. You had on a tank top and shorts—natural, given the heat—but despite the porn director approved outfit, you looked anything but pornographic.
Matter of fact, if someone were to come up to you now, they would probably lose interest instantly.
“Hey there,” a familiar, deep voice called from behind you. “Looking pretty hot.”
Normally, you would scramble to make yourself look at least somewhat decent for anyone who approached you in this state.
But it was your best friend—so who cares?
“Steve,” you huffed, raising a leg to balance yourself on the hood of your dad’s car. “Are you going to help me or just taunt me?”
Steve crossed his arms, watching you slip and slide all over the green station wagon that looked like it was ready to fall apart at any given moment.
“Has your dad seen you like this yet? I’m sure if he saw what a poor job you were doing, he wouldn’t ask you to clean it again.
You puffed a strand of hair out of your face. “The reason I’m cleaning in the first place is to prove to my dad that I’m perfectly capable.” You mumbled under your breath, “… He called me spoiled.”
Steve chuckled lightly. “Can’t say I disagree.”
Sneering, you spun around and hurled your wet, soapy sponge in his direction. It landed right in the center of his chest, dampening his snug t-shirt with a dark spot that began to spread. He laughed, catching the sponge before it hit the ground.
“Get off the hood before you hurt yourself,” he grinned, taking a step closer.
You grunted as you slid off the car. As you stood up, your eyes trailed past Steve’s shoulder—something unfamiliar catching your attention.
The house across from yours had been unoccupied for months, but someone had recently moved in. Days had passed, and you hadn’t seen the new neighbors yet. But for the first time since the ‘FOR SALE’ sign was removed, you were finally seeing the man who lived there.
He was tall—maybe around Steve’s height. He had dark hair that fluffed messily at the top, and he was covered in dirt, looking as though he’d been doing yard work all morning. The sun hit his eyes, and he squinted, shielding them with a large hand.
As he looked up, his gaze drifted across to your lawn, and his eyes met yours for a long moment.
A warm, friendly smile tugged at his lips, and he waved. You blinked, a light smile forming on your own face when you realized he was waving at you. You waved back shyly, and his smile grew wider.
“He waved at me,” you pointed out.
Steve, curious, glanced over his shoulder. When he caught the man’s eye, he gave a quick, short nod—a casual greeting between guys.
“He seems nice,” Steve shrugged. “Your new neighbor?”
You nodded, stealing a few more seconds to look at the man across the street. He bent over, his large traps tensing against his cotton tank top as he shoved a pair of gardening gloves over his rough hands. He crouched, his dirty boots and jeans digging into the soil as he began to pull at stubborn weeds.
A man. Hard at work.
The best kind of man.
“He is,” you breathed, looking back at Steve. “And he’s hot, too.”
Steve huffed a laugh, stepping out of your way and towards the car, sponge in hand. “You trying to make me jealous, sweetheart?”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing a spare sponge from the soapy tub. You stepped up to the opposite window from Steve and began to scrub.
“You know, I’ve seen this play out in movies and stuff—” Steve shouted from the other side of the car. “The girl who washes her car and catches the eye of the conveniently attractive neighbor across the street.”
You quirked a brow. “In movies, or in porn?”
Now, it was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Point aside, you should go for it.” He peeked at you over the roof and nodded in your neighbor’s direction. “You’ve been single for quite a while now. It wouldn’t hurt to dip your toes back in the dating scene.”
You snorted. “Whatever happened to you being jealous?”
Steve shook his head at your comment. “I’m just saying—you’re young and pretty. You could grab that guy’s attention if you really tried.”
Pausing your sponge, you glanced over your shoulder, catching your neighbor’s gaze again. He had been staring at you—for how long, you didn’t know. Either way, your heart did a little flutter in your chest, your face warming at the thought of him watching you.
“You really think so?”
Steve hummed. “Have I ever lied to you?”
Since that day, and with the help of Steve’s encouragement, you found yourself spending more time outside just to catch your neighbor’s eye.
Most mornings, he was already out there working on the front of his house—mowing the lawn, painting fences, or tending to the plants.
The job itself didn’t matter. It was the man behind it all who suddenly made this boring, textbook suburban neighborhood interesting.
Despite only a few days passing since you last washed the car, you miraculously decided to wash it up again the day Bucky was working on the front of his house. How convenient!
Grabbing your tools while wearing a tank top—thinner than the last one—and shorts that rode so far up they were bordering on a wedgie, you stepped out with a confident stride that immediately caught his attention.
He glanced at you from his spot on a ladder, squinting as he smiled.
“Good morning!” you chirped.
“Morning,” he shouted back, nodding to the same car parked on your driveway. “Cleaning again?”
“Oh, yeah,” you smirked, motioning to your bucket. “Just something I like to do every few days.”
If Steve or your dad were here, they would be laughing in your face.
The man’s eyes slowly raked over the car—taking mental note of just how pristine and shiny it already was—before trailing back to you. “Must be a high maintenance girl, huh?”
It was just something about the way he said it—his voice deep and textured with a rasp that made every syllable sound flirtatious. You chuckled softly, your face warming.
“Something like that.”
He chuckled in return before getting back to work.
You dunked the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and got to work. Most of your time was spent focusing more on suggestive poses than actually getting the car clean. You stretched your arms high to reach the roof so the hem of your tank top rode up, then leaned low over the hood, letting your short shorts ride up to reveal the curve of your ass.
It didn’t take long for your clothes and skin to be covered in soap and water. The sun was in your favor today, catching the water as it glistened on your skin and the soap as it trickled down your thighs.
One quick glance over your shoulder made your heart stutter.
You knew you were doing it right because he was looking right at you.
He slowly began to descend the ladder. Before you knew it, he was walking in your direction, crossing the street until he reached your driveway. You had to bite back a smile as the sound of his boots scuffed closer, stopping just behind you.
“I believe we haven’t properly introduced ourselves,” he called out to grab your attention.
You didn’t turn around right away, careful not to make it too obvious. You glanced over your shoulder first, your back arching in a way that felt a bit of a strain—thanks to your usually terrible posture—then slowly stood up, trying not to groan at the sudden soreness.
“I don’t believe we have,” you said, setting the sponge down and wiping your wet hand on your damp shorts. Good enough.
You extended your hand and gave him your name.
He returned the gesture with a smile, his grip warm and rough—the hands of a working man.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Bucky,” he huffed. “Bucky Barnes.”
He looked around, appearing almost skeptical to be standing in your driveway. “You look young,” he pointed out. “Are your parents home? I’d like to introduce myself, being new to the neighborhood and all.”
“They’re on vacation,” you explained. “I’m a student over at Jepsen University.”
“A student, huh?” He rubbed his chin with his left hand. No ring. “A pretty thing like you oughta’ be careful at Jepsen. There are a lot of nasty frat boys roaming around campus.”
You chuckled, a light sway in your movement. “You went there?”
He nodded. “Graduated top of my class.”
Even though there was no ring, you still needed verbal confirmation before throwing yourself at him.
“How are you and the family liking the neighborhood so far?” You tested.
Bucky took it upon himself to lean against your car, making the frame creak slightly. He didn’t seem to care about the soap dampening his jeans.
“Well, me and my girl are liking it so far,” Bucky said. “It’s quiet, and plus, I get a good view across the street.”
You made a face at his explanation. My girl. He had a wife? Or a daughter? He was deliberately flirting with you, wasn’t he?
Bucky caught your expression and laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively.
“My girl Alpine,” he clarified. "She’s the cat loafing on the windowsill in my living room, always staring out.”
You felt your face warm, and your posture eased up instantly. Not only was your neighbor hot as hell, but he was single—and a cat dad! There was a bit of an age gap, but that wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.
You crossed your arms, the movement accentuating your breasts beneath the thin tank top, and jutted your hip out to emphasize your curves. You smiled pridefully, watching as Bucky’s gaze traced a slow path from your eyes down your body.
“Like father, like daughter, then.”
His grin widened handsomely. “What can I say? We like looking at pretty things.”
You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. He was such a natural flirt—and despite all your attempts to grab his attention, your words suddenly failed you when the time came.
Bucky glanced around the driveway as if he were still searching for someone. Then, he asked, “That guy who usually comes over to help you out—” he brought up slyly, still looking around, “he your boyfriend?”
You blinked at his question. The way he was subtly trying to fish for information made your stomach do a flip in celebration.
“Steve?” you asked, your voice coming out breathier than intended. A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”
You noticed the way Bucky’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words. He was jealous.
“He goes to Jepsen, too?” He questioned.
“Yeah, he’s my senior.”
“Ah,” Bucky drawled. “A frat boy, then?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his endless questioning. “I wouldn’t call him that. He’s my best friend,” you reassured him, watching the way his blue eyes searched yours. “He just comes over sometimes to help out—or more like he comes over to make fun of me while I do all the work.”
Bucky chuckled a deep, gravelly sound that was effortlessly charming. “Best friend, huh?” He pushed himself off your car, taking a step closer to you. Fuck, he even smelled good. “Well, I can’t say I blame him for wanting to hang around. Though, if you ever need a man who’ll actually help instead of just laughing at you, you know where I live.”
He tilted his head toward the house across the street, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.
“You said your parents were away on vacation?” he asked.
You nodded.
“For how long?”
“Just for a couple of days,” you replied.
Bucky hummed, an amused smile playing on his face as he looked at you. He leaned in, his voice releasing a low murmur as his warm breath tickled your skin.
“A couple of days, huh?”
You caught his gaze tracing a path down your tank top before he met your eyes with a devastatingly slow smirk. If he had this much confidence at his big old age, he was definitely a troublemaker when he was in college, that’s for sure.
“Would you look at that? That’s plenty of time for us to get well-acquainted.”
He watched the way your breath hitched and smiled, looking satisfied. He pulled away and turned back towards his side of the street. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he heard a small whine escape you.
“See you around, neighbor,” he called over his shoulder with a charming smile, sauntering down your driveway and back towards his own.
As he walked off, your heart was beating with excitement—beating far too fast to keep up. And the only thing you could think about was how much you were going to gloat about this to Steve later.
You sat across from Steve at the same dingy diner where you two met every Thursday for brunch.
While you sat cross legged on one side of the booth, Steve sat opposite from you in a crisp navy blue collared shirt with a name tag that read HYDRA’S MECHANIC! and the name Steven on the top right.
“He has a cat, Steve. A cat!” You smiled, dipping your toast into a pool of egg yolk. “Her name is Alpine—and he called her ‘his girl.’ Isn’t that so sweet? I nearly had a heart attack right there in the driveway.”
Steve held a coffee mug in his hand, watching you. He was supposed to be heading into work in twenty minutes, but he was currently occupied with the girl in front of him—and her endless rambling.
“And he’s single,” you continued through a mouthful of toast. “No ring, no wife—just a gorgeous, ripped cat dad with a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a smutty audiobook.” You paused, taking a quick sip of your drink. “I mean, yeah, he’s definitely got a few years on me. He’s a little older, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. It just makes him more…” You sighed dreamily. “Capable.”
Steve didn’t say a word. He set his coffee cup down, picked up a fry, and dipped it slowly into a side of ranch with a lopsided smile.
“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you caught his grin.
“Nothing,” he said simply, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Steve. I know that face,” you pointed out. “That’s your ‘I’ve got something to say, but I won’t’ face mixed with something else. Come on, tell me! What are you thinking?”
Steve chuckled, wiping his hand on a napkin before leaning back in the booth. “I don’t know how I feel about you going after some guy who’s that much older than you. He seems like the type of guy you have fun with—not someone you bring home to your parents.”
Your eyes went wide. “What? You encouraged me to go for it!”
Steve held up his hands defensively. “I know, I know! It’s just… I don’t know. Can’t a guy worry?”
You couldn’t help but smile at his bashfulness. “Aw, you’re worried over little ol’ me, Stevie?” You tilted your head, taunting him.
He rolled his eyes. “You know what? Forget I even said anything—”
“No, no,” you leaned in, resting both arms on the table “Okay, fine. I’m hearing you. What can I do that’ll make you more comfortable in this situation?”
Steve shrugged, lifting the coffee cup and bringing it to his lips. “Could start by meeting the guy, I guess.”
“Okay,” you agreed casually. “He did mention you, actually.”
Steve quirked a brow, eyeing you over the rim of his mug. “Did he?”
You nodded. “He asked if you were my boyfriend.”
He scoffed a laugh. “Boyfriend? He’s already getting jealous? God—how old is he again?”
You gave him a look. “He was just curious, Steve.”
“Sure, and I’m a superhero fighting crime in New York.” Steve set his mug down, dipping another fry into ranch and plopping it into his mouth. He gathered his phone and wallet, quickly tucking them into his pockets. “I gotta go. Shift is starting soon.”
“Wait.” You sat up straight. “My dad won’t stop texting me asking if you can fix the wagon—it keeps making this weird noise and he won’t leave me alone until you look at it.”
“I’m free tomorrow after work. I’ll swing by then. I’ll consider this—” he motioned to the table, where the bill sat squarely in the middle with your name on it, “—payment for the repair.” Steve pushed himself out of the booth, licking the ranch off his thumb before pointing a finger at you. “I’ll text you. And don’t screw the guy ‘til I meet him.”
You couldn’t even get a word in before Steve was already rushing out the door, the bell jingling after him.
“Yeah. Okay, Dad.”
After paying for brunch, you drove home feeling giddy.
Turning the corner onto your street, you spotted Bucky right outside his house, mowing the lawn. This time, he was shirtless.
You purposefully slowed down to get a good look at him, but the moment he looked up and spotted your car pulling into the driveway, he smiled—aiming it right at you through your fishbowl wagon on wheels.
Parked in the driveway, you took a quick look at yourself in the pull down mirror, checking to make sure there weren’t any crumbs on your face or a stray strand of hair sticking out. Smoothing down your top and adjusting your shorts, you stepped out of the car—aiming for casual. But with the way your heart was beating, you were anything but.
Bucky had killed the mower engine and was wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked hypnotizing, his chest and stomach glistening in the afternoon sun.
“Eventful day, I take it?” He nodded towards your car. “Noticed your wagon was missing from the driveway this morning.”
He had noticed you were gone? You tried your best not to smile.
“Oh, yeah,” you leaned against trunk nonchalantly. “I went to have brunch with a friend.”
Bucky crossed his arms over his chest—a move that did very interesting things to his biceps that were hard to ignore—and leaned his weight back on one leg.
“Let me guess,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Steve?”
After Steve’s comment about Bucky being jealous, you couldn’t help but bask in confidence. You quirked a brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Are you jealous?”
Bucky tilted his head, pretending to contemplate the question as he looked you up and down.
“Only a little,” he admitted with that handsome smile of his.
You grinned. “Well, there’s no need to be jealous, I assure you,” you explained, pushing yourself off the car.
Taking a step back, you gestured vaguely to his yard. “I’ll let you get back to it, though. You look pretty busy,” you said, despite how much you actually wanted to pull up a folding chair and just stare.
You turned to head towards your front door, but you didn’t get far before his voice stopped you.
“You know,” Bucky called out as he began crossing the street. “Your car is looking a little dirty.”
You stopped and turned back, your breath catching as you watched him make his way onto your driveway. Shirtless and confident, he looked even more imposing standing on your property than he had the other day. He came to a halt beside the green wagon, glancing at the circle of bird poop sitting right on the roof.
Then, he looked back at you with a smile—as if he already knew you wouldn’t say no.
“Need some help cleaning?”
“I…” Your eyes trailed to his bare chest slicked with sweat. You didn’t know how you were going to control yourself, but despite it all, you swallowed hard and said, “Yes.”
Minutes later, you found yourself grabbing all the supplies needed to get the car cleaned. Bucky stood by the bucket, holding the hose as the water filled the plastic. It took everything in you not to stare at the way the sun was shining down on his tanned skin, sweat and water glistening down the hard lines of his stomach.
His jeans sat dangerously low on his hips, the hem of his briefs peeking out over the top. He hadn’t even started cleaning the car yet, but he already looked hotter just standing there than you ever felt trying to look appealing while washing the wagon.
When the bucket was full, he lifted it by the handle without much struggle. You watched as his biceps and forearms flexed against the weight of it. His eyes caught yours, and you swallowed hard, quickly forcing your gaze away.
Bucky stepped to the passenger side, opposite where you were standing. He didn’t seem bothered by your staring.
Actually, he seemed to be feeding off the attention, especially after catching you several times.
“This is a nice car,” he commented, dunking a sponge into the soapy water. “Vintage. I’m surprised she’s still kicking around.”
While Bucky scrubbed down the passenger side, you kept trying to sneak glances through the untinted windows. From where you stood, you had a perfect view of his chest muscles and his stomach pressing against the glass as he worked.
“Uh—yeah,” you cleared your throat, forcing your focus back. “It’s from the sixties. It’s my dad’s, actually. Steve just helps me fix it up.”
“Your friend Steve,” Bucky mused, peeking at you over the roof. “He a mechanic?”
“Yup,” you nodded. “So if you hear loud car noises coming from across the street tomorrow when he fixes it, you can blame him.”
“This Steve guy sounds like a total catch,” Bucky said with a light laugh. “You sure you’re not dating him?”
You weren’t sure why Bucky was so insistent on you having a secret relationship with Steve. You had your fair share of insecure men who were jealous of you hanging around with someone like Steve Rogers, and you figured that habit died out once men hit the age of twenty five. But with Bucky standing across from you, poking at your relationship with Steve, you were starting to think that wasn’t the case.
“I swear, I’m not dating Steve.” You raised a pinky so he could see it over the roof. “Besides, he’s like an older brother to me.”
Bucky blew a raspberry.
“Poor kid,” he chuckled. “But really, I’m surprised he hasn’t made a move on you.” He bent down to clean the rim right above the tire, letting his eyes trail over your body through the window. “If I had a pretty girl like you in my life... we wouldn’t have been friends for long.”
You felt your heart stutter.
What did that even mean?
Did he mean he would make you his girlfriend?
You wanted to hear him say it—to blurt out the answer himself.
You dumped your sponge in your bucket, letting yourself get damp with the soapy water.
“Is that so?” you challenged, trying your best to play it cool. “And what would we be then?”
He stood up with a low groan, looking at you over the roof. He began making his way towards your side of the car, moving purposefully slow as he dragged his sponge across the hood—hardly even pretending to clean it anymore.
“After watching you wash this car—looking like a woman straight out of my dreams? We’d be a lot of things,” he said smoothly, locking eyes with you as he reached the corner of the bumper. “But ‘friends’ sure as hell isn’t one of them.”
You grinned, allowing him to be the one to approach you as you continued scrubbing.
“So,” you kept your voice playful, a little teasing. “You’ve been watching me?”
Bucky didn’t bother denying it.
He stopped just inches away from you. He let his tongue run slowly over his bottom lip, his eyes traveling shamelessly down your body. He was mesmerized with the path of the soap bubble trickling down your collarbone, sliding between the curve of your breasts before disappearing into the thin fabric of your tank top, where your perky nipples were poking right through.
It was hard for him to ignore. They were practically begging to be licked.
“Hard not to,” he rasped, stepping closer until he was standing directly behind you. He propped one strong arm against the roof of the wagon, locking you in. “Especially when you’re giving me a view like that from across the street.”
You let out a shaky breath—one that you hoped he didn’t catch, but he did. You stared at him through the reflection of the window, and his eyes were on you—tracing your face, leaning in to smell you.
It was this very moment that made you remember the age gap, because he was moving and talking so smoothly, like it was all natural to him. As if he had been swooning women like you for years.
But you weren’t going to let that shake you up.
You pushed your hips back subtly, letting your damp ass press against his hips. You tried not to gasp at the straining bulge that was waiting for you between his legs.
“Well, I’m right here,” you said quietly, staring at him in the reflection. “So, what then?”
Bucky looked around, his gaze sweeping across the street to make sure no one else was near.
With one hand still propped against the car, the other found your hip, giving it a firm squeeze to keep you right where you were with your ass pressed tight against his cock.
“Do you want to know what I love most about being in this neighborhood, aside from the fact that I have a super attractive neighbor living across from me?”
He rocked his hips forward, letting his hard bulge nestle perfectly between the curve of your bottom. His cock was fighting the restraint of his jeans, and just from that small movement alone, you could feel how big he was.
Bucky pressed his lips against your ear, murmuring low and tickling your skin with his warm breath. “I love how quiet it is. There’s rarely anyone outside, or even driving by... so when I touch you like this...” His hand slid up from your hip to cup your breast through your tank top. “No one will even notice.”
You gasped as he fondled your tits, his rough fingers flicking the sensitive peak of your nipple. As he dampened your shirt with his wet hands, the water seeped through the thin fabric, making every bit of friction feel even more sensitive than the last.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Oh,” he let out a low, rough breath. “You’re so reactive. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”
Bucky’s hand left the roof of the car to wrap around your eyes, pulling you even closer against him. He rocked his hips—back and forth, in a steady rhythm—dry humping you right there against the green wagon in your driveway where anyone could see.
The friction of his denim against your damp, thin shorts made a warm heat pool in your lower belly. Every grind of his hips was met with a hard twitch in his jeans, making your body ache for more.
His hands were everywhere. One hand gripped your hip, tickling the skin beneath the fabric as he gave your flesh a possessive squeeze.
The other continued to fondle your tits, tickling your nipple through the wet cotton. His thumb and forefinger would catch your nipple, rolling it until you were arching your back and whimpering his name.
“Cute noises coming out of you,” he murmured against the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “I wonder what kind of noises you’ll make if someone were to drive by and see what I’m doing to you?”
You shuddered as his hands roamed lower, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. He undid the button with just one hand, letting his fingers trace the skin of your mound, grazing low until he found your clit—lightly rubbing the nub of his finger against it.
A moan left your lips as you arched your back deeper against him. He groaned as your ass rubbed against his throbbing cock.
While Bucky’s fingers toyed with your clit—rubbing in deep, circular motions—he rocked his hips, seeking pleasure of his own. You were moaning, breathing hard as you stared down at him playing with you.
“Bucky… I… mph—” you moaned, your voice pitched high. You ground your hips against his hand, fucking yourself onto his fingers.
With Bucky standing right behind you, he looked down at the soapy water trickling over your chest, his cock growing harder by the second.
He wasn’t lying when he said you looked like a woman straight out of a dream. He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes apart—which he could do easily—and fuck you right on the hood of the car he’d been watching you parade yourself on for the past few days.
He was so horny, he needed to sink into you—fast.
But first, he needed to see how much of him you were willing to take, starting with his fingers.
“Gotta test you, baby,” Bucky rasped against your ear. “See how much your little pussy can take.”
His hand traced down from your clit to your folds. He groaned once his fingers made contact with your slick heat. You were so wet, so easily riled up, and so ripe for the taking, yet he wanted to make this last.
Bucky glanced around one more time—the coast was clear. He shoved your shorts down, exposing your ass to the cool air, and pushed your lace panties to the side. He probed his middle finger against your entrance, dancing his digit in a curling motion to prepare you.
“So wet,” he murmured, grinning at your little gasps and mewls. “Could easily slide my finger right in.”
His middle finger slowly eased into your pussy, the warm flesh of your entrance accommodating him smoothly. There was a bit of a stretch, sure, but he could easily finger fuck you right now with no struggle at all.
“How many can you take?” he asked.
You felt your face warm at his question. “… Two.”
He hummed against your ear. “Two, huh?”
Without warning, his ring finger took a quick drag against your entrance—already stuffed by his middle finger—and slid in slowly. Your mouth dropped as a broken gasp tore from your throat. The stretch was burning. His fingers were long and thick, and having two of them inside was enough to fill you completely.
“Fuck—Bucky!”
Bucky didn’t give you a chance to fully adjust to his two fingers before he started moving—thrusting in and out, curling deep inside you as he searched for every sensitive spot. With his free hand still clamped onto your hip, he humped you from behind, groaning as his denim jeans grew even tighter around his throbbing cock.
He was so hard it was painful.
His need to sink himself inside you was spiraling out of control as he felt his pre-cum soaking into his waistband. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he watched the way your ass bounced against his hand, swallowing his fingers with every move.
“Christ,” he hissed against your neck. He slowed his hand just enough to hook a third finger against your entrance, probing the tight and overtaxed muscle. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tight, baby.”
He looked at you through the reflection of the window, and you stared back, caught in his dark gaze. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
You nodded with a whimper.
Bucky hummed in satisfaction, and without warning, he pressed the tip of his pointer finger against your stretched entrance.
Your eyes flew wide at the sensation as he slowly began sinking that third finger in, forcing you to press your tits and hands into the glass window for support.
“Bucky,” you gasped. “What are you—!”
“Think you can take three?”
He couldn’t even sink his third finger in all the way, your body simply wouldn’t allow it.
The stretch was a dizzying mix of burn and pleasure, your hips going stiff as you struggled to take him in. He was breathing hard against your ear, and you could feel every heavy throb of his cock right behind you.
“Oh my—fuck, Bucky! It’s too much, I can’t—”
He continued rutting his hips against yours, silently encouraging you to accommodate all three fingers. You could tell he was trying to hold back. His fingers stayed there, unmoving, while his hips did all the work.
“Shit,” Bucky cursed, his hand stilling completely inside you. “Three’s a little tight, huh? Come on, baby. Try for me. If you can take three, then you can take my cock with no problem.”
You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax the muscles that were fighting him.
Slowly, you began to push back, easing yourself onto those three thick fingers and sinking down until you felt the base of his hand press against your folds.
Bucky groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he felt your tight cunt finally give way to accommodate him. He was hard as hell, his balls growing heavier and his cock thickening against your lower back with every heavy breath he took.
“Fuck. That’s a good fucking slut,” he hissed, his hips rutting in an uneven motion. “Taking all three fingers—God, you’re being so good for me.”
His teeth traced the column of your neck, biting gently to make you gasp. His lips closed against your skin, sucking and marking you as he murmured filth in your ear.
“So fucking tight,” he whispered. “Been watching you for days, thinking you were going to be untouchable—just eye candy for a man like me living across the street.” He curled his fingers, hitting your sensitive spot and making you cry out his name. “Who knew I’d have you right here, pinned against your daddy’s car, being stretched out in broad daylight.”
You watched him through the reflection, your pussy clenching around his fingers at the dark way he was staring at you.
“Oh, you’re such a little slut for your neighbor, aren’t you?”
Your cunt fluttered around him, his fingers fucking you so thoroughly you felt like you could cum.
“Bucky,” you whined, your hips twitching as you tried to clench your legs together. “I’m—I’m gonna—”
“No,” he grunted, his voice deep and rough. “Not yet.”
If he had fucked you for even a second longer, you would have cried out in pleasure and came right there in your driveway.
But instead, he abruptly yanked his fingers out, the vulgar squelch sound following after. You let out a cry of frustration, your body slumping against the window as he left you feeling cold and aching.
Behind you, Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours in the window’s reflection as he slowly licked your juices off his fingers. The act was so unapologetically filthy that your face burned with embarrassment.
“You even taste sweet, too,” he murmured.
He took a step back, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. He gave himself a quick squeeze through the denim before finally freeing himself.
You couldn’t help it. You looked over your shoulder and your breath hitched.
Now, you understood exactly why he wanted you to take three fingers first.
His cock was massive, thick and pulsing for you. He stepped back into the space between your legs and slapped his cock against your lower back. It was hot, hard, heavy, and already wet at the tip where he leaked pre-cum. His breathing was labored as he grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip against your bare ass—smearing his slickness and marking you from behind.
Bucky moaned at the sight of his pre-cum glistening on your soft skin.
“What a pretty, pretty whore,” he cooed. He leaned over you, his thick arm hooking around your waist to bend you over while your hands pressed against the window.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He slapped his cock against your wet pussy, making you wince as your body hummed with anticipation.
“Your pussy’s all stretched out now, ready to take me.” He grabbed his shaft, positioning the head right at your entrance.
The tip of his cock nestled perfectly between your wet, aching folds. Just the sensation of it alone was enough to make him groan in pleasure.
It felt as if your entrance was giving him warm, wet kisses, welcoming him home.
“So, it should just slide right in,” he rasped, slowly drawing his hips forward and beginning to sink into you. “Fuck.”
He couldn’t even make it past the head because of how tight you were squeezing him. His face scrunched in a twist of pleasure and pain, his arm wrapping you tight as he fought for control. You mewled and whined so sweetly—the sound of it should have made him feel bad, but it only made him want to tear you apart more.
“Fuck—how the hell are you still so tight, even after everything?”
Every time he tried to draw his hips forward, your body buckled and clamped down, refusing to give an inch more than the head of him.
“God,” he hissed, forehead dropping to the back of your neck as he struggled to breathe. “What a tight pussy fuck.”
He tried to rock into you again—slow and agonizing. He was gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, his cock pulsing as your cunt fluttered around him, desperate to stretch around his size.
“F—fuck, Bucky, I’m trying—” you whimpered.
“Come on, baby,” he rasped, rocking his hips and trying to find pleasure from what little was already inside you. “I already stretched you out. I know you can take me. You’re just so fucking small.”
You looked at him over your shoulder, and your breath caught. His face was twisted. He looked almost angry—snarling from how difficult this was for him.
You tried pushing your hips back, wincing from the delicious stretch.
“Is this hurting you, Bucky?” you asked, your voice coming out more timid than you’d like. “Are you hurting because I’m so tight?”
A raspy, deep groan tore straight from his throat. You were asking out of genuine concern, but he took it as a challenge.
“God—you fucking—are you trying to test me?”
Bucky kicked your legs wider, his hands clamping down on your waist. He hauled your body back into his, then completely sheathed his cock into your tight pussy.
The air left your lungs the minute your ass pressed against his pelvis. His dark curls were hot against your skin as he finally, finally buried himself all the way inside you. He was in to the very hilt, but you were still so tight that moving was nearly impossible.
He stayed perfectly still for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he let the sensation of your tightness settle.
In the window’s reflection, it looked as filthy as it felt—a large, shirtless, and sweaty man mounting and rutting into you from behind like an animal, his broad shoulders swallowing your frame as his heavy arms circled you, keeping you pinned close and tight.
“Fuck,” he choked out. “There it is. There you are.”
After a moment of adjustment, he began to rock his hips. He drew in and out slowly, fucking you with deep, hard strokes that made the car creak.
“Christ, look at you,” he hissed, his eyes fixed on your reflection over your shoulder. “Stretched wide open—fucked like a whore for the whole neighborhood to see. You’re taking every goddamn inch of me, aren’t you, baby?”
Your face twisted in pleasure, your bottom lip hanging open as you moaned a litany of words. “Don’t stop... Please, Bucky, please.”
“This was why you were putting your body on display for me, huh? Hoping I’d finally cross the street one day and fuck you.” He fought for his breath as his hips increased the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you, relentlessly making you his. “You’re a smart cookie, too. Made sure your parents were out of town so you could act like a total slut.”
You moaned, eyes rolling back at his filthy words as your body clenched in reaction. “Yes! Yes, Bucky! I’m a slut for you!”
He groaned as he tilted his hips, forcing himself even deeper into your abused pussy.
“Squeezing me so tight... I can only imagine how you’d react if your parents were to drive down the street right now. Imagine them seeing their precious daughter getting split open by her older neighbor—a man they haven’t even met yet.”
He felt your body begin to tremor, your walls fluttering around his pulsing cock. He leaned in even closer, his hot, raspy breath dancing against the shell of your ear.
“Now, what would happen if your poor best friend—Steve, was it?—drove down here expecting to fix your car, only to find you with your tits pushed against the glass, stuffed full of my cock? How would you react then?”
Your knees wobbled and your eyes rolled back at the image. Your body convulsed, your pussy squeezing him impossibly tight at the filthy thought of it.
“Oh, my god—S-steve...!”
Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh, followed immediately by a deep, guttural groan at the sensation of you clenching around him. He didn’t even care that you moaned another man’s name when he had you stuffed.
“Fuck, so goddamn tight,” he rasped, his arms wrapping around you tighter as you shook. “Shit, you like it, don’t you? The idea of getting caught by your best friend? Fuck—what a goddamn nasty whore you are.”
His hips began to blur against yours as he fucked you harder, the car creaking and groaning with every thrust.
“Bet he doesn’t even know how you’re clenching around me just at the thought of him. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him?” He leaned over, biting your shoulder to stifle his own grunt. “Would you let your best friend watch me split you open like this?”
You nodded frantically, sweat beading at your temple from being used so thoroughly. The talk—the idea of it was filthy, a dream that you would’ve never considered doing, but Bucky was fucking you so good that anything he said at this point was hypnotic.
“Yes, yes, Bucky, please! You both can take turns using me!”
“Nasty little slut,” Bucky hissed, his teeth biting gently at your skin again. “Fuck. I’m getting close.”
You nodded hard again, your knees nearly giving out if it weren’t for his big hands holding you back. “Me—me too, shit—!”
Bucky’s grip on your body tightened, pulling you close against his bare and sweaty chest.
After three hard thrusts that bottomed out against your womb, he let out a deep grunt against your neck, his body going stiff as he finally came.
His cock pulsed as cum began to spill out of his tip, pumping you full of his seed and staying completely stuffed inside you until you were filled to the brim. Your head tossed back as a cry left your throat, your overworked pussy clamping down on him and pulsing in a way that milked every last drop out of him.
He held you tight, breathing deep into your back as you both fought for air. “Fuck—you’re draining my balls dry, sweetheart.”
You both started to laugh—deep, tired, and rumbling laughs at everything that had just transpired out in the open, right in your very driveway.
Bucky looked down, pulling out slightly and watching with blown out pupils as his cum trickled out of you and onto the concrete, where it mixed with the soapy water.
“Dirty, dirty girl.”
You spent the following afternoon in your room, going through lectures, though you were hardly paying attention to them. With your cheek resting on your palm, your eyes kept drifting to the open window that gave you a perfect, convenient view of the house right across the street.
Bucky’s house.
The driveway was empty, and the lights inside were off. The blinds were pulled open though, and you could see Alpine—the little cat he mentioned—loafing on the windowsill and staring back at you.
In that moment, the two of you were exactly the same.
Just waiting for Bucky to come home.
The silence of your bedroom was overtaken by the rumble of a truck engine. Sitting up and peeking out the window, you recognized Steve’s battered pickup truck turning into the driveway before the engine cut out.
Steve climbed out of the driver’s seat, looking as exhausted as ever, but he had still shown up for you.
You smiled, racing down the stairs to meet him outside. In the driveway, it was clear that his shift at Hydra’s mechanic shop had done a number on him. His navy blue collared shirt was stained with sweat and motor oil, with dark streaks smeared across his jaw and down the length of his thick forearms.
“Steve,” you breathed with a smile. “Thought you forgot about me.”
Steve shut the door, the truck shaking from the force. “Could never forget about you. Work was just running me late.” He reached for his tools in the flatbed with a tired groan. “How’s your car holding up? Been using it since we had lunch yesterday?”
Your face warmed at the question.
Using it wouldn’t be the right term for it, you thought.
“Not really,” you said, trying to hide the bashful expression on your face.
“Still making that weird creaking noise?” he asked, walking over to the front and popping the hood.
You bit your lip and nodded. “Yep.”
Steve stood over the engine, glancing at wires and mechanical parts that were completely foreign to you.
“How’s it looking?” you asked, hovering over his shoulder.
He didn’t look back as he lifted a straining wire with his pointer finger, examining it closely. “Looks like she’s been through it.”
You had to bite back a snort. You would’ve complimented him on his sense of humor—if only he had known any better.
“Thanks for doing this, Steve,” you said, giving him a pat on his sweaty back. “My dad’s going to be real grateful.”
Steve nodded. “How are you and that neighbor doing?” He still kept his focus on the wires, his voice casual and unassuming. “You two didn’t screw each other after my warning yesterday, right?”
You were so glad he was focused on the engine—the face you made would’ve given it all away.
“What kind of girl do you think I am?” you scoffed playfully, crossing your arms defensively.
Steve glanced up at you with a chuckle. “A good one, I hope.” He brought his tools to the edge of the car, rummaging through the kit. “You two exchanged numbers yet?”
“Do I have to?” you shrugged. “He lives right across the street.”
Steve tilted his head, agreeing. “You make a good point.” He looked back at the engine. “When are you going to introduce me to the guy?”
You leaned against the car with a roll of your eyes. “Steve, you’re sounding an awful lot like my dad. And why are you in such a rush to meet him, anyway?”
Steve shrugged, pulling a wire stripper out of his toolbox before setting it back down on the ground. “I’m your best friend, alright? It’d give any man peace of mind to know what kind of person you’re talking to. Hand me a wrench, would you?”
Crouching, you dug into his toolbox until you found something that resembled a wrench. You handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the tool from your hand. His brows furrowed as he wrestled with a stubborn bolt, the muscles in his forearms and biceps flexed hard, giving you an up close and personal view of a working man.
After the filthy things Bucky hissed in your ear yesterday, you couldn’t help but stare. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him? Even worse was the memory of what you cried out in response. You both can take turns using me!
You wanted to slap yourself for the secondhand embarrassment you were giving yourself.
You wouldn’t consider it—no, you couldn’t. Steve was the person you grew up with, the one who fended off your bullies in kindergarten. Steve was the one who drove you to school every morning in high school. Steve was the one who took you to prom when no one else did.
Steve was family.
But as he stood there, covered in motor oil and sweat, you finally understood why a man like Bucky would be jealous over you hanging out with a man like Steve Rogers.
The wrench slipped, clattering against the frame of the car before hitting the driveway with a noise that made you flinch.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He bent down to pick it up. He stood up straight—reminding you all over again of just how big he was compared to you—and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
While you were having filthy thoughts about your best friend, he was standing there in an increasingly sour mood. Between the long shift at Hydra’s and the oppressive heat of the bright afternoon sun, he looked completely spent.
You didn’t know the first thing about wire strippers or engine blocks, and you felt useless just hovering over his shoulder.
“I’m going to go make you a lemonade,” you said, giving his shoulder another supportive pat. “I’ll be back, okay?”
Steve didn’t say anything. He just gave a single, firm nod to let you know he heard you.
As you retreated inside, a car that Steve didn’t recognize pulled up to Bucky’s driveway.
It was a sleek, black convertible sports car. Steve couldn’t help but clench his jaw at the sight of it. Of course Bucky drove a sports car.
He stood no chance against his rundown pickup.
Bucky stepped out of the vehicle, running a hand through his hair. As he turned to glance at your driveway, expecting to see you, his blue eyes landed on Steve instead.
For all that talk about wanting to meet him, Steve really only cared to do it if you were there, bridging the gap. So for now, until you returned with his lemonade—which he was sure would make Bucky jealous—Steve tried to keep himself too occupied to notice him.
But he kept catching movement in his peripheral vision. Then another. Then another. A stupid, persistent movement that wouldn’t go away, like a goddamn fly.
Steve finally lifted his head and saw Bucky still in his driveway, waving.
Waving?
At what?
Steve turned around, expecting to see you standing right behind him with the lemonade, but you weren’t. The porch remained empty—meaning Bucky was waving at him.
“Need any help there?” Bucky called out from across the street, resting his hands on his hips.
Steve pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “I’m good!” he called back. Short, straight to the point, and friendly enough.
He looked back down at the engine, but it didn’t take long before a bright spark jumped from the terminal with a loud popping sound. Steve jolted back with a hiss, snapping his hand away from the burn. “Shit!”
Across the street, Bucky was already making his way over with a smug grin that Steve caught—and one he especially wanted to wipe off.
Jesus. Where were you?
“Here,” Bucky finally reached him, occupying the small space between the car’s engine and where Steve was standing. “Let me help you with that.”
Before Steve could fight for his spot, Bucky was leaning over the hood, adjusting the wires in a way that made Steve—the man wearing an actual mechanic’s uniform—feel like a fool.
Steve stepped up to the hood, propping his arm against it as he looked the man over. “So, you’re the new neighbor that moved in not too long ago, right?” He already knew the answer, but this was at least him trying for short conversation.
Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes slowly tracing over his uniform. Steve felt his eyebrow twitch.
Was Bucky silently insulting him?
“Yup,” Bucky drawled with the pop of the p. “And you must be my pretty neighbor’s best friend. The one she always talks about.”
It was getting harder by the second for Steve to go along with this. Bucky acted like the very frat boys at Jensen that Steve had warned you to avoid at all costs—and this man was in his mid-thirties, for crying out loud.
“Yeah. That’s me,” Steve mumbled.
Bucky stood up straight, extending his hand for a shake. “Bucky.”
Steve was wary, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the offered hand before finally reaching out to take it.
“Steve,” he replied with a firm grip.
Bucky stared at Steve for a moment longer—as if studying him—before looking back down at the engine with a huff of laughter. “You know, for a guy who works at a mechanic shop, you’re struggling pretty bad with a simple alternator issue.” He bent over the engine again, examining it. “Are you trying to actually fix the car, or just trying to impress your lady friend?”
Steve let out a dry laugh as he pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “It’s been a long day, alright? I’ve been dealing with different cars all day, the sun is giving me a headache, and now I’ve got my best friend’s neighbor to worry about—”
He stopped himself before he could spill too much, but Bucky caught it anyway. He chuckled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he looked up at Steve from where he was bent over. “You’re worrying about me?”
Steve swallowed hard, trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m just looking out for her. New guy in the neighborhood, it’s just a habit.”
Bucky hummed, a small, knowing grin resting on his lips as he turned back to the engine block.
He leaned further under the hood of the old sixties station wagon, his fingers moving towards the distributor cap and the fraying ignition wire Steve had been struggling with. Bucky repositioned the stubborn ceramic boot, adjusting the distributor to ensure the connection wouldn’t spark again.
He wiped his hands on his thighs as he stood up straight.
“Since it’s an older model, you’re going to need to buy a specific point and condenser set for a sixties Ford wagon. But this should hold her over for now.” Bucky looked over at Steve. “You got a piece of paper so I can write down the part number you need?”
Steve blinked, surprised and undeniably impressed by how easily Bucky had handled it.
“Oh. Y-yeah, hold on—” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small, worn notepad and a pen, handing them over.
Bucky took them, resting the pad against the car’s fender as he scribbled down the specifications. Steve glanced up, watching you through the kitchen window where you were completely oblivious, still focused on making the lemonade.
Surprisingly, he actually liked the guy. Despite the age difference, he could see potential in Bucky. He was handsome, owned his own house, drove a nice car, and was clearly respectful and handy. He was exactly the type of man your parents wouldn’t pass out at the sight of.
He was a good man for you—regrettably so.
Bucky finished writing, flipping the notepad shut and handing it back to Steve along with the pen. “Here you go.”
Steve smiled, and this time it was polite and genuine.
“Thanks,” he muttered. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky.” He held up the notepad with a slight nod. “She’ll appreciate this. I’ll tell her you said hi.”
Bucky’s smile widened just slightly. He glanced over his shoulder, catching your silhouette through the kitchen window where you were still occupied with the lemons. His gaze lingered on you for a split second before he looked back at Steve, his expression unreadable.
“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said smoothly, giving Steve a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Remember, I’m right across the street if you ever need help.”
He gave a parting nod before turning on his heel, brushing past Steve to head back to his side of the street.
Steve watched Bucky disappear past his front door. By the time the door clicked shut, you had finally stepped out onto the porch with two glasses of lemonade in your hands. Perfect timing.
“Sorry I took so long,” you said breathlessly, walking down the steps and handing him a glass. “It’s been a minute since I last made it from scratch, so…”
“You just missed him.”
You raised a brow in confusion. “Sorry?”
Steve brought the cold glass to his lips, taking a long sip of the tart drink before nodding towards the house across the road.
“Bucky.” He let out a satisfied exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “He was just here—helping me with your car, actually.”
Your eyes went wide, your head snapping towards Bucky’s house—though he was nowhere to be found. You reached up, trying to smooth down your hair.
“He was? Is he coming back?” You asked, sounding too excited for your own good.
Steve shrugged, taking another sip. “Probably not. Seemed like he had other things to do.”
You looked at Steve, your eyes narrowing skeptically.
Steve caught your look and let out a soft laugh, adjusting the cold glass against his palm. “What?”
“So…” you teased, swaying back and forth subtly. “I assume you two talked for a bit then? How was he? What do you think of him?”
Steve shrugged again, a genuine smile breaking through the tired expression he had on before. “Alright, alright. You know what? He’s not a bad guy. He actually helped me fix your car. I like him.” He handed you back the empty glass, flipping through the crumpled pages to find the note Bucky had left. “He even told me what part we needed to order to get this thing fixed up and working again—”
He froze in the middle of his sentence. His eyes went wide, staring at the page as his words got lost in his mind.
You raised a brow, confused with Steve’s sudden change in demeanor. “Well? What part is it? Is it expensive?”
When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to step closer and peek your head over his arm to look at the notepad. What you saw made your breath hitch, and your own eyes went wide.
There was no part number.
Written in bold handwriting, on the paper was a phone number, Bucky’s phone number, followed by a little message in black ink.
you’re gonna have to call me if you want that part number.
xoxo, buck.
Your jaw hung so loose, a fly could’ve flown in at any moment. Steve didn’t know what to say either—if anything, he was standing there frozen, waiting for you to say something first.
“Oh my god,” was all that managed to leave your mouth. You looked up at Steve, your wide eyes meeting his. “Is Bucky…?”
Steve, poor Steve, who remained completely oblivious to the fact that you and Bucky had fucked just yesterday on this very driveway, only felt confusion and secondhand guilt.
He glanced across the street at the sleek, clean Mazda resting in Bucky's driveway, specifically staring at the custom vanity license plate on the back that read ‘BIGBUCK.’
Steve swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing with a rosy shade of pink. Though, he could easily excuse it for the sun.
“Of course,” he mumbled to himself. “He drives a Miata.”
if you were curious to know why a mazda miata specifically, you can thank r/askgaybros for that when i was conducting my research.
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
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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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ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ › bucky barnes is used to getting any girl he sets his sights on. a smile, a wink, a smooth line, it’s never taken much effort. then he meets you.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ › 40s!bucky x female reader
ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ › 18+ MDNI strangers to friends to lovers, some fluff, flirty/playboy bucky turned loverboy, innocent reader, kinda uptown girl but not like rich or anything, smoker bucky, mentions of alcohol, brief angst, porn with SOME plot, but also plot what plot, lowk just porn with feelings, smut, p in v, virgin/inexperienced reader, lowk possessive bucky, minor corruption kink? fingering, oral sex ft munch bucky, dirty talking bucky barnes, pussy pronouns, missionary + bow, unprotected sex, creampie, soft aftercare, cigarettes after sex, not beta read we die like men.
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ › 10.7k
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ › 40s bucky how i love you so. ps i did nawt want to proofread this so i skimmed it not even gonna lie... #sosorry like once im done writing something i want it OUT of my head asap i dont want to look at it anymore. anyways thank u for reading enjoy xx
The bell above Moretti’s Candy Shop jingles sharp and bright when Bucky shoulders his way inside, carrying the cold autumn air in with him.
“Trouble,” Mrs. Moretti sighs immediately from behind the counter.
Bucky grins, easy as breathing. “You say that like you ain’t happy to see me.”
“I’d be happier seein’ the ten cents you still owe me, Barnes.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three times.”
The shop smells like chocolate and sugar and roasted nuts warming beneath glass lamps. Outside, Brooklyn groans along in its usual rhythm, trolley bells, men hollering across sidewalks, kids sprinting through puddles but in here everything feels softened somehow. Golden. Like the world’s been wrapped in wax paper and tied shut with string.
Bucky leans against the counter, halfway through another smart remark when he notices you.
And just like that, the rest of the room disappears.
You’re standing near the chocolate display case with your gloves folded neatly in your hands, staring through the glass with such genuine wonder it almost knocks the grin off his face.
Not overwhelmed or indecisive, you seem almost enchanted.
Your eyes drift slowly over every row like each candy’s worth considering properly. Caramels. Peppermints. Chocolate turtles. Then your attention catches on the Whoppers display, and stays there.
He almost laughs when he follows your gaze to them.
Cute, he thinks immediately.
Girls usually notice him first. Usually there’s lipstick smiles and fluttering lashes before he’s even crossed the room. He knows what he looks like, knows how his grin lands, knows exactly how long to hold eye contact before women start leaning toward him without realizing it.
But you don’t notice him at all. You’re still staring at the candy like it might hold the secrets of the universe.
Something about that hooks into him immediately as he steps over.
“Those your favorite?”
You blink hard, startled from your thoughts, then turn toward him.
And there it is.
That little pause that every girl gives him, but this one seems different. Not because you recognize him as handsome or because you’re flustered, you just hadn’t realized anyone was speaking to you.
“Oh,” you say softly. “Yes.”
Your voice is gentler than he expected, careful around the edges.
Bucky pushes off the counter and steps closer. “Want a box?”
Your eyes widen instantly. “No, it’s quite alright, I couldn’t possibly.”
“C’mon, doll.” He flashes the smile that usually works without fail. “How could I deny such a sweet girl a sweet treat?”
He expects blushing, maybe a nervous laugh. Instead, you look genuinely conflicted over the idea of him spending money on you.
“Well that’s very kind,” you tell him honestly, “but you really don’t have to.”
Bucky stares at you for half a second, then another.
Well. That’s new.
“Mrs. Moretti,” he calls, unable to stop grinning now, “gimme a box of Whoppers before this sweetheart talks herself outta it.”
Mrs. Moretti snorts loudly but slides the candy across the counter anyway.
“And a cannoli,” Bucky adds quickly.
Your head turns toward him. “Oh, no, truly—”
“Too late.”
He pays before you can protest again, then holds the small paper bag out toward you with exaggerated politeness.
“You really got this for me?” you ask.
“Nah,” he deadpans. “Bought it for the guy behind you.”
You laugh and that sound lands somewhere directly under his ribs. Not loud or practiced. Just soft and surprised, like you hadn’t expected him to be funny.
Bucky suddenly wants to hear it again.
Outside, Brooklyn glows amber beneath the sun. Laundry lines sway overhead between brick buildings. Somewhere down the block, someone’s radio crackles out jazz muffled by static.
You take a careful bite of the cannoli as the two of you step onto the sidewalk, then immediately freeze as cream spills out the other side onto your glove.
“Oh goodness—sorry,” you murmur, horrified. “I made a mess.”
Bucky looks at you.
At the powdered sugar dusting your mouth, the cream threatening to drip onto your sleeve, the embarrassment blooming across your face over something so small.
His brain stops functioning.
“Don’t apologize,” he says immediately, a little too seriously for someone he just met ten minutes ago.
“I just—”
“It’s a cannoli,” he says, clearing his throat. “They’re uh, they're structurally unsound.”
That earns another laugh. And there it is again, that strange feeling settling low in his chest, not lust exactly but something softer than that.
You wipe at your glove carefully, still embarrassed. “I’m making quite the first impression, aren't I.”
“Oh, believe me,” Bucky mutters before he can stop himself, “you are.”
But you don’t seem to catch it. Instead, you just smile politely and continue walking beside him down the sidewalk like this is all perfectly ordinary. Like handsome men buy you candy and pastries every day.
Bucky decides almost immediately that he doesn’t want the conversation to end, so he keeps finding reasons for it not to. He points out the bakery on the corner because “their cheesecake could start a war.” He walks slower whenever you stop to admire storefronts. He offers you his arm when an old woman barrels past with a grocery cart and nearly clips your shoulder.
You take it without hesitation.
“Oh,” you say softly, looping your arm through his. “Thank you.”
Bucky glances down at your hand resting against his sleeve and his heartbeat stumbles oddly.
Usually this part’s easy. Usually flirting feels like muscle memory. Lean closer, smirk a little, call her doll in that lower voice that always works. But you accept every bit of it with such innocent sincerity that it keeps throwing him off balance.
“You always this sweet?” he asks after a while.
You nod thoughtfully. “I do like sugar, yes. But I don't get to eat to very often.”
Bucky chokes on air.
“…Jesus Christ.”
Your brows pull together. “What?”
“Nothin’, doll.”
Because clearly you think he means literal sweetness, and somehow that’s even worse, or better. He can’t tell anymore.
The afternoon stretches unexpectedly around the two of you. You wander through Brooklyn side streets while the sun lowers warm and lazy across the buildings. You stop outside record stores and flower stands and little grocers with apples stacked in wooden crates out front.
And all the while, Bucky keeps trying.
He leans too close while talking and you just look up at him attentively. He calls you doll every other sentence and you smile like you think it’s genuinely affectionate. He flashes smirks sharp enough to cut glass and you return them with polite warmth, entirely unaffected.
“You’re very nice, Mr. Barnes,” you tell him eventually.
Bucky nearly trips over the curb.
“Nice?”
“Well yes.” You glance at him earnestly. “Handsome too, but mostly nice.”
Handsome too. Mostly nice.
Bucky stares at you outright now. Your voice held no teasing lilt, no coyness, you said it like you’re discussing the weather and something inside him short-circuits completely.
Because by now he knows for a fact you have no idea what he’s doing.
“Doll,” he says slowly, “you know I’m layin’ it on thick, right?”
You blink.
“…Laying it on?”
Silence.
Then Bucky laughs so suddenly and loudly a passing couple turns to stare, not in a mocking sense but genuinely delighted. You look confused enough that it only makes him laugh harder.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head, “you really don’t know I've been flirting you?”
“I assumed you were being friendly.”
“I am bein’ friendly.”
“That seems normal.”
“Normal?” He stares at you. “I bought you candy fifteen minutes after meetin’ you.”
“Well… yes.”
“And?”
“You seemed very determined about it.”
Bucky rubs a hand down his jaw, trying unsuccessfully to hide another grin.
This should annoy him. It should. But instead he feels strangely fascinated, like he’s spent his whole life learning one language only to discover you speak something entirely different.
“So no fella’s ever taken you out before?” he asks carefully.
“Not really.”
The answer comes without self-pity, just honesty and Bucky’s chest tightens unexpectedly.
“What d’you mean not really?”
You shrug lightly. “I suppose men don’t usually notice me that way.”
Bucky stops walking altogether, making you turn toward him curiously as he just looks at you in complete disbelief. At your soft mouth faintly lined with your lipstick, at your bright eyes, at the way strangers glance at you as they pass without you ever seeming aware of it.
“That oughta be illegal,” he mutters.
You laugh again, warm and startled and sweet enough to ruin him slowly.
Somewhere between the candy shop and the golden Brooklyn sidewalks and the way your hand still rests trustingly against his arm, Bucky realizes something unsettling, he stopped flirting for sport an hour ago. Now he’s doing it because he genuinely likes the way you smile when he speaks. Because he wants to keep hearing your laugh mingle with the evening traffic. Because watching you move through the world feels a little like standing near candlelight, soft and gentle and impossible not to lean toward.
And Bucky Barnes is not known for leaning toward things gently.
Which is how, sometime after you’ve finished your cannoli and the Whoppers box is tucked safely under your arm like it’s something fragile, you both turn a corner and run straight into trouble in the form of Steve Rogers and the rest of the Commandos.
They’re all there—loud, sprawling across the sidewalk like they own it.
“Barnes!” one of them calls immediately. “Where’ve you been?”
Then Steve sees you and something in his expression shifts instantly into knowing.
“Oh,” Steve says slowly. “Oh, that’s where.”
Bucky groans under his breath. “Don’t start.”
Another one of them whistles low. “Barnes buying candy for a girl? End times.”
Bucky, of course, straightens immediately, protective without thinking.
“Leave him alone,” you add gently, glancing between them. “He’s just being kind to me.”
The group goes quiet for half a beat, then someone mutters, “Kind?”
Steve’s mouth twitches like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Bucky, meanwhile, stops breathing properly, because you said it so simply. Like there was no other explanation, like the idea that he might be doing anything else never even crossed your mind.
He looks at you then and it’s unfair how easy it is to forget everyone else exists when you’re standing that close.
The Commandos keep talking behind him as they walk by, but Bucky doesn’t hear a word of it anymore.
All he hears is the soft cadence of your voice still echoing in his head.
Just being kind to me.
That word lands heavier than anything else today. Kinder than flirtation, kinder than charm, kinder than every practiced thing he’s ever used to get someone to look at him twice. He realizes, with faint shock, that he wants to be that to you. Not some impressive or smooth flirt, just kind.
Eventually Steve clears his throat loudly from behind you. “You walkin’ her home, Barnes, or standin’ there makin’ heart eyes in the middle of the sidewalk?”
“I am absolutely not makin’ heart eyes,” Bucky says automatically.
You glance up at him and his words die immediately.
“…We’re walkin’,” he finishes weakly.
“Good,” Steve says, already grinning. “Try not to break anything on the way.”
Bucky flips him off without looking away from you.
You don’t seem to notice the tension at all. Just adjust your grip on the candy box and smile faintly like this is still just a normal afternoon walk, and somehow that makes everything worse.
The walk to your building takes longer than it should.
Bucky slows down without meaning to and you match him perfectly.
Brooklyn shifts around you in its usual evening rhythm, windows glowing warm, radios humming behind curtains, the smell of dinner drifting out of open doors but between the two of you everything feels strangely contained.
“I had a very nice time today,” you say eventually, glancing up at him.
Bucky swallows. “Yeah?”
“You’re very kind.”
That word again.
It hits him harder this time, right in the center of his chest. He looks away for half a second, jaw tightening slightly like he’s trying to figure out how to respond to something he’s never been called before in a way that mattered.
“Kind,” he repeats quietly, like he's testing whether he deserves it.
You stop in front of your apartment building steps as the streetlamp above flickers softly, casting gold light over your face. For a moment neither of you moves, then Bucky shifts, suddenly more uncertain than he’s been all day.
“Can I ask you somethin’?”
“Of course,” you answer immediately.
He hesitates, this is the part where he usually knows exactly what to say, instead, he feels seventeen different versions of himself arguing at once. He steps closer without thinking, seemingly too close, making your breath catch faintly.
He notices it immediately, the tiny shift in your posture, the nervousness flickering across your face. You’re not used to this part. The closeness, the intention that comes with it.
“Sorry,” he says softer, almost immediately stepping back half an inch like he’s correcting a mistake he didn’t want to make, “I uh—.”
You exhale quietly, watching as Bucky drags a hand through his hair, looking away for a second like he’s regrouping. Then, carefully he speaks up.
“Can I do this properly?”
You blink. “Properly?”
He looks back at you then, all teasing gone for a moment.
“Can I take you out tomorrow night?”
Your eyes widen slightly.
“…Like a date?”
“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Like a date.”
You look at him for a long moment, then your smile returns—small, but real.
“I think I’d like that very much.”
Something in Bucky’s chest loosens all at once, like a knot he didn’t know he was holding.
“Yeah?” he asks, almost stupidly.
You nod and that’s it, that’s all it takes. Bucky steps back, already grinning like he’s lost all sense of self-preservation.
“Tomorrow,” he says, pointing at you like he’s making a promise he fully intends to keep, “I’m pickin’ you up at seven.”
“I’ll be ready,” you reply softly.
He turns to leave, walking backwards for a second because he can’t quite make himself stop looking at you. Then he finally turns around properly after you give him a soft wave goodbye, and immediately starts grinning wider.
The Commandos are still waiting down the street when he finds them. Steve takes one look at his face and sighs.
“Oh no.”
Bucky doesn’t even try to hide it. He shoves his hands in his pockets, still smiling like an idiot.
“Fellas,” he says lightly, “I’m in serious trouble.”
Bucky doesn’t sleep much that night, at least not properly.
He lies on his back staring at the ceiling, replaying the day in fragments he can’t seem to organize into anything sensible. Your voice, your laugh. The way you looked at candy like it was something magical. And worse than all of it, powdered sugar on your mouth, cannoli cream on your lips and the way you’d apologized for it like it was a crime.
He turns onto his side, groans into his pillow, then sits up like the bed has personally betrayed him.
“Get it together,” he mutters to himself.
But the problem is… he is together.
That’s the issue. He just isn’t used to what it feels like when someone looks at him like he’s safe instead of interesting. So in the morning, Bucky Barnes does the only thing he can think to do, be a man of his word.
He decides to do it properly.
No shortcuts, no charm tricks, no easy grin and leaned-in confidence.
A real date.
Which is how Steve finds him hunched over a small, slightly chaotic pile of wildflowers behind a Brooklyn fence line.
“Are you pickin’ flowers now?” Steve asks flatly.
Bucky doesn’t look up. “Shut up.”
Steve leans against the fence post, arms crossed. “That for the girl?”
“Yes.”
“You know you could just buy ‘em like a normal person.”
“I don’t have money right now for fancy bouquets.”
“That’s not the point.”
Bucky finally straightens, holding the uneven bundle like it might fall apart if he breathes wrong. “It is to me.”
Steve studies him for a long moment, something softer flickering beneath the teasing.
Then he sighs. “You’re in trouble, pal.”
Bucky huffs. “Yeah. I said that already.”
But he doesn’t feel like running from it, not even a little.
By the time evening rolls around, he’s checked his reflection in every shop window he passes twice. He fixes his tie, adjusts his jacket, runs a hand through his hair, then immediately second-guesses it and smooths it back down again. The flowers are wrapped in paper he stole, respectfully stole, from a corner stand. They’re not perfect, a few stems are uneven, one bloom is slightly bent.
He hopes they’re enough.
Outside your building, Bucky pauses as he exhales once. Then knocks.
When the door opens, everything inside him stops. You’re standing there in soft light, hair pinned back neatly, expression shifting the moment you see him. And you light up like it’s involuntary.
Bucky forgets how to breathe for a second.
“Hi,” you say, smiling.
“Hi,” he manages back.
Then he lifts the flowers slightly, suddenly unsure of everything in the universe.
“Those are for me?” you ask, voice soft with surprise.
“Unless your neighbor’s awful pretty,” he says automatically.
You laugh, stepping forward immediately to take them.
“They’re beautiful,” you murmur, already burying your nose in them gently. “Oh… and they smell wonderful.”
Bucky watches you like he’s forgotten how to look anywhere else.
“I, uh,” he starts, then clears his throat. “Yeah. Picked ‘em myself.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Your smile softens in a way that makes him feel strangely proud.
“I’ll find a jar,” you say quickly. “Wait just a moment.”
You disappear inside, flowers clutched carefully to your chest like they’re something priceless. Bucky stays standing there in the doorway slightly stunned. He hears movement inside, cabinet doors opening, water running, your quiet little hum as you arrange them.
He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until his cheeks start to hurt.
Before you leave, your sister appears briefly in the hallway. Older, sharper-eyed. The kind of woman who looks like she’s already decided what kind of trouble someone is before they speak.
Her gaze lands on Bucky immediately.
“Bucky Barnes?” she asks.
He straightens instinctively. “Yes, ma’am.”
She looks him over once then turns to you.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
You hesitate. “Of course.”
She pulls you aside just enough that Bucky can’t hear everything, but not enough that he doesn’t feel it. Her voice is lower when she speaks.
“Be careful." She says.
You blink. “What?”
“Boys like him don't settle down. Sure he’s charming and handsome, but he's just a sweet talker.” Her mouth tightens. “He just wants a good time, so don’t go getting your hopes up.”
Bucky can’t hear the exact words, but he sees your expression shift slightly and something in his stomach turns uneasy.
When you return, you’re still smiling—but quieter now, careful in a way you weren’t before.
“Ready?” you ask him.
“Yeah,” he says, though his voice comes out softer than he means it to.
Dinner settles into something Bucky doesn’t recognize at first.
It’s quiet.
Not empty, but softened around the edges like the whole world has decided to behave itself for once. Soft jazz drifts from somewhere near the ceiling, curling through candlelight and clinking silverware. The room hums with conversation that never quite reaches your table.
And for the first time all day, Bucky Barnes isn’t scanning anything. His eyes aren't darting around the room looking for exits or other women, something quick to catch his attention.
Just you.
You, sitting across from him with your hands wrapped around a glass of water like it’s something grounding. You, talking in that gentle, thoughtful way of yours that keeps catching him off guard. He realizes halfway through your story about your aunt’s ridiculous attempt at baking bread that he hasn’t looked away once.
Not once. And maybe worse, he doesn’t want to.
You laugh at your own memory, shaking your head slightly. “It was practically a brick. We had to slice it with a knife meant for meat.”
Bucky smiles without thinking. “Sounds dangerous.”
“It was emotionally damaging.”
That makes him laugh for real.
And then you smile back at him, that small, bright, effortless smile and something in his chest shifts again. Because he likes this, not the performance of him, not the usual rhythm of charm and response and winning someone over. He likes this.
You talking, rambling softly when you get comfortable, pausing like you’re thinking too hard before continuing anyway. And every time you say his name, Bucky, like it’s just another word instead of something that usually comes wrapped in attention and expectation he feels it settle somewhere warm and unfamiliar.
Bucky Barnes, who usually knows exactly what he’s doing with people, finds himself doing something far more dangerous, imagining. Not in a loud way. In quiet flashes between bites of food and sips of coffee, a small bouquet of flowers on a table that isn’t a restaurant, you at a kitchen counter, hair slightly messy, laughing at something he said. A door opening at the end of a long day and you looking up like it matters that he came home.
He shifts slightly in his seat, almost like the thought physically disorients him.
Impossible things.
And yet they come anyway.
After dinner, the night pulls the two of you deeper into Brooklyn’s glow. Neon signs flicker awake, streetlamps paint everything gold and blue. Somewhere down the block, music spills out of a club like a living thing.
“You seen the new picture show over on Fulton?” Bucky asks as you walk.
You shake your head. “No.”
“Then you’re goin’.”
You glance up at him. “Is that an order?”
“Absolutely.”
You laugh softly, like you’re still not used to how easily he says things like that. The theater is older with slightly worn velvet seats, the faint smell of popcorn and wood polish, flickering light that makes everything feel softer than it should. Bucky buys the tickets without hesitation, you try to argue but he ignores you in the best way possible.
Inside, you sit close but not touching. Close enough that he’s aware of you constantly, that every small movement you make registers like it matters.
Halfway through the film, something changes on screen, the lights dim all soft and emotional, the kind of scene that doesn’t need words. He feels you go still beside him and when he glances over, your eyes are glossy in the dim light.
You’re trying to be subtle about it. You are not succeeding.
Bucky doesn’t say anything, just reaches into his pocket slowly and pulls out his handkerchief and without a word, gently offers it toward you.
You turn toward him and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then you take it carefully, fingers brushing his and in the dark, you smile at him softly. Like he did something important without realizing it. Bucky looks back at the screen, but he doesn’t see it anymore, he just feels the moment settle between you like something fragile and real. And he never wants it to end.
The picture ends on a cliffhanger that has the whole theater groaning as the lights flick back on. Outside, the city opens up again. Cool night air, bright lights reflecting off wet pavement. The distant echo of music from clubs and cafés and street corners all blending into one living rhythm.
You walk beside him slowly, a little quieter now that the night has come to its end.
Bucky notices.
He glances down at you. “You alright?”
You nod. “Yes. It was… very nice.”
“Yeah?”
You smile faintly. “You’re very kind.”
That word again.
Kind.
It lands differently now. He doesn’t know why, maybe it’s the way you say it like it still surprises you, like it still feels new. Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but you stop walking. You've tried to fight it all night, tried to push the words far back into your head. But everything feels like a double edged sword, and if you don't do something now, you'll both get cut.
“I just…” you start softly, then hesitate.
He turns toward you fully.
You look down at your hands. “You really don’t have to pretend with me.”
Bucky blinks. “Pretend?”
You glance up, nervous now. “I know boys like you don’t mean anything by this sort of thing.”
Silence. It drops so fast it almost feels physical.
Bucky stares at you and for the first time all day, his expression isn’t teasing or amused or carefully controlled. It’s hurt, deep, immediate and unmistakably hurt.
“Boys like me?” he repeats slowly.
You realize instantly something is wrong.
“I didn’t mean— I just meant—”
He gestures vaguely between the flowers, the dinner, the theater still glowing behind you both.
“You think I do this with every girl?”
Your mouth opens, then closes again. Because you don’t know, you just assumed, because your sister said he’s Bucky Barnes and people talk about him like they know him before he even speaks.
“Sweetheart,” he says quieter now, but sharper in a different way, “I picked those flowers myself.”
You freeze and he exhales through his nose, looking away for a second like he’s trying to steady something in himself.
“I ain’t ever done this before,” he admits. “Not like this.”
That hits harder than anything else tonight, you stare at him now, like you’re recalibrating something you thought you understood.
“But everyone says—” you start.
“Yeah. I know what everyone says.” Bucky cuts in immediately, voice low. "But I only do this unless I mean it."
The street hums around you both, cars pass by, music drifts on the wind, lights flicker in the distance. But between the two of you, everything feels suddenly suspended. The silence doesn’t leave right away, it just changes shape. It stretches between you and Bucky in the middle of the sidewalk, softened only by passing headlights and the distant laugh of strangers who don’t know they’re walking through something fragile.
Bucky doesn’t look away from you.
I don’t do this unless I mean it.
It should’ve sounded smooth and confident. Instead it just sounds… exposed. Because the truth of it sits heavier now that it’s out in the open. He watches your face carefully, like he’s waiting for you to decide something about him, and for the first time all day, he realizes that matters. Not casually, not in the way flirting usually matters, but in a way that sits deep under his ribs and doesn’t move.
Your expression is quiet, thoughtful in that way you get when you’re trying to understand something honestly. He swallows once, then looks away briefly like the night air might help him think straighter, but it doesn’t.
It only makes everything quieter.
“I don’t like that,” he says finally.
You blink. “What?”
He gestures vaguely, frustration threading through his voice now—not at you, but at something older.
“What they say. About me.”
You don’t interrupt, you just listen and that alone is enough to make his chest tighten. Bucky exhales slowly, because this is new for him too. Saying it, not laughing it off, not playing it into something charming.
“People think they’ve got me figured out,” he says. “Think I just—” he huffs a short laugh without humor, “—go around Brooklyn collecting girls like it’s nothin’.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“And maybe I used to let ‘em think that.”
That lands differently in the air between you.
“But I’m tired of it,” he says quietly.
Bucky continues before he can talk himself out of it.
“Tired of it all blurring together,” he admits. “Tired of it not meaning anything.”
His eyes flick over your face again, more careful now, more intentional.
“And I think…” He hesitates, like the next part is the hardest thing he’s said all night. “I think I’m tired of not being taken seriously.”
That one settles heavier. You don’t speak yet. So he keeps going, because stopping now feels impossible.
“Maybe I don’t wanna be that guy anymore.” His voice drops slightly.
That guy. The one people assume things about, the one who never stays, the one who never gets understood correctly because no one bothers to look twice. The words hang there, raw and unpolished.
You shift slightly on your feet and when you finally speak, your voice is soft.
“What kind of guy do you want to be then?”
Bucky stills.
That question shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, but it does, the way you asked him like you really want to know, the way your eyes never leave his as he looks at you. The city lights catch your face in soft gold and shadow, painting the curve of your cheekbones, the faint red of your lips still slightly brighter from the theater lights, the way you stand there holding his honesty like it’s something you’re willing to carry for a moment without dropping it.
And something inside him clicks. Like a door deciding it’s been open long enough to let something new inside. Bucky takes a slow breath, then another and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter than before.
“The guy,” he says, nodding faintly toward you like the answer has been standing in front of him all night, “that gets to do this with you every night for the rest of my life.”
Silence falls again, but this one is different. It isn’t heavy or tense. It feels like something settling into place that neither of you fully understands yet, but neither of you wants to move away from.
Bucky doesn’t smile, not yet. He just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting to see if he’s gone too far. If he’s said too much, if the version of him he’s choosing now is one you can stand to look at. And for the first time since he met you in that candy shop, James Buchanan Barnes isn’t trying to win anything.
He’s just waiting.
For you.
"I think I'd like that."
Two months don’t feel like two months to Bucky Barnes.
They feel like a rhythm he accidentally fell into and never bothered climbing out of. Mornings start with the same thought: What time can I see her? Evenings end with the same realization: Not long enough. And everything in between just becomes space he has to get through.
He shows up at your apartment more often than he means to. Not in a dramatic way, just like he happened to be nearby. Which is a lie, he crosses half of Brooklyn for it.
“Bucky,” you’d say sometimes, opening the door already smiling, “you live nowhere near here.”
He’d shrug like it doesn’t matter. “Was in the neighborhood.”
“You were in the neighborhood three days in a row?”
“Brooklyn’s a big place, doll.”
You’d just laugh and let him in.
And that’s the problem. You always let him in.
Diners become routine. Milkshakes split between two straws that you pretend not to notice he always lets you have the first sip of. Walks that start with him offering his arm and end with your hand still resting there long after it’s necessary. Movie nights where you lean slightly closer each time you get nervous during a scene, and Bucky pretends he doesn’t notice how carefully you do it. Flowers every week. Sometimes wild. Sometimes bought if he could pinch it. Sometimes just picked from somewhere he absolutely shouldn’t have been picking flowers.
You always put them in a jar immediately. Always smile like they matter. And Bucky changes without noticing, he stops looking at other women entirely, not because he’s forcing himself not to.
Because he just… doesn’t see them the same way anymore. Not when you exist in his world now, softening all the edges.
Steve notices first, then the Commandos, then basically anyone who’s ever known him longer than five minutes.
“You’re smiling more,” Steve says once, watching him across a table.
“I always smile.”
“No,” Steve says, “you don’t.”
Bucky just shrugs. Because what’s he supposed to say? That he likes the way you say his name like it’s something you trust? That he’s started thinking about ridiculous things like whether you’d like a porch someday, or a kitchen with too much sunlight, or a life where he doesn’t leave as often as he does?
He doesn’t say any of it, but it’s there anyway.
Tonight, he’s early.
Which is stupid, because he’s always early now. He’s at the bar having a drink and smoke with the Commandos, but he’s not really with them.
He’s angled toward the door, elbow on the counter, sleeves already adjusted three times, hair smoothed back once, then twice, then abandoned entirely because it keeps falling anyway as Steve watches him with growing disbelief.
“You’re worse than a kid waiting for Christmas,” Steve mutters.
Bucky doesn’t look away from the door. “Shut up.”
“You’ve checked that door eight times in five minutes.”
“It might’ve changed since the last time I looked.”
“Bucky.”
“I’m busy.”
The door opens and he straightens instantly. Not you. His shoulders drop a fraction as he sits back down.
The teasing starts almost immediately.
“Two months huh?” one of them says, grinning. “This one’s got it bad.”
“Must be real good if Barnes is still around.”
“You finally settle down?”
Bucky rolls his eyes, but there’s a stupid softness to his mouth that gives him away immediately.
“Knock it off.”
The laughter builds.
“What’s the catch, Barnes?”
“C’mon, what are you gettin’ out of this?”
“Ain’t no way you’re behaving this long without somethin’ in return.”
Bucky exhales, finally turning fully toward them and for once, he doesn’t joke. Not even a little.
“Nothing’s happened between us yet.”
The table goes quiet. A beat. Then howling ensures.
“You’re kiddin’.”
“Celibate Bucky Barnes?”
“I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
Someone nearly chokes on their drink.
Bucky shrugs slightly, like it’s not a big deal, but his voice goes quieter when he adds on.
“I like her.”
That shuts them up for half a second longer.
“I don’t wanna mess it up,” he says, “by goin’ in headfirst.”
And just like that, the teasing explodes again.
“Look at him.”
“He’s gone.”
“Man’s fighting for his life.”
“You hear this? Barnes is soft.”
Bucky laughs under his breath despite himself, shaking his head.
“Yeah, yeah—laugh it up.”
And that’s when it happens, the door opens again, Bucky doesn’t look right away still half-laughing, still mid-protest, then he hears the sound of the room shifting slightly.
Someone going quiet and he turns. You’re standing just inside holding your bag, still in your coat and completely still. Not smiling, not walking toward him. Just listening. For a second, Bucky doesn’t understand then he sees it. Your expression. Something flickering there, uncertainty, confusion, something tightening at the edges of your face like you’ve just heard something you weren’t meant to.
His smile fades immediately.
“Hey,” he starts, already pushing his chair back.
But you don’t come closer. You take one step back instead, then another, quiet and careful.
“Doll—” Bucky stands fully now.
But you’re already turning to leave, the door swings open, and you’re gone. He’s out of the bar so fast it barely feels like a decision. Brooklyn air hits him like a slap, cold, sharp, and real and for a second he just stands there, scanning the sidewalk like the world might give you back if he looks hard enough.
“Doll?” he calls.
Nothing.
“Hi.”
He turns.
You’re a few steps down the sidewalk, hugging your coat tightly around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together with it. Streetlight catches your face in soft gold, but it doesn’t soften the expression there.
Not really.
Bucky’s chest tightens immediately.
He crosses the space between you in a few quick steps. “Hey—no, hey, listen to me,” he says, already shaking his head like he can undo whatever just happened inside by sheer force of will. “Don’t listen to those idiots in there. They don’t know when to shut up.”
Your gaze flickers up to him, then away again just as fast.
“It’s alright,” you say softly. “Really.”
But it isn’t alright, not in the way he knows you mean.
Because your arms are wrapped around yourself too tightly. Because your smile is there, but it doesn’t reach anything. Because you look like you’re already somewhere farther away than the sidewalk you’re standing on.
And Bucky notices everything, too much, sometimes.
“Hey,” he says again, quieter now. “You ready to go?”
A pause.
“…Yeah.”
That’s it.
No teasing, no warmth, no easy rhythm. Just agreement, and it scares him more than anything else tonight.
It's all wrong.
That’s the only way Bucky can think to describe it. Brooklyn is still alive around you, windows glowing, distant laughter, the low hum of traffic, but between you and him there’s a silence that feels heavy instead of soft. He walks slower than usual without realizing it. You don’t take his arm, but your hand finds his anyway just barely. Just fingers brushing, then settling.
Bucky holds it like it’s something fragile.
He keeps glancing at you, waiting for you to look back, you don’t. You’re staring down at your joined hands instead, like you’re trying to figure something out in them. And your thoughts, if he could hear them, would be too loud.
Maybe your sister was right.
Maybe this was always going somewhere you don’t belong.
Maybe he’s just being patient because eventually he’ll expect more.
And maybe you’re already disappointing him.
Bucky doesn’t say anything. Because something about your silence tells him words might break whatever thread is holding you upright right now. So he just walks you home, step by step, closer than usual and quieter than ever.
By the time your building comes into view, something in you has tightened so much it feels like it might snap.
You stop walking, Bucky stops immediately with you.
“Buck…” your voice is barely above the street noise.
“Yeah?” He turns toward you fully.
You swallow hard. “Maybe… we shouldn’t do this anymore.”
Everything stops. Bucky freezes completely, like the words physically catch him mid-step.
“What?” he says, but it’s not sharp, more confused than anything.
You look down, finally letting go of his hand so slowly, like it costs you something.
“I don’t think I’m good for you,” you say.
That lands harder than anything else tonight. Bucky stares at you like he’s trying to understand a language he thought he already knew.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “where is this comin’ from?”
You shake your head slightly, still not meeting his eyes.
“You deserve someone who can make you happy,” you say. “Someone better.”
Bucky lets out a short breath like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“That’s not—no,” he says immediately, stepping half a step closer before stopping himself. “No, that’s not how this works.”
You finally look up at him and whatever he sees there makes his voice soften instantly. Because you look scared. Not of him but of yourself.
“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, like it should be obvious.
You blink, once, then again. And then it spills out of you before you can stop it.
“I can’t make you happy, Buck,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “I can’t give you what you want, I can’t—I can’t… make you feel good.”
Silence hits again, but this time, Bucky understands exactly where it came from. His expression changes all at once, his frustration disappears, his confusion sharpens into something quieter. Something knowing as the pieces fall into place.
The Commandos. The bar. The teasing.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Babydoll…”
The way he says it now is different.
“I want you,” he says gently. “I’m happy with you just like this. None of that matters to me anymore, okay?”
Your breath shakes slightly but you don’t look convinced. Instead, something inside you finally breaks open.
“Well it matters to me!” you burst out, voice suddenly raw. “I want to, I just—I don’t know how. And I'm scared you're going to leave just because I’ve never—”
You stop but it's too late. Bucky goes completely still and everything clicks into place so fast it almost hurts. Why you flinch sometimes when he gets too close. Why you always hesitate before a kiss even when you want them. Why you look like you’re bracing for something you think you’re supposed to be able to give.
Why you’re standing here right now looking ashamed of something you never should’ve had to explain.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “You’re okay.”
Your eyes are glossy now, but you’re still trying to hold it together. Bucky doesn’t move closer doesn’t rush you. Just stays right where he is so you don’t feel cornered.
“Your parents home?” he asks softly.
You blink, thrown slightly by the question.
“What? Oh… no. They went to my sister’s ballet recital. They won’t be back until later.”
Bucky nods once then gives you a small, warm smile and gently threads his fingers through yours.
“C’mon,” he says quietly, squeezing your hand just once, just enough to ground you. “Let’s go talk inside.”
Inside your apartment, everything feels quieter in a different way.
Not the heavy silence from outside but something softer, contained with warmth between you. You close the door behind Bucky like you’re sealing the world out, then immediately seem to remember yourself again, nervous energy flickering back in.
“Okay,” you say quickly, brushing a hand over your sleeve. “Um—this is the living room. Obviously. And that’s the kitchen, and—”
Bucky just watches you, following your voice like it’s something grounding. You move a little faster now, pointing things out like you need the space filled with words so you don’t have to think too hard about anything else.
“This is my mother’s glass cabinet, don’t touch that one, she’ll know, and—oh.”
You stop because Bucky is already in the kitchen holding two small glasses, and the apple brandy bottle.
He glances over his shoulder innocently. “What?”
You blink. “Bucky.”
He raises a brow. “What?”
“That’s my mother’s.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” he says simply, already pouring.
You let out a sound of disbelief. “You are unbelievable.”
He slides one glass toward you. “Relax, doll. I’ll replace it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is tonight.”
You stare at him for a second longer, then sigh, like you’ve decided arguing with him is pointless.
“Fine,” you say. “But you’re explaining this to her if she notices.”
“Deal.”
You hesitate, then take the glass anyway. That alone makes something in his chest ease.
You lead him toward your bedroom after that, slower now, more uncertain at the edges. Not running anymore, just settling. The room is small. Warm and lived in. A book on your bedside table, a folded sweater on the chair, soft lamplight that makes everything feel like it belongs only to you.
Bucky doesn’t sit right away. He just leans against the dresser, watching as you set your glass down carefully like you’re still trying to figure out what this moment is supposed to be.
You take a sip, then another. Waiting until your chest grows warm.
“I'm sorry about earlier,” you say quietly.
Bucky’s expression softens immediately. “What?”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the glass.
“I’ve… never done any of this before.” You glance up at him, cheeks warm now. “I mean—anything like this. Dating. Being… like this with someone.”
Silence stretches gently. Then, more spills out, almost like you need to get it out before you lose courage.
“And you were my first kiss.”
Bucky goes still in a way that isn’t shock, it’s something gentler and more careful. You rush on quickly, as if afraid of what the truth might do in the open air.
“I just thought you should know. In case I’m—awkward. Or—”
“Hey,” he cuts in softly as he pushes off the dresser and steps closer, slow enough that you can stop him if you want to.
You don’t.
“Look at me,” he says gently.
You do and his expression is steady now. No teasing anywhere in it.
"You don't ever have to apologize to me. For anything."
“I like you a lot, Bucky,” you say suddenly, like it’s been sitting in you too long to hold back anymore.
Something in his face shifts immediately, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I like you too, babydoll,” he says quietly.
Your breath catches.
You swallow. “I can’t promise it’ll be any good but—”
Bucky doesn’t let you finish, he leans in and kisses you. It's not rushed or demanding, just soft and gentle. Like he’s waiting for you the entire time, making sure you’re still there with him, still okay, still choosing this. When he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, your eyes are wide.
“Don’t…” he whispers, “don’t say that.”
You pause, slightly stunned by the kiss. “Okay.”
A beat, then, softer:
“Can I kiss you again?”
You hesitate only a second then nod.
This time, when he kisses you, it’s a little less uncertain, still gentle and patient. But warmer now, like something between you is finally starting to trust the moment instead of question it. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push for anything more he just stays close enough that you can decide how much you want.
And eventually, you do loosen up slowly. Like your shoulders finally remember they don’t have to stay tight. You laugh a little under your breath at something he mumbles against your lips, and he smiles against you in response. When you pull back again slightly, breath uneven, he rests his forehead briefly against yours.
“That okay?” he asks softly.
You nod again, then your voice goes quieter.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I do,” he says gently.
You huff a soft laugh. “That’s not really comforting.”
“It should be,” he replies, a hint of warmth returning. “I’m real good at not rushin’ things.”
And he is, he stays exactly where you need him to, no pressure behind his precense. Eventually, you end up sitting on the edge of your bed together, close enough that your shoulders brush. Your glass is forgotten somewhere on the nightstand and Bucky’s hand finds yours again without thinking.
"I want to try…" you can't make the words out with a deep red blush crossing your face. "And I trust you."
"Good." Bucky hums, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "We'll go slow."
When you shift slightly closer, he lets you guide the space between you, like learning something new together instead of taking anything from you. When your nose brushes his, you tug lightly at your sleeve, suddenly self-conscious.
“I feel like I should be… more dressed for this,” you admit quietly. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be wearing.”
Bucky looks at you like the question itself doesn’t make sense then he shakes his head slightly.
“Doll,” he says softly, “you could be wearing a potato sack and it wouldn’t matter.”
You blink at him as he leans in just a little, brushing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
“Just you,” he says quietly. “That’s all I need.”
You nod as he kisses you again. The kiss started slow, almost hesitant, but the moment Bucky’s hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head just so, it deepened into something more. You'd heard of desire in life, how it can warp the thoughts and actions of even the most resilient. But this, this burning ebb and flow deep within you was something else entirely. It had to be. It was as if a switch flipped inside you, your body felt magnetized to his, pushing closer and closer until there wasn't an inch of space between you.
His lips were warm, insistent, and when he pulled back just enough to murmur against your mouth. "Can I touch you?"
You could only nod as his fingers traced a slow path down your thigh, the fabric of your dress bunching under his palm as he slid higher, his thumb brushing bare skin. You shivered, arching into him, your hands clutching at his shirt yearning for more.
Bucky smirked, catching your wrist. "Go ahead," he murmurs, guiding your hand down his chest.
Your thumb slipped beneath his shirt, your breath hitching at the hard planes of muscle beneath your fingertips. He was lean but solid, every ridge of his abdomen making your pulse jump.
His lips were still on yours when his fingers returned, teasing the damp fabric of your panties again. “Already this wet for me?” he mutters, voice rough against your mouth. “God, I can feel how hot you are through these.”
You whimper, arching into his touch. “Please, just—”
“Just what, sweetheart?” His thumb presses harder, circling your clit through the silk. “Tell me what you want.”
You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. “Touch me properly—God, Bucky—”
“That’s it,” he growls, hooking his fingers under the waistband, dragging them aside. The first slow stroke of his fingers through your slickness drew a choked moan from your throat.
“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He drags his fingers up, pressing them to your lips. “Taste.”
You sucked them into your mouth, eyes locked on his as you licked them clean, and the groan that ripped from his chest was filthy.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, sliding two fingers back inside you, curling them just right. “Love how tight you are, how you squeeze me.” His thumb circles you clit faster. “Gonna cum already? That quick?”
You couldn’t answer, nails biting into his shoulder as pleasure coiled tighter, sharper.
“That’s it,” he urges, voice dark with praise. “Cum on my fingers, let me feel it babydoll.”
Your hips jerk as you shatter, his name a broken moan on your lips. He didn’t stop, fingers still working you through it until you were gasping, oversensitive and trembling.
He didn’t let you catch your breath just yet, licking his fingers clean before hauling you to the edge of the bed. One leg hooked over his shoulder, his mouth hot and relentless between your thighs, tongue lapping at your oversensitive clit.
“One more,” he murmurs, lips brushing your thigh. “Bet you can take it.”
Bucky wraps an arm around you, splaying his wide hand across your stomach, sinking his tongue into the slit of your cunt, curling it before going back to flick your clit. He groans against you, muffled by your skin as his free hand comes up, the pads of his fingers pressing into you.
"So fucking good babydoll," he groans as he feels you rock against his lips and fingers. "Bein' such a good girl for me."
The pressure coils tight inside you, your chest rapidly rising as your words are reduced into nothing but messy mumbles of 'Bucky' and 'Please'. He doubles down on his efforts, closing his lips around your clit as he arches and scissors his fingers inside you, his eyes locked up on you as he watches you crest over your high. Back arching off the bed as your thighs clench on the sides of his head, trapping him right where he wants to be. He brings you down with a gentle kiss to your pulsing clit, easing his fingers out and licking them clean.
"That was so much better... than I ever thought," you pant, still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Bucky hums against your inner thigh, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue flicks lightly over your oversensitive clit, just enough to make your hips jerk.
"Mm, you thought about this?" His voice is low, rough with amusement. "My sweet girl thinking dirty thoughts? Thinking about what it’s like to be touched, licked, 'nd fucked?"
You whimper as he teases you again, the words alone sending another shudder through you. His fingers stroke slow circles on your thighs, gentle but possessive.
"Tell me," he murmurs. "Tell me what else you imagined."
You barely have time to answer before his mouth is on you again, licking and sucking just right, his fingers curling inside you with practiced ease. The pleasure builds too fast, too much at once and you're cumming all over again, rolling through you in deep, relentless waves.
When it finally eases, you’re boneless, breathless, but still aching for more. A deep and burning need simmering just under the surface of your skin. "Bucky," you plead, voice raw. "Please."
He kisses his way up your body, slow and deliberate, before finally pulling back just enough to strip off the rest of his clothes. The sight of him, all hard muscle and dark hunger makes your pulse jump.
"Condom?" he murmured, fingers tracing the soft curve of your stomach.
You still, then hum to yourself. "Oh. I don’t have any."
"Shit," he breathes, biting his lip. "Do you think your sister has any hidden, or maybe your—"
"We don’t…" Your voice drops, gentle now. "I mean, if you’re okay with it… we don’t have to."
He goes utterly still above you, his pulse hammering under your fingertips. "You sure, doll? Docs say I'm clean as a whistle," he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek.
"But I don’t wanna rush you into anything."
Your thighs press together instinctively, already aching again, needing more. "I’m sure, Buck. I trust you." You hesitate, then whisper, "And you can… pull out. If you want to."
A slow grin spreads across his face at your shyness, even as the hunger in his eyes burns hotter. "Okay, babydoll."
He kisses you again, deep and slow, one hand cradling your jaw like you’re something precious while the other guides himself between your legs. There’s no rush, just the thick press of him stretching you open inch by inch, his lips never leaving yours until he’s fully sheathed inside.
"Good?" he rasps against your mouth.
You can only nod, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts moving in long, unhurried thrusts that make your back arch off the bed. He licks into your mouth as his hips roll into yours, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles on your clit until you’re gasping, teetering on the edge. Every stroke hitting something deep within you that you didn't even know existed. A quick addiction began inside of you, something you wanted to never end.
Obscene sounds filled the room, the air thick with something sweet and warm and needy. Your hands never left his back, digging half crescents into his skin as you pleaded for more.
Then he stops.
You whimper in protest, but he’s already shifting, pulling out just enough to drag you onto your side. One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as he leans back, changing the angle completely. The first thrust punches a moan from your throat, it's all so much deeper now, his grip tightening on your thigh as he fucks into you with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips.
"Fuck," he grits out. "You take me so damn good."
Your hips rise to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, and the way your body clenches around him nearly makes Bucky lose it. His rhythm falters, a groan ripping from his throat.
"Fuck—you get so tight when I fuck you like this." He leans back just enough to let his gaze drop between you, his cock glistening with your slick as he drives into you again. "Go on, baby, look at it. You see that? Not a virgin anymore. Now you're all mine—you and this sweet pussy."
You're drowning in pleasure, barely coherent, but one word claws its way out of your throat.
"Harder."
Bucky obliges immediately, his thrusts snapping into you, the slap of skin echoing in the room. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Mm, wonder how I should give you your first load," he growls, voice thick with lust. "Should I pull out and paint that soft tummy? Or maybe these tits?"
He palms your breast roughly, thumb flicking over your nipple. "Maybe I should put you on your knees and cum all over your pretty face—"
"No!" You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper with a frantic whimper. "Please—"
He chuckles darkly, sinking into you fully with a satisfied groan. "What, you want it inside?"
His next thrust is punishing, forcing a broken moan from your lips. "Sweet little pussy’s never been fucked before, and now she wants to be filled too?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, tilting your hips just right. "Greedy little thing."
You can only nod helplessly, your body wound tight around him, clenching and begging as Bucky fucks you toward over edge all over again. Even after he spills inside you, Bucky can't stop, won't stop, his hips grinding slow and filthy, milking every last drop deep into your fluttering cunt. His hands slide under your knees, folding you nearly in half, pressing your thighs toward her chest until you're spread obscenely open.
"Fuck, still so tight," he growls, watching where you're joined—his cock still buried to the hilt, your pussy dripping around him. "Touch yourself. Wanna feel you come again while I'm still inside you."
Your fingers shake as you rub frantic circles over your clit, oversensitive and whimpering, but you don't stop, can't stop. Bucky groans at the way your walls ripple around him, his thrusts turning shallow and possessive, forcing his cum to seep even deeper.
"That's it," he rasps, biting the side of your leg. "Make a mess for me."
You practially sob as you cum again, tears rolling down the sides of your face, cream mixing with his spend, leaking down to your ass as your body is overcome with wave after wave of pleasure. Bucky curses when he feels it, hot pulses of you squeezing him and suddenly he's hard again, slamming into you with a snarl as another orgasm rips through him.
Your legs tremble in his grip. Neither of you can move anymore, just wrecked and sticky and full, but Bucky still rocks into you lazily, refusing to pull out just yet.
"Fuckin' perfect," he mutters against your lips as he gently sets your legs down, your mixed spend leaking from your thighs.
The room soon goes quiet in a soft, yet heavy way. You feel your chest loosen with something new, something warm and gooey.
The lamp is still on. It turns everything gentle around the edges—the rumpled sheets, the scattered clothes on the floor, the faint sheen of warmth still clinging to both of you like the night hasn’t fully let go yet.
Bucky moves first, carefully untangling himself from the sticky warmth of your bodies pressed together. He leans over the side of the bed, rummaging blindly until he finds his pants on the floor, tugging them closer with a quiet huff.
“You stay right there,” he murmurs without looking back at you.
You’re already curled slightly into the sheets, watching him with tired eyes that still look soft around the edges, calm in a way that feels new.
He finds his shirt and brings it over to you, then pauses, thinking.
“Water,” he says to himself like it’s a mission.
He disappears into the small kitchen. You hear cabinets open, the faint clink of a glass, water running. When he comes back, he’s got a glass in one hand and something folded in the other.
He sets the water beside you first.
“Here,” he says gently.
You take it without protest, sipping carefully. Then he unfolds the cloth—damp, warm from the sink.
You blink at him. “What’s that?”
“For you,” he says simply.
And then, softer, “Just… stay still a second.”
He cleans your skin with careful hands, unhurried, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be this gentle after everything. Like there’s no rush anywhere. Like the whole night has slowed down just for this.
You watch him instead of the ceiling now, he notices.
“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m doin’ something impressive.”
You smile faintly. “You are.”
That makes him pause for half a second, just long enough to look at you properly again. Then he shakes it off, like he doesn’t trust himself to sit in that feeling too long.
“Stay,” he says again, softer, and gets up.
This time he’s gone longer. When he comes back, there’s a cigarette tucked between his fingers and a lighter in his pocket. He pauses at the edge of the bed like he suddenly remembers something.
“…Can I smoke in here?” he asks, already sounding like he knows the answer.
You tilt your head slightly, thinking. “Probably not.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “That a no?”
“A probably no.”
He nods like he respects that, then immediately does it anyway but not in a careless way. He walks to the window, opens it wide, letting in the cool night air. The city noise spills in—distant traffic, laughter somewhere far below.
He leans out slightly, lights the cigarette, and inhales once before exhaling into the open air. You watch him from the bed, curious despite yourself.
“That smells… strong,” you say.
Bucky glances over his shoulder. “Yeah. That’s the point.”
A pause, then you sit up a little. “Can I try?”
That makes him turn fully now.
“Doll,” he says slowly, like he’s deciding whether to be responsible or curious.
You just look at him expectantly.
He exhales through his nose. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He crosses back to the bed, hands it over carefully. You take it like it’s something delicate as he watches you.
“Just… small inhale,” he instructs gently. “Not like you’re drinkin’ air.”
You try and immediately cough. Bucky laughs softly, not teasing, just amused and leans in quickly, patting your back once.
“Easy,” he says. “Easy, sweetheart.”
You glare at him between coughs. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily. “It is.”
But you still try again, more carefully this time, and he guides you with quiet patience until you manage it without immediately dissolving into another fit of coughing.
“There you go,” he murmurs, almost proud.
You hand it back to him, shaking your head slightly. He takes another drag, then leans back against the windowsill while you curl into the sheets again, watching him instead of the ceiling now.
After a moment, you let out a small laugh to yourself.
Bucky notices immediately. “What?”
You shake your head, still smiling. “Nothing.”
“That’s never true.”
You glance up at him, amused. “I was just thinking… I’ve had brandy, cigarettes, and lost my virginity all in one night.”
Bucky freezes for half a second, then exhales a laugh, low and disbelieving.
“…Yeah?” he says. “Well. How d'ya feel?”
You nod, still smiling like you can’t quite believe it yourself. “I think I’ve been corrupted by Bucky Barnes.”
That gets him fully now, he turns toward you properly, cigarette forgotten for a moment in his hand.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, a little softer now. “What’s the verdict?”
You look at him for a long beat, not a hint of shyness glinted in your eyes.
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Bucky’s expression softens in a way that has nothing to do with charm and everything to do with something deeper settling into place.
He puts the cigarette out and tosses it out the window, crawling across the bed to you, and leans down just enough to catch your face in his hand.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips.
You smile against him. “You were trouble first. I was sweet as can be."
the thing about being "good with kids" is all it takes is literally just not trying to control and mould them with every interaction. it's just being a normal person and engaging with them through normal interactions like having conversations and playing games. it's just being genuine and friendly and not perceiving them as lumps of wet clay you are there to shape. "oh you're so good with kids" thanks it's because I think they are people
Pairing | Tow truck driver!Bucky x rich girl!reader
Summary | When you step into Barnes' Towing & Auto Repair, you think all you're leaving with is a newly repaired car, simple as that. But Bucky has other plans. After one glimpse of those pink heels and your overly bright personality—too polite to be genuine—he knows you're nothing but trouble. A few choice words slip from his lips before he can stop himself, and guilt hits as soon as you're gone. Now…he can't get you out of his head, and the universe is dead set on throwing the two of you together again and again.
Warnings/tags | MDNI (18+), nsfw, dual pov, slow burn, forced proximity??? age gap romance?? (I imagined reader in her mid to late 20's and Bucky is late 30's) modern au, poor guy x rich girl, grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers if you squint, Sam Wilson makes an appearance, reader loves pink (like a concerning amount), reader is described as smaller than Bucky and can easily carry her, reader is a bit ditzy (she's just like me fr), Bucky's an asshole for like .2 seconds (pinky promise he redeems himself), reader is the daughter of a CEO, reader's father is an actual asshole (he doesn't redeem himself...it's the daddy issues in me), John Walker makes an appearance as a NASCAR driver and is a slightly cocky asshole (y'know what, maybe everyone's an asshole in this...my hate for men came through on this one, I fear), use of alcohol, hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, fluff, car accident, minor injuries, Bucky is a sexy motherfucker with a soaked tank top, Bucky's a groveler, Alpine makes an appearance, Bucky has a happy trail, reader catches print, mentions of how Bucky lost his arm, grief, mentions of death, mentions of drunk driving, smut, kissing, dirty talk, slightly pervy Bucky, Bucky cums in his pants, masturbation (f+m), oral (f receiving), breast attention, fingering, pussy pronouns, p in v, unprotected sex, biting, marking, praise kink, save a horse; ride a Bucky, multiple orgasms, pet names (princess, baby, sweet girl, pretty boy)
Word Count | 19.5k (can you believe I popped out this big ass baby?)
A/N | hi barbie, please don't be perturbed by the length of this (don't you like it bigger? :smugass:) this is officially the longest fic i've written, and i like it??? i think i really just love these characters, that's why it was so difficult for me to stop writing. i know next to nothing about cars/tow truck driving/mechanics/racing/the air force, so i'm truly sorry if anything is wrong:((
This is my portion of the Barbie Dreamhouse collab brought to you by @stantastic-association!! A heartfelt thanks to @miraclediviner for putting this together and doing such a wonderful job organizing it. And also being such a big support to everyone <3 dt: to my babies @phoenix-in-writing @sheriff-bodecker @metal-armed-muse @buckytakethewheel i love you all so much:))
cloud divider credit: @/uzmacchiato
Sam Wilson tapped the end of his pen against the counter in a steady rhythm, deep in thought, the metallic click filling the silence. Leaning over, he pressed his elbows to the cool surface and released a long, dramatic sigh. The ceaseless ting of metal hitting acrylic was beginning to irritate Bucky, but to be fair, everything about his friend seemed to irk him most days. His jaw ticked before the pen even made a sound, as if he were bracing for it now.
A barely there, unhelpful voice echoed in the back of his mind, suggesting that he reach over the table and snap the pen clean in half. Oh, it would be so satisfying. The hurt look on Sam's face, combined with the following silence after, was getting too tempting by the second. However, he thought better of making a scene, opting instead for taking a steady inhale through his nose and blowing it out through his mouth.
It really wouldn't matter if he did cause a scene. It was one of the slower days at the shop. The kind where only a couple of customers drifted in with quick replies and hurried footsteps, so they could continue on with their day. But most of today was like this—an empty room with a pressing stillness and lingering pauses. Ones that Bucky wasn't keen on filling.
"I don't know, man," Sam finally broke the silence. "The common denominator between all these relationships ending is you. Maybe you need to adjust your attitude."
"I don't need to adjust nothin'," Bucky muttered stubbornly.
Sam raised a brow. "Right. It's them. Every single one. Not the guy who's always in a mood and has a staring problem."
"'m just particular. There ain't nothin' wrong with that."
"Some might say too particular," Sam murmured under his breath. "Look, I just don't want to see your sad little face walk in here, moping around like someone punted your cat."
"Don't bring Alpine into this," Bucky's scowl deepened, his jaw twitching again. "Besides, Alpine and I are fine. Don't have time for anythin' serious anyway."
"Did you ever send a message to…what was her name?" Sam trailed off, tapping the pen against his forehead, as if that would jog his memory. "Oh, Violet."
"No. 'm not textin' your barista, just because she gives you an extra shot of espresso and happens to have a nice smile."
The man behind the counter huffed air out of his nose. "Fine, just know I'm done playing matchmaker for your sorry ass."
Bucky rolled his eyes. Never asked for your help in the first place, he thought. Then, that same instigating voice nudged him, and he gave in this time. "How's Sarah?"
Sam's posture straightened rapidly, pointing the pen at him like it was a weapon instead of a writing tool. "Don't you fucking dare, Barnes."
"What? I was just askin'," Bucky shrugged, a smirk gracing his lips.
"My sister is off limits. You know that."
"Okay, okay." Bucky held up his hands in surrender, dropping the subject completely. Still, it gave him that brief, cathartic release he had been searching for earlier, even if it was fleeting.
Glancing around, his eyes drifted out of the wide windows. The sun was a bright statement in the clear blue sky, only partially blocked by the towering 'Barnes' Towing & Auto Repair' sign outside—bold enough that it could be read by anyone speeding down the highway. The reflection of the window pane left a white cast on the tiled floor. A small black rectangle carved in the bleached reflection forced his gaze up to the flimsy paper posted by the door, its edges slightly creased. The ink fading betrayed just how long it had been hanging there.
Now hiring.
Sometimes, Bucky wondered if this place was less a job and more a coasting point for people to move through to something better. No matter who he and Sam hired, they would leave within a couple of months—the universe was never gracious enough to gift them someone for more than that. Then the cycle would start again, and he'd have to reprint the sign.
So, there it stayed—a permanent decoration on the glass until they could find someone permanent.
The rays of the sun were interrupted by a dark Rolls-Royce pulling into the lot, snagging Bucky's attention immediately. His eyes flicked over the body of the car—spotless, glistening even. Tinted windows. Freshly polished rims. Even the emblem of the tiny woman with wings appeared untouched.
He scoffed at the ridiculous sight. Obviously, this car wasn't a potential customer. This was someone who took a wrong turn along the way and needed a place to swing around, so they could head back to whatever mansion they stumbled out of.
But the car idled. Right in front of the shop. Unmoving.
The driver's door opened, revealing an older man in a pressed suit. The fabric was all clean, sharp lines—tailored perfectly for him. He even wore one of those chauffeur caps, the kind Bucky only saw in movies that Sam would force him to watch on his rare days off.
The whole get-up screamed wealth and status, as though money itself dripped off of him—none of which belonged anywhere near the likes of Bucky's shop. Yet, there he stood.
The man moved around the front of the car, adjusting his gloves and smoothing out wrinkles that weren't visible. After assessing his surroundings, he wrapped his fingers around the chrome door handle, keeping his chin high as he pulled it open.
A single pearlescent pink heel appeared first, the pointed toe hovering for a beat before carefully finding purchase on the oil‑stained pavement below. You were smart enough to avoid the puddles that could potentially ruin your expensive shoes.
You stepped out, rising to your full height. Sunlight glinted off your dark sunglasses, adding a shiny sheen to your hair. You straightened your designer coat and fixed the creases in your pale pink dress before giving your driver a practiced, polite smile.
Then, you sauntered forward, hips swaying as you adjusted the strap of your small handbag over your shoulder. Bucky could hear the loud click of your heels before you ever entered the shop.
"This oughta be good," Sam whispered behind his dark-haired friend.
As you entered, the bell above the door chimed, announcing your arrival. Bucky was hit with a gust of warm vanilla layered with grapefruit, which he could practically taste on his tongue.
You pushed your sunglasses up with two manicured fingers, resting them on your hair. Bright eyes darted around the room as you inspected it with your clear vision. You took it all in before you spoke. Walls filled with old metal signs. Counters lined with tools and little bobbles.
You breathed in the air that smelled faintly of strong coffee and even stronger motor oil, but you didn't wrinkle your nose. You looked…prepared, trained not to visibly react.
Finally, your gaze drifted to the two men who were frozen in place, as if just noticing their existence.
"Hi, I'm here to pick up my car," your voice came, velvet confidence. You introduced yourself, muttering your last name so quickly, he would've missed it if he wasn't listening. He swore he had heard that name, but immediately brushed it off like it was inconsequential.
"My father brought it in for a routine check-up, and he received a call that it was ready," you clarified.
For a moment, no one moved. Bucky didn't even blink. And even though you explained why you were here, he still thought you took a wrong turn on the way to the mall.
Eventually, Sam snapped out of it, fingers finding the computer's keyboard. "Right. The Porsche?"
Of course. He should have known that your car was the most expensive thing to ever roll through here. And if the price of the car didn't give it a way, surely the color did. Pink. The first time he saw it, he wanted it out of the garage, almost called to have it sent to another mechanic because he couldn't stand to look at the damn thing.
"That's correct," you said sweetly, causing something in Bucky's gut to sour.
It must've shown on his face because you gave him a small, courteous wave. The kind of gesture people made when they were raised to address everyone in the room, even the ones they actually didn't want to make conversation with.
Your gaze flicked briefly to his metal arm. He no longer bothered to hide it like some kind of secret. In those first few years, still adjusting to the foreign weight, he’d kept it concealed under layers of clothing—even in the heat of summer. Most days, it was less a badge from his time in the Air Force and more an inconvenience at best.
But as the years rolled by, he cared less and less about what people thought. Customers would stare at him with pity, similar to the look you were giving him now. You offered him a tight-lipped smile, and he hated the feeling it carried.
Instantly rolling his eyes, he turned away; he clearly wasn't interested in your fake-friendly facade. He knew that look all too well, and he knew that under the practiced posture and fancy clothing, you wanted to get the hell out of this place. And he wasn't going to stop you.
Noticing the slight edge of tension, Sam tapped away at the keys as he kept his eyes on the screen, feigning professionalism. He cleared his throat. "Ahh, here it is…Porsche 918 Spyder. Yeah, it looks like all you needed was an oil change and a tire rotation."
"Did you happen to take a look at the weird sound it was making? It sounded…" You paused, pursing your lips, "mechanical."
Bucky let out a dry, humorless laugh, "It's a car. Everything is mechanical."
"Right," you giggled, light and airy, and it sounded like it belonged somewhere less cramped. More open, like a rose garden, to complement the warmth of it.
Was he really comparing your laugh to fucking flowers? Maybe that perfume of yours had gone to his head and messed up his brain chemistry.
"I mean, it sounded unusual," you added after your laughter had faded.
Bucky opened his mouth to respond with something snarky, but Sam cut in immediately. "After the tire rotation, the sound went away. But if you happen to hear it again, bring it in, and we'll assess it further."
He typed out something else, then clapped his hands together as he met your eyes. "Alright, if that's all, I can bring her around."
"Thank you. I appreciate your help, Mister…?"
"Sam will do just fine," he corrected, and you offered a sharp nod in return.
Then, he disappeared into the back, heading towards the garage, leaving you and Bucky alone.
You turned to him, your expression open and approachable, as if you didn't even notice his hostility towards you. "So, you work on cars, then?"
"No, I just stand 'ere and look pretty," he grumbled sarcastically.
"Well, you're doing a great job," you teased, obviously not perturbed by his glum behavior. "Don't let me stop you from your hard work."
The tips of his ears turned red, but he recovered quickly. "'m just glad to get that pink monstrousity outta the garage," he mumbled.
"You don't like it?"
"It's…loud."
"Well, isn't it supposed to be?"
He narrowed his gaze at you, impatience flickering over his expression. "I didn't mean the engine.
"Ohh," you said with a lilt of amusement in your tone. "The color."
"It's pink," he deadpanned.
"Good observation, Sherlock," you shot back, but it lacked the bite he was expecting. Your grin stayed plastered on your face, unflinching. "Maybe you should take up detective work when you're not…y'know…standing there looking pretty."
Bucky leaned against the counter, the cool acrylic biting his heated skin. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as his eyes flicked over your appearance. "It doesn't take a detective to know that color is hideous."
You crossed your arms, but for the most part, you were keeping your cool. "Like I'm going to take fashion advice from someone who only sees the world in greys and blacks. And is appalled by the simple sight of color."
"I like color just fine."
"Really?" you questioned, arching a brow. "Let me guess, your closet is full of the same black shirt. But when winter rolls in, you'll throw on a flannel to spice it up."
Something shifted in his expression, irritation sharpening on his features. "You think you have it all figured out, huh?"
You leaned in, not backing down from the challenge in his words. "Don't you? You seemed to have made up your mind about me as soon as I walked in the door, without knowing a single thing about me."
"Oh, I know exactly who you are," he smirked, amused. "Bet you don't know what half the buttons in that car do. You just get behind that wheel because Daddy bought it. He even spiffed it up for you. Ain't that right, princess?"
The words hit hard, and it showed on your face. Your expression changed in an instant. Before he could even blink, your smile twisted into a grimace, as if you’d just tasted something bitter.
This time, you didn't brush off his words. Instead, you took a step closer, not backing down. "Here's the thing, I don't expect you to like my car, or the color, or even me." Your voice never wavered, bold and composed. "But don't mistake my kindness for ignorance."
And with that, you made your rushed exit—the echo of your heels lingering long after you disappeared from view.
A moment later, your car zoomed past in a pink blur, merging onto the busy streets of Brooklyn. He wished the image of the hurt etched on your face would have faded, along with the smoke from your exhaust dissipating. But it stayed, lodged between his ribs like a thorn in his side.
Sam stepped into the room a minute too soon, and Bucky could already hear the criticism forming on his tongue. "What the fuck was that? What the hell did you say to her?"
"Nothin'."
"Bullshit. She hopped into that car like she was fatally wounded and needed emergency assistance."
"Don't be dramatic."
"I'm not." Sam shook his head, eyes to the ceiling as if he was praying for strength. "Do you know who her father is?"
"No."
"You don't want to. At least not personally. He's…intense," Sam sucked air through his teeth, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ever heard of Apex Motors?"
Bucky promptly nodded; he was very familiar with the brand. Apex Motors was everywhere. Their parts were the gold standard. Their engines were the kind mechanics whispered about—if you hadn't seen them, you wouldn't believe they truly existed. Their logo showed up at every car show, every charity race, every community event that was always over-advertised.
"Of course, I know Apex. Who doesn't?" Bucky scoffed.
"Yeah, well, her father owns it, dumbass," Sam barked. "He doesn't just own it. He is Apex Motors. The founder. He's the one who elects to sponsor all those races we're lucky enough to attend. The one whose logo is clearly plastered on all the major drivers' cars and even bigger on the fucking banners outside those events."
Bucky's stomach dropped. "Fuck."
"Yeah, fuck is right." Sam dragged a hand down his face. "That man has enough influence in Brooklyn—hell, New York—that he could get us shut down. And forget about getting a job after that. Our names would be on everyone's blacklist."
"I didn't know."
"That's the problem, Bucky. You just don't know when to stop, do you? Not everything needs your input," Sam griped, then his voice softened. "Just pray she doesn't tell her dad, before you apologize."
Bucky's eyebrows knitted together in protest, but Sam raised a hand to stop him. "It's not up for discussion. Act like the adult you are, and apologize to the poor girl."
Poor girl.
Bucky couldn't help but notice the irony in his words; her purse likely cost more than his monthly house payments. However, he decided that it probably wasn’t the best time to laugh at the joke he had thought of, let alone say it out loud.
He spent the rest of the day mulling over his stupid mistake, and the constant side-eye from his friend didn't help.
The ballroom was grand, but at the same time, it was too congested. The weight of everyone’s piercing stares made it hard to breathe. You felt less like yourself and more like an accessory on your dad’s arm at these pointless, flashy events.
The marble floors seemed to glitter under the tasteful chandeliers above. Everything accented with gold looked like embers from a fire in this light. The Champagne flutes were polished to perfection, sparkling on the silver platters that waiters carried with ramrod-straight spines. Banners were strewn around the room, reading 30 years of Apex Motors.
You should be used to this scene by now. Used to the less-than-heartfelt speeches, the handshakes, the forced smiles, the way you tilted your chin just right to make it look like you were interested when you were anything but.
Tonight, that cracked mask felt heavier, and it was slipping.
You weren't sure if it was the series of fake grins and unwanted conversations, but it was overwhelming.
Your father must be so proud.
You look so much like him in this lighting.
Are you thinking about following in his footsteps and running Apex someday?
One too-polite statement after the next, and the pain of it began to ebb at you. The sting burrowed beneath your thick skin like an incessant sliver that refused to go unnoticed.
Or maybe tonight was different because of the feeling of being profiled. Again. You really should be used to that, too. But it never got easier. Living in your dad's shadow meant you were constantly being measured against him.
To your face, they might say that you'll fill his shoes perfectly. But behind your back, they whispered that you'll never be him. You'll never be as smart as him. You'll never amount to his achievements.
Because a girl in a pink skirt could never command a whole room.
Truthfully, it always rolled right off your shoulders. You didn't want to be your father anyway, so those words never struck you.
But now, those words tangled with a deeper voice.
It had been a week. A full week since you visited the auto shop, yet his words were just as loud in your head as the day he said them to your face, without guilt.
Bet you don't know what half the buttons in that car do.
Princess.
The words punctured deep, but what hurt worse was his expression. The certainty in his eyes, the way he looked at you like he’d already solved you. Like you were a simple equation he’d seen a thousand times before.
The thought of your walls—the ones you had so expertly built—crumbling under his penetrating gaze was baffling. How could a stranger know you?
You told yourself he didn't. That you weren't like half the people drifting through this ballroom. You were different. You had to be. Even if it was a thinly veiled lie, you were adamant in believing it.
Click, click, click.
Three snaps of a camera sliced through your train of thought. You glanced up, focusing on the photographer and the scene he was capturing. Your father was chuckling at something one of his business friends said, booming laughter traveling across all corners of the building. It made your jaw twitch; you hadn't heard him laugh like that in years. At least not when you were around.
He spotted you, laughter dying on his tongue as quickly as it bloomed. He muttered something to the man beside him that you couldn't make out, then he excused himself.
He crossed the room like royalty—small groups parted, and guests dipped their chins in acknowledgment. When he made it to you, he paused like he didn't know what to do. He eventually settled for an awkward side hug, the kind that felt void of affection. Hollow. Forced.
When he pulled back, he scanned you as if he hadn't seen you in a while. And frankly, he hadn't. The last time he saw you was when he picked up your car for its routine check-up.
Your regular mechanic had closed up shop and moved across the state, so you asked for recommendations on a new auto shop. He said he'd handle it.
His assistant handled it.
"You came," your father trilled.
"Wouldn't miss it," you said too hastily; it sounded like a lie. It was.
His eyes narrowed, searching for the deception in your words. He always noticed the cracks in your mask before anyone else did, but he didn't comment on it. Too many investors to please and cameras to smile at to break the facade that this was a happy pair—a dad and his daughter simply catching up.
Instead of voicing the slip in your guise aloud, he adjusted the sheer pink shawl over your shoulder. It could've been viewed as a tender gesture to any onlookers, but you knew it was a silent correction to fix your mask.
"Good. I wanted you here for the big speech," he started casually. "I was hoping you could take some notes on what points you'll need to touch on when you're up there."
You opened your mouth to object, but he was waving someone over a second later. "John," he called. "Come here a minute. I'd like you to meet my daughter."
A dirty-blonde, tall man broke away from a nearby conversation. It clearly wasn't as important as your father's needs because he was eagerly striding towards the two of you. He was refined—crisp suit and a nice smile, revealing his pearly white teeth. Exactly the type of man your father wanted for you.
Great.
John gave your father a firm handshake, exchanging pleasantries, then turned to you. You offered your hand, and he took it with a gentle touch as if you were fragile and couldn't risk breaking you. Leaning down, his lips brushed your knuckles. Something in you recoiled at the contact, but you kept your composure.
"I've heard so much about you," he said by way of greeting.
The grin you gave him didn't quite reach your eyes, but he didn't notice. Guys like him didn't notice much. He was too busy gliding his thumb over the back of your hand, like he was trying to convey something unspoken. You reclaimed your hand, gingerly prying it from his grasp.
Noticing the tension in your posture, your father interjected, “This is one of the drivers competing in the NASCAR Cup Series.”
Apex Motors had been sponsoring one of the NASCAR Cup races consistently for the past ten years. You started memorizing the competitors by name around the fourth year you attended. But you were out of touch with the more recent drivers.
This year, Pocono Raceway was hosting. Your father had invited you a month in advance; you still hadn't gotten back to him about whether you'd be joining him.
John nodded, adding, “Yeah, your father hooked all the drivers up with head-to-toe Apex gear and spruced up our rides.”
You forced down the bile rising in your throat. "That’s him all right. He's always been the generous type."
But you knew it wasn't generosity that drove him. It was selfish. Strategic. Anything for the good of the company. More advertisements meant more customers, which always led to more people talking about him. If it didn't benefit him or his company, it wasn't worth his time and energy.
"Maybe you could swing by and watch him drive sometime. You know, to get a feel for the kind of things Apex invests in," your father suggested. He reached toward John, gripping his shoulder tenderly—the son he always wanted. "He's very talented on the track."
"You honor me, sir," John murmured coyly, though the confident smirk on his face betrayed exactly how highly he thought of himself.
The corner of your mouth twitched, but you kept that same easy smile on your face. You leaned towards your father, lowering your voice. "Can I speak with you in private?"
Your gaze flicked to John, who instantly took a step back with a quick nod. "Of course."
You led your father a few steps aside, far enough that no one could overhear, but not so far as to draw attention. Your tone stayed light and casual, the kind you’d practiced and perfected, ensuring nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
"We talked about this," you said softly. "I don't want anything to do with Apex. At least not right now."
Something shifted in his expression, anger carving out the edges of his features. "Then, what are you going to do with your life?"
"I don't know," you muttered brokenly.
"Well, that's not an option."
You inhaled slowly through your nose, keeping your cool. "I'm just not ready to figure it out quite yet."
"You said that after your mother died," he replied, tone clipped. "I'm going to need a different excuse this time."
He rarely brought up your mother these days, so the words landed like a punch to the gut. It wasn't like he didn't include her in your conversations because her death still stung. No. Instead, it seemed like he didn't talk about her because it was better to ignore that she existed altogether.
"No daughter of mine is going to be unemployed the rest of her life," he added, voice rising. "The world doesn't wait for you just because you ask it to. At some point, you're going to have to catch up, and I can't stand here and hold your hand forever."
You didn't recall a time when he ever held your hand.
"I've given you ample time to screw around and grieve," he continued bitterly. "But you need to grow up and reevaluate your life."
You flinched, the words hitting like venom rather than offering sympathy to a daughter who was still mourning. Your breathing stuttered, and you tried to push down the tears welling in your vision.
He sighed, his voice going soft. "We can talk about this later."
Or never would be the better option, you thought.
"Go have fun. Mingle." Then, he hauled you into another uncomfortable hug, kissing the crown of your head.
This time, when he pulled away, he didn't look at you. He didn't notice the tension in your shoulders or the way your fingers curled into your palm, your nails leaving tiny crescent-moon shapes in your flesh.
He simply turned and walked back towards the guests, only to be instantly swallowed by the crowd.
You stood there, feet firmly planted on the ground. Frozen in time, while everything around you seemed to speed up. Maybe your father was right; you couldn't just will the world to slow down.
But there was also no reason for you to stick around here.
You slipped into the crowd, brushing elbows with investors and bumping shoulders with drivers who were probably begging for a sliver of your father's time. None of which made room for you to get through. A photographer said your name as you passed, but you ignored them and kept moving toward your exit.
When you finally made it to the front, you pushed open the door. You didn't even wait for the gentleman stationed there to hold it for you.
The city was calling for you to do something reckless, and that, you couldn't ignore.
The blaring music and strobbing lights inside the bar were enough to give someone a severe migraine or a trip to the emergency room. Thankfully, the former was what Bucky was dealing with as he stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk. The noisy contents of the bar spilled out of the door as soon as he opened it, and somehow it sounded exactly the same beyond the walls. He swore it even sounded louder, if that was possible.
He patted his pockets to make sure he hadn't forgotten his wallet in his rushed exit. Once he found the familiar square outline tucked safely in his leather jacket, he reached for his keys and started toward his truck.
He made it about four long strides before he stopped dead in his tracks. Loud, off-key singing. With the combination of drunken shouting and the thumping bass echoing behind him, he hadn't noticed the noise until he was face-to-face with the image of a very hammered girl.
Streetlights flickered above the woman as she threw her head back, belting out the lyrics to a song Bucky recognized. Yet, the way she was singing, made it feel as if he were hearing it for the first time. Her voice cracked on a high note, and it caused him to wince in response.
"Only the young can saaaaay," she screeched, tripping over her own heels.
His lips twitched upward before he could stop it. She was wasted, no doubt about it, but there was something…blissful about her. Completely carefree. Untouched by the world around her. Chaos incarnate.
She twirled, the night air getting caught beneath her silk dress and lifting at the hem slightly. Her legs twisted, her arms flinging out awkwardly, like a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest prematurely.
"They're free to fly away," she bellowed, a melody only she could hear.
Then, she teetered dangerously close to the curb, her heels wobbling. Snapping out of his trance, he stretched out his arms, lunging to her aid. He caught her right before she landed face-first into the asphalt.
"Careful," he rasped, firmly holding her arms as he guided her back to safety.
Her back hit his chest, and she giggled as if it were the funniest thing in the world. Craning her neck back, her head rested on his shoulder, leaning into his warmth. Soft hair brushed over his cheek as she shifted in his hold.
Too late, it hit him. He recognized that laugh. How could he not?
He gently turned her as she used him for balance. And his worst nightmare materialized in front of him.
You.
His smile instantly dropped.
"Of course," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.
You were still struggling to focus, your eyes locked on the letters of his shirt. Blinking, your gaze flicked up as your laughter faded into the wind. You tilted your head, squinting your eyes as you attempted to steady your vision.
"Hey, I know youuuu," you squealed, like he was a long-lost friend you hadn't seen in years, though it had only been a week. "I don't think I caught your name, pretty boy."
"'s Bucky," he sighed, already annoyed. "And don't call me that."
"You're the one who said you get paid to look pretty," you slurred, raising a manicured finger to poke his nose.
You broke away from his grasp, raising your arms to the sky while you stumbled backward. "You're just in time," you cheered, your voice carrying a block down the street. The thin shawl draped over your shoulders slipped during your celebration. Bucky scooped it up as he steadied you again, his metal fingers gliding across your warm skin.
"Stay still. You're gonna break your ankles and fall flat on your ass."
"Are you thinking about my ass, Bucky?" you teased, ending your question with a wink. "Is that part of your very serious itinerary? Does it usually fall in the afternoon, somewhere between your third cup of coffee and your ritual complaint about the sun being too bright?"
"I am not— I don't—" he stammered, pink creeping up his neck and blooming across his cheeks.
"Aw, you're all flustered," you cooed, sweeping a knuckle across the flush.
There was a gentleness to your touch and a sparkle in your eyes, as if you were just discovering the beauty of this world, and nothing could dim your joy. It made his expression soften faintly, and something in his chest twisted unbidden. He hated it. He hated that it took you so little to make his entire demeanor shift.
He grabbed your wrist, carefully dragging it away from his face. "Quit."
"Sorry, mister grumpy pants," you said, scrunching your nose.
"Anywayyyy," you sing-songed. "Aren't you going to ask me what you're in time for?"
"My own demise, hopefully," he whispered.
"What?"
"Nothin'. What am I just in time for, princess?"
"The," you paused, drumming two fingers on his chest. "Concert. It'll be the performance of a lifetime."
Bucky snorted, "Yeah, I caught the tail end of Journey before I saved your a—" He was not about to make the mistake of talking about your ass again. He restarted, "Before I saved you…The performance itself needs some work. You were a bit pitchy."
Feigning offense, you lightly smacked his chest, a frown finding a way onto your lips. "Asshole. If you're done mocking me, do you have a song request?"
He gazed up at the twinkling stars above thoughtfully. "How 'bout 'go home, you're drunk?'"
"Huh? I don't know that one."
His fingers lifted to his forehead, massaging in slow circles on either side of his temples. "No, 'm tellin' ya to go home."
You blinked up at him, swaying slightly. "Ohhh," you drawled, his true meaning finally clicking through the haze in your skull. "You meant that literally. How boring. The concert just started."
"This isn't a concert," he said bluntly.
"I'll have you know, this is a sold-out show. Very exclusive." You crossed your arms with a very serious expression, lifting your chin. It was…adorable. "You're lucky I haven't kicked your ass to the curb."
He leveled his gaze at you, a smirk lifting his lips. "We're literally standing on the curb."
You glanced down, as if this was your first time noticing. "And? Haven't you heard? Curbs are all the rage now. Very underrated venue. The acoustics are top tier."
A laugh slipped between Bucky's lips before he could catch it. It was a real, genuine one, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened the hard lines of his face.
Momentarily surprised by the sudden sound, you dropped your theatrics. You stared at him, unblinking.
"What was that?" you asked.
He forced the grin off his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do," you insisted cheekily. "You laughed. You actually laughed."
"That's not what happened."
"I just made Bucky laugh," you screamed from the top of your lungs, like you just won the lottery.
His eyes widened in panic. "Shh…" He slapped his flesh hand over your mouth, scanning his surroundings. "Are you crazy? You're gonna wake up the whole city."
You mumbled something against his palm, vibrating his hand. The expression on your face could only be described as smug, mischief glittering in your eyes.
His eyes narrowed, pointing a single finger at you. "If you bite me, I swear—"
Peeling his hand away, you furrowed your brow. "I'm not a biter," you promised. He lowered his hand once he realized it was safe to do so.
"…Not unless you want me to be," you added flirtatiously.
Bucky shook his head in disbelief. "What am I gonna do with you, princess?"
Your smile softened into something warm and inviting, and he didn't mind the feeling that stirred in his chest. Maybe he really did misjudge you that day in the shop; you were nothing as he imagined.
You shivered, an imperceptible shimmy of your shoulders, but he noticed.
"Cold?" he asked, concern laced in his tone.
"A little," you replied, wrapping your shawl tighter around you. It did less than nothing to warm you, goosebumps spreading across your skin regardless of how well it covered you.
"Here." He slipped his wallet into his back pocket and slid out of his leather jacket. He gave you a look, silently asking for permission to touch. It felt appropriate, even though he touched you only moments ago.
You offered him a subtle nod, and he stepped closer, draping the jacket over your shoulders. His touch was light as he adjusted it over your arms, sliding his hands up the zipper. As he tweaked the collar around your neck, his fingers brushed over your bare skin. You shuddered again, but this time, he knew it wasn't from the chill in the air.
Locking eyes with you, he noticed your pupils dilate. He tried to rationalize it, thinking you might be drunk, or it was darker on this part of the sidewalk.
But rationalizing it didn't change the fact that the air around him felt thicker, and he could taste electricity on the tip of his tongue, as if he had just licked a nine-volt battery. An energy seemed to be swirling around the pair of you, drawing him in.
Bucky's fingerpads grazed over your pulse point, testing. He could feel the rapid thrum of your heart beneath his touch, and it made his breath catch. Because that right there was confirmation that he wasn't the only one feeling this.
Pulling away abruptly, he put some much-needed distance between you. You were still wasted, and he…obviously wasn't thinking clearly.
He cleared his throat after a beat.
"Listen, you're gonna forget all this 'n the mornin'," he began, rubbing the back of his neck. You gazed up at him, beaming, your eyes were a little squinty, and you were still very drunk. Oh, you definitely weren't going to remember this. "I wanted to apologize…for before."
Waving him off, you shook your head. "All is forgiven."
"But," he objected. "I was a complete dick to you."
"Yeah, you were," you admitted. "But I've dealt with worse."
Bucky pulled his eyebrows together, something washing over his face—guilt, or maybe irritation. "That doesn't make it okay."
You shrugged, indifferent. "I didn't say it did."
"I shouldn't've said what I did. I didn't know anythin' 'bout you."
"No," you agreed. "You thought I was some spoiled brat who had exactly two functioning brain cells." You giggled, mostly to yourself. "Which might be true as of right now." hiccup. "But I also made assumptions about you." You pointed a wobbly finger at him.
"Oh yeah?" he questioned, intrigued. "What were your assumptions, princess?"
"Grumpy."
"Fair."
"You hate fun."
"Hey, now—" he started, but you interrupted before he could say more.
"And you were only an asshole to me because you thought I'd bite first," you whispered, almost like you were afraid of calling him out. "If you bite first, you're less likely to get hurt, right?"
Bucky gulped, a little taken aback by your boldness. Racking his brain, he wondered how you obtained that information. He hadn't ever told anyone that. Not even Sam. Was he just that easy to read?
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then tilted his head, not in annoyance but interest.
"I do that, too," you confessed. "Or, at least, I used to. I've gotten better about keeping my cool."
He didn't respond; he didn't know how to. Instead, he just looked at you—really looked—like he needed a second to take in this version of you he hadn’t expected.
"Well, 'm sorry," he repeated because he felt it was necessary.
"It's okay."
"Y'know," he choked on a half-laugh. "I didn't even know who your dad was until Sam said somethin'."
You sobered at that immediately. "Oh."
"He's intense, huh?" he asked, wiggling his hands into his front pockets casually.
"Um…yeah, you could say that," you mumbled, your expression suddenly blank. Your whole disposition had changed in an instant. "Is that why you apologized?"
His eyebrows twitched, confused. "No," he blurted out too quickly.
"It's okay if you did," you assured, but he could hear the tension in your voice.
"No," he restated, firmer this time. "'m genuinely sorry."
You studied him, looking for the lie you swore was hidden somewhere. "Let me guess, Sam said something like 'my father could shut down your shop.'"
Bucky's eyes widened slightly, the color draining from his face. The silence that followed was only confirmation.
You let out a bitter laugh, forcing a smile that didn't quite fit your face. "Right. Well…don't worry. Your shop isn't in jeopardy."
The hurt engraved on your face made his heart squeeze painfully beneath his rib cage because he hadn't meant to hurt you. And he truly didn't know how to fix it. Any response that came to mind didn't seem quite right. So, he just stood there, awkward and foolish.
"You were right," your voice cracked on those three simple words. "I should go home. It's getting late."
You reached for the collar of his jacket, attempting to shrug it off, but he stopped you. "No, keep it. You're cold."
"Thanks," you said stiffly.
The quiet that settled after was agonizing. He stared at you, and you stared right back. Bucky felt exactly how you looked—numb. And for some reason, this felt final.
Two chances. That's what he was so graciously given with you, and he squandered both of them.
You eventually turned on your heels and strode away without another word. You got as far as the crosswalk before he realized where you were headed. Your car.
"You're not thinkin' of drivin', are ya?" he called out, worry evident in his words.
Glancing over your shoulder, your expression was even more pained than before. "I would never," you scoffed, then you restarted, softer. "…I'm calling my driver."
Nodding in understanding, he gave you a tight-lipped grin.
When you reached your pink monstrousity, as he once not-so-lovingly called it, you yanked the door open and vanished behind it as it slammed shut.
And he was sure that was the last time he'd see you.
It wasn't.
Bucky saw you everywhere. Not you physically, but your presence was always there. The color pink. You. Anytime he smelled vanilla. You. A laugh on the wind while he was driving. You. Even the flowers near the checkout at the grocery store. You.
You were a ghost, haunting his every move.
A couple of days after the sidewalk incident, you sent your driver to return his leather jacket, dry-cleaned. It was still in the plastic covering, and the ticket dangled off the neck of the hanger. And even though it had been cleaned to perfection, he could still smell the faint trace of vanilla and grapefruit, as if you were now woven into the fabric.
He wasn't even embarrassed by how many times he pressed the material to his nose, breathing in your scent.
He didn't know how to shake you. He tried throwing himself into work, operating on the vehicles in the shop well into the night—elbow-deep in engines. He worked until his hand ached. Until the only thing on his mind was the soreness in his muscles.
That is, until Sam threatened to leave and lock the door behind him.
It was affecting his work. The way he interacted with customers was unusual; he was short, barely listening to a single word of their monologue of problems with their car. They rattled on about noises their vehicle wasn't meant to make—clunking, or sputtering, maybe both. He nodded at the right times, professional on the surface, but his mind was constantly far off.
It got so bad that on one tow job, he installed the tow hook on the front bumper the wrong way and nearly tore the whole thing off. The one task he used to nail with practiced skill, he botched completely.
The shop lost money that day. Sam gave him shit for it.
Maybe he wasn't the best at human interaction, or he didn't fully comprehend their minds—too difficult a puzzle to put together. But he knew cars. Cars were simple, predictable. He could do a full diagnostic of any vehicle just by hearing the engine purr. He understood them as if they were a second language, and he was an expert in communicating exactly what was being said.
And that was precisely why he royally messed up with you.
You weren’t a problem to diagnose or an engine to operate on. You weren’t some equation he could solve if he just stared at it long enough. But he kept treating you like one. Kept trying to force you into a mold—a predictable one. One he could understand.
And he couldn't get that through his thick skull.
So, no matter how loud the voice in his head got—the one telling him to just call and fix whatever he broke, he didn't give in. Not when he'd pull up a customer's information on the shop's computer, and your name would appear in the system, tucked neatly beneath your father's. Those ten digits sat there, blinking at him like a glaring reminder. Or…temptation.
But he gave you your space. Distancing himself was the best option for both of you…right?
Yet, it was as if the universe kept teasing him with you, like an owner waving a treat in front of a hungry pet. And a man can only be so strong.
It was late that night, legs stretched out on the couch with the blanket half-covering him. He didn't even know why his thumb was hovering over the app, but he found himself pressing it. He barely even used the damn thing, but Sam insisted it would be good for business. It wasn't. He never actually posted anything, except for a single picture of a car mid-repair, and another of Alpine perched by the window, with the sun warming her fur.
He had accidentally clicked the discover page—the little magnifying glass at the bottom of his screen. Twelve posts came into view, blinding him. Blinking, he adjusted to the brightness. He eventually started swiping through the posts. One after the other, depicting images and videos of cars and engines, all curated specifically for him.
Then.
You.
He sat up straight.
How you appeared on his Instagram, he had no clue. Before he could think better of it, he was tapping on the image. You were smiling, green straw between your teeth, and your eyes full of amusement. The arms of a pink sweater were tied around your neck, sunglasses resting on your head as you posed for your photo op.
He couldn't help himself; he pressed on your username. Pretty.in.pink. It suited you.
And, damn, did you have followers. 597.2k hovered between the number of posts you had and who you were following.
Scrolling through your feed, he glanced over your photos. Some showed you flaunting an outfit, pink checkered skirts, and white heels. You were adjusting the strap around your ankle in one. In the next image, you were holding a bouquet of daisies, pressed tightly to your chest, as you gazed up at the sky.
And he definitely didn't zoom in on your cleavage, hidden amongst the petals of the flowers.
You captured images of New York: skyscrapers, billboards, and the Brooklyn Bridge with the sunset as the backdrop. He noted some of the cafes and restaurants you visited, and the reviews that came with them. You had a very clear aesthetic that carried through your posts.
He kept scrolling. A mirror selfie. Pink makeup products on a white marble table. Mid-step off a sidewalk.
He felt like a stalker, looking at you like this. Like he was seeing something personal he wasn't supposed to. But he had convinced himself that this was for public viewing, and it wasn't like he was doing anything nefarious.
Well, that is, until he scrolled too far and saw your series of summer shots.
Sure, some were innocent, harmless. A cute one-piece swimsuit, hugging your curves. You had your hands on your hips, giggling. Or another with your legs dangling off the pier, bare feet kissing the surface of the water.
But most were tastefully suggestive. A floral bikini, barely covering your tits. You were toying with the strings of your bottoms, as if silently conveying that if you tugged just right, you'd be half-naked.
He wished he had stopped there. Because the next one he landed on filled his mind with every impure thought. "Fuck," he whispered under his breath.
You were on your stomach, legs folded behind you, crossing at the ankle with your feet in the air. His gaze dragged down the slope of your back to the curve of your plump ass.
He let out a low growl, his hand already finding the growing erection, pushing against his shorts. A feeling of depravity entered his body, even as he kept stroking himself through the fabric.
Scanning over your body, he noted the sparkle in your eyes as you looked over your shoulder playfully. The soft tilt of your lips. Your silky skin, and how it would feel beneath his fingers. The glimpse of your side boob, spilling out of the cup of the bikini top.
He stroked faster, biting his lip as the pressure built.
He told himself to stop. That this was wrong.
He didn't.
"You see what you do to me, princess," he groaned at the picture. "Y'know what you were doin' when you posted this, huh? Such a 'lil tease, aren't ya?"
Mind drifting, he imagined those same eyes looking up at him, a pout on your lips as he tapped the head of his cock on them. And the way those lips would feel wrapped around—
Hips jerking upward, he let out another low, broken curse. He was close. He could feel it in the way the vein on his neck stuck out, and his thighs tensed. Pressing the palm of his hand harder against his bulge, his breath stuttered.
He realized too late the predicament he was in. There he was, sprawled out on the couch, one hand curled around his phone, the other rubbing his dick through his pants. He came, his release blooming in his boxers and darkening the front of his shorts as your name fell from his lips.
Immediately after, he hissed, his eyes blown wide. Because he just came in his pants. Like a horny fucking teenager. Guilt and disgust flooded his body. He dropped his phone, as if it had burned him, sprinting to the bathroom.
He passed Alpine on his way there, and he swore she looked disappointed as she sat in the middle of the hallway, licking her paw. "Don't you dare," he scolded, but he knew he deserved it.
He banned himself from ever going on that stupid app. Because that couldn't happen. Not again.
After that, things settled. He still thought about you, of course, but he didn't have any more incidents. And the urge to call you faded.
It wasn't until he saw your face in the local newspaper that he almost broke that unspoken rule he had created, and finally called you.
It was dawn, and the sun had barely risen, just peeking over the horizon. The sky was a vibrant orange, and the clouds had a wispy quality that reminded him of the cotton candy he got as a kid on trips to Coney Island.
He was on his second cup of coffee as he reached for the newspaper that was thrown on the counter. Flicking out the paper with one hand, he attempted to right it as he raised his ceramic mug to his lips. The steaming dark liquid hit the tip of his tongue just as he saw you.
Setting down his cup with a sharp click, his eyes fixed on the image just above the article. It was a feature titled, "Upcoming Race in the NASCAR Cup Series: Apex Motors 500."
Your father was clearly the main focus, but that hardly mattered to Bucky. You were positioned behind him, and even slightly blurred, he could see those bright eyes of yours clear as day.
The photo seemed to be taken at some gala—a place he wouldn't be caught dead at. Too fancy and polished for his taste. He doesn't even recall the last time he wore a suit, let alone why he would've worn one.
Flipping the page, he was met with three more photos. Mostly with your father and his team. But there you were again. Another gala shot, but this one you were standing beside a tall man who was leaning in to kiss your hand. The caption read: John Walker, Two-time Lucas Oil Late Model Dirt Series Winner and NASCAR Cup Series Competitor, Seen Getting Cozy With a Potential Girlfriend?
The coffee settling in Bucky's stomach curdled.
John honestly looked perfect for you. Someone you could bring home to Daddy, and he'd have all the correct answers and say all the right things. Someone who fit flawlessly into the world you came from. And, of course, it helped that he was a NASCAR competitor, and in a race your father sponsored.
The smile you gave John wasn't genuine, though. He'd seen a real smile from you; it lit up your entire face. This one looked forced and uncomfortable.
"Buck?"
He jerked his head up, meeting Sam's narrowed gaze, the kind that said he'd called for Bucky more than once. Sam rounded the counter, peering over Bucky's shoulder to see what had so easily captured his attention.
"Man," Sam sighed. "You gotta talk to her."
After one too many of Sam’s knowing looks, the whole story spilled out. Everything that had happened between you and him. Sam had truly listened that day, without judgment or offering any unsolicited advice.
And if Bucky didn't want to talk about it, Sam changed the subject. But now Sam was fed up with it.
"'s…complicated," Bucky replied.
"From where I'm standing, it's pretty clean cut."
"Look at her," he pointed to your picture in the paper. "We come from opposite ends of the world."
"Do you really think she's so superficial that she wouldn't give you the time of day just because you have a different status?"
Bucky's face dropped. "That's not what I meant."
"No?" Sam shot back. "Then stop treating her like that. Stop assuming things you know nothing about." He didn't even wait for a response, just vanished into the garage and got to work.
A few days passed.
Bucky threw himself back into work, a wrench firmly in his fist as he tightened a bolt on an engine. Sam burst into the garage with a wild look in his eyes, panic written all over his face.
Somehow, Bucky already knew without hearing a word. Dropping the wrench, he wiped his hands on the nearest rag. Then, sprang to his feet, snatching his keys off the hook.
“Where is she?” he demanded, already moving.
The difference between the pouring rain and the tears blurring in your vision was indistinguishable. The tears were coming down your cheeks, hot and quick, before you could stop them. It didn't matter how many times you blinked or wiped the wet from your cheeks; they kept coming.
Why did this have to happen? Why today of all days?
The accident happened before you could prevent it. You swore that the family of raccoons came out of nowhere. One minute you were driving, the next you were slamming on your brakes as you yanked your wheel in the opposite direction. Your heart leaped to your throat, gripping the wheel so hard your knuckles had gone white. Swerving on a slick road like that one was always going to be a losing battle. With the combination of braking and swerving too hastily, your wheels locked, and you lost control. That was why the front of your car was curved around a telephone pole.
Now, you sat there with your hands trembling on the steering wheel as the rain pelted your windshield. Your breath was coming out heavy and uneven, fogging up the glass.
You weren't hurt, not really anyway. Your nose hit the top of the wheel from the impact, leaving a warm trickle of blood pooling above your lip. Your ribs ached from the brief constriction of your seatbelt across your chest—a whispering promise of bruising come morning. But you were fine.
After it happened, your hand was already curled around your phone, before you could properly register what you were doing. Anxious fingers flew across your keyboard, typing in the first person that came to mind. Your eyes were locked on ten digits, Barnes' Towing & Auto Repair hovering directly above them.
It wasn't the first time you had been in this predicament. You always talked yourself out of it before. Because you were embarrassed by the display you showed Bucky after he brought up your father. Because you couldn't muster the courage to talk to him.
But this time, as you stared at the phone number, you realized you really didn't know who else to call.
Luckily, Sam picked up the phone instead, so you still had ample time to think about what you were going to say to Bucky. Yet, your mind felt blank.
Weeks had passed, and you didn't even know if that spark you'd felt that night under the stars with too much liquor in your system was still there. Or if it even existed in the first place. You were so drunk that you could've imagined it. Did the laugh that echoed in your dreams ever even happen, or was that something you hallucinated as well? All a trick of the light.
Headlights flared in your rear-view mirror, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. You squinted against the brightness until the beams dimmed. The truck eased forward, turning around before backing up toward you until there were only inches between your bumpers.
You rubbed the blood from your nose, and you swiped the tears from under your eyes. Adjusting your sweater and running a hand over your hair, you tried to look as presentable as possible.
The driver's side opened, and out stepped Bucky. All six feet of him strode towards your car, white tank top getting soaked as he got closer. You could see the definition in his abs through the thin material, and the flex of his muscles as he…knocked on the glass.
Shit. You'd been gawking as he waited for you to roll down your window.
You were so fucked.
Bucky rapped on the glass one more time as you stared up at him, blinking. Your shimmering eyes eventually met his, lashes fluttering. Fuck, he missed seeing those in person. Your fingers reached for the switch, lowering the window with a mechanical hum. The steady rush of rain began to enter your car, raindrops dotting the interior of the door.
You almost appeared frazzled now that the glass wasn't interrupting his vision. Were you still in shock?
Bucky propped his elbow on the roof, leaning into the opening. "Hey," he greeted. "You still with me, princess?"
"Y-yeah," you stammered.
Now he could see the streaks of dried tears across your cheeks and the smear of crimson right below your nose. His chest clenched, and his skin suddenly felt too tight around his rib cage.
He cleared his throat. "Sam said you assured him you didn't need medical attention…you gonna fight me on that, too?"
"I'm really okay. Just a minor nosebleed. Nothing serious." You offered him a stiff smile that didn't reach your eyes.
He didn't know how to push down the worry stirring in his chest, so he responded with humor instead. "We gotta stop meetin' like this."
"Like what?"
"You're drunk," he teased.
Straightening your spine, you knitted your brows together in offense. "I'm not."
"Just a joke. Bad joke," he admitted, grabbing the back of his neck. "How'd you get in this mess anyway?"
"It's raining," you said, shrugging, as if that alone was an answer.
"I see that, Sherlock," he deadpanned. "But I got 'ere just fine."
"There was a little family of raccoons. Just a momma and her babies crossing the street, and I didn't see them right away. And…well…this happened."
"Adorable." The word slipped before he could stop it. He stared at you, eyes wide, hoping you didn't hear him.
"What?"
"I bet the raccoons were adorable," he offered, too quickly. "And I bet they're thankin' you for sparin' their lives."
Nodding, you sighed. "I just wish I hadn't sacrificed my pink monstrosity in the process."
He softened at the nickname he gave your car. "Uh…before I pull ya out," Bucky started, tapping on the roof of your car. "I'd like to apologize…again. It was never my intention to hurt you, and 'm sorry it came across that way. Your father had nothin' to do with the apology."
You stilled, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. Then, you still didn't move, and the two of you continued to face off in a little staring contest.
But he was getting anxious waiting for a reply, so he kept going. "Listen, I could wait out in the rain all day, beggin' for forgiveness. 'm not afraid to drop to my knees 'n the mud f' you. In fact—"
Doing just as he said, he lowered himself, dropping to his knees. His knees sank into the mud, no doubt darkening his jeans with the sludge. The droplets were streaming onto his face now, hair getting soaked in the process. But he didn't care.
"'m not goin' anywhere 'til you know I mean it," he promised. "'m deeply sorry."
You peeked out of the open window, watching him with your eyes blown wide. "Are you crazy?"
"A 'lil."
"Get up before you ruin your jeans," you order, slightly flustered.
He could ruin a lot more than his jeans on his knees for you. But this was not the time, nor the place.
Realizing he looked like an idiot, he rose with an awful sucking sound as he attempted to free his knees from the mud.
"You did nothing wrong, so there's nothing to forgive," you admitted, gazing up at him as he leaned against your vehicle. "I have some issues to work through, and that's not your problem."
"It could be."
He hadn't even realized he said it out loud, but there the words hung in the air between you like a confession. Lips separating, you released a soft breath, but you appeared too stunned to say anything.
Promptly moving on, he asked, "Did you call anyone to pick you up?"
"Just you."
Bucky hummed. "I know you don't wanna hear this, but maybe you should call your dad."
You instantly looked panicked. "Are you kidding? He'll kill me."
"Okay," he drawled. "How 'bout a friend?"
Grimacing, you shook your head.
"Well, I don't want you to be alone tonight," he mumbled, then thought of the most ridiculous solution. "You can stay with me tonight. You take my bed, and I'll—"
"Yes," you interrupted.
He was taken aback by your immediate response, but nodded. "My house it is," he confirmed. "Now, how 'bout I get you outta this rain, princess?"
The car ride to Bucky's shop was mostly quiet, save for the occasional clinking of the wheel lift that was supporting the weight of your car as it dragged behind his truck. You kept glancing over your shoulder, a nervous tic, though he assured you multiple times that it was secured. It was also an excuse to catch his biceps in your periphery.
You were sitting on a bench seat, so the close proximity was something you hadn't expected. But you weren't complaining. But you didn't know what to do with yourself either. You started by fixating on two separate raindrops on the windshield to distract yourself. In your head, those two clear dots were having a race, and the one you were rooting for slowed as the other one began streaming quicker down the glass, as if it knew.
When that didn't fully shift your attention, you decided to just sit stiffly beside him. You folded your hands neatly in your lap as you tried not to let the faint scent of his cologne mess with your head…again.
You had a hard time sending his leather jacket back after he let you borrow it. Sure, it had undertones of grease and motor oil, but the most prominent scent was a mix of sandalwood and cardamom. You blamed that damn jacket for the reason why you couldn't get him out of your head.
After that night outside of the bar, you had come home and immediately flopped into bed, the jacket still wrapped snuggly around your shoulders. The next morning was torture. You'd draped it over one of your kitchen chairs as you made some coffee and swallowed down some Tylenol to help with your lingering hangover. You stared at the jacket over the rim of your mug until you couldn't take it anymore and started wearing it around the house. It was because of the draft circulating the house, you had told yourself.
And you swore the time your fingers traveled between your aching thighs as you breathed in his scent was only because the alcohol was still in your system. You weren't thinking clearly when you slipped your fingers inside yourself, and you certainly weren't thinking when you came on your palm, his jacket pressed to your nose as your mind drifted to what Bucky's head would look like between your legs.
That familiar scent was flooding your senses as you scanned his profile, following the sharp line of his jaw to the slow bob of his Adam's apple. Your gaze kept dipping to his saturated tank top and the way it clung to his chest. Your lip continued to find its way between your teeth. Because who the hell looks that good fresh from a day's work and a shower in the rain?
His human arm was casually resting over the back of the seat, his fingers kissing the nape of your neck. You hadn't figured out if he was doing it on purpose yet, but it caused a chill to travel down your spine, all the same.
When you reached his shop, it was an easy enough drop-off. He got your car into the garage without any problems, efficient and professional, everything your brain wasn't. The rain was still a wild downpour, and any time he'd had to dry off on the drive over was wasted. He was sopping-wet as he jogged back to the truck.
When he slammed the door shut, his breath was coming out in gasps, his chest heaving as he threw his head back against the seat. The water dripped steadily off his dark hair, and his tank top was plastered to his chest—practically sheer at that point. You couldn't take your eyes off of him, and with the noises he was making from the exertion, you were having a hard time not letting your mind drift to sinful things. If you just crawled over and straddled his lap…would he make the same noises?
Glancing over at you, a slow grin spread across his lips. "You'd think it'd slow down at some point, but 's only coming down harder out there. 'm soaked," he panted.
"Yeah, me too," you sighed before your brain caught up, then your eyes widened, blinking. "I mean— my clothes are still wet. From the rain."
His smile stretched, easy and knowing. You could see the spark in his eyes, but he didn't say anything about your slip-up. Dragging a hand through his hair, he let out a slow exhale. Before you knew what was happening, he was shaking his head frantically, like a dog straight out of the bath. Water went everywhere: the dashboard, the windows, and you.
You gasped, turning your face the other direction as he splashed you with water droplets. "Bucky," you screeched.
"What?" he laughed, a sound that rattled deep in his chest. "I was just helpin' you catch up."
You lightly shoved his shoulder. "You're a menace."
Before you could pull your hand back, he caught your wrist—playfully and unmistakably up to something. His eyes lit with mischief, and that alone should’ve been your warning to scramble away.
"Come 'ere," he teased.
His metal hand dropped to your waist, guiding you toward him into a soaking-wet hug. You squeaked, planting your free hand on his chest in a desperate attempt to get some distance. It was too late, though. His arm tightened on the dip of your waist as his opposite hand curled around the back of your neck, angling you exactly where he wanted you. Like an overgrown golden retriever, he rubbed his face across your cheeks.
The cold droplets smeared across your skin, making you shriek louder. "Bucky! Come on, you're—"
"Drenched?" he finished for you, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "Hadn't noticed."
You wiggled in his hold, swatting his chest. "Okay, okay. I surrender."
He eventually released you, leaning back. His laughter faded into a gentle smirk, looking way too smug for his own good. Rolling your eyes, you wiped the water off your face with the back of your hand. You thought about scooting away, keeping that distance you so desperately wished for before. But now, as you watched him, the amusement softening his features, you remembered there were worse things than having your skin a little wet.
The ride back to Bucky's house was a stark contrast to the one to his shop. Words were easier. The conversation flowed. It simultaneously felt like no time had passed, and like you'd known him for years and were just catching up.
The pair of you shared soft stories, the kind that made you giggle and made the tension in his shoulders loosen. He shared the time that Sam dragged him to meditation in the park, and it went so poorly that the instructor kicked him out. You shared that time your dress accidentally got thrown in with your father's wash, and it turned all his white dress shirts pink; he had to wear them for a week before they were replaced.
After almost an hour of driving, he turned onto a gravel path surrounded by tall, lively trees. You hadn't seen this part of Brooklyn before. The cityscape slowly diminished, giving way to lush greenery. He passed a sign that read: Green Meadows Farm.
You briefly wondered what your life would've been like if your father had taken you somewhere like this in your youth. If he had just slowed down enough to give you the attention you deserved. Without the buffer of your mother, who was the glue that kept your family stable. But that was too much to ask.
The truck dipped over the rockier sections, but Bucky avoided any major holes. Until he ran over a bump in the road, and despite the seatbelt, you nearly flew out of your seat. But he was quicker, swinging his arm out to catch you and secure you against the bench. He whispered, "I gotcha, princess," then shifted his gaze to the road as if nothing had happened.
Though you were safely back in your seat, his arm lingered, bicep pressed firmly to your chest. When he finally moved it, his hand found purchase on your thigh, calloused fingers bending around your bare flesh. Not gripping, just holding, like he had a right to. Like it was natural.
Eventually, the trees down the path cleared, and his house came into view. The only reason you knew it was his was that it was very…him. There was no other way to describe it. A quaint cabin with a wraparound porch that overlooked the river.
The truck rolled to a stop as he shifted it into park. With the rain softening to an even patter, you could finally hear how quiet it was here. The rustle and bustle of the city felt like a distant memory. Nature was the only soundtrack here, the gentle rush of the river, and you could just make out the faint noises of an owl, high up in the branches of a nearby tree.
Bucky didn't waste any time. He leaped down from the truck, then helped you, offering you a hand. As you hopped down, the heels of your shoes vanished into the mud with a subtle squelch. He sighed dramatically beside you before leaning down and sliding his hands around your waist. With barely any effort on his part, he lifted and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
You let out a startled wheeze. "I do have two legs."
"Can't have your precious heels gettin' ruined," he cooed in an almost mocking tone. Trudging toward the door, he placed a protective hand over your ass as he smoothed out your skirt.
"I can walk," you ordered, but he was dead set on ignoring your protests. "I'm serious, put me down." You lightly pounded your fists into the dip of his back, but he only huffed a laugh in response. Flopping forward, you figured it best not to waste your energy arguing with a brick wall. Your arms dangled out in front of you as he carried you up the steps, the wood squeaking under the weight of his boots.
He gently set you down with a light click of your heels, reaching for the keys in his back pocket. "Better?"
You crossed your arms, tilting your head. "Thank you," you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but failing miserably.
"Anythin' for you," he replied coolly. And even if he said the words as a joke, they made the corner of your lip lift.
Unlocking the door, he pushed in. He flicked on the light, bathing the interior in warm light, and you followed him in. You were immediately hit with the scent of cedar, and him. The inside was exactly what you expect—minimal decor, yet it had a lived-in feel. A worn leather couch in the living room with a black jacket draped over the arm. A wall of photos with unusual frames. A small fireplace. Everything was practical, but charming.
"It ain't much," he said, exhaling slowly with his hands on his hips. "But make yourself at home." He kicked off his heavy work boots, then disappeared down a dark hallway. A light flicked on as he entered a room, which you could only guess was his room. He closed it most of the way, but kept it open a crack.
You slipped off your heels, and they hit the floor with a gentle thud. You did a rough sweep of the room, then padded over to the wall of frames. You scanned the photos, some from his childhood, some of his shop, some of him and Sam.
But your eyes lingered on two, hanging beside each other. A navy blue uniform, neatly buttoned with a matching cap. Bucky and Sam stood side by side with perfect posture, saluting the camera. Metal arm. The other image was a solo shot, clad in an army green jumpsuit. No metal arm.
A set of dog tags dangled off the corner of the frame, twinkling under the light. They clinked as you twisted them in your palm. James Buchanan Barnes. You tested the name, mouthing it softly.
You peeked around the corner, ready to tell him what you uncovered. Instead, you were met with carved back muscles just as he was tugging up his sweatpants. You nearly choked on your own saliva, your cheeks warming from guilt of seeing something you weren't supposed to. He turned, pulling a dark shirt over his head, and flattened out the wrinkles in the fabric. His arm glinted, drawing your attention downward, and then your eyes drifted lower. And lower.
You caught the patch of hair above the waistband before disappearing beneath his grey sweatpants. You followed the trail. Fuck. Nothing could drag your gaze away from the subtle bulge against the material of his sweats. No matter how hard you tried to reason with yourself that this was wrong, that you were openly objectifying him, you continued to gawk.
"You can ask about it," Bucky said, walking towards you with a plush towel in his hands.
Shit.
You hadn't even noticed him step out of his room, and now you were caught with no possible way out of this one. But was he really giving you permission to ask about his dick size? Wait, maybe he wanted you to ask about the shape.
No, that's ridiculous…just…play dumb? Yeah. Some guys love that, right?
You've been staring for too long with no other excuse to use. Fuck it.
Play dumb. Play dumb. Play dumb.
You swallowed thickly. "What?"
"I keep catchin' you lookin' at my arm. If you're curious, you can ask. 'm an open book."
"Right, I've been wondering about your arm," you drawled. You mentally thanked yourself because, yes, sometimes playing dumb has gotten you out of some sticky situations. "How'd you get it?"
He motioned for you to turn around, and you scrunched your brows, but did it anyway. His hands moved to your shoulders, sliding your sweater down your arms, then hanging it on a hook by the door. Unfolding the towel, he glided it over your upper back, the nape of your neck, and anywhere else that was out of your reach.
"Sam and I were in the Air Force together. It feels like a lifetime ago," he began as he handed over the towel.
You took it, still a little stunned by how naturally he moved around you. As if he'd done it a thousand times. He guided you over to the couch, hand cupping your elbow. He nodded for you to sit as you started to pat down your hair, squeezing the dampness from the strands. Grabbing the plaid blanket from the back of the sofa, he covered your lower half, tucking the edges in. And he did it all without you ever needing to say a word.
Why did everything feel so natural with him? Why did it feel like he was reading your every thought before you even asked?
Lifting the blanket, he slipped under it, scooting closer until your legs brushed. His arm fell to the back of the couch, turning his full body toward you as he spoke. "That's how we met, actually. We served multiple tours overseas together. Got close in the process. Honestly, don't think I'd be 'ere without him."
The vulnerability in his tone cut you deeper than you expected. His gaze drifted, and he had this faraway look in his eyes that told you to let the silence breathe. So, you waited. You didn't force the conversation, just let him take his time.
He cleared his throat. "We had some aerial trainin' the day it happened. The other soldiers in the aircraft strapped on their parachutes. I was the last one to grab mine."
Bucky went quiet again, finding his words. "Y'know, everyone puts their trust in the manufacturers. You kinda have to have a 'lil blind faith that the equipment's been tested and retested. That they're suitable for jumps of high altitudes, or that 's even capable of carrying a large amount. That's why, when I jumped, I didn't even think twice. Just did it."
Your stomach dropped because you already knew the outcome of this story. You looked at him—really looked at him. It wasn't a look of pity, but understanding.
His eyebrows twitched. "I had a faulty parachute. It wouldn't deploy no matter how hard I pulled. Thankfully, I landed in a tree before I fully hit the ground, so the branches lessened the blow."
You felt your heart crack wide open, raw and exposed. Unfamiliar with this side of grief, you didn't know the procedure. You didn't know whether to reach for him or if he even wanted to be touched. You settled for a whispered apology instead. "I know this doesn't help, but I'm sorry."
Sighing, he offered you a small smile. "From you…it does."
You mirrored his smile, but he didn't dwell on the emotion for much longer. Correcting his posture, he coughed. "After that, I settled back in Brooklyn. Needed a job. Figured I've always been good at fixin' things, so I opened my own shop. Sam gave me a call not too long after, and we've been in business together ever since."
His expression softened, as if he were reminiscing. "Though some days I regret that decision," he jokingly added.
You hummed in amusement, easing into the couch as you shifted to face him. "You love him."
"I tolerate him. There's a difference," he said stubbornly.
"Right."
He rolled his eyes, but you knew there was truth to your words. "So, what's your story?" he asked, shifting the spotlight off himself.
You shrugged. "I don't have one."
Arching a brow, he bumped you with his knee. "Come on. Gimme somethin'. How 'bout why you were cryin' in the car?"
You stilled; you hadn't realized he saw that. "Just overwhelmed," you half-answered. Blinking slowly, he leveled you with a glare. Your head dropped back, puffing air through your nose.
"Fine," you murmured. "I was on the way to visit my mother's grave."
Bucky leaned in, not dramatically, but just enough to let you know he was listening.
"It's the anniversary of her death," you continued, quieter. "Which…ironically was because of a car accident." You nearly laughed, though nothing felt humorous about it. But you hadn't really reflected on the similarities until right now.
Your fingers tightened around the blanket, attempting to ground yourself. "Every year, my father and I make plans to honor her, and every year, he cancels. I guess I got sick of it. No, I am sick of it. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who feels the weight of her death."
Your voice wavered slightly, but you pushed on. "I know everyone grieves differently. But I expected…something. Glimpses of pain, maybe? But nothing. He ignores her very existence. And the one time I ask him to acknowledge her, even that's too hard."
Silence settled again, and under the blanket, his hand found your thigh—a grounding pressure you needed. As if to say, I'm here.
You exhaled slowly. "It was a drunk driver that killed her…That's why I got upset when you asked. That night, when I was singing on the sidewalk, was a rarity for me. I don't drink. And I especially don't drink and drive. It's irresponsible and stupid…and—"
Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to keep the tears at bay. "I lost the most important person in my life because someone couldn't pick up the damn phone and call a taxi."
For a moment, the only sound was the soft patter of rain against the roof and the gentle wind whistling just beyond the windows. Just as you did for him, Bucky didn't fill the silence. He didn't try to fix it. He just offered a light squeeze to your thigh in comfort.
Releasing a shaky breath, you blinked back the threat of tears. "Sorry," you said brokenly. "I didn't mean to dump all that on you."
Reaching up with his metal hand, he tucked a stray hair behind your ear. "You never need to apologize for feelin' things, princess."
His gaze flicked over your features, as if he didn't know where to look. "I know it doesn't help, but 'm sorry," he echoed your earlier words.
You couldn't help the smile that grew on your lips. "From you, it does help," you repeated his earlier words.
The cool metal of his fingers dragged down your jaw, relaxed and measured, as his gaze drifted down to your lips. He inched a little closer, firmly taking your jaw in his hand. Lips parting, he hovered in your space. You felt that same electric energy from all those nights ago. Still present. Still charged.
Your eyes fluttered closed, certainty driving your actions.
Then.
You felt a sudden weight on your lap, causing your eyes to fly open. Backing away, you gasped. A white fluff ball with a pink nose and twitching ears sat on your knees, staring at you with its wide blue eyes. The cat tilted its head, assessing you.
Bucky rolled his eyes, huffing out a laugh. "I guess someone wanted an introduction." His flesh hand loosened on your thigh to scratch under the cat's chin. "Meet Alpine. She's…particular."
Alpine shut her eyes, purring as her owner gave her the attention she'd been missing. "She almost clawed Sam's face off the first time they met. So don't be offended if she isn't the biggest fan of you right—"
He cut himself off as Alpine moved out of the way of his hand. She crept up towards you, her front paws finding purchase on your chest as she lifted her head towards your face. Turning her head, she rubbed the side of her face against your jaw. She let out a long, low purr as she nuzzled into you. Lifting your hand tentatively, you carded your fingers through her thick fur.
"Hey there, pretty girl," you giggled. "I think he's painting you to be some kind of scary monster. You're not, are you?"
"Huh," he said, slightly baffled by the sight. "I don't know what I was worried 'bout. She doesn't usually click with anyone that quickly."
"Aw, just like her daddy," you cooed, winking at him.
Swallowing hard, his cheeks flushed faintly. The tips of his ears turned red, just like that day in the shop. He brushed it off, shaking his head as his hand found your thigh again.
Alpine blinked up at him, then you. Retreating from you, you swore she gave a subtle nod as if to say that she approved. Then she scurried off your lap just as quickly as she came, her tail flicking as she disappeared down the hallway.
A grin still plastered on your face, you let out a soft breath. "She's sweet."
"Don't let her fool you," he mumbled, gingerly rubbing your thigh. "She's opinionated."
The air shifted once more, warmth pooling in your stomach as he touched you. While his earlier grip had been innocent, this felt different. This was eagerness, as if he couldn’t wait another moment longer. The hunger in his eyes was undeniable, silently urging to resume where you’d left off before the interruption.
You forced your thighs together, your heart racing with desire.
"You're a flirty drunk. Did you know that?" he asked arrogantly, his hand still firmly pressed to your thigh, inching higher and higher in intervals so you wouldn't notice. But you noticed. Your body noticed. The space between your legs noticed, which only made you squeeze your thighs together tighter.
"G-guess that's another reason I don't drink very often," you stuttered.
"I dunno, I thought it was pretty cute. You said somethin' 'bout wantin' to bite me at one point?"
"I did not," you objected. "I said if you wanted me to, I would.
"So, hypothetically," he rasped. "If I said I wanted you to right now, you would."
"Bucky," you squealed, lightly slapping his metal arm, which probably hurt you more than him. "I was wasted."
"Yeah, but y'know what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts."
"Are you saying I thought about biting you the first day we met? Because that's as far as my sober thoughts about you went after our little conflict in your shop," you harmlessly teased.
Bucky sucked air through his teeth. "Oof, you wound me, princess." He placed his metal hand over his heart, feigning offense. "But yes, you looked like you wanted to bite my head off that day, so I wouldn't be surprised."
Then, he did something you least expected; he leaned closer. You figured this was all just teasing. That this back and forth was just innocent flirtation. But his lips brushed your ear as he whispered against the shell of it. "Bet that pretty 'lil head of yours is thinkin' real hard 'bout it now."
"Only because you won't shut up about it," you shot back breathlessly, lacking the bite you were intending.
"Ooh, she's got teeth," he chuckled, his warm breath fanning across your neck. He attempted to wedge his fingers between your thighs. A heat washed over your body, your cheeks warm with lust, and your head swimming with thoughts that were anything but pure.
The stubble of his beard grazed your jaw, and your breath caught. "So, when are we gonna stop dancin' around the fact that I've been tryin' to get between these thighs of yours?" he pressed boldly. "Are you ignorin' me? Because we know how well that worked out last time."
"I never ignored you," you said. "In fact, I couldn't get rid of you. You were like a pesky fly that was always there."
Bucky hummed in satisfaction, and you could feel his smirk against your skin. "You missed me then?"
"Yes," you blurted too quickly. "Yes, I missed you."
"I missed you, too," he muttered softly, and you could hear the truth in his words. The way his voice dipped into something gentle and earnest made your chest feel suddenly tight. Then, his tone dipped lower, deep and starving as he nudged your leg. "Lemme in, princess. Wanna show you just how much I missed you."
As if you were under his spell, your thighs parted. His fingers curled around your thigh, squeezing twice in quick succession. "There ya go. Keep 'em spread f'me."
Fingers danced up the inner part of your thigh until they disappeared beneath the hem of your skirt. They kissed the edge of your panties, his touch light as he circled your clothed clit. You sighed at the contact, your chin tipping back blissfully.
"Good girl," he praised, lips scorching the underside of your jaw. "Just relax."
Your breath stuttered at the combination of his lips trailing down your neck and the tantalizing patterns he was tracing over the dark patch on the seam of your panties. Metal-plated digits unexpectedly grazed the heated flesh of your shoulder, causing a shiver to ripple through you.
Bucky leaned back slightly, still keeping his close proximity to you, but needing to see your expression. "This still okay?" he asked, eyes flicking between yours, searching for any indication that you wanted to stop.
You nodded frantically. "Yeah. Please, keep going."
The smirk that graced his lips could only be described as downright smug. He moved your spaghetti strap over your shoulder, dragging it down your arm achingly slow. His mouth followed directly after, lips skimming over your collarbone.
All at once, he began nipping at the protruding bone as his fingers on your clit added more pressure. You moaned loudly—a long, elated noise that made him pause his ministrations.
The realization of how desperate it sounded hit like a force, and you could hear your heartbeat thudding in your ears, louder than before. "Oh gosh," you whispered, shame flooding your face. You raised your arm, concealing the embarrassment etched into your features.
"Ah-ah, don't hide from me, baby," he gently scolded as he pried your arm away. Bringing your wrist to his lips, he pressed them to your fluttering pulse. "Why're you all shy on me now?"
You didn't answer, your eyes sealed shut as the pang of humiliation echoed in your skull.
"What're you doin'?" he asked, planting another kiss on your palm.
"If I squeeze my eyes as tightly as humanly possible, I think I might disappear."
He chuckled, and even with your eyes closed, you knew he was showing off the creases beside his eyes. "No, you can't disappear on me this time. Y'know how long I've been waitin' to hear that?"
Cracking open your eye, you peeked up at him. "Why'd you stop then?"
"'Cause now 'm so hard, 's painful," he confessed, a little breathy. "I would fuck you 'til the ache went away, but 'm not done playin' with you."
You shivered, completely turned on by this bold version of him. If you were wet before, now you were soaked from his dirty mouth alone.
"You gonna lemme keep goin'?" he asked.
Nodding, you silently gave him permission. His hand traveled back between your thighs, running his fingers up the front of your underwear. Your hips jerked as his began rubbing in slow, captivating circles again.
His metal fingers grazed the side of your neck, curling around the nape as he pulled you closer. Leaning forward, his lips brushed the corner of your mouth, then the other. He pulled back a hair, studying your face. "Can I kiss you, baby?"
"Please do," you said, as if it were the most obvious answer.
His mouth was on yours in a second, your bottom lip getting caught between his. You sighed against his mouth, your hand coming up to cup his jaw and draw him even closer. The kiss was a lazy analysis of one another's mouths at first. Each slow graze of his lips elicited sparks coursing through your veins, like tiny fireworks exploding beneath your skin.
The urgency to fully taste you prompted him to force your chin up, his tongue delving into your mouth. He moaned against your mouth, eyebrows twitching as he found your tongue. Tongues swirled, teeth clashed, and your hold tightened on him. You felt light-headed from the kiss, breathing hard into his mouth.
The fingers on your clit picked up the pace as his lips began to move hastily against yours, as if he already couldn't get enough. You whined, your other hand finding his shoulder as your nails dug in. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, then pulled back.
His mouth met your neck again as you struggled to catch your breath, lips dragging lower and lower. Tongue darting out, he licked along the top of your tank top. He tugged on the material, exposing more of your skin until your tit spilled free. His non-human hand reached up, cupping the underside of your breast.
Heated lips closed around your nipple, pulling a whimper from you. You wiggled under his attention. The dual pleasure was making your head spin and your heart pound. His tongue licked around the sensitive bud, then flicked it before sucking it into his mouth. Gazing up at you, he softly rolled your nipple between his teeth. You sucked air through your teeth, hissing. He switched back to trailing kisses across your skin in deep devotion, leaving no space untouched.
"Have you thought 'bout this as much as I have?" he rasped against your flesh.
"Yes," you mewled shamelessly.
Inclining back, he retracted his hand with a cocky grin. "Show me."
"What?"
"Show me what you did when you thought 'bout it."
Momentarily shocked, you stared dumbly at him. He lightly pinched your thigh, grabbing your attention. "Come on, princess. Wanna hear all those pretty noises you made when you were all alone," he pressed. Scooting to the edge of the couch, he dropped to his knees before you. "Lemme help you."
Spreading your legs further apart, his hands—one icy and the other warm—drifted up your thighs. His thumbs hooked in the band of your underwear, yanking them towards him. The blush pink panties slid down your legs without much resistance. Tossing them aside, his hands snaked under your thighs, sliding you down the couch. He lifted the hem of your skirt, resting it across your stomach, revealing your bare pussy to the chilled air.
"Fuck." Bucky's tongue grazed his lower lip, ravenous. "She's so pretty."
Bending down, he kissed the inner part of your knee. "Put on a show f'me," he urged gently.
Your hands trembled lightly at your sides, nerves curling at the edges of your mind. You’d never had anyone witness something so personal before. But with a deep breath, you steadied yourself, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, being with him felt strangely comforting.
Your fingers met the skin of your thigh, tracing patterns before they moved closer to the place he couldn't keep his eyes off of. Two fingers pushed between your slick folds, gathering wetness as they skimmed through. They found your clit, mirroring the same pressure and pace as he did.
"Just like that. Nice 'n slow," he instructed. "You're doin' so good f'me, baby."
Exhaling roughly, your mouth opened in a soft 'o' as your fingers swirled around the swollen bud. Your eyes stayed locked on him, and the way he was gazing up at you, his chin gently propped on your knee with a longing in his eyes, nearly made you come on the spot.
"Spread her f'me," he whispered gravelly.
Doing as you were told, you straightened your fingers, delicately spreading the lips of your cunt. With your fingers already damp with your arousal, they glistened right alongside your pussy in this lighting. His eyes darkened, his lip getting caught between his teeth as he diligently watched you.
Your fingers dipped, sliding down the length of your pussy, and toying with your entrance. Two fingers slipped right in from how soaked you were. The noise your cunt made in response had you and Bucky groaning in unison. Your fingers sped up, caressing and curling against your plushy walls. Your free hand lifted, covering your breast and massaging it.
"Do you like to watch, Bucky?" You don't know where your boldness came from. Maybe it was being in control of your own body, or the way he looked at you like you hung the stars. Either way, the question hung between you.
"Yeah, fuck," he murmured pathetically. "Yeah, I like to watch."
The obscene sounds of your fingers going in and out of your already weeping pussy filled the air, along with the moans you just couldn't hold back.
"Listen to her talk to me," he growled, his eyelids drooping as he followed the sight of your disappearing fingers. "She sounds so fuckin' good."
Eventually, his hand snatched your wrist, and he brought the saturated pair to his lips. They enveloped your fingers, sucking them clean. He hummed at the contact of your juices on his tongue, eyelashes fluttering. He released them with a soft smack of his lips.
"Tastes so fuckin' good," he said, licking the tips of his fingers, like he just consumed his favorite meal. "Think I need more."
His hands closed around the back of your knees, pulling you until only a portion of your ass remained on the sofa. Scooping your legs up, he settled them over his shoulders, immediately diving in. His tongue flattened, licking a long stripe up your center. You gasped, your fingers carding through his hair and holding firm.
Tongue flicking over your clit, he leaned down and tenderly kissed it. He pressed his face flush with your cunt, sucking the bud hard before descending upon your clenching hole. The tip of his tongue traced around your entrance until it plunged deep into your cunt.
He pushed his face further into you, practically submerging himself in you. As he devoured you, fucking you with his tongue, his nose steadily nudged your clit. Your grip on his dark strands tightened, your thighs squeezing tighter around his head. His eyes flicked up—a predator feasting on its prey.
"Yeah, fuckin' drown me, baby," he hummed against you, patting your thigh.
Then, that same hand vanished beneath you as his mouth returned to your clit. Two fingers pushed into your pussy without warning as he slurped on your swollen bud. You squirmed above him, your hips wiggling this way and that. Metal-plated fingers reached around your thigh, his palm flattening over your lower stomach.
"I know, I know. You're close, aren't ya? Just stay still, sweet girl," he ordered gently, tapping his fingers over your belly button.
His flesh fingers curled as his tongue spiraled, leaving you a whimpering mess. The tension in your gut coiled. Your free hand bent around the edge of the couch as your hips canted. Vision flaring white, the coil snapped. You came with a cry of his name, gasping as your cunt fluttered around his thick fingers. With trembling thighs and your eyes flashing open, you let the climax wash over you.
Prolonging your orgasm, he guided you through it. He softened his ministrations to a stop when you went limp above him. He planted a lingering kiss on your inner thigh, then removed your legs from his shoulders. They flopped against the floor, boneless.
"You don't realize how beautiful you are, do you?" he asked, awestruck. "Did you know your eyes get even brighter when you cum? I didn't know that was even possible."
Attempting to get you to meet his eyes again, he shook your leg. "You still with me, princess."
You kept your gaze to the ceiling, tracing the wood panels with your vision as you slowed your breathing. "I think I went to heaven," you panted, dazed.
Bucky chuckled, rising to his full height. Interrupting your view, he hovered over you, stabilizing himself against the back of the couch. His biceps bulged on either side of his head, muscles locking as he gazed down at your blissed-out expression.
"Yup, I bartered with the angels to bring you back," he teased.
A small grin tugged at your lips, eyes glinting. "And? What did it take to bring me back?"
"Everythin'," he whispered. "But it was so fuckin' worth it."
Your breath caught, butterflies erupting in your stomach that had nothing to do with the aftereffects of your climax. He leaned down lower, snaking his arm under the curve of your spine, and lifted you.
"You gonna lemme fuck you now, baby?" he questioned carefully, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist.
Resting your arms on his shoulders, your lips brushed his, voice coming out in a sultry purr. "Fuck me, Bucky. I need it."
Eager lips pressed against his, prompting him to let out an animalistic growl. He moved, blindly feeling around his living room. As your lips parted, your teeth sank into his bottom lip, lightly tugging on it. His knee bumped the corner of the couch, stumbling forward. Luckily, his instincts kicked in. Metal arm locking, he caught himself against the wall before it caused you any harm.
You giggled into his mouth, "Careful, pretty boy."
"Are you tryin' to kill me and get yourself killed in the process?" he scoffed, righting himself before continuing the short journey to his bedroom.
"What?" you said, feigning innocence. "You said you wanted me to bite you."
"You're lucky you're cute."
He tossed you onto the bed, the mattress squeaking subtly. The softness of the blankets briefly swallowed you before you propped yourself up on your elbows. Reaching behind his back, Bucky tugged at the collar of his shirt until it was off.
This time, when you looked at his muscles, you didn't feel any guilt. Openly, you traced the lines of his battle-worn body. Every scar that the years in the Air Force granted him, or the cuts that he received from long shifts at the shop, was thoroughly admired by you.
"You're perfect," you praised.
As if he'd never heard such a compliment, he tilted his head in fondness. Then, his thumbs hooked into his sweats, yanking them down. As he pulled the cuffs from his feet, you watched his cock bob gently against his stomach.
"Holy fuck," you breathed, eyes wide and mouth agape.
He was thick. Huge. Your little exploration in the hallway as he changed didn't do him justice. You followed the veins along his cock that led to his angry, red tip. A bead of precum dripped from the slit of his dick.
Crawling to you, he settled over you. You were still staring as he positioned himself between your legs. Gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he forced your gaze up.
"My eyes are up here, princess," he mocked lightly, then his tone softened. "I'll go slow, I promise. You're safe with me."
You nodded, but your mouth still felt desert-dry. "I have a confession to make."
"But 's not even Sunday," he jokingly replied.
"I wasn't looking at your arm earlier."
He hummed, amusement etching into his expression. "I also have a confession." His head dipped, mouth hovering beside your ear. "I knew."
Fingers curving around his cock, he pressed the head to your entrance, teasing it. You grasped his metal bicep, firmly planted by your head. You couldn't slow your breathing, your heartbeat galloping like a racehorse from nerves.
"Shh…" Bucky soothed. "Breathe with me. In 'n out. Yeah, that's perfect," he rambled as you matched his breathing.
The tip pushed through your folds, the thick head invading your pussy. The stretch was intense, stealing the air from your lungs. Even through his grunts of pleasure, he continued to guide you, talking you through the dull sting of his dick spreading you open.
"That's my good girl. Take it all," he groaned.
You whined brokenly as he bottomed out inside you; you'd never felt so full. Leaning back, he brushed a few damp strands out of your eyes. He pressed tender kisses to your slightly bruised nose—you were honestly so distracted by his presence that you hadn't thought about it since the accident. But he hadn't forgotten.
The attention he was giving your nose distracted you enough that by the time you had remembered the pain of him stretching you out, it had already faded. He pressed his forehead to yours, sighing in contentment.
With your pussy well-adjusted, he began rocking steadily into you. His metal hand found purchase on your hip as his other hand drifted up your arm that held the back of his neck. Securing your wrist, he drew it away, flattening your arm against the mattress. His hand glided up until he was intertwining your fingers with his. The intimacy of the gesture made it suddenly hard to swallow.
"I gotcha," he promised, squeezing your hand.
His hips picked up their pace, snapping up to meet yours. Setting a rhythmic pace, he gripped your hip with a more solid hold. Rapid breaths mingled in the space between you as the sound of skin slapping echoed around you.
The world around you fell away, and all you could see was him. He was invading your senses, leaving you completely connected to him. The worries of your personal life, everything that caused you pain, all dimmed in that moment. Because you were no longer letting those thoughts and feelings run your life.
Slamming into you, he groaned, his chin tipping back. "Baby, you feel so good. You're just perfect, aren't ya? Made just f'me."
You let out a loud, throaty moan as he hit that sweet spot deep inside you. The head of his cock bullied into your G-spot over and over until you were breathless. You arched into him, spine bowing.
Then, his hands slipped under you, lifting you. Your legs twisted as he adjusted you over top of him, straddling his thighs. Knees digging into the mattress, he thrusted up into you. Arms lifting to his shoulders, you held him. You moved with him, riding him at the pace he set. Your hips rolled, grinding against that spot that had you reeling.
A protective arm wrapped around the small of your back, fingers sprawled over your warm skin. His flesh palm rested over the back of your head as you buried your face in his shoulder. The next time he bucked up into you, your pussy clamped down hard around him. Like the force of a rising tide, you felt your climax ascend.
"'m right there," Bucky grunted. "I can feel her squeezin' me. That mean your close too, sweet girl?"
You nodded against him. "Come with me, please. I need it."
Moving in unison, the room filled with your combined sounds of pleasure. The wave came crashing down, your cunt pulsating around him. Your teeth punctured the skin of his shoulder as your second orgasm rippled through you. Hissing, his thrusts turned sloppy. Warmth spread through you, his release coating your walls as he spilled into you.
Slumping forward, your head rolling to the side. Breathing in tandem, his chest rose as yours sank. He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling your scent, and kissing the crown of your head.
You caught the teeth marks in his flesh, a flicker of concern overwhelming you. The emotion softened upon realizing you liked the sight of it. With a finger, you traced over each ridge.
"I know I said I'm not a biter," you slurred, still high on the experience. "But I have to say, it looks really good."
Bucky let out a gentle puff of air against your hair. "Oh yeah? I could get used to being marked up by you. As long as I can give you a matching one."
Lying you back on the bed, he moved over you and pressed his lips to your collarbone before sinking his teeth into the skin above it.
And though you knew there was not a soul around, you could have sworn your laugh carried for miles.
The sun appeared brighter this morning when you woke. You were drifting through Bucky's house with a pep in your step. The coffee was brewed, Alpine was fed, and you did it all while Bucky snored in the next room over.
But now with the sun sitting just above the treeline, everything felt dimmer than before. Frowning, you placed your phone on the kitchen counter. The white fluff ball, nudging at your hand, noticed your attitude change, as if she could smell it amongst the boldness of the coffee.
Your fingers carded through her fur, grounding yourself.
Warm arms enveloped you from behind, squeezing your midsection gingerly. "Mornin', princess."
"Morning," you parroted, but quieter.
Bucky stiffened behind you. "Hey, is everythin' alright?"
"I just got off the phone with my father."
"Oh," he muttered, turning you around so he could see your expression. "Judgin' by your face, 'm guessin' that didn't go well."
"No," you confirmed. "He said he was glad that I'm okay, but…" You trailed off, glancing at something over his shoulder. "He's not paying for the damages. Not unless I work for him. His wish for me to inherit his stupid company is finally coming true. I don't know why I even tried to resist it. He always wins anyway."
His brows knitted together in confusion, or maybe agitation. "Don't worry 'bout it," he said, framing your face with his massive hands. "I'll pay for it."
You scoffed, shaking him off. "No, I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not askin', 'm offerin'."
"No," you repeated more firmly. "I appreciate it, but I don't want that."
"Don't let him win," he muttered, eyes flicking between yours, searching.
"I'm trying not to," you insisted. "I guess I'll figure it out. I'll get a job, hopefully one I like, and I'll pay it off."
Bucky's lip lifted at the corner, giving you a look that could only mean trouble. "I know a place that's hirin'."
"Really?" You tilted your head, then it dawned on you what he meant. "No. Absolutely not. You were right, I don't know anything about cars. I can't work for you."
"I'll teach you," he said simply. "You don't gotta know everythin' right away. We can start slow. You can work at the front. Take calls. Schedule appointments. Take people's money…" His tone dipped into something teasing. "I know you won't have a problem with that one."
"Asshole," you chirped, slapping his chest. Then, your expression shifted into something warm. "I'll think about it."
"That's a yes," he murmured, as if he already knew.
"No, I said I'll think about it."
"Yeah, but your eyes said yes."
"You're ridiculous," you shot back, but you were grinning like an idiot.
He backed you into the counter, caging you in. "And you love it." Before you could even react, his lips were on yours, warm and inviting.
Five Months Later
The neon sign stood proudly outside Bucky's shop. It was a bright crimson that could be seen for miles, snagging just about anyone's attention. You suggested it. Because, of course, you did. You knew what customers liked, and you were right. The shop had an influx of people coming and going.
Your original suggestion was rejected. You wanted pink. He wanted blue. After bickering for half an hour, you both settled on red.
Sometimes he just had to stand there, leaning against his truck, taking it all in. The sign. The shop. His life…with you.
Eventually, he found his way to the front. His eyes scanned the poster hanging on the glass door, where the 'now hiring' sign had once lived. It read, 'Wrong Turn'—a foundation you were investing in. It was an organization specializing in drunk-driving awareness. Proud didn't even cover how he felt about it. About you, finding something that you were so passionate about. That you had poured your heart into.
Opening the door, the bell rang above him, announcing his arrival. Bucky was hit with a gust of warm vanilla layered with grapefruit, which he could practically taste on his tongue. He immediately heard the familiar sound of you singing. It was a little off-key, but unapologetically you.
Following the sound, he slipped into the garage, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. He watched you silently, a warm smile gracing his lips. You were tightening a bolt on an engine with a pink—yes, pink—wrench. In fact, your entire toolbox and tools were pink.
You finally glanced up from your task, offering him a small wave with oil-slicked fingers. "Hi, handsome," you greeted. Grabbing the rag hanging from the vehicle, you wiped the grease from your fingers.
Closing the distance, his hands found your hips, pressing a kiss to your nose. "Hey, princess." He glanced down and frowned. "What're you wearin'?"
"A shirt."
"I see that. Why is it like that?" he asked, scanning the shirt that had his logo on the front of it…but in blush pink.
"They just came in today. Isn't it cute?"
"No. Nope. I didn't agree to this."
"Buck," you drawled, a lilt to your voice. "Sam is wearing one. I have one ready for Joaquin when he comes in for work tomorrow. I even have one set aside for Alpine."
"After the pink bow incident, 'm not lettin' you put anythin' on her."
"She loved it, and she looked adorable in it. Just admit it," you muttered, poking him in the ribs.
She really did look cute in it, but he wasn't about to tell you that.
Sam stepped in then, wearing his new pink shirt, and the moment his eyes fell on the two of you, he started backing up. "Wilson, get your ass back in 'ere," Bucky called. Sam froze mid-step, turning with a guilty look on his face.
"Were you in on this?" Bucky inquired, pointing at your shirt.
"Will you dock my pay if I say yes?" Sam asked tentatively.
Bucky rubbed his forehead, groaning. "'m gettin' run out of my own shop."
"You love it," you cooed, and he only glared in return. You tried for a different approach, offering him a full, toothy smile as your eyelashes fluttered. "You love me?"
"You're lucky I love you," he corrected. "Alright, the shirts can stay."
Sam’s jaw dropped. “Wait, that’s all it took? All she had to do was bat her lashes, and you're just fine? I’ve been trying to get you to approve new uniforms for years.”
Bucky shot him a look. “Don’t push it.”
You just beamed, triumphant. "Thanks, baby," you cheered, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, smearing some of your glittery lip gloss on his skin.
But he didn't mind. Because for the last five months, he was happy. Content. And it was all because he'd fallen for the rich girl, who strutted into his shop with pink heels and a smile. The one who turned his world upside down with one glimpse of those bright eyes. The one who caused him to prefer chaos to his normal quiet.
And he thanked the universe every day for dropping you into his lap.
me posting this because holy shit...this took a lot out of me:
PAIRING: ceo!bucky barnes x wife!reader
SUMMARY: three times in which the new intern tries to impress her hot, grumpy boss, mr. barnes. or, three times in which bucky can’t stop talking about his lovely wife.
WARNINGS: use of third person & second person & pov changes (she/her pronouns for reader); pictures don't reflect reader's appearance; reader wears a dress; original character (I’m so sorry if your name is madison 🥲); ceo!bucky (who is a little mean, tbh); whipped!bucky (he’s pathetically obsessed); pregnancy stuff (trying for a baby); fluff; smut; daddy & mommy kink; one (1) use of ‘slut’; mention of cockwarming; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); breeding kink; office sex (so... kind of public sex?).
WORD COUNT: 6k
A/N: I had so much fun writing this one-shot at the time and re-reading it put me in such a good mood, ngl. hope you’ll enjoy!
The little ding from an elevator has never felt so ominous. Wanda, Darcy and Carol scurry away like thieves from a crime scene, abandoning their morning gossip by the copier. Scott almost drops his freshly brewed coffee, fatigue instantly melting off his features and shoulders tensing up, while Monica throws her phone in her bag, pretending she’s been working all along on an already strategically open Excel sheet.
Once the elevator doors part, the whole floor falls into a silent distress. Mr. Barnes steps out with the same expression he wears every single morning: lips pressed in a thin line, jaw clenched, and a faint, permanent scowl, as if the world had already disappointed him the moment he woke up.
His suit is always impeccably ironed, not a single crease on his white, crisp shirt. His cologne—Tom Ford’s Beau de Jour—is never too strong, but it lingers in the air like a constant reminder of his authority. As far as his employees can remember, his left wrist has never been bare: a prized watch, very simple yet tasteful, that can’t strangely be associated with any expensive brand, rests there. He’s very protective of it, and nobody has ever dared to comment on its simplicity, especially after an unpleasant episode involving one of the company's previous clients, Mr. Pierce.
The older man attempted to touch it with a grimace, as a joke, he kept insisting after. Nobody ever believed Mr. Barnes’ blue eyes could turn even icier. His voice was tinted with a subtle growl as he intimated the man to get his filthy hands off his watch. Scott almost fainted when he noticed Mr. Wilson tightly press his lips together to avoid bursting out laughing.
Needless to say, Mr. Pierce’s company lost all its deals with Barnes Investments.
Mr. Barnes walks with purpose, the same black coat gently swaying with every clipped step and tie mathematically aligned. He doesn’t even glance at his visibly fidgety employees, his blue eyes hidden behind a pair of Ami Paris black sunglasses that he only removes once he enters his office, strategically located at the very end of the open space.
He also doesn’t greet anyone. His presence alone is a daily roll call.
The CEO doesn’t talk much in general—not unless he absolutely has to. But when he does, one either ends up walking away with a quiet pride burning in their chest, or crying and shaking in the restroom. His words are sharp and efficient. A simple “fix this” could ruin an entire afternoon. A “this is unacceptable”, a week.
The worst thing is that he doesn’t even need to raise his voice, because his perpetual glacial calm is enough to make a grown man in his fifties tremble like a fawn taking its first steps. His disappointed silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of his pen against the sleek desk, could send any adult into an existential crisis.
He doesn’t even need to walk past the desks to know what happens inside his company. Every attempt to impress him is ignored without mercy and humor is met with a slow blink, as if it were a personal insult to his entire bloodline.
Somewhere along the way, the office collectively settled on calling him Mr. Tightass behind his back. Despite that, the CEO puts equal attention in rewarding and commending his employees when credit is due. It still feels like talking with someone who has been constipated for a month, but coming from the strict boss himself, the praise is always very welcomed.
Every morning, he follows the same meticulous routine: he checks his schedule with his trusted assistant, Natasha; retreats into his office to scan the reports left on his desk, flagging all the things he disapproves of, and then closes the door behind him with a resounding bang that feels like an order to not be disturbed.
He is habit wrapped in a suit and polished shoes; an ongoing source of heart palpitations for the entire staff.
This is the environment Madison Carrell, freshly graduated from NYU, walks into two days later, with a smug smile and pink high heels, blissfully unaware of what lies ahead.
Wanda is the one designated to show her the ropes, and Madison’s first day unfolds in a tour of the office—from the rows of desks lining the wooden floor to the large glass-walled meeting room. They pause briefly in the break room, where the analyst takes her time explaining how the kitchenette works. That’s when a dull knock on the open door interrupts their conversation. There, Mr. Barnes slightly leans forward, eyeing Wanda with his usual blank expression.
“I need the volatility report yesterday, Miss Maximoff.”
“Yes, sir. I apologize. I’ll bring it to your office right now—” He raises a palm, stopping her nervous rambling.
“No need, leave it to Natasha and she’ll bring it to me.” Mr. Barnes has already turned away when she remembers the girl beside her.
“Um s—sir, this is one of the new interns, Madison Carrell.” His head turns enough to marginally eye the girl, giving her a curt nod before he’s returning to his cavern.
“Was that… James Barnes?” Wanda’s eyes flit on the intern, grimacing at her wide, sparkling eyes.
“Yeah, that’s him. A real gentleman, as you can see.” She rolls her eyes, stealing a handful of cereal from the glass jar.
Madison quietly gasps, patting her skirt as if to ensure she looks presentable. “I didn’t think I would meet him today. I’ve been a fan ever since he was invited to speak at a conference at my university two years ago.”
Wanda blinks once, one eyebrow raising skeptically. “A fan?”
“Of course!” The blonde wheezes. “He’s a brilliant, successful man who has built this company with his own blood, sweat and tears from the ground up. You should be grateful he even glances your way.” She stares at the vacant spot previously occupied by the CEO, trying to fruitlessly contain a grin. “And he's very handsome.”
“You know he’s married, right?” Madison’s head snaps toward the analyst, her smile suddenly replaced by a scowl.
“What?”
It’s impossible. She knows his Wikipedia page by heart and there isn't a single mention of a marriage, nor of his personal life in general.
“Yeah, and also very much in love with his wife.” The older woman nods, quite amused. Now she almost regrets telling her, nothing exciting ever happens in this office, after all.
Madison’s mouth curves up, looking almost sympathetic. “Oh Wanda,” the analyst's eyes narrow on the intern patting her forearm condescendingly. “Everything ends. Even marriages.”
The analyst simply smirks knowingly, already walking to the door. “Mh, if you say so.” She then eyes the blonde, nodding towards the open space. “C’mon, I’ll show you your desk. It’s right next to mine and Darcy’s.”
The break room is unusually quiet for a mid-morning. Madison stands by the kitchenette, pretending to tidy up a stack of colorful mugs while her ear is tuned to the hallway.
“Move Stark’s call to Wednesday, and if he complains, remind him we received an equally convincing offer from Williams Enterprise.” The moment Mr. Barnes’ deep, commanding voice thunders in the hallway, she straightens, a toothy smile brightening her face as his measured footsteps get louder and louder, until he crosses the threshold of the break room.
He steps inside, heading straight for the coffee machine with his red ceramic cup in hand—it’s his third refill already. He presses the button, then crosses his arms with a rigid posture, his left foot tapping rhythmically. Impatiently.
Madison takes a second to adjust her locks, before she turns toward the man. “Good morning, Mr. Barnes!”
He gives her a brief glance, nothing more than a flicker of acknowledgement, and a curt nod, before returning his frown to the humming appliance.
She clears her throat, refusing to let his disregard deter her. “I, um… I baked something. Thought I’d bring some in for the team.”
Mr. Barnes looks bored at this point, still not moving his icy eyes from the cup.
She swallows. “They’re chocolate chip cookies, fresh from this morning. I figured you might like to try one.” As the CEO turns with his steaming coffee in hand, he almost bumps into the extended tray of sweets. He grunts, clearly annoyed at this intern’s insistence, and in that exact moment, his wife’s words echo sweetly through his mind.
“They’re your employees, Jamie. Just… Try to be a little nicer?”
With a sigh, Mr. Barnes places the cup back on the counter, before taking a cookie under Madison’s hopeful eyes. But her enthusiasm is abruptly torn to shreds as she watches him break the tiniest piece off, almost a crumb, then taste it with the air of someone challenged to eat concrete for money.
A low hum escapes him, thoughtful. He eyes the rest of the cookie distracted as he starts mumbling.
“I wonder if my wife will bake cookies, she already made a pie two days ago.”
Madison blinks. Why does he need his wife’s cookies? She's literally in front of him right now, with a tray full of them that she specifically baked just for him! Does he know how hard it was to keep the team away from them, then look for a good hiding place in the break room so they would go unnoticed? She had to wait here for hours, pretending to clean and look for random stuff every time a passing co-worker eyed her with suspicion.
Madison forces a chuckle, an idea quickly forming in her mind to not let the conversation die. “What kind of pie?”
His fingers lightly scratch the stubble on his chin, still pensive. “Apple. It’s my favorite.”
Her eyes lit up. “I make a mean apple pie! Next time I can—”
“It was excellent. The crust was neither too flaky nor too hard. And the flavors were perfectly balanced.” He shakes his head, still impressed. Madison winces as he literally cuts her off, but by the hazy look in his eyes, she doubts he even noticed her talking at all. “She’s a baker, so she knows her deal. Always testing new recipes on me.”
Is he pouting?
“I finished the whole thing in two days.”
Madison stands there frozen, the paper tray cradled awkwardly in her hands as she watches Mr. Barnes swiftly set the cookie down on the counter.
“I need to text her.” He murmurs, not even glancing at his cup as he moves hastily toward the door. “Tell her to make another one for tonight.”
And just like that, he disappears, leaving the untouched tray and Madison’s crushed expectations behind.
It’s not until Scott pokes his head in that her vacant stare finally moves. “Can we eat them now?”
Alright, so the first attempt to impress her boss didn’t go as well as she predicted. That’s okay! Madison wasn’t elected student body president by throwing the towel at the first obstacle.
The next occasion presents itself the following week. Wanda was tasked with drafting a counter proposal to Mr. Stark’s new project, which meant Madison could not only be present during the presentation, but also outline a section of the submission and prove to Mr. Barnes she deserves her place there—someone who belongs in his professional world, beside him, not a lowly baker.
Right now, they are on a small break after four boring hours spent discussing the billionaire’s proposal. From her peripheral vision, Madison catches Mr. Barnes coming back in the room, along with Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark. Her chest slightly puffs out, finally ready to spring into action.
“So I told him I didn’t give a fuck about fishing, and then he spent all night crying over his ex-wife—”
“Ask me about my lunch.” Monica balks at Madison, tilting her head.
“Excuse me?”
“Ask me about my lunch. Ask me where I bought those nice tomatoes!” She whispers, leaning sideways against the long table. Monica stares at her appalled, until their boss’ booming voice reaches her ears and her eyes roll to the sky. Of course it’s one of the new intern’s weird plans to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention. She can't believe Madison is still at it after ‘The Cookie Failure’, as Scott named it.
“Where did you find those nice tomatoes?” She mutters reluctantly.
“Louder.”
“Where did you find those nice tomatoes?” Her yell attracts the attention of the four men and other nearby employees minding their own business.
Madison gives her a little coquettish giggle. “You mean the ones in the salad I had for lunch? Of course I grow them in my garden!”
Last week, Mr. Wilson teased Mr. Barnes about his prettily packed lunch—no, she was not eavesdropping... She just happened to be walking past his office at the exact moment highly confidential conversations have the bad habit of being perfectly audible. At some point, he mentioned that the lettuce came straight from his garden, so she concluded he must have a green thumb.
Of course she didn't have the time, nor the patience, to grow fucking vegetables. No one would ever be able to tell the difference between store-bought tomatoes and homegrown ones, anyway.
Tomatoes were tomatoes. The internet agreed.
“My wife has a beautiful garden.”
Madison goes still.
“Does she now?” Mr. Stark amusedly teases him.
She doesn’t blink for a moment, like her brain has briefly stopped accepting information.
“Last year she grew tomatoes so perfect the neighbors thought they were made of wax.” He pats the pocket of his black pants. “Hold on, I have pictures.” And everyone gathers around him. Like bees around a flower. Even Monica!
“Look at the color! It’s incredible.” A few murmurs of agreement ripple through the room, no doubt praising her and her damn tomatoes.
“And these are her cucumbers. And her lettuce. And—oh, here she is mulching. She didn’t know I was there.” Madison almost has an aneurysm as a faint, unguarded smile appears on his lips. “She’s so lovely.”
Coughing, Madison raises her voice in a pathetic last attempt. “I, uh… planted some basil.”
And without missing a beat, Mr. Barnes destroys her while still swiping through the pictures.
“My wife grows five varieties of basil.”
Then, he stops short, his finger hovering over the screen as his lips press together to hide a grin. That's when Mr. Rogers clears his throat, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. His head jerks up, blinking as if he just woke up from a dream.
“Alright.” His frown returns. “Break’s over. Miss Maximoff, it’s your turn.”
“Shit.” Madison whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. She was so focused on looking up gardening tips these past few days that she completely forgot she also had to help Wanda present her counter proposal. Which entails talking in front of an entire board of stakeholders about things she only read in her university books.
Suddenly, those stupid tomatoes feel like they’re crawling back up her esophagus, and a cold sweat breaks across her skin. She makes it to the massive presentation screen on unsteady legs, her hands shaking so badly she can barely grip the clicker. Behind her, Mr. Barnes stands and starts walking toward them, while the rest of the table settles back into their seats.
“Maximoff, I read the counter proposal last night. Good job. The section about forecasted performance—”
Madison perks up. “I drafted that section—”
“My wife caught five mistakes there. Be careful.” He concludes, not sparing her a single glance as he turns to make his way back to the head of the table. Still, she catches his breathy comment.
“Such a brilliant woman.”
Her fiasco at Mr. Stark’s deal sets Madison back a few steps. Well, did she even move forward at all? After a week of reflection—mostly spent on TikTok tutorials about “what men like in a woman”, a suspicious amount of “CEO mindset” content and questionable productivity hacks she saved at 2 a.m.—the intern decides to take a new approach.
It’s Friday when Madison plans to stay back at the office, knowing Mr. Barnes always finishes late on Fridays. He doesn’t like being bothered over the weekend, so he ensures everything is done before he leaves.
Silence settles heavily over the building once the team leaves, making it easy to catch the rustle of papers and the faint creak of his chair around nine, signaling he’s finally done. Her coat is already on as she stands near her desk, deliberately checking her bag as if making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. When he finally opens the door, she lets out an exaggerated sigh, lifting her eyes and putting on her best expression of surprise.
“Mr. Barnes! I didn’t think there was anyone left at this hour.” The man stops abruptly in his quick advance toward the elevator, turning to face her. “I had to finish a few things for Wanda and I didn’t notice the time. I’m just so happy to be here time kind of disappears when you get into it. You surely get that, right?”
He stares at her, deadpan. “Who are you, again?”
Her eyes bulge out. “I—” She gapes. “Madison Carrell! The new intern!” She rushes out, bordering on a shriek.
“Right.” He mutters, resuming his steps as she quickly jogs to reach him. “No, I actually don't get that. If it were for me, I would stay at home, or help my wife run her bakery.” After pressing the button to call the elevator, he stares ahead, still looking so put together after twelve hours of work.
James Buchanan Barnes—one of the richest, most hard-working people in the whole continent, two-time #1 on Forbes’ Top 100 CEO, and major partner at Stark Industries—longs to be a househusband just so he can stay with his wife? And run a fucking bakery?
“She’s always telling me I need to come home earlier.” He sighs, and to her shock, his mouth twists into something akin to a fond smile. “She worries so much about me. She sent me a selfie an hour ago and now I can’t wait to see her.”
Madison simply nods along, face frozen in polite agony while her bag takes the worst of it, her knuckles turning white as she crumples the poor handle. She just wasted four hours of her Friday night doing nothing only to hear the man of her dreams sing praises about a woman she’s never met, yet knows entirely too much about.
The ride in the elevator is excruciating. Mr. Barnes is too busy grinning down at his phone to entertain her, and Madison’s slumped shoulders are a testament of her crushed hopes. Once they’re outside, she notices a couple of people gathered in front of the window of a clothing store right across the street. They look like they are decorating for Christmas, strings of lights already up and various boxes blocking half of the sidewalk. Mr. Barnes shakes his head at the sight, and Madison catches it from her peripheral vision.
Of course a cranky and curt man like Mr. Barnes would be a grinch!
Such a shame she completely missed his soft smile.
“I can’t believe some people are already decorating for Christmas.” She scoffs. “C’mon, it’s still November! Who is the idiot that does that?” Turning her head toward him, her chuckle dies in her throat at his gelid expression.
“My wife.”
Madison’s heart drops to her stomach. “W–What–”
“My wife is the idiot who decorates for Christmas in November.” His caustic reply sends shivers down her back. Madison's jaw falls to the ground, and for a moment she just stands there, toes curling in shame and cheeks flaming red. Her mouth opens and closes twice, not really knowing what to say or do in front of the man eyeing her with so much vitriol.
Maybe the ground should open right this instant and swallow her whole. It would hurt less.
“I—”
“Goodnight, Miss Carroll.”
“What—” She whispers, completely caught off guard. “It’s Carrell!” She shouts, but he’s already halfway to his black Jaguar.
“FUCK!”
Wanda is so engrossed in her conversation with Darcy about the umpteenth date with a loser she met on Tinder that the loud thump on her right makes both women jolt in surprise.
It's Madison and she is... a mess.
Her ponytail is barely hanging on, a few blonde hair sticking in the air as if she was just electrocuted. Her makeup only consists of some smudged gloss—a rough contrast to the full face she has been displaying every single morning since she set foot here at Barnes Investments. Darcy and Wanda exchange a look of worry as they spot the big brown stain on her light blue shirt, probably coffee.
They’ve never seen Madison look so distraught in the two months she’s been here.
“Honey, are you okay?” Wanda tentatively asks.
“Okay? Why yeah sure! Why shouldn’t I be okay?” She grits out with a fake, entirely too big smile, while literally throwing her things on her desk.
“You sure?” Darcy raises an eyebrow.
“Of course! I mean, my crush is happily married to a woman who apparently has a pussy made of gold, because he can’t stop talking about her for one damn second.” Her pencil case almost flies to the ground. The desk shakes under the heavy laptop mindlessly tossed on its surface.
Her little outburst makes a few heads turn, prompting the two analysts to shoot on their feet.
“Hey, lower your voice!” Wanda whisper shouts. “I understand you’re disappointed, but did you forget said crush is also your boss?”
“No, Wanda. You don’t understand.” She growls out, looking like a feral dog. “Two days ago I had to bribe his assistant with a fucking thirty-five-dollar chocolate bar just to find out his coffee order! Do you know where Mr. Barnes buys his coffee from every. Single. Morning?” Wanda shakes her head, mildly scared as Madison leans forward, her right eye twitching. “From a fucking coffee shop on the other side of New York. It took me fifty minutes just to get there, only for him to tell me he doesn’t drink that shit anymore because that stupid wife of his says it makes him too jittery.” She mocks with a pout and a whiny voice.
“He switched to herbal tea, or something. Last week!”
“It’s been two months and I know more about this alleged wife of his than about the fucking company! He describes her as she is some sort of goddess who knows everything! And who the fuck keeps two hundred pictures of vegetables in their phone?”
At this point, Madison is having a genuine outburst, screaming and slamming her bag on the desk under her co-workers’ bewildered gaze.
“For God’s sake, is she even real?”
As if by magic, the ding of the elevator suspends the room in silence. Everything seems to freeze as the doors slide open, revealing a woman Madison has never seen before, cautiously stepping forward. Her A-line mini dress has a soft plaid pattern, the sleeves sheer and flowy. The skirt flares out with a gentle silhouette, half hidden under a long black coat.
The entire floor gapes, taken aback by the romantic, almost ethereal vision. There’s only one person who doesn’t seem fazed at all, and that’s Mr. Barnes, who abruptly opens the door of his office as soon as the elevator door shuts.
“Sweetheart.”
Your eyes immediately find Bucky's as he quickly makes his way to you at the end of the room.
“Jamie.” His own lips twist into a grin when he finally reaches you, circling your waist with his muscular arms.
“What are you doing here, doll? It’s your day off.” He mumbles, leaving a small kiss on your forehead. His blue eyes carefully take you in, poorly concealing his appreciation for your cute outfit, until they land on your bare legs.
“Where are your tights?” He frowns, gently tugging you forward. “C'mere, let's sit in my office so you can warm up.”
“I wanted to see you.” You hum, keeping your feet firmly planted on the ground as your fingers pull at his suit jacket, so you can drag his face closer to yours. Once your lips are brushing against his ear, you whisper as quietly as you can, hoping only your husband will catch your words.
“They're not the only thing I’m not wearing right now.”
Bucky’s eyes widen, before his saliva goes down the wrong pipe, sending him into a coughing fit under your amused gaze. His employees try to not stare at the scene, but it’s so endearingly rare witnessing their stern boss turn into this blushing, pliant mess in front of a pretty girl.
“Shit.” He swallows, awkwardly clearing his throat as he quickly recomposes himself. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Everyone knows that at his core, Mr. Barnes is just a man pathetically in love with his wife, still, curious eyes follow you as he hastily guides you to his office with a hand on your back, his gaze not steering away once from your face as giggles unusually fill the open space.
“Thank God she came by.” Scott leans in, addressing the three women. “He’s always more lenient after her visits.” He elaborates, mainly for a flustered Madison, who releases her expensive bag, letting it fall on the floor with a dull thud, before storming off to the restroom. Wanda sighs, slightly shaking her head in exhaustion.
The man just stares at the two analysts with knitted eyebrows, completely confused. “What?”
“My pretty little slut, coming to Daddy’s office without wearing any panties.” Bucky grunts against the skin of your bare chest, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs to keep you nice and still on his desk.
It’s been six months since you and Bucky have agreed to try for a baby. Six months of pure, unhinged, hot sex in his office. It just so happens that your husband has been at work during your fertile window for the past few months, meaning that he could use that as an excuse to have you bare and whimpering in his office for a few days a month.
Never in his career has Bucky dreamt of actually having sex here, of all places. Sure, he fantasized about your warmth by his side during those hard nights spent here amongst mountains of documents—he, Steve and Sam worked overtime almost every day at the beginning; his company was too small and new to afford the luxury of going home at a decent time.
And you supported him through it all, his perfect darling.
So imagine his face when you showed up at his workplace one day, locking the door behind you before literally throwing yourself at him, your breath warm against his ear as you gasped out how badly you needed him to fuck you until you couldn’t remember your own name.
Honestly, it wasn’t his proudest moment. He ended up coming before you after only a minute top, too aroused as he stared at you eagerly riding him on his chair, a hand on your mouth to prevent any loud noise from spilling out as his employees kept working, not having the faintest idea about what was happening inside their boss’ office.
From that moment on, your little visits meant only one thing.
“Fuck, Daddy you’re so big.” You whine, clinging onto his shoulders.
He lets out an animalistic groan as he squeezes your hips bruisingly. “Say it again.” He growls, grinding his hips harder against you. “You know I love it when you call me that, baby.”
“Daddy please.” He slams his lips against yours, moaning as his tongue invades your mouth. When he pulls away, he goes straight for your chest, sucking on your nipple. Bucky loves to play with your breasts, you always get so responsive when his fingers tug and flicker your pretty nipples. Sometimes he just palms them for comfort during particularly frustrating calls he gets on the weekends from bratty assholes who refuse to go through his assistant first. Or out of boredom, while watching a movie. Until you get all worked up and end up cockwarming him throughout the rest of the movie.
“Can’t wait for these to swell up, gonna take such good care of you when they get too heavy and sensitive.” His head moves, the tip of his tongue already out to give some attention to the other nipple. “Wanna taste your milk so bad, baby. Will you let me? Bet it's just as sweet as your pussy.”
“Bucky!” Your head falls back as his teeth gently graze your erect nub, pulling a little pathetic whimper out of you that echoes loudly in the room.
“Shh-shh.” Your husband soothes, his voice back at your ear, his breath tickling your damp skin. “Been thinking about your pretty pussy all day.”
Bucky sounds a little dazed, his voice hoarse with something primal as one of his hands travels from your hip to your abdomen. “You’ll look so beautiful with your belly all big and round and full. All because of me.”
“Please.” You cry out, trembling as tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes. It’s too much. Everything is too much. Your hot skin rubbing against his soft clothes, his filthy words, the way his blue eyes look at you with barely concealed hunger... His big cock stretching you open for him to move as he pleases.
“You’re so fucking wet, baby.” Bucky marvels, staring in awe as his length disappears inside you, the loud, squelching sounds heating your cheeks up in embarrassment. You’ve done this so many times, yet that sense of danger, of possibly being caught doing something so debauched in such a professional environment, never fails to make your stomach flip and your core throb.
“Everyone will know how good I fuck you, how good I am for my beautiful wife.” He growls out against your lips. “My gorgeous Mommy.”
Your whole body shudder as your tongues dance, your pussy clenching at the sensation of his thick cock plunging deep inside you. It makes your head spin, leaving you completely speechless as Bucky's hips speed up.
“Fuck, Daddy!” A whimper involuntarily falls from your parted lips, and your eyes squeeze shut. “Fuck, too big—” You gasp out the last word, his hips giving a particular brutal thrust that allows him to reach impossibly deeper.
“Yeah? I know, baby. I know. So big you can’t even talk properly.” He smirks. “Still, you take it so good, such a good girl.”
He covers your cheeks with sweet kisses, tracing a slow path down to the slope of your neck, where he makes sure to bite hard enough to elicit a surprised squeal from you.
“‘M gonna make you a mommy.” He pants harshly into your skin, his orgasm gradually approaching when you clench again. “The prettiest.” Thrust. “Sweetest.” Thrust. “Mommy.”
“Yes yes yes Daddy please!”
Bucky’s low grunts and moans get louder as his fingers gently rub your clit, making your eyes roll back at the blinding pleasure. Your nails almost tear through the fabric of his half-open shirt.
“You’re so tight. Shit, I can feel you coming baby.” He moans, watching you nod quickly, and his voice drops a little. “Yeah? You finally gonna milk Daddy’s cock, pretty girl?”
Your palm slaps on your parted mouth to stifle your lewd sounds. Your legs wrap tighter around his hips, and as he keeps thrusting faster and faster, your vision goes blurry and the knot in your belly finally snaps.
“Daddy.” You whimper behind your hand, toes curling at the overwhelming bliss quickly hitting you. “Oh my God, I'm coming!” Your body wraps around him tightly as your hole clenches down, squeezing him so hard he almost chokes on his own spit. His fingers are cruel on your throbbing nub, toying with it until your hips jerk in overstimulation. You feel that hot pleasure everywhere—the base of your spine, deep in your gut, in your walls keeping him nice and warm. It’s always this intense with your husband: he knows what to say and where to put his hands so your orgasm hits you like a freight train, leaving your body exhausted yet quivering for more.
“Fuck fuck—Daddy’s coming too.” He grits out, his thrusts messy and frantic, before his cock twitches, spilling deep inside you. “Shit—that’s it. Take it all, beautiful.”
Your chest is still heaving when you flop against him, forehead falling on his shoulder as your trembling fingers stay anchored to his shirt. His hands move to your asscheeks, thumbs leisurely stroking small circles into your skin as he tries to regain his breath as well. Yet, smugness drip off his voice.
“Gave it to you so good you can’t even sit up straight, mh?”
You don’t have the energy to clap back, mewling with oversensitivity as he continues to gently thrust his softening dick lightly in and out of you, the mix of your juices trickling down and soiling the inner part of your thighs. Your lips part anyway to say something, but everything dissolves into an incoherent squeak when he gives your ass a light spank.
Bucky chuckles, proud of himself, his arms moving around your waist, hugging your body closer to his. “So gorgeous.” He coos, his eyelids fluttering close as the tip of his nose nuzzles your neck, breathing in your perfume, by now impeccably mixed with the scent of your favorite body cream.
“So good for me. Fuck baby, I love you. I love you so much.” His hands gently cradle your cheeks, tenderly coaxing you out of your hiding spot as the strong urge to kiss you takes over his whole body. “Gonna have my baby and be the best mommy in the world.” He utters between sweet kisses.
“Love you too, Jamie.” Bucky's lips curve softly at the way your eyelids barely stay open, letting you cuddle against his chest. His heartbeat never fails to speed up when those three magic words fall from your lips.
“Think we did it this time?” You yawn tiredly, trying to keep your voice neutral. Still, your husband knows you too well after all these years by your side, instantly recognizing that hint of fragile hope in your question, and the faint change in your body, gone a little rigid.
His arms squeeze your waist once, before he drops a kiss on the top of your head, hoping it conveyed all his tenderness for your small family. That gesture, although little, instantly warms your heart, melting the tension off of your limbs as you squeeze his torso once.
“I have a hunch we did, my love.”
She just wanted to gather more information about your marriage from Natasha in a last, desperate attempt to convince herself she still had a chance. She is Mr. Barnes’ personal assistant, the only one who gets more than a single austere sentence out of him; the only one he calls by her first name. She must know something about his personal life.
But Natasha was not at her desk. As a matter of fact, the small hallway was completely deserted, she noticed with a frown.
And unfortunately, she had to find out the reason the hard way.
It's impossible to not notice the intern's pale face as she makes her way back to her cubicle, slow and stiff as her eyes stay fixed on nothing in particular.
With a gentle voice, Wanda tries to strike up a conversation. “Hey, are you okay?”
Madison simply retrieves her bag, then turns away, Wanda barely catching her mumbled words as she starts walking toward the elevator.
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”
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!
word count: 11.4k
main masterlist || 🎨 art's moodboard event
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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