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tldr;; mechanic!bucky is such a perve when it comes to clueless!reader

(warnings: pervy thoughts/actions, reader could be read as petite but it do be from bucky's pov and that man is massive so... take it as you will, bucky lowkey is a little misoginystic, please don't accept a man who thinks about you this way in real life! unedited because i'm lazy and this was not meant to be so long)

thinking about mechanic!bucky who is too busy trying to sneak a peak up your skirt to properly fix your car. he's a goner from the first time he meets you. a familiar ferrari rolling into the garage, vintage and so red it offends the eyes.

eyes which bucky rolls immediately, because he knows this car and, more importantly, he knows the owner of this car. an older gentleman, with an attitude problem, a rotation of rolexes, and more money to his name than the entire state of new york combined. so, when the door slips open slowly with hesitance, none of that self-assured swing of a man who could not care less if he slams it against something, bucky pauses in his steps.

then out comes you. pretty as a doe, and just as helpless, staining the red bottoms of your heels on oil-slicked floors. naturally, bucky assumes you're the wife, or mistress, of his least favourite client. you look every part the kind of woman a man with money expects to fall at his feet: sharp nails, sparkling lips, mouthwatering legs, all wrapped up in the kind of flouncy skirt that screams 'tennis at 3'.

“is bucky working today?” your voice is the kind of gentle that could haunt a man like bucky, and you’re utterly unaware of it, pushing your sunglasses up your head and flashing him a smile.

“yeah,” he nods, wiping a rag over his hands. the action is pointless: black smudges his skin so deeply, it’s practically tattooed.

head turning slowly to inspect the empty garage, your eyes land back on him with a question, “would you mind fetching him from the back office?”

“we can head into the back office and look for 'im together if you want, doll,” and maybe if he smiles innocently enough, you won't feel the weight of his eyes trailing over every edge and curve of your body. “but you're lookin' at 'im.”

your nose scrunches up, and bucky swears he feels his cock twitch beneath his navy-blue coveralls.

“‘your name tag says james.”

“‘s a formality,” he grows closer, shoving the rag into his back pocket. “everybody just calls me bucky.”

“oh,” a giggle bubbles up your throat, shaking both your shoulders and your tits. it’s as sweet on the ears as you are on the eyes, and suddenly he wonders if it’s a mirror of your moans: soft, teasing, coated in something a little too shy. or are you the kind that screams and shrieks so loud, he’d have to smother a hand over your mouth just to keep the neighbours from knocking? “sorry about that. i didn’t think you would look so...”

he bites back a wolfish grin, replaces it with a stoic line along his lips and delights in the way you shift weight between feet — nothing but a nervous tick, yet bucky can’t help but picture the subtle graze of your thighs pressing against a clothed cunt. does it feel good? bucky could make you feel better.

“so what?” he crosses his arms over his chest, making sure to flex his biceps. if he’s stuck wearing a grubby white tank, day-in and day-out, he may as well take advantage of how exposed it leaves that part of him.

“young!” you spit out so fast, he can’t help but think there’s more you’re not saying. pretty little rich girl like you, you’re probably used to having guys fall at your feet. hell, sit back and spread those legs, and bucky might just fall down too. “my dad always talks about you like you’re a grumpy old man.”

oh.

bucky feels his spine straighten.

oh.

not the wife, but the daughter.

now he’s certain of the twitch between his thighs, like a dormant beast long-last awakened at the smell of a sacrificial lamb. give him the chance snd he’ll gladly make an offering out of you.

“ain’t got all day, princess,” he likes the way you jump at his tone, a little rougher around the edges than it needs to be. maybe your hands could soften him out. he’s willing to test the theory if you are. “you wanna tell me what you were needin’ me for?”

“the engine’s been making a weird noise all morning,” pearly whites press down into your lower lip, accentuating the inviting shape of it as you slowly roll it out from beneath your bite. “at least i think it’s the engine...”

aw, you’re so clueless, bucky might cum.

“well, let’s open ‘er up and take a look under the hood.”

you stare at him.

you blink.

and then you nervously laugh.

“you don’t know how to pop the hood, do ya?” you shake your head and bucky feels a world of opportunities open up right before him. “come ‘ere, lemme show you.”

you’re skittish like a puppy, quick to run when he calls you to heel. one hand perched on the driver’s door, he welcomes you into the space between him and the car — if the door is half-open and the space is a little more cramped than necessary, you don’t mention it. you just glance over your shoulder with eyes awaiting to obey his next command. and, oh, the things he wants to tell you to do...

for now, he settle for a simple finger pointing down at the hood’s lever, “give that a little squeeze for me, would ya?”

you reach down, legs brushing back against his own, and gift him the most beautiful view. one shift of your hips to the right, and you’ll be pressing right back against his cock. he’s tempted to reach out and move you, but it’s too late: the hood pops open and you let out a shocked squeal. what else makes you squeal?

one glance down at the car’s insides — in which he fights off every thought of your insides — and bucky has easily assessed the damage.

“the coolant’s fucked,” you meet his words with a pleading look — the kind that makes him want to put a hand on your shoulder and lower you onto your knees to get a better look at you, a better view of you. he sighs with fake impatience, more than happy to see you fall into the trap he’s laid. “get over ‘ere, gonna teach you a lesson.”

you practically sprint to his side, eager little bunny hopping right into the pointy teeth of a wolf.

“‘kay, now, you see that?” he points mindlessly at the car, fighting off a smirk when you struggle to pinpoint what he wants your attention on. he tuts, like you’re inconveniencing him with your foolish ways, the perfect segue to ghosting a hand over your shoulders and guiding the upper half of your body into lowering itself over the hood. “need to look real close, girl. there, right next to the radiator.”

you turn your head back at him, and it takes every inch of self-control to not grab a fistful of your hair and test just how deep you can arch that spine. “radiator?”

“yeah, princess, they ain’t just for heatin’ up daddy’s penthouse apartment,” suddenly, his mind is flooded with images of you, 50 floors between your feet and the sidewalk, naked as sin and pressed helplessly against a floor-length window, drooling against the glass while he fucks you so full of cum it’s spilling down your thighs and-

“so, it heats up the car?” you ask it so innocently, he almost regrets thinking about how, if you bend over a little more, your skirt will ride up and grant him the view of whatever designer panties you cage your cunt away from the world with.

“opposite,” he returns to the matters at hand. by which, of course, i mean his hands suddenly fulfil their desire to feel how soft your tennis attire is, palm splaying over your lower spine and dipping your body down while he points with purpose this time. “cools it down, using special liquid. but your reservoir’s all out o’ juice, gonna have to fill her up. gotta treat your car like you’d treat your woman: keep her nice and lubricated, else she ain’t gonna be makin’ the noises you wanna be hearin’.”

“oh,” you shift and a flash of white lace winks at him from between your thighs. “so, you can just give me some of that special liquid and i can go?”

oh, darling, if bucky gets the chance to give you his special liquid, there’s no chance in hell he’s letting you go.

“‘fraid not,” bucky delights in the dissapointment that overcomes you. in fact, he wants to see that same pout creep onto your face while he denies your orgasm for the millionth time, followed up with a sob of his name to remind yourself of who exactly is making you feel so good. “she’s a vintage model, a rare breed. can’t be givin’ her any old coolant.”

you’re a rare kind, one that bucky is willing to bet his entire measly life-savings on having only ever felt the touch of affluent boys with twigs between their thighs and a pervasive avoidance of drowning their faces in the sticky goodness of a drooling pussy. the kind that needs to step outside her tax-bracket and get a taste of a real man.

he’s starting to understand why billy joel was so fixated on his uptown girl.

“then what can we give her?” you're starting to speak his language. we, her, like your soft hands are going to fix the car up alongside his calloused ones. hell, bucky would gladly pay you to let him experience such a thing.

“somethin’ that’s as special as her,” his hand slips from your back and there he sees it: a smudge of oil, a marker of where his hand has been on you. something possessive and irrational curls over his heart, and shoots right down to his cock alongside the rest of his blood. hopefully whatever loser your daddy no doubt wants you to settle down with for a new slice of wealth gets a nice glimpse of bucky’s mark on you. “i gotta order it in though, i’m all out. but, tell you what, you leave me your number and i’ll call you once the order arrives.”

your eyes light up, “you’d really do that? promise!”

“scouts honour,” he nods. bucky was never a fucking scout. “won’t even charge you for materials, seein’ as you came all the way here today for nothin’.”

unlike your cunt, money is hardly tight on your end, but bucky likes the way his generosity makes your smile widen.

“thank you!” so, that makes you squeal too. noted. “god, i don’t know why my dad’s always complaining about you. you’re a sweetheart!”

“oh, i’m sure you’re sweeter.”

you’ve barely pulled out the lot before bucky finds himself in the back office, cock in his hand, the shade of your panties on his mind, and a whole row of special coolant containers rattling atop the shelf as he throws his head back in ecstasy.

+ extra hyde !

· disclaimer! i literally know nothing about cars, i had to google this shit. i did not come here to be accurate, i came here to cum. · uh this came to me on a whim, i fear i may be ovulating <3 · pov me looking at mechanic!bucky's tits crammed inside his slutty little tank top

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