ĭn′tər-lō′pər, (n.) one who is unwanted or unwelcome; one who interferes where they do not belong. A mini fansite theme matching my Heartworm about page.
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only that it is progressing again 🙈 i made a lot of headway on it at the start of the year and then just did not touch it for months, which seems to be the norm for me now 💀 but i am finally writing it again, i truly want this done and posted ASAP
only that it is progressing again 🙈 i made a lot of headway on it at the start of the year and then just did not touch it for months, which seems to be the norm for me now 💀 but i am finally writing it again, i truly want this done and posted ASAP
a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. inspired by national treasure, the mummy (1999), and similar adventure films. the premise of this fic is based on fact/real legends, then the rest is the result of my imagination.
“Steve Rogers?”
The man hums in answer, his gaze fixated on the small television mounted above the bar.
Offering your hand, you introduce yourself. “We spoke on the phone.”
His head leisurely turns, and though they’re hidden behind dark sunglasses, you feel his eyes as they sweep over you before he accepts your outstretched hand.
“You want me to take you into the jungle.”
Glancing down at his hand as it engulfs yours, you can’t tell if he’s asking a question or stating a fact.
Either way, you respond with “Jake said you were the best man for the job.”
Sort of.
[2 DAYS PRIOR]
“Are you crazy?” Jake gawks, “I mean, yes, you’re crazy, but this is like a whole new level for you.”
“I’m not here for your opinion.” You assert, resting your palms on his desk and leaning forward. “I just need someone to take us, someone who knows the area.”
Running a hand through his spiked hair, Jake replies “Look, I know a few guys there but none are gonna buy what you’re selling. Treasure hunters are a dime a dozen in South America.”
“Explorers.” You correct, heaving a sigh. “C’mon, there has to be one guy willing.”
“I’m telling you there’s not.”
Slapping your hands on his desk, you straighten up. “Fine then, we’ll go alone.”
“What?” Jake splutters, “You wouldn’t, you - fuck, you would.” He groans.
Glaring at you for a moment, Jake shakes his head before rummaging through the papers strewn across his desk.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous Ecuador is? Do you know how many explorers die there each year?” He lectures.
“Why do you think I’m here?” You retort.
Muttering under his breath, Jake finds what he’s looking for and meets your unyielding gaze. “I’m not saying he’ll do it, but if you have a chance with anyone, it’s Rogers.”
You grab the small piece of paper Jake holds out to you, but his tight grip stops you from taking it.
“He won’t be cheap.” Jake warns.
“Of course.”
A few seconds pass before he relinquishes the paper to you.
Smiling sweetly, you pocket it. “Thank you Jake.”
Huffing, he gestures to the door. “Go.”
Your smile grows at his exasperated demand - which you quickly obey.
Jake’s voice calls out behind you just as you open his office door.
“Don’t tell Rogers what you’re looking for!”
[PRESENT]
Releasing your hand, Steve pushes up from the bar stool.
You have to tilt your head up and up as you watch him reach his full height.
“That was awfully nice of him.” Steve states dryly, his attention returning to the football game occuring on the television. “You didn’t say why you wanted to go into the jungle.”
Right.
“Well, I’m an -”
A low whistle interrupts you, drawing both your and Steve’s attention.
“Maxwell.” You greet the approaching man, smiling through gritted teeth.
Ignoring you, Max looks Steve up and down before announcing “Perfect, you’re just the kind of brute we need.”
He’s not wrong. Steve Rogers is built like a brick shithouse and most definitely suited for the task at hand.
Stopping beside you, Max extends his hand. “You must be Steve Rogers, I’m Max.”
Giving a small nod, Steve shakes his hand before aptly reminding you both “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
You keep your lie brief.
“As I was saying, we’re here to study specific sections of the Amazon rainforest for a thesis I’m working on.”
Throwing an arm around your shoulders, Max helpfully - and truthfully, adds “She’s an archaeologist.”
Steve studies you both, his face expressionless.
Your stomach drops.
He doesn’t believe us.
“You’re treasure hunters.” Steve declares, confirming your fear.
“Actually, we’re explorers.”
Continuing on like you hadn’t spoken, Steve says “And I’m guessing you’re after the treasure of Llanganates.”
“Good guess.”
Sighing at Max's admission, you try again “We’re -”
“Listen,” Steve cuts off. “The jungle and mountain ranges here are no joke, and I’m not risking my life just so you two can come to the same conclusion as every other schmuck that’s gone looking for that treasure, which is that it doesn’t exist.”
Your jaw drops at his words. “I’m no schmuck Mr. Rogers and just because you don't -”
“We’ll pay you well.” Max intervenes, shooting you a wary glance as you glare up at the large man.
Steve places his hands on his hips, his attention still on you while you bite your tongue.
You swear his lips twitch with a smirk.
Asshole.
“How much?” Steve eventually asks, turning his head to Max.
“How much do you want?” Max grins.
Silence falls as Steve mulls over the question.
“Five thousand a day.”
Your jaw drops again. “No way!”
“Done.”
Baffled, you gape at Max. “That’s an insane amount.”
Lifting his arm from your shoulders, he shrugs “This is an insane trip.”
All you can do is stare as Max holds his hand out to Steve once more, stipulating “Five thousand a day for you to take us exactly where we want to go and to keep us from dying horrible deaths.”
Nodding, Steve shakes his hand. “Deal.”
You should feel ecstatic.
“Well then, when do we leave?” Max asks, “We’re currently staying at the Tesoro Inn.”
“First I need to know where we’re going.”
Both men turn to look at you.
Reaching into your jean pocket reluctantly, you pull out the map you outlined the beginning of your expedition on and hand it over to Steve.
Unfolding it, he studies the red line. “It’s incomplete.”
Of course, genius.
“You can see the rest when you get us that far.” Arms crossed, you raise your eyebrows, all but daring him to argue back.
Steve regards you from behind his sunglasses before stating “We’ll meet in front of the inn tomorrow morning at five thirty.” As an afterthought he adds “Make sure you pack light.”
You can’t prove it of course, but you just know he’s directing that last comment at you.
Narrowing your eyes, you’re dragged away by Max before you can utter a scathing response.
Steve’s mouth twitches again.
[THE NEXT DAY]
You stand outside the inn, watching as the sun begins to peek above the horizon.
“So he’s an ass and terrible at keeping time.” You announce in a cheery tone.
Max groans, taking a sip of his coffee.
I suppose after last night he’s probably had enough of me ranting about Steve Rogers.
“Darling, please, just ignore his personality and focus on his good looks.”
You scoff loudly.
“Oh, don’t even try.” Max laughs, “I know how much of a sucker you are for big arms and hands.”
Whatever.
A voice you unfortunately recognise calls out, “Good morning.”
Looking over your shoulder at Steve’s approaching figure, you use the barrier of your sunglasses to properly appraise him for the first time.
Steve’s tall and built, that much you had observed yesterday afternoon.
His hair is dark blond and long, the ends of it curling against the collar of his shirt while some strands fall around his face and over his still present sunglasses. The beard he has is thick and you’ll forcibly admit it’s the best you’ve ever seen.
You weren’t typically one for beards, but he made it work.
Similar to yesterday, Steve wears a long sleeved shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and khaki military pants held up by a brown belt. Over one shoulder he carries a backpack while a duffel bag hangs from his left hand.
“Mr. Rogers,” You greet with a faux smile. “How nice of you to finally join us.”
Steve grins, coming to a stop in front of you. “Retract those claws kitten, I had to secure our ride.”
As if on cue, the loud rumble of an engine cuts through the peaceful morning air as an old pickup truck comes coasting around the corner, pulling up before you all.
“This must be the new Bentley model,” Max quips good-naturedly.
The older man hanging out of the driver’s window gives a rough laugh. “Ah, un comediante.”
“Solo medio tiempo.” Max retorts, earning another laugh.
Chucking his bags into the bed of the pickup, Steve grabs yours and Max’s off the ground and adds them to the pile. Twisting back to you, Steve extends a hand for the satchel slung across your body.
You shake your head, grasping tightly at the brown leather strap.
He raises an eyebrow but makes no further comment, instead gesturing to the bed of the pickup. “Alright you two, hop in.”
While you and Max climb into the back, Steve rounds the pickup and gets in the passenger side.
Max knocks twice on the back of the cab once you’re both seated and the pickup rolls forward with a loud bang, rocking the two of you sideways.
Resting a heavy arm around your shoulders for stability as you each sway with the motion of the pickup on the dirt road, Max states “I love riding in the bed of trucks, reminds me of -”
“Arizona.” You finish with a soft smile.
“Yep,” Max pops the p. “Where we found nothing but rock.”
“And got burnt to a crisp for our efforts.” You recall, looking up at him as he laughs.
“Let’s pray this expedition proves more fruitful.”
“It will.” You answer without a second thought, clutching your satchel again. “This time is different.”
Arizona had been a spur of the moment idea, something to do for fun and experience - nothing more. There’d been no prior research, no maps, no coordinates.
Humming, Max leans forward and grabs the rolled up sleeping bag from his backpack, placing it between the cab and his head before closing his eyes. “Tell me about it again.”
Settling against his chest, you recite the story you know by heart.
“In 1532, Spanish conquistadores captured an Inca Emperor named Atahualpa who promised them a room full of gold and twice as much silver in exchange for his life. The conquistadores agreed and soon treasures from across the region were being brought to them. However, the conquistadores’ fear of a re-energised Inca military led them to kill the Emperor before the ransom was fulfilled.”
“An Inca General named Rumiñahui had been en route with an enormous amount of treasure for the Emperor’s ransom when he learnt that Atahualpa had been killed. In response, Rumiñahui ordered his men to take the ransom into the uninhabited land of Llanganates and hide it.”
"Rumiñahui continued to haul even more gold, silver, jewels, and Inca artefacts to hide in Llanganates until he was captured by the Spanish. They tortured him for the treasure’s location, but he refused to tell them.”
“He’s a better man than me,” Max mumbles.
“In 1603, a Spaniard named Valverde married an Inca woman and claimed that her family showed him the treasure. Before his death, he wrote out the treasure’s location and even drew a map to guide others to it.”
“People have used and improved Valverde’s map for centuries trying to find the treasure, and the last person to have claimed finding it was Barth Blake in 1886. In a letter he detailed his discovery of gold, silver, emeralds, and other treasures, and stated that he, nor a thousand men could remove all that he had found.”
“So in over a century no-one has claimed to have found even a piece of the treasure?” Max questions, opening his eyes and looking down at you.
Lifting your head from his chest, you shake it. “Plenty have tried. A man named Mark Honigsbaum wrote a book in 2004 about his attempt. He concluded that either the Incans retrieved the treasure centuries ago or it’s been lost forever in the mountains.”
“You believe it’s still in the mountains, right?”
“Yes, in its original hiding spot, just not where it’s marked on Valverde’s map.”
Max huffs, “Why can’t they just say ‘go to this place, here’s the treasure, spend it wisely’?”
You chuckle, but both you and Max know you don’t - can’t agree with his sentiment.
Finding the location of this treasure has been your sole purpose for years. You’ve lived and breathed this lost piece of history for so long that you almost felt a part of it.
To be able to find something that you couldn’t simply be given a map to was everything to you. You’ve earned the coordinates sitting in your satchel through your own hard work and time - so much time.
Succeeding at this would be your life’s greatest achievement.
As well as your greatest honour. The artefacts, like tiles from the Temple of the Sun, stowed away with that gold and silver were invaluable pieces of lost Inca culture that deserved to be returned to the people and shared with the world.
“How much is it all worth?” Max asks with a whimsical smile.
Sighing, you give him the answer he already knows, but just likes hearing. “Thirty-seven billion dollars, at least. However its historical significance is priceless."
Max squeezes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you even further into his side. "Well seeing how you’re in it for the history, I guess you’ll have no qualms with me taking ninety percent.”
“Ninety?” You repeat, shocked. “That’s generous of you, I expected you to take at least ninety-nine.”
Pressing his mouth to the top of your head with a loud smack, Max states “You underestimate my love for you.”
[SOME HOURS LATER]
“Looks like we’ve reached the end of the road.” Max announces once the pickup has slowed to a stop.
You wouldn’t exactly call what you’ve been driving on for the past few hours ‘road’.
A door creaks open before being slammed shut.
“Alright kids,” Steve appears to your right, reaching for the bags. “This is our stop.”
Your legs wobble when you stand and your ass is completely numb from sitting so long.
Gingerly, you lower yourself out of the back of the pickup and walk over to Steve, Max ambling behind you.
Collecting your backpack off the ground, you straighten up as the pickup rolls forward with its signature loud bang and makes a u-turn.
“Buena suerte!” The driver calls out as he passes, raising a hand.
“Gracias!” You and Max return, waving back.
Sliding your sunglasses up onto your head, you turn around to face the famed Amazon rainforest and take a deep breath.
This is it.
“Please, after you.” Max smiles at Steve, sweeping his arm out towards the mass of green.
Dutifully, Steve pulls out a machete from the holder around his thigh and steps forward into the awaiting wilderness.
[SOME HOURS LATER]
The first few hours of the trek are completed in silence.
You listen to the soundtrack of the Amazon, admiring the nature around you while getting tripped up by it more often than not.
It’s thick - and humbling.
There are trees that stretch up so high they must almost touch the sky, and their trunks are so wide that you can see nothing else when standing in front of them.
Unfortunately, none of it can distract you from the heat.
The humidity is like nothing you’ve ever experienced and the sun isn’t even at its highest point yet - not that you can see it.
You removed your long sleeved shirt a while ago, stuffing it into your backpack with your sunglasses. This left you in a dark green tank top and brown hiking pants.
“We’ll take a break here.” Steve declares, breaking the long silence.
Pushing your backpack off your shoulders, you take a seat on it and pull out your water bottle, taking a greedy gulp.
“I miss the truck.” Max sighs forlornly, collapsing beside you.
His skin is shiny with sweat, just like yours.
You pat his back sympathetically.
“I thought you were looking for the treasure of Llanganates.” Steve says suddenly, sitting on a fallen tree across from the two of you.
You think it’s a question, but his tone makes it sound like a statement.
He likes doing that.
“We are.” You retort.
“Your map doesn’t follow Valverde’s.”
Surprised, your eyebrows rise. “You’re familiar with Valverde’s map?”
“Do you really think you two are the first I’ve taken on this wild goose chase?”
Raising your chin defiantly, you assert “We’ll be the first to find it.”
Steve smiles at your confidence. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see kitten, but I’ll keep my bet on you going home empty-handed.”
“Oh, I like a good bet, what are we waging?” Max pipes in.
You roll your eyes while Steve’s sunglasses continue to hide his.
After a moment your guide decides “If we find the treasure, my services will be rendered free.”
Max scoffs a laugh “How kind, and what percentage of the treasure will you be asking for?”
Steve smirks, “Nothing absurd, just one percent.”
Which would only work out to about three hundred and seventy million dollars.
Yeah, nothing absurd.
To Max, it’s a bargain.
“I knew I liked you for a reason." He grins, picking himself up and walking over to Steve to shake on their bet.
“When we find the treasure we will be donating it.” You deadpan.
“Ignore her.” Resting his hands on his hips, Max says “She doesn’t understand greed like the rest of us simpletons.”
Steve hums in agreement, “You’ve got finder’s fee written all over you kitten.”
“Would you not call me that?” You glare.
His mouth twitches.
“I thought it was fitting.” Max mumbles from where he stands.
“And yes Mr. Rogers, we will be donating the treasure and accepting whatever finder’s fee we’re offered.”
Standing up, you place your backpack on, deciding for the group that the rest period is over.
As you stride away, you hear Max mutter to Steve “Don’t worry, we can fill our bags with goodies before the museum stiffs show up.”
[THAT NIGHT]
You sit in front of the small campfire Steve built earlier as a light source.
Heat isn’t something you’re in short supply of.
Max is lying in his sleeping bag on the ground beside you while Steve sits across from you both, on the other side of the fire.
He’s finally removed his sunglasses, but the night hides Steve’s eyes just as well as his shades. Instead of colour, all you see in his eyes is the reflection of the flickering flames between you.
“I was thinking -”
“Uh-oh.”
“Shut up.” Max sighs, lifting his hand to slap your closest arm. “I was thinking about what you said about that Blake guy, the one who wrote the letter saying he found the treasure.”
“Hmm?” You prompt.
“Well, it sounded like he really found it, so why didn’t he take it?”
“Blake took what he could carry, planning on -”
“Returning with more men and supplies to retrieve the rest, but on his way to New York from Ecuador he disappeared overboard. Most believe he was deliberately pushed to keep the treasure safe.”
Your head snaps towards Steve and he smirks at your reaction.
“Once again, not my first goose chase kitten.”
You’re about to tell him once again not to call you that, but Max speaks first, clearly trying to avoid another back and forth.
“What’s your deal anyway? How’d you end up in this hot ass country?”
Steve’s smirk fades as he shrugs, his expression hardening.
You side-eye Max.
Good one idiot.
“There’s not much to it.” Steve states. “I used to be in the military, now I’m not. Now I choose what jobs I do, which is usually anything that pays well.”
The fire crackles.
“What about you two?” Steve retorts. “Rich kids with nothing better to do? I can’t tell if you’re related or dating -”
“Ew.” You groan, pulling a face.
“We are not related, nor are we dating.” Max informs.
“And he’s the rich kid.” You add, gesturing down at Max.
“Yep, she just mooches off of me and I mooch off my dad.”
That earns a chuckle from Steve.
“His dad is the director of one of the most respected museums in the world.” You elaborate. “I interned there while completing my degree, which is how we met.”
It’s hard to believe that was almost three years ago. When you first met Max you certainly had no idea how important he’d become in your life.
You’ll never forget the first thing he ever said to you.
“So, do you consciously dress yourself like Rachel Weisz in ‘The Mummy’ or is that just an odd coincidence?”
[THE NEXT DAY]
“I take back my complaints about the jungle.” Max mutters, observing the swamp.
Midday has just passed and so has the first and shortest section of your expedition - the rainforest.
Now the wetland awaits you all. You estimate that it’ll take roughly three days to get through.
Three days of mud, stench, and the feeling of being constantly wet.
“Staring at it isn’t gonna get us through it any faster.” Steve asserts, taking the first step into the green water.
Everyone has tucked the ends of their pants into their thick socks to try and limit as much contact with the water as possible.
You follow after Steve, Max trailing behind you with a reluctant sigh.
It’s slow-going, trying to avoid branches and rocks hidden beneath the water’s surface that Steve finds with the long stick in his hand. The same stick he uses to avoid deceivingly deep puddles.
However, you soon miss the relative easiness of trekking through the water once you’ve reached the mud.
Loud suction sounds are all that can be heard as the three of you trudge through the mud that swallows your feet and then some with every step, a dark line on your pants indicating the highest it’s reached - halfway up your calves.
It takes all of your strength to free yourself, just so you can do it all over again.
“My legs are going to be ripped after this.” Max pants.
You can only huff a breath in response, too focused on pulling your feet from the mud. The suction is so strong you’re worried you might lose a boot - or two.
It also doesn’t help that your backpack feels like it’s full of bricks.
“Oh thank god, solid ground.” Max announces gratefully.
You look up - not to see if he’s telling the truth, but to see why he sounds so far away.
Wasn’t he just beside me?
“Shit.” You mutter to yourself.
Both men have made better progress than you. Max has spotted the solid ground because Steve now stands on it.
Staring back down at your engulfed feet, you grit your teeth and use every bit of strength you have left to try and quicken your pace. Every hour of daylight was precious and there wasn’t much left of today’s.
Maybe it’s their longer legs or strength - Max isn’t that much stronger than me, or maybe their backpacks simply don’t weigh a million tonnes -
God my legs are burning.
Then suddenly, it’s like a weight is lifted.
Because it is.
Your backpack is pulled from your shoulders before Steve places it over his own, his bags deserted on the hard ground ahead.
“Oh.” You squeak, startled by his presence. “Uh, thank you - wait, what - put me down!” You demand as you’re lifted from the mud with an echoing pop.
Steve’s hands grasp your hips as he pulls you out with what seems to be little effort, his arms bulging with the action. Then you’re upside down, thrown over one of his broad shoulders.
“Are you a caveman? You can’t just manhandle me!” You protest, affronted.
You brace your hands on his lower back, trying to hold yourself up so your face doesn’t bump into his back.
Is he just all muscle?
He’s rock solid underneath your hands.
Steve chuckles, “I just did kitten.”
“Would you -”
“Time is valuable out here, we can’t wait around for you to finish playing in the mud.”
Glaring at the mud beneath you, you insist “Put me down or I’ll fire you.”
It’s a very weak threat since you and Max kind of need him, but it’s all you’ve got.
Also… maybe you kind of don’t want him to put you down.
Maybe.
Another chuckle. “You didn’t hire me, nor are you the one paying me.”
“You know what -”
“Quit whining!” Max calls out, sounding close. “I told him to go get you, I want out of here.”
“See? I’m just doing what the boss asked.”
“How noble of you Mr. Rogers.” You mumble.
“Well it’s a nice change of scenery kitten.”
It takes a moment for you to understand his meaning, but it’s obvious when you do, your sharp inhale of air audible as you open your mouth to tell him to go -
You squeak again as you’re abruptly dropped onto your feet.
“And stop with the Mr. Rogers talk.” Steve says, shrugging off your backpack and hooking it over your left shoulder before you can snatch it from him.
Dropping his head so that he’s looking into your eyes - his are still hidden behind those damn sunglasses, Steve purrs “But if you insist on being so formal, sir will do just fine.”
Your mouth falls open and Steve moves out of the way with a chuckle when you attempt to swing your backpack at him.
The absolute -
Max appears beside you and grabs your arm lightly, urging you forward as Steve continues trekking ahead.
“Please remember we need him alive.” Max implores.
[THAT NIGHT]
“Now will you admit to me that he’s hot?”
“Shut up.” You snap at Max, shooting him a glare.
“Just look at his -”
Covering his mouth with your hand, you raise your eyebrows in warning.
You’re sitting on a log in front of the campfire not admiring Steve in the distance, illuminated by the torch on the ground beside him as he changes shirts for the night and -
Max snorts against your hand, making you drop it as your gaze quickly shifts to the fire while Steve changes into a different pair of pants.
Can’t he do that somewhere more private?
“Oh darling, you’d love his thighs, have a look -”
“Would you shut up?” You hiss.
“Too bad it’s dark,” Max carries on. “I can’t really see what his underwear is hiding - ow!”
Whack. “Shut.” Whack. “Up.” Whack.
“Alright, alright.” He surrenders, rubbing his arm. “Jesus, you’re in one of your violent moods today.”
Then, as if he can’t resist - because he can’t, Max smirks “Unlike Harry, I bet he’d actually know how to -”
“Oh my god -”
“Who’s Harry?”
You jump at the sound of Steve’s voice and your hand freezes midair, interrupted on its way to hit Max again.
“No one.”
“Her ex.”
I will murder you before sunrise - that’s what the look you direct at Max promises.
Steve hums, taking a seat on the other side of the fire. “And what didn’t he know how to do?”
His smirk tells you he’s already assumed.
I want to die.
No.
I want them to die.
“Cook.” You declare, glaring at him. “He didn’t know how to cook.”
“Was terrible at it,” Max reinforces with a sad tone.
You have to refrain from rolling your eyes.
“That’s a shame.” Steve states in his deep voice, a hint of laughter detectable in it. “Every man should know how to cook.”
“I wouldn’t call him much of a man.” Max inputs.
Fucking hell.
The comment is probably a little harsh, but Max is your best friend.
Harry had been your first and last attempt at a relationship. He’d been nice enough but… well, that was it really. Just nice, tolerable… passionless. You’d stick to the fictional men in your romance novels.
“Can you cook Steve?” Max asks, as casual as ever.
You turn to him with wide eyes.
“I’m a great cook.” You can clearly hear the laughter in Steve’s voice now.
“Of course you’d think that.” You jab, looking from Max to him.
Steve meets your irritated gaze over the fire with a smirk. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Well,” You shrug, biting back “Doesn’t mean they walked away satisfied.”
“I wouldn’t say they walked.”
Max chortles next to you, choking on his own spit while heat floods your face and neck.
“Okay.” Standing abruptly, you state “I’m going to bed.”
Their laughter follows you all the way to your sleeping bag.
[TWO DAYS LATER]
“I smell so bad.”
“I’m glad you said it.”
“Oh, because you smell so much better.” You mock, eyeing Max.
The wetland has been punishing. You’re covered in mud, bug bites, and drenched in your own sweat - not to mention every part of your body aches. It’s unpleasant, to say the least.
In an attempt to distract yourself, you decide to tell Max some more historical fun facts.
Well, they’re fun to you.
“You know, Valverde drew the map to the treasure before his death because he wanted to give it as a gift to the King of Spain.” You begin, “The King sent out an expedition to find the treasure but -”
“They were unsuccessful - obviously, and the friar that was accompanying them died in a swamp.” Steve gazes around, “Possibly this one.”
You purse your lips at his interruption, but can’t find it within yourself to be annoyed.
“Also,” You try again, addressing Max. “The Spanish conquistadors would constantly dig up large quantities of platinum while searching for gold and while we know platinum to be more valuable than gold -”
“They dismissed it as junk because being so rare, they didn’t know what it was. All they knew was that it wasn’t gold, so they would dump it as scrap.” Steve concludes, his shade covered eyes looking over at you.
“They threw away one of the rarest and most precious metals on Earth because their lust for gold, something that only had value because they gave it value, blinded them to the true, unique treasure right in front of them.”
It feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs.
Forcing a huff, you feebly respond “Would you stop that?”
“Stop what?” Steve smirks.
That damn, all-knowing smirk.
“Knowing… things.”
Wow, good one. You really got him.
Steve’s smirk widens into a grin. “Why kitten? You like it when I talk smart?”
Yes, it makes me want to climb you like a tree.
“No, I just prefer not being interrupted.”
“Someone please correct me if I’m wrong.” Max pipes up, “But is this hellhole about to end?”
You gaze ahead and see that Max hasn’t gone mad. The wetland is indeed about to end.
“We’ll set up camp on the outskirts of the swamp.” Steve directs, glancing at his watch. “Tomorrow we’ll head into the grasslands, there’s a lake on our path that we should reach by the afternoon.”
[THE NEXT AFTERNOON]
“It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Max sighs lovingly, admiring the lake. “I dibs using it first.”
You shrug, “Whatever.”
After three days covered in filth, what harm could waiting an hour or so longer do?
Besides, you wanted to take your sweet, sweet time.
Leaving Max at the lake, you and Steve trek up over a small hill beside it. There’s a few trees here, but they’re slim and spaced out, unlike in the rainforest.
Steve selects a spot at the bottom of the hill to set up camp, giving anyone using the lake some privacy.
Max wanders down a little while later, after everything has been set up and a small fire is burning steadily.
You tell Steve he can go next and he’s quick to rise.
It feels like you wait an eternity, but you know it’s just your eagerness to be clean that drags the time out.
The moment you spot Steve coming over the hill you’re on your feet, heading for the lake.
At the lakeside you remove your clothes, leaving your bra and underwear on. You soak your clothes first, scrubbing them clean before laying them out over the rocks around the lake to soak up the afternoon sun.
Finally, you delve into the lake’s cool waters.
You don’t rush, taking the time to rub every part of yourself spotless. Afterwards you lie on your back and float around the lake.
When your face starts to feel too hot from the sun, you submerge yourself underneath the water and hold your breath for as long as you can before coming back up.
Breaking the surface of the water, you keep your eyes shut while you run a hand over your face, removing the excess water.
When you open them again, you flinch.
“Do you mind?” You all but shriek at Steve who’s sitting on a large boulder at the lakeside, watching you.
He smirks, “Not at all.”
Glaring at him, you hiss “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
One of these days I’m going to kill him.
Swimming up to the edge of the lake, you keep everything below your neck underwater.
“Well, pass me my towel.” You snap.
Steve raises an eyebrow and it’s only then that you realise he’s not wearing his sunglasses.
Blue.
His eyes are blue.
You’re too far away to see any great detail though.
Steve raises his other eyebrow, bringing you back to reality and making your teeth grind.
“Please.”
Leisurely, Steve reaches for your towel behind him on the boulder and holds it out to you, as far as his arm will extend.
“Are you serious?” You ask, exasperated.
He shrugs, “I’m afraid it’s the best I can do kitten.”
Groaning, you bite out “Fine, close your eyes.”
A moment passes before he eventually does as you demanded, his eyes shutting.
“No peeking.” You enforce, squinting at him.
When you’re certain he can’t see anything, you rise out of the water and quickly approach him.
The second your hand grips the towel Steve tugs on it, sending you toppling onto him.
You fall face first into his solid chest while your hands scramble for purchase to push yourself back.
“What are you -”
The words die in your throat when you feel his warm, rough hands grasp your waist and spin you around, bringing you down to sit on his lap.
“Let me help you.” Steve husks into your ear, his beard pleasantly scratching at your skin.
His right hand presses against your bare stomach, holding you in place while his other hand picks up your towel again, swiping it over your left arm.
You open your mouth to object, but then his right hand is gliding up your wet skin to lightly wrap around your neck, tilting your head backwards so he can move the towel over your chest.
Any fight you might have had leaves your body in a giant whoosh, his touch turning you to jelly.
“There you go,” Steve coo’s. “It’s not healthy to always be so tense kitten.”
Fuck you.
That’s what you want to tell him, but instead you whimper as he suddenly drags the towel down and over your underwear.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Since you pleasured yourself? Yes. Since you had a man touch you? Even more of a yes.
But he hadn’t made you feel anything close to this.
“That’s okay.” Steve whispers, as if you had answered. “I’ll take care of you, it’s what I’m getting paid for.”
Abandoning the towel, his fingers dip behind the band of your underwear and you’re almost panting in excitement.
He’s so… big around you, caging you in and overriding your senses.
“Poor kitten,” Steve teases, dragging two of his fingers along your slick folds. “Just dripping for me, huh?”
You want to punch him so badly you -
“Oh.” You can’t help but moan as his thumb presses on your clit, lightly circling it.
Instinctively, your thighs squeeze together and both of your hands wrap around his wrist to stop the action.
You’re embarrassed by how sensitive you are.
It has been a while.
Steve hushes you, “I know, I know.” Using his left hand to pry your thighs apart, he begins circling your clit again. “Just relax, I got you.”
His words seem to have a pull over you, as your body instantly relaxes in his hold.
With your body pliant, Steve’s fingers dip down further and slowly push into you - first one, then two.
Your hips eagerly lift to meet his hand.
“Good girl, fuck yourself on my fingers.” The vulgar sentence sets your face on fire while also making you clench around his digits with a gasp.
How the hell does he know just what to say?
It’s like he’s read one of your books.
Steve’s fingers start to push into you faster and a bit rougher as his thumb continues circling your clit.
Your stomach tenses, the coil within you already about to snap and god you want it, you want it so bad, so, so bad -
“Please.” You mumble, not recognising your own voice. It’s so airy and desperate. “Please let me come.”
Steve releases a guttural groan beside your ear, the sound rumbling against your back while his arousal pokes at your ass.
His thumb quickens on your clit as his fingers keep pumping into you, nudging just a bit more before -
You moan loudly when he hits the sweet spot inside you.
Steve’s warm breath tickles your cheek. “Come for me baby, make a mess on my fingers.”
Crying out, you whine Steve’s name as your orgasm collides with you.
It’s like the blood in your veins is replaced with fire, your body intoxicatingly hot as you jerk in Steve’s hold, riding out your high on his still moving fingers.
Steve’s murmuring in your ear, but it’s all white noise as you come back to yourself.
“Fuck.” You whisper when you feel a little less lightheaded.
Removing his hand from beneath your underwear, Steve raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. You watch him, mouth slightly ajar.
“How was that kitten? Was it good?” Steve asks once he’s finished, his blue eyes shining down at you.
They’re a light blue - baby blue. At first you think they’re pure blue, but then you see just a flicker of green within them. Somehow it makes them even prettier.
It’s a shame he’s always hiding them away.
“Very.” You breathe out honestly, your mind still muddled.
Steve grins and lowers to brush his mouth over your cheek, the feeling of his beard making you shiver. “The chef appreciates your compliment.” He teases.
Drawing the connection back to that night days before brings you out of your orgasm-induced stupor and kicks your brain into gear.
What the hell did I just do?
Pulling yourself from Steve, you stand - your thighs still shaking a little, and snatch your towel off the ground. Wrapping it around yourself, you collect your clothes from the nearby rocks.
When you turn back you find Steve still sitting in the exact same spot, contently watching you with a lazy smirk, like nothing’s out of the ordinary - like there isn’t a large tent in his pants.
Your core throbs at the sight and you quickly look away.
Marching past him, you don’t respond when Steve calls out “I’ll be up soon kitten, I just gotta wash some of my clothes.”
The smile in his tone is obvious.
Heading for camp, you try to process what just happened.
Did I really just let Steve finger me?
“Oh god, Max.” You groan, dreading his reaction.
Just act natural, he won’t know if -
“Hello there, you took your - wait.” His eyes narrow.
To avoid looking at him you begin drying yourself and re-dressing.
“What?” You ask, trying to sound casual.
Max strides over to you and grabs your chin, forcing you to face him.
“No. Way.”
How the hell -
“Did you fuck Steve?” Max whisper-shouts, his brown eyes wide with excitement.
“No!” You respond in the same tone.
“Then what -”
Gesturing for him to be quiet, you check your surroundings before answering “Look, he just… gave me a helping hand, alright?”
It was less painful to just tell him, otherwise he’d never drop the subject.
“Did he ask for a helping hand back?”
So damn nosy.
“No.” You sigh, exasperated.
Max grins, “I knew he’d be good to you.”
Squinting at him, you retort “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Waving you off, he sits back down by the fire. “Was he good at it?”
Looking over your shoulder again to make sure Steve hadn’t snuck up, you quickly answer “He was great at it, now can we please forget this ever happened?”
Max lets out a chuckle while you finish zipping up your pants. “Good luck with that darling, you can’t exactly avoid him out here.”
Fuck.
What were you thinking?
You were supposed to be searching for lost treasure - the find of the century, not getting some from your guide who you literally cannot escape from until this is all over.
A guide who is going to be unbearable after this, as if he isn’t already.
Dropping your head into your hands, you let out a pained whine.
wow, i absolutely adored this!! the tension you built between steve and reader, and their chemistry don’t even get me started!!!!! i was giggling, grinning, biting my pinky like an idiot oh my goddddd
i love love LOVE when writers make steve a menace and he was just so scrumptious here
Steve grins, coming to a stop in front of you. “Retract those claws kitten, I had to secure our ride.”
reader’s better than me bc i would’ve melted right there and then oh my lawwwddd
AND THIS!!
“Well,” You shrug, biting back “Doesn’t mean they walked away satisfied.”
“I wouldn’t say they walked.”
I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIMMMM PUHLEASSEEEEEEE
and i adored the whole thing about his eyes always being hidden behind sunglasses or obscured in the dark, for the reader to finally see their beautiful blue near the end!! and all the lore you built about the treasure - i didn’t want it to end!!! did they find it?? did reader and steve get together again?? ahhhh i’ll be thinking about this for a while 🙂↕️🙂↕️
lights, camera, action .ᐟ
── .✦ consider this your ticket stub to the captain americana film festival! this july, we’re rolling out the red carpet for one very beloved birthday boy with a collection of fics that ask one simple question: what if steve rogers got to star in some of hollywood's greatest films?
twenty-seven days, eight feature fics, and one leading man.... (oh! and you, of course). so grab your popcorn; the show's about to start!
the captain americana film festival runs july fourth through july thirty-first, and is strictly 18+, adults only entry! each fic will have it's own individual content warnings. full programme below!
⤷ starring spy!steve rogers x spy!f!reader⌇action romance
❝ You and Steve are voluntold you’re married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other. ❞
directed by @blowingbarnes ⧽ showing july 6th .ᐟ
⤷ starring outlaws!stucky x f!reader⌇western romance
❝ As an outlaw, Steve Rogers has exactly two rules: keep moving, and don't go back. But for you he's broken the second one more times than he can count. He comes when he can, leaves before dawn, and you don't ask what he gets up to in between. Until one night it's not just Steve at your door, but his partner, Bucky Barnes, with your outlaw bleeding through his shirt and bounty hunters four days behind them. ❞
directed by @epiphanyrogers ⧽ showing july 11th .ᐟ
⤷ starring 40s!steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama
❝ It's the summer before college and the uncertainty of war looms over your future. Yet Steve Rogers always remains certain about one thing: you. He’s stubborn and sweet and so sure he can love you hard enough to make the rest of the world wait. But time is cruel, and it pulls you away from him over and over until the only thing left is a notebook that tells the story of a love too stubborn to be forgotten. ❞
directed by @buckybsdoll ⧽ showing july 13th .ᐟ
⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom
❝ When Steve is roped into talking about his love for an old flame on a late night radio talk show, among the many women who hear his story and fall in love with him is… you. ❞
directed by @singulartoast ⧽ showing july 16th .ᐟ
⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romantic drama
❝ The rules are simple: stay on your side of the street. Until one night you meet a boy. As tensions rise between rival gangs, two lovers dare to ask a simple question. Can happy endings exist in a warzone? ❞
directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 20th .ᐟ
⤷ starring steve rogers x f!reader⌇romcom
❝ You’re determined to help Wanda find the perfect boyfriend - but Steve? He is totally wrong for her and it’s not just because you want him for yourself. You, having feelings for Steve? Ugh, as if! ❞
directed by @lunexiax ⧽ showing july 24th .ᐟ
⤷ starring ceo!steve rogers x sex worker!f!reader⌇romcom
❝ Years after paying for your company on one of the loneliest nights of his life, Steve Rogers comes back with a very different request. Tired of endless questions about his love life, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend. It should be an easy arrangement. After all, neither of you is looking for anything real. ❞
directed by @love-stucky ⧽ showing july 27th .ᐟ
⤷ starring bodyguard!steve rogers x popstar!f!reader⌇ romantic thriller
❝ The first time Steve Rogers saves your life, you hate him for it. The second time, you kiss him. As a relentless stalker closes in and your world becomes smaller and smaller, the one person you can rely on is the bodyguard who’s sworn to keep his distance. But the closer the danger gets, the harder it becomes to ignore the growing attraction between protector and protected. ❞
directed by @pinksplace ⧽ showing july 31st .ᐟ
HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEVE ROGERS!
producer notes: what started as a half baked idea with @/love-stucky to do something to celebrate steve's birthday, somehow turned into an entire collab and the best excuse to read steve content all july! i have been so so so excited for this - selfishly perhaps, because i cannot wait to read all these fics, but mostly because of the wonderful writers who said yes and helped make this collab real. a huge thank you to every single one of you, ily guys. steve's best girls, assemble! <33
the stunning marquee sign and VHS spines for the notebook, mr and mrs rogers, west side story and the bodyguard were made by the insanely talented @/pinksplace, birthday steve edit by @/love-stucky, all other graphics by me. we do not give out permission for these to be used elsewhere!
Hello?! This is the coolest concept I've seen in a hot minute, wow! And the graphics?? STUNNING. I cannot wait to read all these stories from such talented writers!!
NFWB and Work Song by Hozier remind me of Treacherous🧡🧡. Specifically the line about no grave being able to hold his body down, he’d crawl home to her, in Work Song… that’s so outlaw!bucky!!!! Omg and “I didn’t care much how long I lived. But I swear, I thought I dreamed her. She never asked me once about the wrong I did.” Fuck, I miss them
For NFWB…
“Give your heart and soul to charity, ‘cause the rest of you, the best of you, honey, belongs to me.”
“Ain’t you my baby?”
“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I’d want to be felled by you. Held by you. Fuel the pyre of your enemies. Ain’t it warming you, the world going up in flames?”
yes, yes, yes !!!
i love how Hozier has become the unspoken soundtrack to treacherous. from @perdidosbucky-yyo first bringing him up with Empire Now, to then It Will Come Back being suggested, and now NFWMB and Work Song !!
Lyrics are truly so them, and now as the last chorus of NFWMB currently plays while I write this, all I can think about is a very particular scene of Outlaw!Bucky that exists only in my mind ahaha
summary: you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.
pairing: outlaw!bucky barnes x female reader
warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. smut (unprotected sex: p in v, loss of virginity, oral: f receiving, fingering, dry humping), swearing, fluff, angst, mention of: alcohol, blood, injuries, guns, death, murder, violence, and non-con (it’s alluded to in regards to an unnamed character).
length: 16.5k
a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. i know little of the old west but this is fiction so. title inspired by this song and one part of this fic is inspired by a scene in butch cassidy & the sundance kid 🧡
You never could quite handle the sight of blood, nor could you ever hide your instinctual response to it.
Your father used to terrorise you with the cuts he’d sometimes earn from a hard day’s work, always finding your reactions humorous.
Each time he would smile and say, “You’ll get used to it one day, kid.”
That day didn’t come while he was alive and it hadn’t come now.
Opening your front door to the man you’d spied knocking on it from the kitchen window, you almost shut it again.
The stranger towers above you, his frame taking up the entire doorway, but your focus is drawn down to where his hands - covered in dirt and blood, press above his left hip.
“Ma’am,” He greets in a gruff tone. “I hate to bother you, but I find myself in need of some assistance…” The man nods to his injury, as if it had gone unnoticed by you.
It takes a moment for you to respond and when you do it’s with a jerky bob of your head as you step out of the doorway.
One blood stained hand raises to tip his hat at you as he enters.
Your eyes follow him as he wanders into the kitchen to his left, a slight sway in his steps.
How long has he been bleeding out?
Shutting the front door, you finally find your voice. “What do you need?”
Grunting as he lowers himself into a chair at your small, rectangular table, he answers “Rag, needle, thread, and alcohol - whiskey preferably.”
Removing his hat, he places it on the tabletop.
Okay, he’s done this before.
Focusing on the task he’s provided, you move around the kitchen and sitting room across from it, gathering each item.
The stranger is in luck. Your father had loved whiskey and there’s still plenty of bottles stashed away.
When you come to stand in front of him with everything in hand, you find that he’s lifted his shirt, providing an unobstructed view of his injury.
There’s so much…
“Bullet just grazed me.” The man observes quietly, to himself. “Still made one hell of a mess though.” He grumbles, finally lifting his head.
Blood. There’s so much blood and the skin has -
A deep, rough laugh pulls you from your spiralling, making you swallow thickly.
“It’s alright, darlin’.” There’s a lighter edge to his tone. “Just put the stuff on the table, I’ve got it.”
You do as he directs but remain where you are.
The man opens the bottle of whiskey first and takes three healthy swigs before pouring the liquid over his wound, hissing.
Quickly averting your gaze with a wince, you focus on his face instead.
What skin you can see is dirty, like his clothes. It’s clearly been some time since he last bathed or even tidied his appearance. His hair is long and tangled. You think it’s naturally a dark brown but it’s hard to be certain. A thick, wild beard hides most of his mouth and half his face, while a sharp nose -
Oh god.
You’ve seen the wanted posters hanging around town. Heard the stories that accompanied them.
Bucky Barnes.
The famed outlaw, responsible for some of the decade’s most daring robberies and revered as the fastest gunslinger in the west, is sitting in your kitchen. Tending a gunshot wound.
For the briefest moment you wonder who it was that shot him and what their fate had been.
Then you realise that’s something you really don’t want to know.
“Ma always said I could never be a tailor.” The man - Bucky mutters, eyeing his truthfully pitiful stitching. “But it’ll do.”
Placing the blood soaked rag on the table, along with the needle and leftover thread, Bucky’s eyes meet yours as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey.
You feel the shift in the air as he sets the bottle back down.
Somehow he knows.
“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble, ma’am.”
“Says the man famous for trouble.” You can’t help but retort.
You’re seriously going to smart mouth him?
To your shock Bucky merely grins, his teeth surprisingly white and clean. “That’s fair, but a pretty girl’s house isn’t exactly where I make my trouble.” Morphing his grin into a smirk, he amends “Unless I’m asked.”
Your skin heats at the insinuation.
“I won’t be asking.” You state firmly.
“Then you’ve got nothin’ to fear.” Bucky assures, his mouth returning to its serious line underneath his beard.
He regards you carefully and it’s only then that you notice his eyes are the most electrifying blue.
“I best be on my way.”
The sudden declaration should fill you with relief, but as you watch Bucky rise from the chair with an unsteady step, you hear yourself saying “You can stay.”
Something tells you the last time he bathed was also the last time he had a decent meal or rest. He wouldn’t be finding any of those things nearby, especially in his condition.
It’s a miracle he even found you.
The downward tilt of Bucky’s eyebrows is the only indication of his confusion as he looks up from the hat in his hands. “Are you -”
“Just for the night and no funny business.”
Bucky’s eyes study you again and you swear no one has ever looked at you with such intensity.
Then he blinks, focusing on the front door over your shoulder. “I left my guns with my horse. You can keep ‘em with you if it’ll make you feel better.” Meeting your gaze once more, his deep voice rumbles “But I promise you won’t need ‘em.”
How much was an outlaw’s promise worth?
Eyeing him in the same observing manner, you begin to understand what Bucky had been searching for.
Slowly shaking your head, you tell him “It’s alright.”
You had your father’s shotgun should it come to that and you were familiar with the weapon.
“I’ll show you the bathroom.” You declare, striding out of the kitchen. “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna be clean.”
Behind you, Bucky responds with a - dare you say, amused “Yes ma’am.”
Your eyes fall shut as you lean back against your front door, sucking in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air.
There’s an outlaw in my bathroom.
Re-opening your eyes at that insane truth, you realise you’re not alone.
Bucky’s horse watches you curiously from where she stands in front of the porch steps, her gorgeous white coat shining in the setting sunlight.
Descending the steps cautiously, you extend a hand to the mare, letting her sniff you. When she makes a soft nicker and nudges at your hand, you move it to stroke her neck.
Her calm temperament surprises you, as she gladly allows you to lead her over to the barn not far from the house.
You settle her in a stall opposite your own horse, Chester. A gelding you aptly named after his chestnut complexion.
When you relieve her of Bucky’s saddle, you spot two guns amongst his belongings, just like he said you would. You leave them there in the barn.
Back in the kitchen, you clear everything except the quarter filled whiskey bottle from the table.
He might as well finish it off.
Wiping down the wooden tabletop to erase any trace of blood, you lift the bottle to clean under it and get a large whiff of the alcohol, making you pause.
It’s been years since you smelt the once common scent and it has memories flickering behind your eyes as you realise you’ve missed it.
Shaking your head, you put the bottle back down.
An hour passes, Bucky yet to emerge from the bathroom.
You stir dinner distractedly, staring out the window in front of you that overlooks the barn and the great nothingness beyond it as the sky darkens.
“Smells good.”
Christ.
Heart thumping sturdily at the small fright, you let the wooden spoon rest against the side of the pot and turn to face Bucky.
Oh.
It’s no wonder he took so long. Bucky had found good use in a pair of scissors and your father’s razor.
His wild, untamed beard has been reduced to stubble, highlighting a handsome jawline. Bucky’s hair - which is a dark brown and currently damp, curls under his ears instead of brushing against his shoulders.
Definitely trouble.
However, dressed in your father’s old clothes, it’s hard to find him as intimidating.
Your father had been a stocky man, so you knew the clothes wouldn’t be a perfect fit.
The pants are a bit baggy and come up short, ending above the ankles of his bare feet, while the shirt tucked into them is an even looser fit. Bucky has rolled up the long sleeves to keep them out of his way, revealing just how thick and muscular his arms are.
“I can wash your clothes if you like.” You offer, realising you’ve been staring.
“No need, darlin’,” Bucky responds smoothly “Washed them with me and hung ‘em over the porch.”
You hadn’t even heard the front door open or close.
“Kid, that wanderin’ mind a’yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.”
Nodding, you gesture to the table. “Well take a seat, dinner’s ready.”
Dishing out two bowls of stew, you place one in front of him, along with a basket of bread rolls.
“Can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” Bucky divulges, taking the spoon you offer him.
Sitting in the chair opposite him, you say “There’s plenty more if you want it.”
The two of you eat in silence, Bucky at a much faster pace. You’re only finishing your first serving when he begins his third.
Guess it has been a while since he last ate.
Or maybe this is just his usual appetite.
“Is it just you here?” Bucky asks after polishing off another bread roll, ending the quiet stretch.
In any other circumstance you’d think twice before giving an honest answer, but it’s pointless to lie to him now.
“Yes, it used to be my father and I, but he died two years ago.”
The pain his loss caused wasn’t something you could describe.
Your mother passed away when you were only four, taken by illness. If it weren’t for the photographs your father had, you wouldn’t even be able to conjure up an image of her.
After she died it was just you and him.
When his health began failing him some years ago, you both knew it was only a matter of time. You had just hoped for more.
Adjusting to life without your father had been challenging, but you were fortunate. You’d been left with a home - having no one else to come claim it, and the money that came from loaning out the land to cattle ranchers. It kept you fed, warm, and content.
Bucky lifts his eyes to look at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
You nod, your throat tight with emotion.
Pushing up from the table, you take your empty bowl to the sink as Bucky continues eating.
The subject of your father’s passing stopped affecting you heavily some time ago, but it seems the turmoil of today’s events has brought your pain back to the surface.
“I’ll get your bed ready.” You announce, leaving the kitchen.
He’ll stay in the spare room - your father’s old room. It’s bigger than yours, but you could never find the will to claim it as your own. You were happy in your childhood room.
Grabbing sheets from the bedroom’s wardrobe, you get to work.
The room is sparse, containing only the bed with a small table either side of it, a wardrobe, and a chair. On one bedside table sits two photographs of your mother.
You’re slipping a cover over the pillow when Bucky’s figure appears in the doorway.
“Have enough to eat?”
You doubt there’s any leftovers.
“More than, your cookin’s somethin’ else.” He declares.
A smile escapes before you can stop it.
You’ve always loved cooking and it’s been years since you’ve had someone to feed or receive compliments from.
Dropping the pillow, you look over at Bucky and find his gaze fixated on the freshly made bed.
“I’ll leave you be.” You state, moving towards the door.
Still staring at the bed, Bucky steps further into the room and out of your way.
Glancing at him one last time, you utter out a quiet “Goodnight Bucky.”
You’re startled by how quickly his dark blue eyes jump to you.
Then you realise it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name.
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
A pause.
Softly, you tell him your name.
Bucky’s deep voice repeats it, adding “Thank you, for everything.”
His tone is lighter again, like it had been earlier after he laughed, allowing you to hear the emotion in it - sincerity, in this instance.
You’re not sure why it pleases you so much.
⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷
When you wake you’re not as well rested as you’d like.
You spent most of the night tossing and turning, all too aware of the outlaw just two doors down.
Forcing your heavy eyelids apart, you sluggishly get out of bed, taking your time getting dressed and fixing your hair.
Emerging from your bedroom, you peer down the hall to your right. The bathroom resides next to your room, the spare room next to it. Both rooms have their doors wide open, unoccupied.
Taking a few steps down the hall until you reach the opening on your left that leads into the sitting room, you walk in and find Bucky to your right, in the kitchen... making breakfast?
“Mornin’,” Bucky greets as you approach. Cracking two eggs into a pan, he answers your unspoken question. “Figured I at least owed ya breakfast.”
You weren’t going to argue with that.
Taking a seat at the table, you ask “How did you sleep?”
Peering at you over his shoulder, Bucky replies “Like a rock.”
“And your wound?”
“Healin’ just fine.”
Bucky’s still wearing the clothes you gave him, but judging by the heat you can already feel in the air, you know his own will be dried before you even finish breakfast.
You walk back towards the house with Bucky on your right and his horse - Alpine, as he’d introduced, on his other side.
He doesn’t mount the mare until you’ve reached the steps that lead up to your front porch. When he does, you’re stunned by the ease and swiftness his large body executes the manoeuvre with.
“Thanks again, darlin’.” Bucky nods, touching the brim of his weathered black hat. “For your cookin’ especially.”
Back in his own clothing with a gun belt secured around his hips, Bucky looks every bit like the outlaw he is.
For the second time since you’ve met, your mouth takes on a mind of its own. “Well, if you ever find yourself this way again maybe I’ll cook you something else.”
The edges of his lips turn up in a smirk at your offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With a light press of his leg into Alpine’s side, the white beauty starts walking forward. You watch as she builds her momentum until she’s galloping, her and her rider becoming nothing more than a dot on the horizon.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 7 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Truthfully, you never expected to see Bucky Barnes again.
The memory of his visit had been stored away at the back of your mind and some days you wondered if it ever even happened - if it had simply been a daydream you’d gotten too lost in.
However, the knocking you hear on your front door one afternoon weeks later is very much real. As real as the man you spy standing on your porch through the window above your kitchen sink.
As you pull the door open, Bucky smiles in a way that can only be described as mischievous.
“Hi darlin’.”
You’re relieved to find not one speck of blood on him, just dirt.
Bucky’s maintained his shorter hairstyle but his beard has thickened, though not to the wild state it’d been in when you first met.
You realise your memory had failed to capture the precise blue of his eyes, as well as the depth of his voice.
Quirking an eyebrow - but giving a small smile nonetheless, your only response is “Bathroom.”
Chuckling, Bucky tips his hat at you, stepping out of his muddy boots before entering the house. You assume the bag in his hand contains clothes since he doesn’t ask for any as he disappears into the hallway.
Walking out onto the porch, you meet Alpine at the bottom of the steps and stroke her neck in greeting, leading her over to the barn.
Bucky’s left his guns behind once again. You place his saddle and belongings on one of the workbenches before settling Alpine in the same stall she’d occupied last time.
After stopping by Chester’s stall to dote on the horse, you head back to the house and start making dinner.
It’s not too long after when you hear heavy footsteps cross through the sitting room, followed by the front door opening.
Glancing to your left, to the window above the sink that looks out onto the porch, you watch as Bucky hangs his wet clothes over the railing.
He disappears from view and you hear the front door shut before his voice fills the room “How ya been, darlin’?”
Shrugging, you answer with a simple “Good.”
You’re caught off guard when Bucky appears on your right, the smell of the soap he just used invading your senses.
Standing side by side, it’s impossible to ignore his imposing height.
The top of your head barely reaches his broad shoulders and you feel like you have to look up and up to see his face.
You lower your gaze as your heartbeat accelerates, unnerved by Bucky’s sudden closeness. However, it slows as you watch him inhale the contents of the pot simmering on the stove in front of you.
“‘M starvin’.” He quietly groans.
Smiling, you roll your eyes and tell him “It’ll be done soon.” Pointing to a cupboard at the end of the kitchen you add “There’s whiskey in there if you want some.”
When Bucky doesn’t move or say anything in response you look up at him again, startled to find him staring intently at you.
“You a saint or somethin’, darlin’?”
He speaks gruffly, but you hear a trace of humour in his tone.
Scoffing, your gaze drops back down as you take a step towards him, so you can stand in front of the counter. Bucky takes a step backwards to accommodate you.
“What’s saintlike about offering someone whiskey? And to an outlaw no less.”
As the last part slips from your mouth, you tense.
“You’re always talkin’ first and thinkin’ later, kid.”
Bucky merely hums in response, turning to lean his back against the counter as his arms fold. The action pulls his shirt tight across his chest.
Not that you’re paying attention to that sort of thing.
“Isn’t that what saints do? Help lost souls?” He drawls.
“You’re lost?” You retort sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.
That earns a chuckle from him as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m always right where I wanna be.”
Bucky’s midnight blue gaze hasn’t left you once, while yours constantly shifts away, like it does now. “And that’s here instead of somewhere nice?”
“Nice costs money.”
Your eyes dart up to his for no less than a second before flitting away.
This time you’re smart enough to not say the first thing that comes to mind.
Concentrating instead on the corn in your hands, you jump when you feel the rough pad of Bucky’s index finger under your chin, nudging your head up until you meet his gaze.
“Don’t start holdin’ your tongue now, darlin’.” Bucky states in a low timbre, dropping his hand.
Your heart is racing again, but you’re not sure if it’s from fear or... something else.
Swallowing thickly, you manage to voice “I thought you’d have plenty of money.”
“Sometimes I do.”
“Sometimes?”
Really can’t help myself, can I?
The left side of Bucky’s mouth twitches. “It’s not always about the money,” He answers vaguely.
You frown, “Then what’s it about?”
At last, Bucky smirks. “Curious thing, ain’t ya?”
The comment flusters you.
“Why do you wanna know?” Bucky deflects, leaning in until his face is only inches from yours. “Thinkin’ about joinin’ the life, darlin’?”
“No, thank you.” The bite of your words is lost in your breathless tone, the result of his close proximity.
Bucky just huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling your face. Then he’s gone, strolling across the kitchen for the whiskey you offered hours ago - or so it feels, and that’s the end of that.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Waking with a deep inhale, your eyes blink repeatedly against the bright sunlight your curtains do little to block.
You stretch with a satisfied hum, having found sleep much easier than the last time Bucky stayed the night.
It’s well into the morning so you dress quickly, curious to see if Bucky’s still here, maybe even making breakfast again, or if he’s already taken off.
When you venture down the hall into the sitting room, you find the answer to your question lounging in an armchair, one of your favourite books in his big hands.
“Not an early riser, are you, darlin’?” Bucky drawls conversationally, not looking up from the page he’s reading.
You frown, crossing your arms. “It’s morning, isn’t it?”
He’s right though, you’re not one to rise with the sun - never have been. The few times you have are few and far between, the most recent being on his last visit.
Regardless, it’s not that observation that has you feeling defensive.
“Ten o’clock is hardly mornin’, you’ve missed half the day.” There’s nothing in his tone to suggest it, but you know he’s teasing.
It goes straight over your head however, as you’re too focused on what’s in his hands.
“Enjoying the book?” You snark at him.
Bucky smirks.
Oh yeah, he’s definitely winding me up on purpose.
“Tell me, are all your books so -” Bucky breaks off in a chuckle as you pluck the worn book out of his hands and press it to your chest. “So... romantic?”
You grasp the book a little tighter, having half a mind to hit him over the head with it for the gleam in his eyes.
An urge you think he senses.
“I like their humour.” Is your only answer.
Bucky hums lazily, clearly finding your answer lacking as he raises out of the chair.
The visual reminder of his towering height briefly shortens your breath.
Gazing down at you, Bucky lightly brushes against your side as he heads towards the kitchen. “I’ll go warm up breakfast.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 5 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You’re not sure what shocks you more when you open the front door. The fact that Bucky is clean, or the fact that he’s holding flowers.
Flowers.
It’s definitely the flowers.
You recognise the handiwork too. Clara, an elderly woman who was as kind as they come, grew all sorts of flowers and sold them from a stall in town.
They’re a little wilted from the long ride here, but still vibrant and pretty.
Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, inadvertently bringing him closer, Bucky’s deep voice teases “What’s the matter, darlin’? No man ever bring you flowers before?”
Dragging your gaze up from the bouquet and narrowing it, you jab “I’m just wondering if they’re stolen.”
Bucky only chuckles at your bite, like you expect him to.
You’re not sure what to make of that realisation - that you expect things from him.
Holding the flowers out to you, he states “They’re paid for, darlin’, I promise.”
There he goes again, making another promise.
Kept his last one, didn’t he?
Your facade doesn’t last long either way, the corners of your mouth turning upwards as you accept the bouquet, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s in the process.
Raising the flowers to your nose - and ignoring the tingling in your fingertips, you breathe in their scent, the stems of lavender standing out the most.
Before you can thank him, Bucky’s bending forward and ducking his head until his dark blue eyes are level with yours. “Was the money technically mine...”
Your mouth drops open as he trails off, implication hanging clear in the air.
Bucky gives a genuine laugh at your reaction, the warm sound almost eliciting one from you as he pushes away from the door.
You watch him saunter down the porch steps to take Alpine to the barn, completely and utterly bewildered by this outlaw.
He looked dangerous with his imposing height, broad shoulders, and wide chest that peeked out from the unbuttoned top of his long sleeved shirts. The same shirts that his muscled arms bulged beneath.
Not to mention his roguish features - the dark hair, thick beard, and piercing blue eyes.
He sounded dangerous, his voice deep and coarse in a way you’d never heard before, every word he spoke seeming to rumble out of him.
He just didn’t act dangerous.
Outlaws weren’t giving, they didn’t tease, or smile, or laugh, and they certainly didn’t let some girl smart mouth them.
However, you weren’t a complete fool.
You knew there was another, more prominent side of him that you were yet to truly witness. You saw glimpses of it sometimes - of the outlaw.
A man who was used to being respected or feared, or both. A man who had the strength and skill to take whatever he wanted, when he wanted, and without asking.
Then Bucky would blink or turn away, and that momentary glimpse you were afforded passed.
It shouldn’t drive you mad, it shouldn’t make you want to see that side of him, yet... it did.
If you thought about it too long - the image of him being rough and commanding like his lifestyle demanded, well...
You jump when Bucky’s hand waves in front of your face.
Looking up from the spot on the porch you’d been staring at but not actually seeing as you lost yourself in your thoughts, you meet Bucky’s blue eyes below his furrowed brow.
“You really get lost in there, don’t ya darlin’?”
Thoughts still scattered, you absentmindedly respond “I don’t mean to.”
Bucky just hums.
Shaking your head to finally clear it, you walk back into the house, listening as Bucky shuts the front door behind him.
Grabbing the old, empty vase that lives on the wooden tea table in your sitting room, you bring it to the kitchen sink and fill it with water, arranging the flowers within it.
You can feel Bucky’s gaze following you as he takes his usual seat at the dining table, but it doesn’t unsettle you.
Returning the vase to its rightful spot, you admire the flowers once more with a soft smile before treading back to the kitchen.
When you pass Bucky you let out a small, confused sound as you come to a sudden stop.
Spinning to face him, you feel the skirt of your pale green prairie dress tighten around your legs, and you discover the reason when you spot Bucky’s hand holding onto the bottom of your dress.
“What are you -” You start, flabbergasted until you actually focus on the section Bucky has grabbed.
“What happened?” He asks, not even having to look up from where he sits to meet your gaze.
The fabric is ripped, splitting the skirt upwards about four inches. There’s a scratch to match it along the back of your right leg, which you assume Bucky must have seen.
You can’t read any emotion on his face, but you sense that he’s not pleased.
Strange.
“I was trying to fix the curtain rod in your - the spare room, but the wooden crate I was using broke and I fell.”
Fell seems like an exaggeration.
There wasn’t much distance between you and the ground, but you had landed awkwardly, the wood catching on your dress and scratching your leg - thankfully not deep enough to draw blood.
Currently, you’re more concerned about how you almost referred to the spare room as Bucky’s.
When did it become his room?
Bucky frowns at you but doesn’t speak, causing you to frown back.
A moment passes before he finally releases your dress and stands. Still silent, Bucky turns and strides towards the hallway.
By the time you catch up he’s already in the spare room, assessing the window.
You’d been replacing the curtains when the curtain rod bracket came off the wall on one side. It just needed to be screwed back in but the bracket was out of your reach.
The screwdriver sits on the windowsill, where you left it while you tossed the broken crate outside with some unfriendly words as your leg throbbed.
Grabbing the tool, Bucky reaches up to screw the bracket back in, the height not even a stretch for him.
Picking the curtain rod off the bed, you sit down in the same spot and bunch the curtains in your lap, keeping them off the floor as you watch Bucky quickly complete the task.
Turning around, he takes the curtain rod from you and hangs it up.
“What else?”
You stare at him for a second before pointing to the wardrobe behind you. “The right door’s a little loose.”
Diligently, he rounds the bed to the wardrobe and opens the right door, tightening the screws in the top hinge.
“I thought it was you the first time I saw it.” Bucky says abruptly, nodding to the bedside table closest to him where two photographs sit.
Both are of your mother.
In one she’s holding you as a child - you’re no more than two years old, on her lap with a smile. In the other she’s by herself and younger, about the age you are now.
“I once told my dad that I wished I could remember what she looked like, he told me to look in the mirror.”
He hadn’t been exaggerating. The resemblance between you and her was as clear as a cloudless day. It was something that had always made you wonder - how hard was it for him to look at you and constantly be reminded of her?
You might not have been old enough to remember it, but the love your father had for your mother shone brightly, never once fading over the years that followed her death.
“He said that was the only thing we had in common,” Grinning, you drop your voice to a faux whisper as you repeat your father’s loving words “She was a horrid cook and complete trouble maker.”
Bucky grins at that, giving a slight shake of his head as he swings the mended wardrobe door shut. “I dunno darlin’, I think you’re plenty of trouble.”
After dinner is eaten and the dishes are cleaned, you always move into the sitting room for a short period while Bucky heads straight to bed.
Tonight however, he’s joined you.
Each sitting in an armchair across from one another, he nurses a glass of whiskey while you stitch the ripped fabric of your dress back together.
You use the light provided by the oil lamp and candles on the tea table between you both, placed around your vase.
As you glance at the flowers, you realise you never actually thanked Bucky for them.
Drawing your gaze higher, you’re not alarmed when your eyes meet his.
He’s always watching you.
“Thank you for the flowers.”
Bucky was right of course, no man has ever given you flowers before.
“My pleasure, darlin’.” His deep voice purrs.
You’re not sure why you suddenly feel so warm.
“And for fixing those things for me.”
It’s not like you don’t do anything for him in return, but you still want him to know you appreciate the help.
“I’ll fix anythin’ you need,” Bucky states a little rougher “Just don’t go hurtin’ yourself again.”
I didn’t do it on purpose, you almost huff out.
Bucky must anticipate the retort or something similar to it, because he stands, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful.
He takes his glass to the kitchen sink before returning, clearly on his way to bed.
“See you in the morning.” You say as he passes you.
“You mean afternoon?” Bucky calls back, his tone lighter.
This time you do huff, letting out a quiet “Shut up.”
His chuckle echoing down the hall lets you know you were heard.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 4 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
The fourth time you open your front door to Bucky Barnes is... different from the others.
Nothing’s wrong per se, but it’s not right either.
Bucky’s the dirtiest you’ve ever seen him. In fact, you’re struggling to find a visible patch of skin on him.
His large hands rest on the top of the doorframe and his dark blue eyes bore into you the moment the door opens.
“Darlin’.” The word is spoken bluntly and you instantly know he’s not in the mood to talk.
You have a short-lived thought of turning him away.
Instead, you step to the right, silently inviting him inside.
For the first time since you’ve met, Bucky feels dangerous.
Especially when you eye the guns still on his hips.
If this had been the Bucky who knocked on your door while bleeding out, you’re certain you never would have let him stay the night - let alone return.
Bucky trudges off to the bathroom, your eyes trailing after him.
When you hear the bathroom door shut you release a short breath, looking outside to find another irregularity.
Your feet carry you out onto the porch and down the three steps without a thought, drawn to where Alpine patiently waits.
She greets you cheerfully, nuzzling into your hands and covering them with dirt. She’s filthy.
Every other visit her white coat has gleamed, leaving you no doubt that Bucky cared for her deeply. Yet, like her owner, it’s hard to find a clean spot on her.
Alpine makes a noise and seems to nod towards the barn, as if to tell you that she needs food, water, rest, a bath.
The irritation you felt at Bucky’s stiff demeanour is replaced with concern.
You were in town only yesterday and hadn’t heard of any new incidents involving Bucky.
Not that you were keeping an ear out.
“What happened, huh?” You ask Alpine, leading her to the barn.
She simply sighs in response.
You’ve just started drying Alpine when you hear heavy footsteps enter the barn.
Her white coat shines once more, the familiar sight easing you, unlike the man approaching.
Bucky’s body radiates warmth as he comes to stand behind you, the scent of soap filling the air.
Daring to glance at him over your shoulder, you find him clean but worn out, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by.
Wordlessly, you let him take over the task.
You prepare Alpine’s stall, stocking it with fresh food and water while Bucky dries her. He’s quietly murmuring to the horse, but you can’t hear his words over the sound of Alpine chewing hay.
When Bucky’s finished he leads Alpine into the stall, closing and locking the gate behind her.
It’s almost humorous. Alpine and Bucky are spotless but now you’re not. Your dress is soaked and covered in mud.
The walk back to the house is taken in silence.
“I’ll start dinner after I tidy up.” You tell Bucky once you’re inside.
He gives no response.
After your bath you change into a simple white dress, the fabric light and less likely to make you sweat until you switch into your nightgown later on.
Stepping into the kitchen, you find Bucky reclining back in his usual seat, a bottle of whiskey opened on the table in front of him and almost finished.
You decide to make one of your specialties for dinner, hoping it will... well, you’re not really sure what you’re hoping it will do.
As you flit about the kitchen you feel Bucky’s eyes on you, tracking your movements as you keep your back to him more often than not, until there’s nothing left to do but let dinner simmer on the stove.
Turning around, you lean against the countertop and meet Bucky’s stare.
He doesn’t shift his gaze and neither do you.
“What happened?” You ask quietly.
You don’t expect an answer and Bucky’s continued silence tells you there won’t be one.
Probably for the best.
Instead, Bucky lifts the whiskey bottle and swallows another mouthful, emptying it.
Pushing off the counter, you tread over to him.
“You should have some water.” You state, reaching for the bottle.
Before your hand can wrap around it, it’s captured by one of Bucky’s.
He doesn’t look at you as he flips it over, focusing instead on your palm as he runs his thumb over the lines of your smoother skin.
You watch in a dazed state, letting him do as he pleases.
Gradually, Bucky inches your hand towards him, closer and closer until he’s pressing his forehead into your open palm.
The action stuns you, and for a moment you don’t know what to do.
So, you go with what feels right.
Pushing your fingers back and forth timidly, you weave them between the strands of his damp hair.
The droop of Bucky’s shoulders boosts your confidence enough to take a step forward and lift your right hand, joining it with your left.
His head remains bowed, face hidden from you.
Taking another step forward to stand more comfortably, you release a small noise of surprise when Bucky’s hands grasp your hips and tug you even closer, allowing his forehead to rest against your stomach instead.
Your heart stutters in your throat and your hands falter.
With a shaky breath, you resume stroking Bucky’s hair, just as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against him.
Being held in such a way makes you feel...
No, don’t you dare think that.
Growing bolder, your fingertips start drawing shapes on the nape of his neck while you play with the ends of his hair. The longer you do this, the more relaxed Bucky becomes.
Eventually however, the sound of dinner bubbling concerningly cuts through the peace.
You look over worriedly, not wanting the meal to ruin.
Bucky seems to realise, his arms tightening around you before dropping completely. Without looking at him, you dart over to the stove and turn it off.
Dinner is eaten in silence.
“‘M going to bed.” Bucky states once he’s finished.
His first sentence since arriving.
“Okay,” You reply softly.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You don’t expect to find Bucky making breakfast.
Walking into the kitchen, you had been prepared to discover that Bucky had left long before you woke. You’re glad he hasn’t.
He doesn’t appear as worn down either, and the brief upwards tug of his mouth when he turns to see you is more than enough to have you smiling back.
While Bucky’s still clearly dealing with whatever, his mood has at least improved.
Predictably, it’s quiet throughout the meal.
You wait at the bottom of the porch steps while Bucky retrieves Alpine from the barn, admiring the flat plains that appear to stretch on forever all around you.
The sound of Alpine’s hooves reaches your ears and you watch as Bucky leads the white beauty to you, stopping her by your side.
“You gonna be okay?”
You’re not sure why you ask, but you do.
Bucky looks at you over his shoulder, his hands on the saddle he was about to mount.
He studies you, his eyes dark under his hat, before doing something that muddles your brain.
In a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, Bucky drops his hands and turns from Alpine, covering the distance between you in a short step before pressing his mouth to your forehead, his beard scratching at your skin.
“Just fine, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles as he pulls away.
Looking at you one more time, Bucky spins back to Alpine and mounts her in one fluid movement. Then they’re gone.
You can still feel the touch of his lips as you watch their figures fade.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Town was a good hour’s ride from your home, and it was for that reason you only ever made the journey once a week, every Thursday.
Your main stop was the general store where you bought food and other necessities. The store’s owner - Billy, would talk to you from his spot behind the counter, giving you a weekly rundown of town affairs.
Most of the time it was just mundane gossip you didn’t really care for, but not today.
According to Billy, there was a new gang causing havoc around the plains, trying to make a name for themselves.
“They’ve been robbin’ properties all over, startin’ fires and roughin’ up any fella in their way, the poor lasses -”
Billy never finished that sentence, but his averted gaze told you how it ended.
“Dunno why I’m worrin’ ya with this girl, God himself couldn’t find ya all the way out there.”
The declaration wasn’t that farfetched. Unless someone knew where you lived they needed to be lost to find it.
However, if someone was intentionally on the prowl...
You check over your father’s shotgun the minute you return home.
Some days it’s hard to forget that you’re a woman living on her own, with no help nearby. Tonight that fact looms over you like a dark cloud.
In fact, it keeps you wide awake, sitting at the dining table with the shotgun in reach until the sun rises again.
You’re sluggish the whole day, tired and on edge.
When afternoon rolls around you’ve cleaned the entire house in an attempt to distract yourself and for the most part, it’s worked.
That is until you hear the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance.
Fear strikes your heart in a way you’ve never experienced and you instantly wish to never experience it again.
Racing to the window above the kitchen sink with the shotgun in hand, you almost cry in relief at what you see.
A white horse and her dark rider.
Sucking in deep breaths, you close your eyes and focus on the fast thump of your heartbeat until it returns to a calmer rhythm.
You’re putting the shotgun back in its place underneath your bed when you hear his heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by three loud knocks.
There’s no denying the way you immediately feel... safe.
“Bucky,” You greet a little breathlessly as you open the front door.
“Hi darlin’.” He grins, eyes softening just slightly.
It’s hard to picture the sombre man you invited inside only two weeks ago.
“Back so soon?” You attempt to tease, though you feel it falls flat in your drained state.
You wonder if Bucky can tell.
Ducking his head and pinning you under his stare that’s regained its usual intensity, he responds “You don’t mind, do ya?”
No, never.
Smiling, you answer “Luckily for you, I’m in a gracious mood.”
The tease lands better this time.
Humming, Bucky agrees, “Lucky me.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
After dinner it wasn’t Bucky who retired to bed first, but you.
The moment your head hit the pillow you were out cold.
Maybe it should concern you how easily you let your guard down just because Bucky was close by, but you don’t ruminate on it long enough to let it.
It’s late morning, maybe even afternoon when you eventually wake, the heat in your room making that much obvious.
Bucky doesn’t say a word once you walk out into the sitting room where he waits, reading one of your books again. However, the smirk he occupies as he gets up and goes into the kitchen says it all.
While you eat the breakfast - lunch, Bucky has made, you feel fear start to leach back in.
You don’t want him to leave you.
Unable to voice your plea, you take your time eating, dragging out the inevitable until you’re standing and taking your plate to the sink.
When you don’t hear the familiar sounds of Bucky collecting his things, you peek over your shoulder and find he’s still seated at the dining table.
Your gaze meets his.
Bucky answers the question in your eyes. “I’m supposed to meet my - some friends east of here in a couple of days.” You don’t miss his slip of tongue. “If I wouldn’t be overstayin’ -”
“No.” You interject much too quickly. “No, you wouldn’t be.”
He nods and stands up from the table, gesturing to the front of the house. “Your porch needs fixin’.”
While you kept the inside of the house to a spotless standard, the exterior was starting to show its age. The porch in particular, the boards old and beginning to rot.
“I know, I’ve got new wood to replace it with.”
You had it delivered out a couple of weeks ago. You just hadn’t gotten around to actually starting the task yet.
The sun beams down on you both as you walk side by side to the barn, past the horse stalls where you give Chester’s outstretched neck a fond pat, to the back where the tools and wood are stored.
Bucky hauls a bundle of wooden planks over his shoulder while you carry a crate full of tools behind him.
That’s all he lets you do, refusing your help when you go to walk back with him to collect the rest of the planks.
Standing on the bottom porch step, you watch him go back and forth from the barn until he’s brought out the last plank, creating a large pile.
“I can help.” You insist, feeling guilty about having him do all the work, even though he was the one who offered.
Bucky just shakes his head with a huff.
“Darlin’, go inside and relax.” He instructs, bending down to pick up a hammer from the crate. “Or,” He adds, straightening and strolling over to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Sit out here and give me somethin’ pretty to look at.”
Your stomach drops as heat floods your face.
Managing a weak scoff, you avert your eyes and spin around, quickly retreating into the house.
Bucky’s hearty laugh follows you inside.
Taking Bucky up on his first suggestion, you spend your day in the sitting room, reading.
When late afternoon creeps around and Bucky’s been outside for roughly three hours, you mark the page you’re on and get up to make him a snack.
Using the door at your end of the hallway that leads outside to where you do your laundry, you balance a sandwich and glass of lemonade on a tray as you stroll down the side of the house.
The sight that greets you when you round the corner almost has the tray slipping out of your hands.
Bucky’s shirtless.
His tanned skin glistens with sweat, the muscles in his back and arms prominent as he saws a wooden plank in half.
The longer you stare the more scars you begin to see, most small, others not, marking his body in a pattern unique to him.
You want to ask for the story behind each and every one.
Blinking out of your stupor, you step closer to where Bucky stands in front of the porch steps, cutting through the few remaining planks.
Swallowing thickly, you call out his name.
Bucky’s head lifts, looking over his shoulder at you before the rest of his body turns.
For a second time, you fight to keep the tray steady in your hands.
You’ve only seen peeks of the hair that covers his chest, but now it’s on full display and you can’t help but sweep your gaze down, over his firm stomach, to another patch of hair that leads to -
“Made you something to eat.” You declare, lifting the tray.
It only shakes a little.
Striding over to you, Bucky grins “Thank you, darlin’.”
His large, rough hands brush over yours as he takes the tray and warmth pools in your stomach.
“You’ve done a lot.” You observe, desperate to look at anything except him.
All of the old boards have been ripped up and Bucky’s already laid down new ones on the entire left side of the porch, as well as on the steps, where he now takes a seat.
“Should be done by sundown.”
It’s... nice, you realise. So utterly nice to have a man around to help you - to help look after you.
Though not just any man.
Bucky.
You’ll admit that. To yourself at least.
The sound of Bucky’s glass hitting the tray draws your attention. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s already finished.
“You keep eating that fast and your stomach will end you before anyone else gets the chance.” You comment with a raised eyebrow as you wander over to him.
Bucky smirks as he stands, handing you the tray. “Darlin’, if your food is what takes me out, I’ll die a happy man.”
Just as the sun starts to dip behind the horizon, your front door opens.
You glance up from where you’re curled into one of the armchairs, a book resting in your lap.
Bucky’s dark blue eyes roam over you for a prolonged moment before he husks out “Come take a look, darlin’.”
He disappears back outside as you stand and make your way over.
Opening the front door wide, you take in the restored porch with a growing smile and step out onto it.
“Wow,” You gush “It looks amazing Bucky, thank you.”
You turn to where he stands at the bottom of the porch steps and meet his gaze briefly before he breaks it, pointing to the old wooden planks piled a few yards away.
“That wood’s no good for your fireplace, so I’ll burn it tonight,” Bucky explains, crouching down to pick up the tools he’d used. “It’ll just be an eyesore otherwise.”
Leaning against the porch rail, next to where his shirt, hat, and gun belt rest, you watch quietly as he goes about returning the tools to their crate.
It hadn’t escaped your notice that Bucky had been wearing his gun belt when he came in yesterday, like he had on his last visit.
You hadn’t thought much about it at the time and you don’t now, too fascinated by him.
There’s a sense of delight in watching him while his attention is directed elsewhere, as it’s so often the other way around.
Only, while you found him intriguing to no end, you couldn’t fathom him sharing the same sentiment about you.
“Shouldn’t look at me like that, darlin’.”
Bucky’s abrupt words startle you as he turns and captures your stare.
It shouldn’t still surprise you how observant he is, even when you think he’s not paying attention.
Especially when you think he’s not paying attention.
How was I looking at him?
Shifting your eyes, you act as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what kind of name is Bucky?”
His chuckle lulls you into reconnecting your gaze.
“It’s a nickname.”
Studying him as he slowly wanders closer, you press “What’s your real name then?”
Bucky comes to a stop in front of you and for once you’re the one that has to look down - if only just.
He runs a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing it back from his face as he considers you.
“James Buchannan Barnes.”
The confession is gentle, meaningful.
“James,” You repeat softly, giving a small smile. “Now that’s a name.”
Vivid blue eyes - dark and electric, gaze upon you with something you can’t name as you suddenly feel the brush of knuckles against your right cheek.
“Say it again,” He murmurs.
Your breathing grows deep as a shiver cascades down your body, Bucky’s touch so... beguiling.
When your mouth parts to speak, his thumb catches on your bottom lip and it’s a miracle you remain upright, clutching at the railing.
Before you can utter his name a second time, you hear it.
It’s faint, but it still manages to pull your attention.
There’s horses in the distance, kicking up a large dust cloud behind them as they race towards you, the sound of their hooves echoing across the flat landscape.
You can’t tell how many there are yet.
The rough sound of your name pulls your focus back to Bucky, who is already marching up the porch steps. He breezes past you, reaching for his shirt and gun belt.
“Get inside and stay there.” He orders sharply.
Just like that, the side of himself he’d been sharing with you vanishes, replaced by -
“Now.” Bucky grits out, his eyes shifting to you.
That finally sends you scurrying inside, leaving him as he buttons up his shirt.
Darting into the kitchen, you draw the curtain across the window that looks onto the porch.
Bending over the sink, you pinch the bottom of the curtain between your thumb and forefinger, lifting it until you can just peek out.
Redressed, Bucky takes a seat on one of the two porch chairs and settles his black hat on his head, tilting it down until his features are obscured.
Leaning back in the chair, he almost looks like he’s about to fall asleep.
You pick up on a faint noise and soon realise that Bucky’s whistling.
Now, of all times?
Somewhere between a minute and an eternity passes before the horses - four of them, come galloping up to the house with their male riders.
Bucky keeps whistling.
The horses are pulled to a stop beside each other, forming a line in front of the porch. The rider to the far right urges his horse forward a step.
He eyes Bucky before glancing over at his comrades. Reaching behind himself, he slowly pulls out a shotgun and lays it across his lap.
“Oi!”
Bucky’s whistling fades out, the sudden silence perturbing as he straightens in the chair, hat still tilted.
“Can I help you?” Bucky drawls.
His reaction has clearly thrown the group into confusion as they all look to one another before three of them focus on the man who yelled - their leader, you assume.
“You’re not too bright, are ya fella?”
The insult makes you wince.
Bucky laughs.
It’s a sound you should find familiar for all the times you’ve managed to raise one out of him, but there’s nothing about it you recognise - it’s dark and without humour.
Maybe it should scare you, but it doesn’t.
The men stupidly chuckle with him, the one on the far left announcing “We’re here to rob you, fool!”
Laughter rings out louder from them, the group seeming to relax in this odd situation they’ve found themselves in.
“Yeah,” Another one echoes “Everythin’ ya got.”
Obviously not wanting to be left out, the only one yet to speak adds “That includes any women.”
Bucky’s laughter abruptly ceases and the leader notices immediately, unlike his three cackling morons.
“Ya gonna give us trouble, fella?” He asks warily, the others falling silent at the sound of his voice.
There’s a pause before Bucky answers.
“Depends.”
“On what?” A moron sneers, clearly unimpressed.
“On whether or not you leave right now.” Bucky states, voice low and menacing. “‘Cos you make one move towards this house and the last thing any of you will see is the bullet I place between your eyes.”
He directs their attention to the guns on either side of his hips.
The leader hovers his hand above the shotgun on his lap.
Another moron releases a scoff, “They’re not even drawn.”
“No,” Bucky agrees, his tone clearly indicating his dwindling patience. “But I’ve been told I got pretty fast hands.”
Knocking his hat back from his face, Bucky’s hands drop to his guns.
“Bucky Barnes.” A moron gapes, looking like he just wet himself.
The atmosphere completely shifts amongst the group, their leader’s eyes widening as his hand moves away from his shotgun and into the air.
“Mister Barnes, we ain’t mean no disrespect, sir.” He quickly appeases.
Heads bounce up and down as the others hurriedly agree, staring at Bucky with blatant fear.
You can’t stop the smile that pulls at your lips.
“Well boys, I’m not too bright,” He unsheathes one gun and points it in their direction. “So remind me what it was I just told y’all to do.”
Instead of actually doing it, one of the morons stutters out “Uh, well, you told us to leave, sir.”
There’s a hush, Bucky’s frustration palpable, and a part of you believes he’s actually going to shoot them. In fact, you’re about to turn away from the window to avoid the sight.
Before you can however, Bucky speaks again, his voice harsh. “So?”
Finally, they gain an ounce of sense and urge their horses to move.
“Thank you, sir.” The leader gasps gratefully, turning his horse around.
He’s smart enough to know he’s escaped a bullet, but not smart enough to realise his words only irk Bucky further.
It doesn’t matter now. He and his morons are already racing away like the devil himself is behind them.
Maybe he is.
Bucky doesn’t move from the chair, he simply reholsters his gun and stares after the group as they retreat into the darkening horizon.
You’re lighting candles on the sitting room table when the front door opens.
Straightening up, you assess Bucky as he steps inside and removes his hat, revealing a furrowed brow. He looks deep in concentration, like his thoughts are racing at a mile a minute.
“So,” You begin, stealing his attention “That was...”
It’s in that moment, when trying to find a word that encapsulated what just occurred, that you actually process the event.
Watching Bucky handle the situation, making the four men appear stupid and harmless, had made you forget that they weren’t.
You wouldn’t have found those men harmless if it had been just you here to face them.
It should have been just you.
And if it had? How much protection would the shotgun have offered? Would you have been able to -
“Hey,” Bucky’s deep voice cuts through the terror clawing up your throat - the terror that must be reflected on your face. “You’re okay, darlin’.”
Only because of you.
You vaguely hear Bucky striding over.
“If you weren’t here -”
“I was.” Bucky cuts in, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Clasping your face in his rough hands, he tilts your head back until your wide, panicked eyes meet his. “I was here and that’s all that matters, there’s no good in thinkin’ about what-ifs.”
The declaration is spoken gruffly, but the stroke of his thumbs over your cheeks is tender.
“You’re safe,” Bucky continues, his voice growing lighter - gentler, like it sometimes does with you. “You’re safe with me.”
It’s so easy to trust those words.
It’s late at night, the moon high in the sky, when you find yourself standing out on the porch.
You can’t sleep.
Too much transpired today. Too many emotions were brought to the surface, and with them came revelations you’d been trying so hard to ignore.
Ignoring them now seemed impossible.
You’ve never held romantic feelings for anyone. You knew long ago that your future would be a lonely one and you had made your peace with it.
Then he came along.
Rather than falling into your usual place of contentment in the loneliness that ensued each time he left, you found yourself counting the days between his visits, eagerly awaiting his knock on your front door.
Then came the feelings.
At what point did your heart choose to swell and thunder in your chest at the mere sight of him? At what point did you find yourself missing his watchful gaze when it wasn’t on you? At what point did you decide to trust him with your life?
In your relatively short time together, Bucky had somehow managed to carve out a space for himself within you, and you didn’t know how to get him out.
You don’t know if you wanted to get him out.
“Everythin’ alright, darlin’?”
For a second you think you’ve imagined Bucky’s voice during your ruminating, but his presence beside you is real.
“Yeah,” You answer softly. “Was just looking at the stars.”
It was one of the reasons you came out here.
Humming, Bucky leans against the railing to your right, peering up. “There’s no better sight to fall asleep to.”
You remember him once mentioning that most of his nights were spent on the ground, without shelter, in the vast, never-ending desert.
“I’m sure,” You reply. “But I think I’d miss my bed every once in a while.”
Bucky lets out a faint chuckle.
There’s a comfortable silence as you both admire the stars twinkling above, but soon a prickling at the back of your neck has your head turning to find Bucky watching you unabashedly.
“You drive me crazy like this.” He murmurs, almost to himself. “You drive me crazy all the time,” He amends “But especially like this.”
Like what?
You don’t have to find the courage to ask.
“Standin’ in your nightgown, smellin’ like lavender,” Bucky admits freely, repeating “Drives me crazy.”
Your body comes to life at his confession.
Goosebumps erupt over your skin, your heart pounding faster as a warmth settles low in your stomach.
“James...”
“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since we met. Every day, you’re my first and last thought. Always wonderin’ what you’re doin’, if you’re safe, if you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me.” He shifts closer, ducking his head until you’re eye level. “Wonderin’ what your mouth tastes like, how you would feel under my hands, what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”
Your breathing is shallow and heavy as he leans in closer still.
“Gonna let me find out, darlin’?” Bucky whispers against your lips.
Breathless and desperate, it almost sounds like you’re begging when you say, “Yes.”
Desperate to be touched - loved, by him.
A thought you’ll come back to another day.
Bucky’s mouth finds yours gently, his lips softer than you’d imagined as they press against your own. You’re tentative in your inexperience, but it’s not long before you’re kissing Bucky back with an eagerness he happily returns.
His tongue glides along your bottom lip, encouraging your mouth to open, and when it does he consumes you.
Needing to anchor yourself, you wind your arms around Bucky’s neck while his hands clutch at your hips.
When you break apart for a necessary gulp of air, those hands slip behind you to grip your backside, making you gasp as he lifts you up.
Clasping your legs around Bucky’s waist, you cling to him as he carries you back into the house.
His beard scratches against the smooth skin of your own cheek as you nuzzle against him before pressing shy, light kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. The soft sigh Bucky releases enchants you.
Then you’re feeling the floor of your bedroom under your feet as he carefully sets you down.
Bucky lowers to his knees in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands close around the hem of your white nightgown, his knuckles brushing against your calves.
The only lighting is the candle you left burning on your bedside table and the moon beaming through your thin curtains, but it’s enough to see the desire in his eyes - which is surely mirrored in your own.
You nod at his unspoken question.
In one swift motion Bucky stands, slipping your nightgown up and off.
Your legs press together instinctively and your hands twitch with the urge to cover yourself again as you’re hit with the vulnerability of being completely bared to Bucky.
“No darlin’,” He husks out roughly, grasping your wrists and holding your arms still while his heated gaze peruses your body. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
The fervour Bucky speaks with has you weak.
Pulling you to him, Bucky’s clothes rub against your skin which for some reason makes you tremble even more as his mouth claims yours in a passionate kiss.
Guiding you backwards until your legs hit your bed, Bucky breaks the kiss to lay you down. Still clothed, he crawls over you, his lips seeking out your neck this time.
You gasp when you feel his calloused hands on your lower stomach, before they’re steadily drawn up your body to cup your pebbled breasts.
For the first time, you moan.
Bucky’s head jerks up from your neck, his expression ravenous as he massages your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples as you feel the wetness pooling between your legs.
He lowers to kiss your mouth, this one slow and intimate as his sinful touch continues, his right hand straying away from your chest to trail down and down and...
Gasping against his lips, your body shudders as you feel Bucky’s fingers push through the curls covering your sex, just millimetres from -
You reach for his wrist.
Bucky stops instantly, his hand stilling as he pulls back from your lips to meet your gaze.
There’s no way he doesn’t already know, yet you still find yourself needing to say “I... I’ve never...”
“I know, darlin’,” Bucky soothes. “I’m gonna go nice and slow. Make you feel so good, I promise.”
You release his wrist.
Bucky’s left hand kneads one of your breasts while his right continues its journey down to where no man has ever touched you before.
The whole time, you watch one another.
You inhale sharply when his fingers graze along your folds, feeling the wetness and warmth coming from your core.
It pulls a deep grunt from Bucky, who dips down for a searing kiss.
“Gonna treat you s’good, sweet girl.” He whispers as he pulls away, moving down your body.
Call me that again.
You’re torn from your thoughts when Bucky’s mouth wraps around your left nipple, sucking and nipping. All while his right hand caresses your sex.
He switches his attention between each breast until you’re a wriggling, panting mess. Then, with a smirk, he moves even further down, planting kisses over your stomach as he goes.
Kneeling between your spread legs, Bucky wraps his large hands around your ankles before skimming them up to seize your thighs. He rests them on his broad shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your core.
Confused, you’re frowning down at him when he does the unexpected. Staring at you, Bucky lowers his head and licks along your slit.
Your hips buck up but don’t go far in his hold, your stomach tightening as you let out a strangled noise at the new sensation.
Bucky makes a sound of satisfaction as he glides his tongue over your core, his hands clutching your inner thighs tightly, ensuring they remain open.
This...
You’ve talked about sex in hushed whispers with some women in town but they never, ever mentioned anything like this.
When Bucky’s mouth closes around your sensitive bud, your hands shoot down and grip at his hair as you let out a moan so coarse you hardly recognise your own voice.
“That’s it,” Bucky praises, licking your clit. “Keep makin’ those noises for me, sweet girl.”
One of his fingers dances at your entrance, collecting your wetness before tentatively pushing in. How long Bucky spends working you over, you have no idea, but eventually he’s plunging three of his thick digits in and out of you.
Your head swirls with the flood of sensations. The flick of his tongue, suck of his mouth, burn of his beard, and stroke of his fingers. It’s so much -
“I’ve got you, darlin’, you’re okay, come for me.”
With one final suck on your clit, your body tenses and shatters.
You cry out in pleasure, tugging on the strands of Bucky’s hair as he keeps licking, basking in your undoing.
It’s not until your sounds turn into something small and pitiful at the overstimulation that he stands from the bed, his beard shining with you in the moonlight as he finally undresses.
You eye him hungrily in your dazed state, watching as his shirt flutters to the floor, followed by his trousers. Your stuttered breath fills the otherwise quiet room.
He’s...
Subconsciously, your legs press together again.
Bucky tsk’s, his hands sliding under your knees and pulling them apart. “Sweet girl, what did I tell you?”
Settling between your legs once more, he hovers above you.
You can only hold his burning gaze for a moment before your eyes drift downwards.
His cock is hard, leaking, and big. You don’t think they’re supposed to be that big. Your hand would probably only just be able to fit around it, so how was it supposed to fit in you?
“Like whatcha see, darlin’?” You hear the smirk in his gravelly tone.
Flustered, you mumble out a breathless “It’s big.”
Bucky groans deeply, like he’s in pain, and swoops down to kiss you, dominating your mouth.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” He whispers against your lips. “It’ll fit in your little pussy.”
Shivering at his wicked tongue, your eyes dart back to it.
“Can I touch it?”
Bucky grunts, watching you from underneath his lashes. “S’all yours, darlin’.”
Timidly, you reach down between your bodies and circle your hand around the base of his cock.
You were wrong. There’s a small gap where your thumb and middle finger don’t - can’t meet.
It’s hot and heavy in your palm as you give it a curious stroke, up then down. You repeat the action, but this time you trail your thumb along a vein you had felt on the underside of his cock.
Bucky’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing laboured.
An upward flick of your eyes shows you that Bucky’s have closed, his jaw clenched tight.
The sight sends a shiver through you and with a burst of confidence you tighten your grip around his cock and stroke him again, thumbing at his leaking head when you reach the top.
Hissing, one of Bucky’s hands shoots down to grab your wrist.
You look up and see more pupil than iris in his gaze.
Pulling your hand from his cock, Bucky rasps “Won’t last if you keep doin’ that, darlin’.”
The statement thrills you.
Bucky positions your thighs so they’re resting over the top of his own, spreading you out beneath him.
Gripping himself in one hand, Bucky’s eyes study you closely as he nudges at your entrance before slowly pressing in. The initial stretch burns, causing you to chew at your lower lip.
Stopping, Bucky dips down to capture your mouth while his other hand seeks out your clit. He gently rubs the bud, the action both relaxing and distracting as he continues to push in bit by bit until you’ve successfully taken him all.
“You tell me when, darlin’.” Bucky pants above you, unmoving.
A few minutes pass, and when you feel like you’ve adjusted as much as you can, you say “Okay, just...”
“I’ll go slow, sweet girl.” Bucky promises again, reading your mind.
True to his word, Bucky gradually pulls his hard length out of you before pushing it back in at the same pace. Your teeth snag your bottom lip once more as he moves in and out of you, the feeling just shy of painful.
Bucky never looks away from your face, catching every emotion that flickers across it. You’re warm and tight - so tight, around his cock and it has him on the brink of madness.
However, it’s only your pleasure he cares about and when your face remains pinched on his fourth pull out of you, his eyebrows crease in concern.
As he pushes in on his fifth stroke, Bucky starts “Darlin’, do you -”
You moan loud and short, the sound a mixture of bliss and surprise as the pain suddenly gives way to pleasure.
Bucky grunts above you, the look on your face seeming to make him even harder as he puts a little more power behind his next thrust, making you moan again.
“There you go, sweet girl,” He husks. “That feel good, darlin’?”
“Yes.” Your hands wind in his hair, bringing his face down to yours for a desperate kiss as Bucky maintains his slow thrusts.
Something’s clawing at your stomach, wanton and feral.
Your right hand untangles from Bucky’s hair to slide down his muscled back, brushing over the bumps of scars as you go.
Breaking apart, you pant against his lips, “Faster.” You don’t know how you know that’s what you need, but you do. “Harder, please.” You implore in a lustful tone.
You haven’t been oblivious to the wild look in his dark blue eyes, to the barely restrained control he exhibits.
Those words, your tone, they unravel Bucky’s discipline for a moment, and in an almost uncontrollable action his hips slam up into yours as he grits out “Fuck, darlin’.”
The powerful thrust claws a breathy whine of shock out of you.
“Gonna kill me, aren’t ya, sweet girl?” Bucky murmurs thickly, reining his control back slightly as he does what you asked and pushes into you at a faster pace, his thrusts harder.
Your head tips back into the bed beneath you as you moan, the nails of your right hand digging into their hold on Bucky’s back while your left clutches his hair tighter.
“Look at me.” Bucky commands in a tone so low it rumbles through you.
You tilt your head down to meet his heady gaze.
“James,” You whimper, the pressure building within you.
“Fuck.” He thrusts a bit deeper, grinds down a bit harder, making you mewl. “I know, I know darlin’, gonna come for me again, aren’t ya?”
He gives another hard thrust, the force of it pushing you up the bed.
It feels so good.
“Say my name,” Bucky groans, rubbing at your clit. “Say my name when I make you come, sweet girl.”
A pleasure so intense it has your eyes rolling back washes through you, making your entire body tense and relax repeatedly as you moan, whine, and pant for James.
The sight of you coming so undone for him - because of him, sends Bucky hurtling.
Pulling out of your pulsing heat, his right hand squeezes around his painfully hard cock and tugs it roughly, consumed by lust. On the third harsh stroke he spills over your stomach with a wrecked moan of your name.
Your heaving breaths mix together as Bucky’s forehead meets yours.
Inching forward, Bucky presses a short, soft kiss to your lips.
“You okay, darlin’?” He whispers.
A drowsy, satisfied nod is all you can manage.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You’re surrounded by warmth when you blink awake and it takes you a moment to realise the source isn’t the sunlight streaming into your room, but Bucky’s body underneath yours.
If heaven was a feeling, this had to be close.
“Mornin’ darlin’.”
Tilting your head up from where it rests on Bucky’s bare chest, you meet his sparkling gaze and feel your face heat.
In a motion too fast for your freshly awoken brain to comprehend, Bucky cusps your hips and rolls you onto your back, hovering above you.
Nudging your nose with his own, he captures your mouth in a tender kiss.
“How are you feelin’?” He asks, pulling back to look at you.
Memories of last night flicker through your mind as you answer honestly. “I’m a little sore, but good.”
Humming, Bucky runs his left hand up and down your side. “Just good?”
You duck away from his impish stare, making him laugh.
“Still shy after last night?” He questions with a smile, not actually seeking a response.
Instead, he leans down and kisses you again.
This one is more hungry, his tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth, requesting access you happily grant.
You feel the air in the room thicken as Bucky’s left hand continues to roam and knead while both of yours stroke through his lush hair.
Despite the soreness between your legs, you feel the desire starting to pool there.
Breaking apart, you both breathe heavily as Bucky professes “Already need you again, my sweet girl.”
Peppering soft kisses all over your face before trailing down to your neck where he rubs his beard against your skin, Bucky whispers “But I gotta let you recover first if I wanna be able to ruin you all over again, isn’t that right, darlin’?”
You shudder at his words as he places one last kiss below your ear and stands.
Stepping into his trousers, his midnight blue eyes swim with desire as they peruse your naked body.
Licking his lips, Bucky husks “I’ll get breakfast started.”
“When will you go see your friends?” You ask Bucky as he takes your plate and his to the kitchen sink.
“Whatcha mean, darlin’?”
“You said you were waiting to meet with them.” You remind him, recalling the conversation you shared yesterday.
Yesterday?
It felt like a lifetime ago now.
His silence makes you frown at his back. “You’re... not meeting them?” You surmise hesitantly.
Why would he lie about that?
“If you just needed somewhere to stay a while...” All he had to do was ask.
Turning around to lean against the countertop, Bucky’s arms bulge as they cross over his still bare chest.
Despite the current discussion, the sight makes your stomach flip.
Bucky regards you for a moment before confessing “I heard there was a new gang causin’ problems ‘round these parts.”
That’s all he says, leaving you to fill in the blanks.
Your heartbeat quickens at the possible implication of his words.
“So...” You prompt softly, daring to hope.
Pushing off the counter, Bucky approaches you, his gaze holding yours as he rests a hand on the table beside you and bends until your eyes are level.
“So... I needed to make sure my sweet girl was safe.” He admits, lifting his other hand, “That she stayed that way.” Brushing his knuckles over your cheek, he concludes with “I’ve got nowhere else to be, darlin’.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 6 DAYS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
For six days you’ve existed in your own little world, you and James.
You knew it wouldn’t last, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment you feel when life comes crashing back in.
Waking up alone for the first time since you surrendered yourself to Bucky, you don’t think too much of it as you slip on your nightgown.
Venturing out into the hallway, you freeze at the sound of conversation.
Alarm tickles at the back of your neck before you force it away.
Bucky would never put you in danger. Of that, you’re certain.
“You sure? The law’s been gettin’ closer than I like.” An unfamiliar male voice states.
“We’ve been plannin’ this for too damn long to back out now.” Is Bucky’s reply.
Sucking in a breath, you know you really shouldn’t be listening to this.
Continuing into the sitting room, you step louder than you normally would, alerting them of your presence.
Two men sit in your kitchen, their hulking figures making the small table between them appear child-sized. Their heads turn and two sets of blue eyes - one light, the other dark - land on you as you loiter awkwardly.
Glancing as long as you dare at the stranger, you note his dark blond hair that brushes against his dirty collar and wild beard which reminds you of Bucky’s the first time he knocked on your door.
You know you’ve seen his wanted posters, but his name eludes you.
“Darlin’,” Bucky crooks a finger at you, urging you over to him. “This is Steve, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”
You could recall the name at the bottom of those posters now.
Steve Rogers.
“Hello,” You greet shyly, offering your name as Bucky’s hands reach for your hips and pull you onto his lap.
Not meaning to interrupt, you look up at Bucky and hope your face says as much. He simply squeezes your hips, silently telling you it’s okay.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve declares with a secretive smile. “I’m sorry for barging in.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you?” Bucky grumbles at the same time, making Steve chuckle.
This one laughs too.
“I’ll give you two a moment.” Steve appeases, standing up and settling a worn, brown hat on his head.
You realise he’s only wearing socks and find it oddly thoughtful that he took his boots off before coming in.
“We’ll have to get properly acquainted some other time.” Steve remarks. Judging by the way Bucky’s grip tightens, he’s only saying it to be a menace, “Maybe you can cook me somethin’ too.”
“Fuck off.” Bucky growls, but Steve’s already slipping out the front door with a grin.
Grumbling, Bucky lifts you off his lap and onto the table, fusing his mouth to yours.
Once he’s successfully created empty space where your brain once was, Bucky pulls back and orders “Don’t you dare cook him or any other man anything, ever.”
“James.” You sigh, smiling.
“You won’t like what happens if you do, darlin’.” He promises in a darker tone.
The thrill that shoots up your spine suggests that maybe you would.
Regardless, you playfully huff “If you insist.”
“I do.” Bucky grunts, kissing you again.
When you break apart, the mood turns solemn.
“You have to go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah sweet girl, I gotta go.”
Forcing a smile, you whisper “Okay,” as if you have any say in the matter.
Rubbing his nose against yours, Bucky reassures “I’ll be back darlin’, like always.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 3 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Sighing, you eye the dishes you still have to dry. You would’ve finished the mundane task by now if you didn’t happen to move at the pace of a snail while daydreaming.
You had spent most of the day in the barn, completing chores. It wasn’t until the sun had almost set that you wandered back into the house and began making dinner.
Once these dishes were away you planned on taking a long bath.
Stacking the last plate, you pick up one of the candles on the dining table and blow out the rest, blanketing the house in darkness.
Using the light source in your hand, you check over all the windows and lock the front door before trudging down to your bedroom.
Stepping into the pitch black room you can’t help but miss the moon and the light it naturally provides as you place the candle on your bedside table, illuminating the small area.
Clutching the bottom of your pale yellow dress, you lift it up and off, leaving you in nothing but a thin chemise when you hear the unmistakable sound of a match striking.
Gasping, you whirl around with your heart hammering in your chest.
“Don’t stop on my account, darlin’.” Bucky drawls, seated in the chair at the opposite corner of your room.
Waving out the match he just used to light a candle on the dressing table beside him, his dark eyes watch you like a hawk. “Go on.”
A shiver races down your spine.
This isn’t your usual Bucky.
In an almost nervous manner you reach for the straps of your chemise, hesitating for just a second before pushing them off your shoulders.
You hear Bucky’s deep inhale as the fabric pools at your feet.
“Come here.”
Your feet are quick to obey the order.
Candlelight flickers over his face, allowing you to take in his appearance. He looks much the same as when he left, just a little dirty, but you can’t complain since you are too.
As soon as you’re within reach, Bucky pulls you down onto his lap, your legs settling on either side of him as your naked breasts press into his shirt.
His calloused hands grip your backside roughly, drawing another gasp from you.
Grazing your lips with his own, Bucky whispers “I’ve missed you.”
You’re not given a chance to return the sentiment as his mouth captures yours.
The kiss is ravenous. All you can do is hang on to him, your hands clutching at the material over his thick biceps as you let Bucky take everything he wants, everything he needs from you.
Both of you are panting for air when he eventually drags himself away, his right hand gliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck and urge your head backwards.
Running his nose under your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone, Bucky groans in satisfaction against your skin. “Smell s’good.”
It was merely coincidence that you had been using your lavender oil more often since his comment on the porch.
He bites at the place where your neck and shoulder meet - as if in claim, before licking over the spot, making you moan.
Bucky nips and licks along your collarbone, dipping lower until he can tug one of your nipples between his teeth.
You don’t even realise you’ve started rocking against his hard length until both his hands seize your hips, halting your movements.
Raising his head, Bucky coos “That desperate for me, darlin’? Where’d my sweet, shy girl go?”
Why those words make you whine at him you have no idea, but Bucky loves it.
Smirking, he slowly rocks you up and down on his covered length and hums “Maybe my girl’s not so good, huh?”
You moan as he moves you faster, pressing you down to rub harder against his straining cock. Clinging at his shirt, your head drops to his shoulder.
“That’s alright darlin’, ‘cos I plan on doin’ very bad things with you.” Bucky murmurs in your ear, beard scratching at your sensitive skin.
His words, added with the press of his thumb on your clit, undoes you.
Growling, Bucky stands while you’re still whimpering in pleasure and carries you to the bed, manoeuvring your submissive form until you’re on your knees, face down.
He’s never had you like this before.
The sound of Bucky removing his belt has your thighs trembling.
“Can’t wait any longer.” He grunts, shoving his trousers to the floor before caging your hips. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this perfect pussy every day, dyin’ to feel it wrapped ‘round me again.”
That’s all the warning you get before Bucky pushes in, the intrusion tearing a shout from you, followed by a drawn out moan.
You feel so full. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this.
How badly you’ve been craving it.
“That’s it.” He purrs, your walls clenching around him. “Fuck.”
Pulling out until just the tip remains, Bucky surges back in.
Keening, you claw at the blanket beneath you.
“You are a good girl, aren’t ya, darlin’?” Bucky thrusts into you hard enough to send your whole body pitching forward. Bending down, he husks in your ear, “‘Cos you’re takin’ everythin’ I give ya.”
The way he’s talking is hurtling you towards the edge again.
You don’t respond - you can’t, but Bucky’s not looking for a reply.
Straightening, he begins pounding into you relentlessly. You swear the bed is going to give out with how it creaks as the frame bangs into the wall, competing with the noises coming from you.
When Bucky’s large, rough hand slides under your body to play with your clit, you almost scream.
Chuckling out a groan, he states “You’re squeezin’ the life outta me, sweet girl.”
Bucky’s fingers are as unforgiving as his cock as they rub tight circles on your bud, bringing you to that point.
“Come.” He growls, leaning over you to wrap his large body around yours as his fingers bully your clit. “Now.”
You’re helpless to his demand.
“James!” You cry, falling limp as your release slams into you.
Moaning deeply, Bucky pulls out of your spasming core and flips you onto your back. Tugging his cock, he spills onto your stomach, cursing your name.
Collapsing forward, Bucky catches himself on his left elbow, hovering above you.
You’re breathless, eyes fluttering as he lowers to kiss your lips.
It starts out tender but soon morphs into something lustful as you feel Bucky hardening against your stomach once more. Your resulting whimper breaks the kiss.
“Keep those eyes open, sweet girl,” He whispers. “I’m not done with you yet.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You wake wrapped in Bucky’s arms, a smile instantly blooming across your face. Lifting your head from his shoulder, your smile only widens when you notice that his eyes are closed.
Bucky always woke before you, yet here he is, fast asleep.
He looks so peaceful.
For a while you simply watch him, listening to his steady breathing as his chest rises and falls underneath your right palm.
Eventually you can’t resist the urge to brush his brown hair away from his face, which prompts your fingertips to dance across his beard, down the slope of his nose, and over his mouth.
Your forefinger traces along his bottom lip before it’s suddenly snagged between his teeth, making you gasp, then laugh.
Bucky’s eyes blink open and lock onto you as he releases your finger.
“Hi,” You beam.
“Mornin’ darlin’.” The rougher tone of his voice upon waking is a sound you’ll never tire of. “What you doin’ up so early?”
Huffing at his teasing words, you slide over him and sit up, straddling his firm stomach.
“It’s not that early,” You glare playfully.
Cupping your hips, Bucky smirks “I just know how much my girl likes her sleep.”
My girl.
Lowering until your nose bumps his, you respond “I like spending time with you more.”
Bucky gives a weak groan, his hands gliding up to cradle your face and pull you down further, until your mouths connect.
It’s a slow kiss, every stroke of his tongue deliberate as he savours the taste of you.
He doesn’t let you go far when you break for air, his nose prodding yours when he whispers “I have to go.”
Your eyes widen in protest, “You just got back.”
Rolling the two of you over so he’s hovering above you instead, Bucky rolls his temple against yours, his forearms digging into the bed on either side of your head.
“There’s a... job I have to do,” He explains vaguely. “But once it’s done, I’ll be comin’ back here for a good while.”
You mull over his words for a moment before quietly reaffirming “You will?”
“Promise.”
Bucky angles his face lower to press feather-light kisses over your cheeks and down your neck, where he then scrapes his beard, well aware of how much it tickles your sensitive skin.
Only when there’s tears pooling in your eyes and you’re stuttering out between giggles for him to stop does he finally relent, lifting his head.
The grin on his lips is much too boyish to belong to the man who spoke such sordid things to you last night.
You suddenly become vividly aware of everything in that moment.
The dust swirling in the morning sunlight filtering through your curtains, the texture of the sheets against your bare skin, the echo of your heart beat.
It’s the moment you realise -
I love him.
“How ‘bout I make us some breakfast?” Bucky suggests.
It’s right then, with those midnight blue eyes shining down at you, that you almost tell him.
Thankfully, common sense rears its head, snatching the words from your tongue before they can tumble out and ruin everything.
You know he cares for you - possibly adores you in a way, but you’re certain men like Bucky Barnes don’t do love.
So instead you say, “That sounds great.”
You’ll take whatever he’s willing to give you before he leaves, because you know his absence is going to be even more palpable this time around, and you’ll wait as long as you must until he returns to give you more.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Securing Chester’s reins around a post outside the general store, you give his neck a loving scratch as he heartily drinks from the nearby water trough.
Moving around him to retrieve some money from the satchel on your saddle, the thumping sound of running feet grabs your attention.
You look over your shoulder to see four young boys racing past, beelining for the centre of town.
“Hurry up or we’ll miss it!” One of the boys shouts back at his lagging friends.
Frowning, you glance around and realise that most people are heading in the same direction.
Closing your satchel with the money still inside, you stride up onto the general store’s porch, intent on asking Billy what all the fuss is about.
A piece of paper nailed to the store’s front door informs you he’s not inside, the messily written ‘be back after’ only fuelling your curiosity.
Humming in thought, you move off the porch and fall in step with the other folks making their way to the town centre.
It’s an underwhelming reveal.
Your eyes roll when you round the corner and find that the gallows have been erected.
A hanging, of course.
What else drew eager onlookers?
Certainly not one to enjoy such a gruesome sight, you pivot and start back the way you came. You’ll just wait for Billy on the store’s porch.
You take four steps before stopping.
The whole town seems to be gathering - if not more. Only someone with a name important enough to know would attract so much attention.
Fear turns your blood cold.
It can’t be him.
You’re thinking foolishly, you know that.
In what world did law enforcement ever actually catch someone like Bucky Barnes?
The notion was comical.
However, your need for reassurance has you spinning back around and treading closer.
You weave your way between the large, still-growing crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the criminal yet to be led up onto the high platform for hanging.
After a few minutes you’ve only managed to make it halfway through the throng of spectators, the sharp elbows of uncaring men hindering your progress.
Rising up on your toes, you peer around the figures in front of you, focusing on the left corner of the gallows where you know the stairs that lead up to the platform begin.
The next few seconds seem to happen in slow motion.
All the bodies in front of you somehow move at precisely the right time, in the right way, to provide you with a perfect, unhindered line of vision to the brown haired man waiting at the bottom of the steps.
Oh god.
The reveal of his face almost brings you to your knees.
James.
His hands are tied behind his back and two deputies flank him, ready to escort him up.
It’s not until your line of sight is broken that the world around you speeds back up, hurtling you into motion.
Like a woman desperate - because you are, you barge through the remaining crowd, ignoring protests and brushing off shoves, until you’ve reached the very front.
Flitting around the unsuspecting deputy stationed to keep the mob at bay, you bolt for Bucky, sliding to a standstill in front of him, the tips of your boots touching his.
“Darlin’,” Bucky speaks like the wind’s just been knocked out of him, his blue eyes wide.
“James, what are you - they’re -”
You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.
Bucky Barnes didn’t get caught, and he certainly didn’t die.
“You promised.” You gasp out, eyes itching with tears “You -”
“I’m so sorry, baby.” Bucky whispers, his gaze mournful.
His new, precious term of endearment only pains you more.
“Don’t say -”
Regaining their wits, the deputies around you spring into action, one of them seizing your arms from behind and hauling you away.
“Hey!”
“Don’t touch her!” Bucky spits vehemently, rearing forward only to be yanked backwards by the deputies either side of him.
Throwing your right heel back as hard as you can, you catch the deputy in his shin, causing his hold to weaken as he lets out a shout.
Lunging at Bucky, you cling to the front of his shirt.
“Please James,” You beseech, like he has any say in this. “I love you, please.”
You should’ve told him. You should’ve told him that morning.
“Listen to me, baby.” Bucky implores, his deep voice gentle for you.
Just for you.
“I want you to know how much I love you, that you’ve given a meanin’ to my life that I had no right to expect, that no one can ever take from me.”
“James.” You choke out, throat tight with the tears that stream down your face.
He loves me.
The beautiful declaration should fill you with euphoria, not anguish.
“You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky declares, lips curling in a smile as his dark blue eyes soak you in.
When the deputy grabs you this time, there’s no chance of breaking his painful hold even if you had the strength to try - which you don’t.
Your body is limp, weak, and fractured as you’re dragged away from the man you love. The only man you’ll ever love.
“It’s alright, darlin’,” Bucky insists over his shoulder as he’s pushed up the stairs, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”
You’re thrown into the crowd - which parts from you in disgust, all while watching Bucky ascend to the high platform, feeling anything but okay.
They stand him beside the noose and your legs tremble as you begin walking backwards through the horde of bystanders, unconsciously trying to escape what’s about to transpire.
“Bucky Barnes...” A big, well dressed man addresses him before reading out his sentence.
A hand shoots up to cover your mouth, the reality truly sinking in.
They’re going to kill him.
Only watching you - always watching you, Bucky’s mouth opens.
You can’t hear what he says, but you make out the words.
“Close your eyes.”
The pain suddenly burns, your shoulders shaking with the force of your tears.
Gasping in a deep, shuddering breath, you look at him one last time.
Hasn’t death taken enough from me?
Forcing yourself to honour his final request, you close your eyes.
You’re barely aware of anything other than the affliction raging inside you, so you don’t even know how you hear it over the jeering crowd, but you do.
A low whistle.
It shouldn’t mean anything to you, but something tells you to open your eyes.
Blinking through your tears, you twist your head to the right, where the sound had been loudest, and zero in on a man who towers over most others.
A white bandana covers the lower half of his face, but he’s staring at you, his bright blue eyes visible as he winks.
Steve?
Veering his gaze from you to Bucky, he whistles again, this time a note that’s sharp and piercing.
People scattered within the crowd around you fling back ponchos, revealing guns that they fire up into the sky or towards the gallows, sending the audience running and screaming as all hell breaks loose.
I feel like bucky said she’d be okay because he knew Steve would take care of her. He knows she can exist by herself, she’s done it this long without her father, but I feel like—and this is totally me headcanoning here—either he made some kind of a deal with Steve if things went south for him, or it’s an unspoken thing. Steve knows how much she means to him and he knows that man would not let him down. That’s his brother.
Him telling her to close her eyes damn near made me lose it all. AND HE WAS ONLY LOOKING AT HER LIKE HE ALWAYS IS FUCKKKJJJJ
This is where I just start screaming shit
HIM TELLING HER HE LOVES HER WAHHHHHHH
ALSO WHEN SHE REALIZED SHE LOVED HIM!!!!! The scene was so You Are In Love by TS. Actually, I’ve decided that whole song is so them. “You can hear it in the silence. You can feel it on the way home. You can see it with the lights out.”
I keep thinking about where bucky must be off at while he’s away from her and how he somehow always finds his way back to her. I’m sure he knows his way around the area and even further, but still, it’s insane that he can always find her home from wherever he’s roaming. She’s his North Star fr.
His possessiveness makes me fucking SWOON!!!!!! The way Steve barely said/did anything and he was already growling about her not cooking him anything. I also love that that’s where he drew the line. I think it says something about how much her actions have meant to him. Especially given the first time he visited—not recalling the last time he had a home cooked meal. And every time since. That’s something sacred to him. Only meant to be shared between him and her. So beautiful actually. And also just insanely hot that that’s his best friend and she hasn’t shared more than like five words with him and he’s already claiming her so brazenly. God, and the way he pulled her into his lap…FUCKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!
THE FIRST TIME TOO!!!!! When he so bluntly told her she drives him crazy in her nightgown FUCKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!! And it was out of no where too!!!!! He literally couldn’t hold in that truth if he had a fucking gun to his head!!!! Speaking of guns…
That scene where the robbers show up… oh I knew bucky’s dick was biggggggg🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️ that’s a joke but I did just remember that he really is actually so big FUCKKKKKK my size kink was going crazy this entire fic. But back to the standoff. It was soooooooo cool to see him so close to his element. The way he’s crazy smart, tipping his hat low for a big reveal. And the fact that he stayed some extra time just for that… my god I love him. I love outlaw!bucky soooooooo fucking bad!!!!!
I wonder if he’d ever give it all up for her though. I’d like to think he would, but he also kept leaving, yk? Like we’re just getting to know their budding relationship in this fic, but he never showed any care over leaving, really. It was always just something he’s gotta do. He’d tell her he’d be back, but he never seemed broken up by it. And that’s not to say he doesn’t love her, but maybe this is just something that’s so ingrained him. Like you can’t cage a wild animal type thing. He’s meant to roam. But also I want him to be hers. So badly. I’m sure she does too lol
Oh my god!!!! When he showed up in her room!!!! That was sooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo fucking hot!!!!!!!!!! And he waited until she started getting undressed to make his presence known, oh outlaw!bucky you perv🙂↔️also in love with Bucky’s scent kink. That man LOVES the smell of his woman🙂↔️🙂↔️🙂↔️ oh my fucking god and the way he fucked her from the back SHITTTTTTT!!!!!! Here’s the thing… I don’t often enjoy thinking about bucky with other women, but something about the thought of him being a wild man, living outside the law and taking saloon girls left and right and then using that dirty experience to fuck the reader in that way… PHEW!!!! It’s the idea of him being a reformed rake. Like he BETTER not be doing that when he’s away (kicking my feet thinking about him going to a saloon the frequent on their travels and his regular girl tries to make a pass at him and is shocked and offended to receive a rejection from him. He refuses anyone but his sweet girl🙂↔️🙂↔️🙂↔️🙂↔️🚬🚬🚬 good shit). But he’s allowed to put to use those talents he’s so painstakingly perfected LMFAO. Ugh it’s so good though because last we saw was slow, caring (yet no less desperate or passionate) sex. And I’m assuming in those 6 days they spent together he was putting her to work LOL but last we saw as readers was the tame sex. Which is scrumptious and meaningful, of course!!!! But the shift between that and the doggy style shook me in the best way. Especially him having come home and just being in such a state that he needed her carnally….
About to get nasty real quick but I’m so sad he hasn’t cum inside her yet😔curse him and his intelligence and forethought to pull out🥀 I wanna see him crumble so completely🥀🥀🥀I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but especially given the era this takes place in, I feel like it would be sooooo yummy if he let himself go fully. Like already this is pretty bad. Sex outside of marriage per traditional values. But if he were to take the risk and cum inside her and fully claim her—mark her—WOOF!!!!! I need to take a lap
Overall this was amazingly written and I was genuinely marveling at the way you put sentences together and the way you describe actions. It’s just enough to make sense but not over detailed, leaving stuff to the imagination of the reader. Just so so so so good!!!! Fuckkkkkk!!!! This is definitely going into my favorite’s tag. I was going through the fic slowly, savoring it, and just constantly pausing to be like Jesus Christ there’s not one thing wrong with this fic. Nothing in the story, of course, but also flawless writing too.
I hear rumblings of a part two and I’m so excited to read it😩😩 you said something about nat being a bitch and I’m soooo ready for it😈 and reader going on the run with them?!?!!! Scrumptious!!! Makes sense too because the whole town saw her at the hanging. Woof, what a reputation killer. I’m excited for reader to join bucky and them as they flee from the law because I think it’ll open up a million more avenues to bucky’s jealousy and possessiveness. And protectiveness!!!!!! And I just wanna read more of them so badly. I care about them so much fucjkkkk😭😭😭😭😭 those are my babies I need them to get a happy ever after or else you’re liable for my actions
Love you, love this fic, appreciate your time, energy, and creativity that you put into writing this and the upcoming part two <333333
Firstly... wow. I know this hasn’t been a quick response but honestly I’ve just been sitting with this, re-reading it multiple times and enjoying the hell out of it 🥺🧡 I can’t express how much joy reading all your comments brought me, truly. The best gift I’ve received so far this year.
Anyhoo, I’ll do my best now to answer the wonderful points you made...
You absolutely nailed it. Bucky tells darlin’ she’ll be okay because he knows Steve will be there to look over her, an unspoken thing between the two men. You’re the first to actually ever bring that up, so I can’t tell you how excited I was to see someone say that 🤭
You Are In Love is one of my fav TS songs and I agree with everything you said aha.
Okay can I just say, reading She’s his North Star fr from you made me mad because how dare you be more poetic about them than me 😤 (Seriously, what a perfect metaphor).
Possessive Bucky is goooood shit 😌 I will give more of him in Part 2.
oh I knew bucky’s dick was biggggggg🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️ - Yes to everything you said here.
Loved reading your wonderings on if Bucky would ever give it up. All I have to say on that for now 🤐
Sigh, probably one of my favourite ever scenes, the lurking in her bedroom reveal ahaha. I’m always stoked to see someone love it just as much 😈 Reading you talk about him with other women was just so very fun? interesting? knowing things that happen in Part 2.
I fear we are the same 🧍🏼♀️ because... I died a little each time I wrote him pulling out 😓 Kink jumping out right now (at least what I like to read lmao) But I wish for the same and being true to the era is a hardship 😔
Thank you so much 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡 Your words mean the world !!
I’ve locked in this year and I’m determined to post Part 2 as soon as it’s ready, it’s in its second to last edit (if that makes sense 😅). Bitchy Nat has seriously become one of my favourite things to write aha, I don’t know why.
Love you for this seriously, thank you, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed reading all of this, it’s given me a real boost!! 🧡🧡
hi there, just popping into say how jaw dropping beautiful all of your work is, but specifically treacherous. It has haunted me in a way so few fics ever have, the way you built the world and the characterization had me white knuckle gripping my phone. I know you’re working on a part two, but even if you weren’t it would still stand as an all time favorite for me, absolutely incredible work 🩷 (I also think of mercenary Steve often)
sorry for the word vomit I just had to get it off my chest 🩷
you have me speechless 🥺 thank you so much for your incredibly wonderful words, i'll be thinking of them while i write 🧡
i just hit 15k words on treacherous part two, so it will definitely be split up into two parts me thinks, anyway here's a part two spoiler with zero context
Treacherous has been one of the best fics I have read in my whole 10 years of reading on here. If I had nothing left to read on earth but that fic I would be happily content with that for the rest of my life. I will be rereading like it’s scripture to me at this point. I loved every single detail! Your mind truly is a thing of beauty how you curated such beautiful words on a screen together. I wish nothing but wonderful amazing things for you sweetheart. 💞
a message like this is so dangerous because i will let it go to my head. i have said it a lot but treacherous is my favourite piece of work and any and all love it gets means so much to me. to hear someone say they enjoy it so much, or felt so much reading it, is astounding.
treacherous was absolutely amazing. the way you told the story and how you wrote bucky was just, wow. AND THE ENDING?!?? IM SO CURIOUS!! you are such a talented author omg thank you for blessing my eyes i hope your pillow is always cold and your charger works at any angle
never have i received such beautiful blessings, thank you so much 🙏😭🧡 and i am so glad you enjoyed treacherous <3
