warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, fluff, light angst, enemies to lovers, bantering, lowk grumpy and man-hater reader, sam playing matchmaker, arguments, bucky has nightmares, semi-public sex, spanking, brat-taming, degradation and praise.
wordcount: 14.9k
a/n: i've never been to louisiana, so i tried my best to do research to keep it as accurate as possible. i apologize for any mistakes.
main masterlist
synopsis:
Sam has been trying to get you and Bucky to get along—or at least tolerate each other—for the longest time. And what better way to do that than by inviting you both back home for a weekend in Louisiana?
It was always hard to decline the Wilsons every time they invited you over to visit them in Delacroix.
They always made sure to show you a fun time, whether it was something as simple as a boat ride on Paul & Darlene’s — God bless them — shooting water guns with the kids, going fishing, or just grabbing some folding chairs to watch the sun set past the lake line with cold Heinekens in hand.
It was AJ’s—Sarah’s son—birthday this weekend, and Sam had invited you to stay over for a full weekend of nonstop partying and celebration.
How could you possibly resist when you have your very best friends waiting for you across the states with good music and food ready at their doorstep?
You showed up at the top of the steps with a heavy weekender bag slung over your shoulder. When you pushed through the front door, which had been left unlocked, the last person you expected to see was standing right in the middle of the room.
Bucky.
He looked like he had just arrived, too. A simple dark backpack sat squared and centered on the couch—as if he were already claiming his spot.
Bucky slowly turned toward you, his eyes widening as if he hadn’t expected you to arrive either.
“What are you doing—”
“What are you doing—”
You both spoke and stopped at the same time, eyes glaring at one another. Bucky’s shoulders were tense, his discomfort obvious, while your own brows were furrowed and lips scrunched in disdain.
Your first impression of Bucky hadn’t been great—and it still wasn’t.
When you first met him, you walked in on him talking to Sam about his flirting with Sarah. Sam had warned Bucky to back off—that typical overprotective brother routine—but Bucky insisted he was “merely joking around” and “wasn’t looking for anything serious.”
The two of them might have found it funny, but Sarah was your best friend, and you were extremely protective over the people you cared about.
While Sam was busy in New York, you had stuck by her side like glue. You were there for her through the divorce, you were there to watch the kids when Sam wasn’t around, and you were there for every single one of her and the boys’ milestones.
Sarah was a woman who deserved to be taken care of, just as she took care of everyone else.
To Bucky, pursuing her and tossing out flirtatious comments was just a joke.
You knew Sarah was strong, and that maybe she wouldn’t let things get too far with Bucky, but the way she’d chuckle and giggle at his words filled you with doubt.
Bucky wasn’t a man who would take care of her or her kids. He was just like Sam—he’d always be away, too occupied with other things across the country to actually show up for her and her needs. You didn’t want her to get hurt and left in the dust again.
Bucky let out a patient exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Sam invited me to stay the weekend for AJ’s birthday.”
You crossed your arms. “That’s funny. Sam invited me over to stay, too.” You glanced at the couch. “They don’t have a spare bedroom—so that couch is going to have to be mine.”
He huffed an incredulous laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching into a disbelieving smile.
The gentleman in him told him to give up the couch and let you have it, even if he had arrived first. But the petty part of him didn’t want to give in that easily—not with how cold you have been towards him.
“What?” Bucky motioned to the sofa. “You don’t think the couch is big enough for the both of us?”
You didn’t laugh, and he let out a frustrated sigh.
“Look, I—”
“Mom! Uncle Bucky and Auntie are here!” Cass’s voice rang from around the corner. His happy brown eyes, so much like Sarah’s, peered between the two of you. “AJ, come here!”
Bucky’s shoulders eased slightly, his expression softening at the sight of Sam’s nephew.
Cass ran to Bucky first since he was closer, throwing his arms around his waist as he knelt to meet the kid halfway.
“Good to see you again, kid,” Bucky murmured.
Then Cass lunged at you for a hug next, nearly sending you stumbling backward from the impact. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing tight. “Hey there, Cass!”
AJ rounded the corner next, his footsteps thudding against the floorboards before he collided head first into Bucky, catching him in a bear hug.
Jealousy started to boil in your blood. It was infuriating how much Bucky had these two kids wrapped around his stupid vibranium finger after knowing them for such a short time. Meanwhile, you have been around forever. You might as well have been their biological aunt, for fuck’s sake.
“Uncle Bucky!” AJ beamed.
Bucky laughed, giving his head a playful ruffle. “Well, if it isn’t the birthday boy. Hey, I got you something—”
“Aren’t you going to say hi to your aunt, AJ?” you cut in, catching the boy’s attention.
AJ’s excitement for whatever gift Bucky had for him faded slightly as he turned his attention to you. He smiled, walking—not running—to greet you with a hug. The polite gesture did nothing to soothe your jealousy or your emotional attachment to these kids.
“It’s nice to see you, Auntie,” AJ said politely.
You forced a smile anyway. “Happy early birthday, AJ. Are you excited for the weekend?”
AJ grinned and nodded, but before he could answer, the sound of Sam’s footsteps approached from down the hall.
“Well, well, well,” Sam said, a hand on his hip and a smirk on his face. “If it isn’t my two favorite people in the world—standing in the same room.”
The little boys glanced at each other, already starting their own silent game of tag before they pushed through the front door and disappeared into the yard.
“Sam,” you greeted, finally dropping your heavy duffel bag on the floor. “There isn’t enough space for Bucky and me to stay.”
Bucky was already reaching for his backpack. “I’ll just let her take the couch. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“What?” Sam huffed, shaking his head. “No, no, no. None of that. I bought an air mattress that we can set up right here.” He motioned to the floor in front of the sofa. “We’ll just move the coffee table. It’s big enough to fit the both of you. No one is sleeping on the floor.”
Big enough to fit the both of you?
“We are not sharing a bed,” you interjected sternly, trying to hide the embarassment on your face.
Bucky glanced at Sam casually. “I’ll just take the couch, then. She’ll take the bed.”
The tension in the room was thicker than the Louisiana humidity. Sam and Bucky traded a knowing look—one that typically meant they were thinking the same thing but didn’t want to say it out loud.
“Where’s Sarah?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. There was too much testosterone in this room.
Sam pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s out back.”
You nodded and walked past the two men, heading for the backyard. Sam and Bucky watched you retreat, waiting until the sound of the screen door clicked shut before Bucky finally let out the breath he had been holding.
“She doesn’t like me much, Sam,” Bucky muttered.
“You think?” Sam mused sarcastically, folding his arms over his chest. “Look, man, it’s my nephew’s birthday. Sarah and I want both of you here this weekend, and I’m going to make sure it stays a good weekend.”
Bucky pressed his lips together, his right hand coming up to tug at the stubble on his chin as if he were trying to calculate a solution.
“Alright, well...” He shrugged. “Guess I’ll just make sure to stay on the opposite side of the room—”
“No,” Sam interrupted, stepping closer. “That’s not how we’re doing things. It’s a celebration, man. I’m not having you two avoid each other like the plague the entire time. My nephews and everyone else around us will catch on.”
Bucky made a face. He knew Sam well enough to know he was already plotting something. “What do you propose we do, then?”
“There are plenty of things to do down at the bayou,” Sam explained. “Not even just the bayou—all over the damn state. Activities you two can do together.”
Bucky was terrible at hiding his expressions. He grimaced immediately at the thought—enduring constant nagging, side-eyes, and petty one liners from you while he just had to sit there and take it for Sam’s sake.
This wasn’t a fun vacation at all.
“I don’t know about this, Sam—”
“We’re supposed to be a family, Buck,” Sam cut him off, raising a hand to silence the protest. “You’re going to spend time with her, and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.”
You were down at the docks, the sun beaming down as sweat began to trickle from your temples. The humidity in Louisiana was suffocating, but the occasional lake breeze, the cold beers, and the company were enough to keep the heat at bay.
Paul & Darlene’s was swaying gently against the waves, looking as rusty as ever.
“Is she ready for a ride?” you asked Sarah, who was currently engrossed in a clipboard. “Are you seriously still working on your son’s birthday weekend?”
Sarah didn’t reply, mumbling to herself as her eyes traced the words on the paper. You sighed, your fingers gently nudging the clipboard down.
“Sarah, enough,” you said gently. You glanced over at AJ and Cass, who were sitting on the benches playing with action figures. “Take the weekend off like the rest of us and spend time with the kids. Take them out on the boat.”
Sarah looked at the boys, her brown eyes filling with guilt. “You know I would, but the boat’s still broken—”
“Stop with the sulking,” Sam’s voice shouted from the end of the dock.
He squinted against the sun as he approached, carrying two boat paddles, while Bucky trailed behind him with a third.
“We still have three perfectly good rowboats we can take the kids on,” Sam grinned, handing you one of the paddles. “Ever rowed a boat before?”
“Of course I have,” you said, taking it. “That sounds like fun.” You smiled, turning toward the boys. “Which one of you lucky boys wants to ride with your super cool aunt?”
Bucky lifted his paddle up to Sarah with a small, stupidly charming smile. “Want to ride with me, Sarah?”
You felt your eyebrow twitch.
“AJ, you’re with me,” Sam called out, cutting Bucky off. “Cass, you’re with your mom.”
“What? No fair!” Cass made a face, throwing his hands up. “I want to ride with someone cool!”
“You better watch your mouth, boy,” Sarah warned, completely ignoring Bucky as she snatched a paddle from Sam’s hand, already heading toward the end of the dock where the boats were tied.
Sam didn’t bother hiding his grin. It was wide, unabashed, and entirely too fucking satisfied as he ushered the boys toward the edge of the dock.
“Alright, move it or lose it! First one to the sandbar gets the first slice of cake on Saturday!” Sam shouted. AJ and Cass scrambled past you, their sneakers slapping loudly against the wooden planks as they raced toward the smaller rowboats, leaving giggles in their wake.
You and Bucky stood frozen, paddles in hand like two statues, blinking as the Wilsons walked off without you.
“Wait, what?” you finally managed to choke out, your head whipping between Sam’s retreating back and the boats. “Sam, hold on. There are only three boats.” You stumbled after them, desperately trying to create space between you and Bucky.
“Yep!” Sam called over his shoulder, not slowing down at all. “One for Sarah and Cass, one for me and the birthday boy…”
He paused to hop into a boat, the wood creaking under him. He looked back at you and Bucky, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
“And one for the two of you. Try not to tip it.”
You turned slowly to look at Bucky. He looked just as dumbfounded as you felt, his vibranium hand gripped tight around the handle of his paddle.
“He’s kidding,” you muttered. “He’s definitely kidding.”
Bucky didn’t say anything, mostly because he knew Sam wasn’t kidding at all. He looked at the third rowboat—a small, weathered piece of wood that bobbed innocently at the end of the line.
It looked incredibly small.
It looked too intimate.
It looked like a disaster waiting to happen.
“Sam!” you yelled, taking a step forward. “This is ridiculous! I can just stay back and help Sarah with the—the decorations! Or the food!”
“Decorations are done! Food isn’t being prepped ‘til tomorrow!” Sarah shouted from her own boat, already pushing off from the dock with Cass sitting across from her.
You couldn’t believe it. You were stranded.
You were stranded with Bucky fucking Barnes.
Bucky let out a long, slow breath through his nose. He glanced at you, taking the way your jaw had hung open as you watched Sam and Sarah float away. A fly could’ve flown in at any moment.
Without a word, Bucky started walking toward the last boat, his heavy boots thumping against the dock. He stepped one foot into the boat to steady it and extended a hand toward you.
“Come on,” he muttered. “I’ll help you down.”
You blinked, snapped out of your disbelief as you looked down at Bucky—propped up like a knight in shining armor helping a fair maiden onto his trusty steed.
“I can help myself just fine, thanks,” you scoffed.
You stepped down into the boat, and it tipped slightly under your weight. The both of you quickly got settled, undid the rope, and assembled the paddles at the sides. Without a single word being exchanged, you both reached for the handles at the same time.
Except Bucky’s hands landed first—and your hands landed right on top of his. You both stared at each other, gazes hard and unwavering.
“Let go,” you said.
Bucky didn’t budge at all. “I grabbed them first.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know how to row a boat, do you?” you immediately countered.
He paused. The only sounds were the cicadas buzzing in your ears and the gentle thrashing of water as the rowboat swayed.
“I do know how to row a boat,” Bucky argued back pridefully.
He didn’t.
He probably had during his Winter Soldier days—and maybe the muscle memory would have come back—but definitely not for a teeny, tiny little rowboat like this.
You grinned, a little taunting chuckle escaping your lips as you silently called his bluff. “Oh, yeah?”
You knew that stung his pride. He mumbled incoherent, grumpy words under his breath as he started to paddle away from the docks and toward the center of the lake, trying to follow Sam and Sarah’s lead.
The two of you sat in an awkward, tense silence as he worked the paddles. The sun was beaming in your face, and you lifted your hand to provide shade—but it was also a discreet method to help shield the way you were staring intently at Bucky’s muscles as he pushed the paddles.
Bucky would grunt occasionally as the blades lapped through the water, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way his muscles bulged and flexed through a shirt that looked ridiculously tight on a big guy like him.
His henley was pulled up to his forearms, the vibranium shimmering against the reflections of the lake and the veins in his right arm catching your eyes with every pushing motion of the paddle.
“You, uh… you come to Louisiana often?” Bucky tried for a conversation.
You huffed a laugh that didn’t sound humorous at all. “Way more than you have, that’s for sure.”
Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something smart. He had to suck it up for Sam’s sake.
“The weather’s nice, isn’t it?”
You couldn’t believe Bucky was trying to talk to you about the weather.
“It’s always hot and swampy in Delacroix,” you said flatly.
You looked around, noticing how the boat was drifting further away from Sam and Sarah. You watched as Cass and AJ shouted to each other from across their boats—how Sarah and Sam were tossing their heads back in laughter.
A frown settled on your lips as you began to feel left out.
“We’re drifting, Bucky,” you said, pointing toward them. “Steer in that direction.”
Bucky adjusted his grip on the paddles and huffed. “Fine.”
He started to dig the right paddle deep into the water while the left one barely grazed the surface. But instead of cutting toward Sam and Sarah, the boat’s nose jerked sharply to the right.
“What are you doing?” you snapped, your patience thinning as the distance between you and the Wilsons grew wider. “We’re not going toward them, Bucky. We’re going…” You frowned. “…nowhere.”
“I’m adjusting,” Bucky said shortly, his vibranium fingers tightening on the paddle. He tried to over-correct, pulling back hard with his left arm, but the only result was the boat beginning to pivot on its axis.
You weren’t moving anywhere. You were spinning.
The same cluster of cypress trees passed by for the third time. Sam and Sarah were becoming distant specks on the horizon, their laughter echoing faintly across the water.
An impatient sigh escaped you as you leaned forward, motioning to the paddles. “Here, move over. Let me take over—”
“I got it,” Bucky insisted, his jaw clenched and shoulders tense in that way that made him look particularly stubborn. “Just give me a second, alright?”
“Bucky, we’ve barely moved from the dock and now you’ve got us—” you motioned to the boat, “—spinning in circles. I’m getting dizzy. Just hand me the damn paddles.”
Your hands found an open space on the handles and you jerked them toward your side of the boat, causing the wood to thrash against the water. Bucky—taken aback by your unexpected strength—was pulled forward. He let out a hiss, immediately yanking the oars back toward him and making you jerk forward instead.
You both glared at each other stubbornly, muttering curses as you continued this back and forth struggle for the paddles.
But unfortunately for you, Bucky was significantly stronger, and every jerk he made sent you nearly flying out of your seat and in his direction.
“Goddammit, Bucky! Just let go!” you hissed, trying to find your balance as the boat thrashed around, water splashing everywhere.
Bucky had told himself he would try to suck up your attitude for Sam—but fuck, you were treading on his nerves every second.
“Christ, woman!” Bucky barked, his fingers tightening on the handles. “Just let me take care of it—alright? I know what I’m doing!”
“Well, clearly you don’t! Because we’re still just spinning in circles!”
The boat rocked violently, tipping precariously every time the two of you fought for the oars. The wood creaked and groaned under the movement, and water began slopping over the gunwales, soaking your sandals.
“Will you stop being such a prideful man and let a woman take over the damn oars already?” you shouted over the splashing water, throwing your entire weight into a massive yank.
The paddles lurched toward you.
“I can’t believe you offered to take Sarah for a ride when you can’t even steer the damn thing!”
Bucky’s brow twitched. He hated feeling incompetent, and every word you hurled was a direct jab to his pride. He had tried so hard to be on his best behavior for you, but his patience had finally worn thin.
“I would’ve done just fine if you hadn’t gotten in the way,” Bucky snapped back in a low growl.
His fingers clamped down so hard on the wood it was a wonder it didn’t snap. Out of sheer, petty spite, he jerked the oars back toward himself.
“Now give me these damn paddles—”
But the force of his movement caught you completely off guard. You let out a sharp yelp as you were catapulted forward, your hands losing their grip on the wood. You had zero time to brace yourself before you collided hard with his chest—it felt like hitting a brick wall wrapped in damp cotton.
With all the weight suddenly slammed onto one side, the boat lurched backward, the stern dipping dangerously low.
Pressed against his chest, you scrambled to get up in a panic. “Jesus, Bucky! Look at what you—”
“Stop squirming! Just… just stay still!”
Bucky’s grip on the oars was long forgotten as his hands found your waist in a desperate attempt to steady you, but it was too late.
With a loud, undignified splash that caught the attention of everyone on the docks, the rowboat flipped.
One moment, the sun was burning your skin, and the next, you were greeted by cold water enveloping you. Everything from above was muffled as you were completely submerged. Keeping your eyes squeezed shut against the murky water, you tried to swim upward, but panic started to flare as your head kept bumping into the underside of the wooden boat.
Suddenly, a strong, vibranium arm wrapped roughly around your waist. He pulled your body tight against his, dragging you toward the surface and back to the shore.
You gasped for air the moment you broke the surface, your skin warming as the sunlight hit your soaked face. People on the docks were smiling and laughing at your predicament, but Bucky paid them no mind. He dragged a hand down his face, wiping away the water.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.
Sam’s laughter, joined by the kids’ giggles, filled your ears as their boats drew closer.
“Oh no, what happened to you two?” Sam grinned, spinning his boat around to get a better look at you. “Let me guess—was it the wind?” He motioned to the upside down boat.
Rolling your eyes, you pushed through the water until you reached the edge of the docks, with Bucky swimming close behind. You tried to paddle faster to create some distance, but there was no point—he caught up to you in no time.
When you reached the dock, you tried to hoist yourself up, but Bucky’s hands found your waist again, easily hauling you up and over the wooden floorboards.
You sneered at him the second your feet were steady. “I didn’t need your help.”
Bucky ignored you as he hauled himself up onto the dock, his muscles rippling beneath the soaked fabric of his shirt. Water clung to his skin, dripping from the tips of his short, shaggy hair and trailing down the tanned column of his throat.
You were furious—absolutely livid—but as you watched the way his broad shoulders tensed just underneath the thin fabric, you found yourself swallowing hard.
You hated that, even in the middle of a fucking swamp, he still managed to look like that.
Bucky didn’t notice you staring at him. He stood up, shaking his head like a dog to get the water out of his ears.
“I was doing a fine job,” he bit out roughly, “until you had to butt your head in and try to take over. If you had just sat still, we wouldn’t be soaked right now—”
As Bucky finally lifted his head to glare at you, the breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, his gaze dropping from your drenched head to your chest—and then freezing there.
You were wearing a sheer white blouse—light and airy for the Louisiana heat, of course—but now that it was drenched through, it had turned completely translucent. It clung tight to your skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination and revealing the lace of your bra underneath.
Bucky’s jaw went tight, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He knew he should look away, but he couldn’t—not even as you continued to yell and point a finger at him.
“What? Are you insinuating that it’s my fault?” you scoffed in disbelief.
Bucky couldn’t concentrate. It felt like his brain had short circuited as he stared shamelessly at the damp lace and the soft curve of your skin.
“And another thing!” you shouted, stepping closer and poking a finger square into the center of his chest. “If you hadn’t been so stubborn about the oars, we would’ve caught up to Sam and Sarah and been having a good time with them!”
Bucky winced, not because of the poke, but because you moving closer only made the view more prominent. He glanced toward the docks, noticing a few of the guys from the neighborhood whistling and laughing at the both of you.
Without thinking, Bucky stepped closer, his large frame shielding you from the view of the men. He reached out, his hands hovering awkwardly near your shoulders as he tried to pull you against him to hide your vulnerable state.
“Hey—? What the hell are you doing?” you snapped, trying to shove him back. “Why are you hugging me? Get off!”
“I’m not hugging you,” Bucky mumbled grumpily as he forced you to stay put, caging you between his big arms.
“It feels a lot like hugging, Barnes! Let go!” You squirmed, but his grip on you was tight. His face flushed as he felt your chest rub up against his.
“Stop moving,” he hissed, his face turning a deep, frustrated red as he looked anywhere but at your chest. He leaned down, his mouth inches away from your ear so only you could hear. “Your damn shirt.”
“My shirt?” You blinked up at him in confusion. “What about my—?”
You looked down, and the realization hit you. Your face got hot with embarrassment once you noticed how the white fabric of your shirt was basically invisible, clinging to every inch of your bra and skin.
Sam and Sarah pulled their boat alongside the dock, the hull bumping gently against the wood. Sam hopped out first, looping the rope around the cleat. He looked up, taking in the sight of the two of you standing so close together.
“Well, would you look at that,” Sam said, a massive grin spreading across his face. “One little dip in the lake and you two finally made up?”
Bucky felt your body tense. Sensing how uncomfortable this was for you, he was just about to step back—until you crossed your arms over your chest and huddled deeper into his shadow.
“You okay?” Bucky murmured quietly, tilting his head down toward you.
After Sarah helped Cass off the boat, she stepped onto the dock and walked straight to you, moving between you and the men. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gently pried you away from Bucky, taking over his job of hiding you.
“Come on,” Sarah said softly, her voice full of understanding as she began to lead you away. “Let’s get you fixed up and into some dry clothes.”
You didn’t dare look back at Bucky as you let her lead you away, though you could feel his gaze on your back until you and Sarah rounded the corner, leaving the men out of sight.
Back on the dock, the laughter died down. Bucky stood there dripping wet, looking uncharacteristically flustered.
“I take it the boat ride didn’t go well?” Sam taunted, his eyes still fixed on the corner where you and his sister had disappeared.
Bucky stayed quiet, glaring at Sam as water droplets fell from his hair onto the floorboards of the dock.
“This isn’t going to work, Sam,” Bucky muttered, wringing the hem of his shirt. “She hates me.”
“Don’t be like that, Buck.” Sam patted him on the shoulder. “She doesn’t hate anyone. Besides, we’ve got the whole weekend ahead of us, alright?”
Sam likely said that in hopes of lifting Bucky’s spirits—but it only did the exact opposite.
The sky was dark as you sat on the air mattress, applying lotion to your skin. The thought of sharing a space with Bucky felt daunting.
The rest of the day had been awkward and tense after the disaster on the lake. It didn’t help that Bucky did exactly what Sam told him not to do—which was hovering at the far end of the room, making sure to stand wherever you weren’t.
Bucky was taking his sweet time in the bathroom. As you finished with the lotion, you quickly snuggled into the air mattress, trying to fall asleep before he came back out.
Only a few minutes passed before the light from the bathroom hit your eyes as he pulled the door open. You winced at the sudden brightness but kept your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.
A small sigh—almost a breath of relief—escaped his lips when he noticed you were out, or at least appeared to be.
You heard his heavy footsteps thud toward the couch. He crouched with his back to you, digging through his backpack for something.
Curiosity got the best of you. You peeked one eye open, and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest.
Bucky was shirtless.
You watched as he balanced on the balls of his feet, rummaging through the bag. The moonlight piercing through the window shadowed the deep lines and muscles of his back. His vibranium arm looked just as beautiful under the moon as it had in the sun.
His hair, no longer damp and scruffy like it was at the docks, was still slightly wet and brushed back neatly.
You could smell him all the way from the air mattress. He smelled soft and clean, with the underlying masculine scent of his deodorant. You knew you should have been asleep by now, but your heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Was he really going to sleep shirtless even though you were here?
Despite your heart thumping loudly in your chest, you kept your back turned to him and tried your best to fall asleep.
Hours later, you eventually drifted off, only to be jolted awake by the sound of shuffling, groaning, and mumbled curses coming from across the room.
Lifting your head, you tiredly rubbed your eyes as you glanced in Bucky’s direction.
“Bucky… can you keep it down?”
But as you focused, you realized that whatever he was doing wasn’t intentional.
Bucky’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face scrunched into a grimace as he panted heavily. A thin sheen of sweat covered the column of his neck and chest, and his fingers were digging deep into the cushions of the couch. He kept mumbling incoherent, unfinished sentences that made your heart sink with worry.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped.
“Bucky? Are you okay?” you asked, your voice rising.
“Don’t do this, please—don’t… mph… don't do this...”
“Bucky, listen to me!”
“Stop, stop!” he choked out, his body jerking against the couch.
You scrambled off the air mattress, tossing the blanket aside as you rushed to Bucky’s side at the couch.
“Bucky!” you whispered urgently, reaching out to grab his shoulders. You shook him, your palms warming from the heat radiating off his damp skin. “Bucky, wake up. You’re having a nightmare!”
When he didn’t wake, you shook him harder until he gasped awake so violently he nearly knocked you backward. His eyes snapped open—wide, unfocused, and… terrified.
He sat up abruptly, his chest heaving as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. His vibranium hand clamped onto the edge of the couch so hard the wood underneath groaned.
“I’m—I…” he stammered, his voice heavy with panic.
“Hey... hey, look at me,” you said softly, your hands finding his wet cheeks and forcing his focus onto you. “I’m here. You’re in Louisiana. You’re at Sarah’s.”
You started saying the first things that came to mind. Surely, reminding someone where they were would help in a situation like this, right?
Bucky’s head whipped toward you, his gaze darting around the dark room until it finally landed on your face again. He was still shaking, the tremors racking his broad shoulders as he tried to calm himself in your touch.
You didn’t say anything else—you didn’t really know what to say in a situation like this. But being there, holding him and simply staying in his space, seemed to be enough for now.
Slowly and quietly, he began to catch his breath, and that’s when you noticed he was trying to match his breathing to yours.
In and out. In and out, slowly, until he finally started to calm down.
“Did…” He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to your lap—noticing how your oversized shirt hung loosely over your legs. “Did I wake you?”
You nodded gently, deciding to be truthful. “You did.”
Guilt immediately clouded his features. “I’m sorry.”
A solemn frown tugged at your lips as you leaned in closer to get a better look at him. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, pulling away from your touch so suddenly it made your hands feel cold.
He tried to get comfortable on the couch again, but the tension in his shoulders and the stiff way he moved made it clear that settling back into sleep would be impossible.
Your heart ached for him. You felt terrible.
“You can take the air mattress, Bucky,” you said, already rising to your feet. “Here, I’ll move my things—”
As you stepped away, Bucky’s hand immediately clamped around your wrist. “No, stop. Just—just keep the mattress, okay? I’ll be fine,” he insisted, though the wobble in his voice betrayed how he really felt.
Your frown deepened. Even in this vulnerable state, he held onto that same stubborn pride that had clashed with yours earlier at the docks. Except this time, his attitude didn’t piss you off. Standing before him while he looked so broken and tired only made you feel completely useless.
“Is there anything I can do?” you asked quietly, searching his face. “Anything to help?”
Bucky managed a small smile—a forced, tired expression that didn’t reach his eyes. He let go of your wrist, his hand falling back to the couch.
“Let’s just get some rest. We’ve got a big birthday party tomorrow. I’m sorry for waking you.”
You stood there for a second, looking at the cramped, uncomfortable couch and then back at the oversized air mattress that looked far too big for just one person.
“You’re really pulling at my heartstrings here, old man.” You reached out, grabbing the hem of his blanket. “Come on. There’s plenty of room. Let’s just share the mattress.”
Bucky froze, his eyes widening as he looked from you to the bed. “S-share…?”
You were already getting settled on your side, your back facing him, hoping the distance would help his flustered state.
“You need sleep, and I’m not going to be able to close my eyes knowing you’re over there miserable on a cramped couch,” you huffed. “Now get over here.”
Bucky knew there was no point in arguing with you further. If he had learned anything from the disaster at the docks, it was that once you set your mind on something, he was better off just letting you have your way.
With a reluctant, heavy sigh, he finally stood up and moved toward the air mattress. The mattress dipped significantly under his body as he shuffled around to get comfortable on his side. He kept a respectable amount of space between the both of you, lying stiffly on the very edge.
You both remained back to back, with only the sound of crickets outside filling the silence.
“Do you get nightmares often?” you suddenly asked.
Bucky hesitated. “Not as much as I used to,” he answered in a gravelly rasp. “But they still come and go.”
There was another pause.
This time, Bucky broke it.
“Do you care if I sleep without a shirt on?”
You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. “Don’t worry,” you chuckled. “I’m not looking.”
The sound of your laughter in this awkward, tense space made his shoulders ease slightly and his heart beat a little slower. You two continued to lay quietly like that for a long moment—side by side, back to back.
There were a million thoughts running through Bucky’s head, and he felt particularly restless.
Finally, he decided to ask the very thing that had been occupying his mind since you two first met.
“Why do you dislike me so much?”
Bucky braced himself for the answer, but it didn’t come.
He waited, wondering if you were pretending not to hear him. He called your name softly and turned over his shoulder to look at you, but he stopped short.
You had already fallen asleep.
The morning light pierced through the front windows, hitting you right in the face. The quiet peace of the night before had been replaced by the chaotic, joyful energy of a house in full celebration mode.
From the kitchen, the clattering of pots and pans and the high pitched laughter of AJ and Cass bounced off the walls, forcing you awake.
You blinked, rubbing the grogginess from your eyes as you realized the air mattress felt much, much lighter. Bucky was already gone. His side of the bed was nearly smoothed over, and his blanket was folded neatly back on the couch—as if he hadn’t slept next to you at all.
“Morning, sleepyhead!” Sarah called out from the kitchen. “I’m so sorry for all this ruckus. We were tryin’ our best to stay quiet, but everyone is just so excited since it’s AJ’s big day today.”
A sleepy, lopsided smile pulled at your lips at the sight of Sarah and the kids gathered in the living room.
“It’s okay,” you said groggily, pulling yourself off the air mattress. “Happy Birthday, AJ.”
You started walking toward Sarah, meeting her in the kitchen. You took note of the trays and various types of produce lying around. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Sarah didn’t glance up from the onions she was laying out on the cutting board.
“Oh no, no,” she clicked her tongue. “It’s a warzone in here that only I can handle. You’d only get in my way, and I don’t need two people trippin’ over each other in this kitchen—I can leave that to my kids.”
You frowned, leaning against the wall. “Are you sure? I feel bad just sitting around while you’re doing all this—”
“I’m positive,” Sarah cut you off, pointing her knife at you and then toward the clock on the wall. “The party doesn’t start ‘til five. So you can get outta here and enjoy New Orleans or somethin’ until everything’s ready.”
“But Sarah, that’s an hour drive—”
“Out!” she laughed, shooing you toward the front door with a wave of her knife. “Go breathe some fresh air. Enjoy yourself and the town. I know you miss it.”
A small smile tugged at your lips, just as the sound of Bucky approaching from the backyard—already dressed for the day—met you and Sarah in the kitchen.
“Morning,” he nodded to you curtly, as if last night hadn’t happened at all.
Then he glanced at Sarah with a smile—that stupidly charming smile. He nodded toward the counter. “Let me help—”
Before he could take a step closer, Sarah pointed the knife at him, too. She looked back at you. “And take hunky robot here with you while you’re at it.”
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the way she brushed Bucky aside.
Bucky blinked, confused. “Take me where?”
“Sarah, if I’m going out to enjoy the town, I’m doing it by myself—”
You were cut off by the sound of the screen door hitting the wall as Sam hauled a heavy box of supplies into the room. He dropped it onto the floor with a loud thud and wiped the sweat from his forehead, grinning when he saw the three of you standing there.
“Oh, perfect,” Sam panted. “You goin’ to town? Take Bucky with you. Show him around. He’s been following me around like some fly buzzin’ in my ear.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms defensively. “A fly?”
Sam ignored him as he began to unbox. “Seriously, take him. He needs the fresh air, and I need the floor space. Go on, get out of here.”
You were about to protest—to insist on staying and offer your assistance—but Sam and Sarah were already bickering in the kitchen, talking about how Sam had to pick up AJ’s friends and run to the store for last minute groceries.
When you told them that you could be an extra set of hands, they both looked at you and, at the same time, shouted, “Get out!”
Now, you found yourself behind the wheel of Sarah’s run-down but reliable Chevy with Bucky sitting in the passenger seat.
He had offered to drive, but you didn’t allow him to—which, after the incident with the boat, was a smart move on his part.
The radio didn’t work, so you two sat in awkward silence with the windows rolled down, letting the humid breeze pass through as you drove toward New Orleans. Bucky had one arm out the window, his eyes focused on the trees passing by.
“So, where are you taking me?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
“New Orleans,” you answered flatly.
The short burst of warmth that the two of you had shared in the middle of the night seemed to have disappeared completely. Bucky had his body turned slightly away from you, and maybe that was how he wanted it. Perhaps the vulnerability he had shared last night was something he wanted to keep under wraps.
“I know that,” he scoffed. “But what are we going to do there?”
“I’m taking you to my favorite spot,” you said, keeping your eyes on the road. “Monty’s.”
Bucky hummed. “That like a breakfast joint or something?”
“It’s a classic diner. They have the best crawfish and cheesesteaks you’ll ever put in your mouth,” you said, your stomach growling just thinking about it. “But the best part are the beignets. They have the best stuffed beignets I’ve ever had.”
Bucky finally glanced at you, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve never had a beignet.”
Your eyes went wide, and you looked at him in disbelief. “What? You stay with the Wilsons and you’ve never had a beignet?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Have you ever been to New Orleans?”
He shook his head again. “I’ve only ever stayed in Delacroix with Sam.”
The idea of introducing the city of New Orleans—a place you adored—to someone who had never been filled you with a sudden burst of excitement, even if it was for Bucky.
“Well, we’ve got a lot of time to spare. So we’ll park somewhere and walk to Monty’s, and since the restaurant is near Jackson Square, I’ll show you around.”
While you kept your eyes on the road, Bucky could only stare at you as you went on and on about the beauty of New Orleans.
You explained breathlessly how gorgeous the square was—about how the greenery around the cathedral was breathtaking. You mentioned the French Market a couple of blocks away and went on about the street musicians and talented jazz players on every corner. You told him about the vendors posted all around and how you could even take a trolley around the area.
For the first time since he met you, he had never heard you speak this much in one breath.
For once, you weren’t throwing petty remarks at him. You talked and talked about the things you loved about the city, and Bucky felt like his heart was swelling too large for his chest.
Before long, the two of you made it into the vibrant heart of New Orleans.
The restaurant was already loud—the clinking of silverware, loud laughter, and a jazz band playing down the street hummed in your ears.
Despite the heat, Bucky had kept his jacket on for as long as possible, but eventually, the Louisiana humidity won.
Now, with his sleeves rolled up, the vibranium of his arm caught the light poking through the window with every movement. You saw the way the couple at the table next to you whispered to each other, and how a group of tourists leaned in, pointing in his direction.
Bucky felt it, too. His jaw was clenched, and he kept his left hand tucked partially under the table. He looked like he wanted to disappear. It was no wonder he preferred staying at Sam’s.
Then, the server arrived with a tray that smelled like heaven.
“Here you go,” you said, pushing the plate of powdered goodness toward him. “The legendary stuffed beignets,” you added with a bright smile, hoping to ease his mood.
The pastries were massive, perfectly golden brown and buried under a mountain of powdered sugar. Bucky lifted one and took a careful bite, the crunch of the dough giving way to a rich and creamy center. His eyes widened, and he let out a small, muffled “mm” as he chewed.
“It’s good, right?” you grinned, already halfway through your own beignet.
Bucky nodded, taking an even bigger bite. “Good,” he confirmed mid-chew. “Very fucking good.”
As he pulled the beignet away from his mouth, he was oblivious to the thick coat of white powder smeared across his upper lip like a mustache, with a stray patch sitting right on the tip of his nose. Bucky still had that natural, broody look on his face as he chewed. He reached for his water, and as much as you tried to keep a straight face, you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.
“Bucky,” you snickered, shielding your mouth with your hand.
He stopped, glass halfway to his mouth, frowning in confusion. “What?”
“You’ve got…” You pointed to your own face, doubling over as another giggle escaped. “Powder all over your face, old man.”
Bucky reached up with his right hand, wiping his lip only to smear the powder further across his cheek. He realized then how ridiculous he must have looked.
“Shut up,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes down as his face flushed with embarrassment. But with the way you were giggling across the table, he couldn’t help but smile, too.
“Here, let me help you.”
To save him from further embarrassment, you reached across the small, wobbly table.
Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, sweeping away the stubborn white powder. Any petty remark Bucky had been about to throw at you died in his throat the second your thumb made contact with his skin.
With the sunlight peering through the window and casting a soft glow on you, you looked… soft.
You looked exactly as you had last night, with the moonlight over your face while you comforted him after his nightmare.
Bucky swallowed hard. “I—”
Suddenly, a waiter rushing by with a loaded tray clipped the corner of your table. The wood jolted, the water glasses sloshing dangerously.
“Sorry, folks! Pardon me,” the man mumbled, already halfway to the next table.
You pulled your hand back quickly, clearing your throat. Bucky sat back, his hand dropping to his lap as he looked toward the door.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice a little lower than usual.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Let’s go.”
The two of you left the restaurant. Stepping out into the warm air, Jackson Square was already vibrant and bustling with a good mix of tourists and locals.
Couples drifted past, fingers intertwined or arms slung over shoulders, soaking in the romance of the city. You and Bucky, however, kept a careful, “friendly” distance, though every time your shoulders brushed in the crowd, you both tensed up.
As you rounded the corner toward the cathedral, the soulful, brass of a trumpet pulled you toward a crowd gathered on the sidewalk.
A jazz quartet was set up near the iron gates. The music was loud and swinging. People were swaying, and some older couples were even dancing in the middle of the pavement, lost in the beat as an elderly man sang, his smooth, gravelly voice beaming through the microphone.
You stopped at the edge of the circle, smiling as you watched a young couple spin each other around.
The music was infectious, and you found yourself tapping your foot against the cobblestones. Bucky stood beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, but his eyes weren’t on the musicians. He was watching the people dancing with a look of quiet, distant longing that made your heart ache just a little.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly, grabbing his attention.
Bucky—as if snapped out of his own thoughts—jumped slightly at your question. He looked down at you, a sheepish smile on his lips.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
You motioned to the other dancers. “Do you want to dance?”
He blinked as your question processed in his mind. You were inviting him to dance?
Were you trying to pull his leg?
Bucky sucked in a deep breath, his face flushing and his eyes going wide. “… Dance?”
Before Bucky could deny your offer, the saxophone player stepped forward and got lost in a wild, trilling solo that made the crowd cheer even louder. The man on the microphone let out a joyful laugh, clapping his hands in time with the beat.
“That’s it! That’s it!” he called out. “Don’t just stand there lookin’ pretty, now! Everyone grab a partner and start dancin’ if you haven’t already—life’s way too short to be standin’ still.”
More people spilled into the center of the circle, bumping into you and Bucky. Total strangers were spinning each other around, and it was as if the old cobblestones started to shake with everyone’s footsteps dancing over them.
You looked up at Bucky—his body was tense with the clear desire to bolt in the opposite direction.
“Do you want to leave—”
“C’mon now, you two!” the singer bellowed over the music, drawing the eyes of everyone in the circle as he pointed directly at the two of you with a big grin on his face. “I see you shy young lovebirds over there. Don’t be shy, big man—take the lady’s hand and show us what you got!”
Bucky looked like he wanted to die.
His face was as red as a tomato, and his body was as stiff as a rock. You wanted to laugh at him being called a ‘young lovebird big man,’ but you knew that would only wound his pride even more.
You grabbed his hand, and his body jolted, not expecting the sudden contact.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Come on,” you said, nodding your head toward the middle of the circle. “We’re going to dance.”
“What? Hey—wait—!”
Bucky let himself be dragged to the center of the circle, his feet dragging against the cobblestones.
He couldn’t believe this was happening.
Just twelve hours ago, he had been waking up from a nightmare in a cold sweat, and now he was standing in the middle of Jackson Square with a hundred sets of eyes on him.
This was worse than any nightmare he ever had, probably.
“I can’t,” he hissed, his voice cracking slightly as he looked at the couples spinning around them. “I haven’t danced since... since…”
The Forties.
“Just don’t think about it,” you said, stepping closer into his arms so he was forced to look at you instead of the crowd.
You took his right hand in yours and placed your other hand on his shoulder. His hand found your waist—respectfully. “Just follow my lead.”
You started moving your body to the swing of the rhythm, pulling him into a simple two step move.
At first, Bucky was like a statue—immovable and completely terrified—but then you caught the beat and spun yourself out. Your hand remained intertwined with his before you stepped back into his arms with a little chuckle.
Everyone around you beamed with glee. As the saxophone solo reached its peak, the notes spiraling higher and higher into the humid Louisiana air, Bucky finally started to follow along. His long legs found the rhythm, and he began moving with you.
The man on the microphone threw his head back, laughing in pure delight as Bucky finally found his feet. He pointed at Bucky with a wink before pulling the mic back to his lips.
“There he is! White boy’s got rhythm!” he cheered—and the crowd joined in—before he sung back into a smooth, jazzy verse.
As Bucky spun you around to the music, everything else became a complete blur.
In this moment, it was just you, Bucky, and the beautiful music of New Orleans.
He would occasionally step on your feet, and you would occasionally step on his. You bumped into other dancing couples now and then, but it didn’t matter. You were both laughing, getting lost in the moment and in each other.
It was the first time either of you had seen the other smile like that—completely genuine and unburdened.
After everything that had happened today, it felt like things between you would be different from here on out. There was a soft, gentle side to Bucky that you were slowly starting to notice—a side that made you realize it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he were to… pursue Sarah.
As the song came to an end, Bucky dipped you, holding you up with the strength of his arms alone. The two of you looked at each other breathlessly, his face just inches from yours. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you—just like the other couples were doing, exchanging sweet, quick pecks as the music faded.
But he swallowed hard, hauling you back up and abruptly pulling his hands away from the closeness of your body.
“We should go… so we can make it back in time for the party,” he said, his voice a little strained.
For some reason, the sudden loss of Bucky’s touch hurt you more than you’d like to admit.
“I… sure,” you nodded, straightening your clothes and avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. It’s a long drive. We should go.”
This time, Bucky insisted on driving back to Sarah’s, his excuse being, “You showed me New Orleans, the least I can do is drive us home.”
With how great the day had been and the good mood you were in because of it, you had no problem letting him take the wheel.
“New Orleans is beautiful,” Bucky said, glancing at you with a small smile. “It’s busy and the crowds are loud, but I had a lot of fun—surprisingly so.”
You chuckled, letting the breeze sweep over your face as you looked out the window. “There’s so much more I have to show you. Like the steamboats—oh! And if we’d gone further downtown French Quarter, I could’ve introduced you to my favorite spot for Cajun gumbo—”
Bucky snickered. Here you were again—rambling on about your favorite things. But to Bucky, listening to you talk was, oddly enough, music to his ears.
“That all sounds great,” he said. “Just no swamp boat tours, please. I’ve had enough of those.”
You threw your head back with a hearty laugh. “Fair enough.”
The truck slowly began to lose its momentum, the engine sputtering and making strange sounds—sounds that indicated it wouldn’t survive the over hour long drive back home.
“Uh… Bucky?” you asked, sitting up straighter as you watched the speedometer needle start to dip. “What’s going on?”
Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I… I don’t know.”
“Well, stop slowing down! We’re in the middle of the road!” Panic started to flare as you glanced at the rearview mirror.
“I’m not slowing down,” Bucky snapped back, his voice rising in panic equal to yours. He pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal, but Sarah’s Chevy only groaned in response. “The truck is doing it on its own.”
“Well, fix it!” you shrieked. “Like… shift gears or something!”
“Fix it?” Bucky scoffed at your expectations.
He groaned, steering the truck toward the grassy shoulder. He peered through the windshield, his expression grim as the truck gave one final lurch before going completely dead. He sighed, reaching for the keys.
“Cut the engine and try again,” you urged.
He gave you a snappy look—mostly because that was exactly what he was about to do.
“No shit,” he mumbled, twisting the key to try the ignition again. He grunted, muttering curses as he tried over and over, but the truck wouldn’t budge.
“Great,” Bucky muttered, leaning his head back against the headrest with a thud. “Just great.”
“Oh my god,” you breathed in disbelief.
You had over an hour’s drive ahead of you, and with it already being four o’clock, you were definitely going to be late for AJ’s birthday party.
“You broke Sarah’s truck.”
Bucky’s eyes flew wide as he turned to you, appalled by your audacity. “I broke Sarah’s truck?”
You crossed your arms and stubbornly glared out the window, refusing to look at him. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t Bucky’s fault—the thing was a relic—but with the panic of missing the party bubbling up, you couldn’t help yourself.
Bucky let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, just stay in the truck, alright? I’ll fix this.”
He pushed the door open and hopped out, but despite his instructions, you were right on his heels.
Bucky popped open the hood, and a fresh cloud of gray smoke billowed out, forcing him to cough and wave his hand to clear the air. He leaned over the engine bay, his vibranium hand resting on the frame as he squinted at the mess of hoses and wires.
“See anything?” you pestered over his shoulder.
“I see a lot of things that shouldn’t be smoking,” he mumbled grumpily.
He reached in, his fingers grazing a radiator hose that looked suspiciously frayed. He tried to tighten a loose bolt, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, but as soon as he touched a connector near the battery, a stray spark flew up.
“It’s the alternator,” he suggested, pulling his hand back and wiping grease onto his jeans. “Or the fuel pump. Or maybe it’s just tired of living.”
“Can you fix it?” you asked, your brows furrowed.
He looked at the smoking engine, then back at the empty road, and finally at you. He let out a long, defeated breath and shook his head.
“There are no tools for me to work with.” He explained, shutting the hood.
“Oh my god,” you repeated, your heart racing. “Oh my god—wait, so what do we do? Do we call someone?”
Bucky already had his phone out—a damned flip phone—and was already dialing Sam’s number.
“What are you doing?” you pestered him, buzzing around him like a fly.
“I’m calling Sam to pick us up,” he answered shortly.
“Oh—okay… good… that’s… good.”
You crossed your arms, your thumb nail caught between your teeth as you started to pace back and forth.
You felt terrible about Sam having to go out of his way to bail you out of this mess on his nephew’s birthday—and you felt even worse about adding a broken truck to the long list of things Sarah already had to take care of.
“Sam, can you hear me? Hello?” Bucky started, raising his voice to be heard over the static. “We’re stranded on—” He looked at you. “Where are we?”
“300 East,” you answered quickly.
“300 East. Sarah’s truck broke down and we need a—hello? Sam, can you hear me?”
Bucky tried again, but the line went dead. He pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed, snapping it shut.
“Wait, what happened? Did he pick up?”
“Line went dead,” Bucky said, staring at the useless piece of plastic in his hand.
“But is he coming?” you pressed, stepping closer. “Does he know where we are? Did he hear you?”
“I don’t know.”
Your patience, already worn thin from the humidity and the stress of the entire situation, finally snapped.
“What do you mean you don’t know?!” You threw your hands up in the air, your frustration taking over. “God, maybe if I had driven, we wouldn’t have gotten into this mess—”
Bucky’s head snapped toward you, a scoff leaving his lips as he glared at you. “Excuse me? Why do you always blame things on me?”
“Because you insisted on driving! And you weren’t just driving—you were speeding! You were pushing the truck to its limits and now look at us!” Your voice rose as you stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Look at the mess you got us into!”
Bucky’s face twisted into a sneer so ugly, it nearly made you flinch. He stepped even closer, letting your finger dig into his chest as he loomed over you, as if reminding you of your place.
“You know, I’m starting to get sick and tired of the way you’re treating me,” he growled. “We had a great day—we were finally getting along—and you went and ruined it.”
Your eyes went wide. “I ruined it?”
“Oh, you ruined it the second you opened your mouth!” Bucky barked.
He didn’t even give you a chance to argue back, stepping forward until you were backed up against the hood of the truck.
“I’ve tried my best to be patient with you—goddamnit!” he continued angrily. “I’ve tried to suck up every petty thing you’ve said about me, the way you look at me like I’m nothing but trouble, the way you’ve treated me like a burden on Sarah’s and Sam’s doorstep.”
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, a smile touching his lips—though it wasn’t a smile that held any happiness at all.
“Hell, I thought today I finally got through to that stubborn little head of yours. I thought maybe we actually enjoyed each other’s company for five minutes. But I guess not, because the second something goes wrong, you go right back to the same old script.”
You felt your bottom lip wobble. You kept your eyes down, refusing to look him in the eye.
You knew he was right—he had no idea how he was actually perceived by you, and your treatment of him was starting to feel completely one-sided and unfair.
Unable to take his yelling any longer, you shoved Bucky out of your way. He stumbled back, surprised by the force of your hand. You started walking away from him toward the truck doors without a word, but his voice followed you, sounding exhausted and completely defeated.
“Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?”
The sound of his boots scraping against the gravel caught up to you. Before you could pull away, he put a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm as he urged you to turn around.
“Look at me—”
You wrenched your shoulder out of his grasp, spinning around to face him.
“You want to know why?” you hissed. “It’s because of what you said the first day I met you. I overheard you talking to Sam—laughing about how you were ‘merely joking around’ with Sarah, and how you weren’t looking for anything serious.”
Bucky flinched, his hands dropping to his sides as the anger that clouded his eyes was replaced by a look of sheer confusion.
“Sarah is my best friend. I was the one who sat with her through the divorce. I’m the one who stays when Sam has to leave for months at a time. I’ve seen her work herself to the bone for those boys and this family, and she deserves someone who actually values her. She deserves a real man who means what he says—not someone who uses her as a punchline for a joke with his buddy.”
You stepped even closer, and Bucky looked more and more blindsided.
“You’re ‘just having fun,’ but people like you don’t realize that when you play around with someone like Sarah, you leave a mess behind for people like me to clean up. So yeah, I’ve been hard on you. Because I’m not going to let you come into her life, charm her every time you’re over, and then leave her wondering what she did wrong when men like you get bored.”
Bucky just stood there, taking in every word as they echoed in his mind.
Was this what you had thought of him all this time?
That he was some playboy with nothing but bad intentions for Sam’s—his best friend’s—sister?
“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky finally breathed out.
You crossed your arms, tilting your chin with that same stubborn scrunch of your face you did every time you were sure you were right.
“Of course you don’t,” you bit out.
Bucky huffed a dry laugh, running his tongue over his front teeth as he looked down at you. Despite everything, there it was again—that familiar, infuriating spark of yours.
Here you were, being a brat again, and as much as you got under his skin, he couldn’t ever look away.
“I’m sorry,” he admitted, his voice sincere and gentle. “I didn’t... I didn’t think it would affect her like that. Or you, especially. If I had known it was getting under your skin, I wouldn’t have kept it up.”
“If you knew you weren’t looking for a relationship, Bucky, then you should’ve known to stop. It’s that simple,” you snapped back, refusing to let the sudden softness in his voice throw you off.
“I get it. I’m sorry, alright?” Bucky said, his voice straining between genuine regret and a growing irritation.
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. You dismissively rolled your eyes and turned on your heel. Right now, you just needed to get away from him, so you reached for the truck door, intending to climb back into the cab and wait in silence until Sam eventually found you.
But before your hand could even wrap around the handle, Bucky’s vibranium arm shot out, slamming the door shut hard enough to make the Chevy shake.
He didn’t move his hand, pinning you between his body and the truck.
“Jesus Christ,” he growled, leaning down so his face was inches from your ear. “I’m apologizing, and you’re still being a stubborn brat.”
“And you’re being annoying!” you shot back, refusing to shrink away even though you were trapped. Your back pressed against his chest with every shallow breath you took.
“Oh? So not only am I a player, but I’m also annoying?” His eyes darkened as they searched yours, catching your gaze as you tilted your head back to look at him. “I can never win with you, can I?”
Your heart raced as you looked him dead in the eye, trying to ignore the way he loomed over you. “And what exactly are you trying to win out of me, Barnes?” you challenged.
Bucky’s gaze dropped to your mouth, tracing the curve of it before snapping back up. He shifted his stance, his thigh brushing firmly against yours and closing the last bit of air between you.
“Your approval,” he murmured. His voice vibrated so low in his chest that you could feel it against your own body. “I just want you to like me.”
“I… do like you,” you admitted, though your voice came out shaky. “You’re a friend of Sam’s—I respect you enough for that.”
“That’s the problem,” Bucky said, the complaint sounding like a painful corak. “You don’t like me. You tolerate me.”
With his vibranium hand still propped up against the truck near your head, his right hand trailed up to play with the ends of your hair. He twirled the strands between his fingers with a careful, almost yearning touch, his fingertips gentle against the locks.
He kept his head down, but even without looking, you could feel the burn of his gaze on the back of your head.
“I want more.”
A short, sharp breath escaped your lungs at his admission. More?
“Bucky,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “What more could you possibly want from me? If I can tolerate you—isn’t that already enough?”
“No, it’s not,” he groaned. He lowered his head, nuzzling his nose against your hair and breathing you in. “I want the girl who was there for me when I was having a nightmare. I want the girl I was eating beignets with and dancing with in the middle of Jackson Square.”
Your heart was beating so fast you felt like you were running out of air.
He pressed closer, and a small gasp escaped you as you felt his thigh wedge firmly against yours. When your hand scrambled for the side of the truck for support, you gasped as as you felt a twitch coming from between his legs.
“But instead, I’m getting nothing but a real fucking brat,” he hissed into your ear.
He rocked his hips forward, letting you feel his hard erection against your bottom, forcing you to press even deeper against the truck.
You couldn’t believe it—the man you swore you hated was hovering over you, rocking his hips against yours like an animal. You were pinned hard against the truck, helpless to do anything but take it.
The worst part was that even if you tried to protest, you knew he’d see right through you. You were actually enjoying this. You craved the feeling of him, the way Bucky was grinding against you from behind right here on the side of the road, where anyone could drive by and see exactly what he was doing to you.
Despite being caught in such a vulnerable position, you couldn’t help but let that stubborn streak flare up one more time—mostly because you were dying to see how much more you could get out of him.
You tilted your head back until it rested against his shoulder, looking up at him and batting your lashes.
“Is this it then, Barnes?” you teased, rubbing your bottom against his straining, painful bulge. “You think pinning me against a broken truck and acting like a caveman is going to make me like you? You’re even more desperate than I thought.”
A broken, ragged shudder escaped his lips as he watched the curve of you settle perfectly against his cock.
It had been a long time since he had been in contact with a woman like this—much less the one woman who had been driving him absolutely crazy since the moment he stepped foot back in Louisiana.
Bucky’s hands moved from the truck to your waist, giving you a possessive squeeze.
He held you still as he continued to grind into you. A low groan escaped him as the friction of his clothes against his sensitive skin hit just right.
He felt like he was on the verge of losing it. He could have come right there from the dry humping alone.
But he wasn’t about to give in that easily.
“Desperate...” he muttered, breathless, as he continued to hump you like an animal. “Yes—I’m desperate. I’ve been desperate for you this entire fucking time, and you didn’t even know it.”
His fingers tangled into your hair, giving it a sharp tug that forced a gasp from your lips and exposed the long line of your neck to him.
“Every time I come back to Louisiana, I’m always hoping you’d be there—even if your very existence aggravates me.”
He was always looking for you?
Bucky nuzzled his nose against the sensitive skin there, his lips grazing your throat as he continued to talk filth.
“Need to kiss you,” he mumbled against your skin, peppering your neck with sloppy, wet kisses. “Need to stick my tongue down your throat—bet that’ll shut you up for good, won’t it?”
His rough hands roamed relentlessly over your body, bunching the fabric of your top and squeezing your breasts through the thin material. He was possessive, his touch leaving no doubt about who you belonged to in this moment.
You let out a breath as his fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt, cupping your tits in his palms.
“A lot of talking, but not a lot of action,” you taunted, trying to bite back a moan as he gripped you harder. “Seems very on brand for you, doesn’t it?”
With a snarl, his grip on your hips tightened. He spun you around, nearly slamming your back against the truck. Your yelp of surprise was cut short the second his lips found yours.
The kiss was desperate, almost inexperienced in its hunger, but he moved like a man who had been starving for this very moment with you.
You couldn’t help but lean into him, your hands tangling into his hair with a tug. You moaned into his mouth, and Bucky groaned back, his tongue pushing past your lips to delve deep into the wet warmth of your mouth.
He kept you pinned firmly against the truck, his thigh between yours. You were growing wetter by the second, and you took it upon yourself to start rubbing against him, grinding your dampened cunt against his thick thigh.
Bucky pulled away to rest his forehead against yours, both of you panting for air. He watched, eyes dark and blown out, as you practically fucked yourself against his leg.
A taunting, low laugh left his lips at the filthy sight of it.
“Look at you,” he groaned. “You’re fucking asking for it now.”
Reaching behind you, he yanked the door handle and threw it open.
“Get in the damn truck,” Bucky demanded roughly.
You scrambled inside with a defiant grin, your lips puffy and swollen. You didn’t hesitate to discard your bottoms, leaving yourself in just your panties as you sprawled across the bench seat.
From your spot on the upholstery, you watched with uneven breaths as Bucky began to fumble with his belt.
“Turn around,” Bucky instructed, palming his cock through his jeans as he finally rid himself of the thick fabric. “Face down, ass up.”
Before you could even get into position, Bucky crawled into the truck right after you.
The truck dipped with all the weight shifting to one side, and he slammed the door shut behind him. He didn’t even give you time to adjust before his hands found your hips, spinning you around until you were bent over, ass presented to him with your hands planted firmly on the worn leather of the Chevy’s seats.
“God—eager, are you?” you teased.
“Shut up,” Bucky hissed as his flesh hand found the back of your hair, pinning you down so your cheek squished up against the leather.
His fingers hooked the waistband of your cotton panties, giving them a harsh tug and nearly ripping them.
With your face pressed into the seats, you couldn’t make out what he was doing from behind you—only the sounds coming out of his mouth.
“Fuck—look at you,” Bucky groaned, accompanied by the sounds of his jeans and belt being pushed down. “Dripping and completely bare—all just for me.”
Then, you heard the sounds of skin rubbing against skin.
The truck started to shake as deep, breathy little moans escaped Bucky’s mouth. Craning your head to peek at him, your eyes widened at what you saw.
Bucky was admiring the view from behind, his eyes completely glued to the curve of your ass and your wet, puffy cunt—clenching and begging for him. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as his cool, vibranium hand spread your ass wide to get a better view, while the other was stroking his cock hard and fast.
Pre-cum already bubbled at the tip as breathy groans kept leaving his mouth. He was so big—so fucking big—and you weren’t sure he was even going to fit.
Trying to tilt your head to get a better look, Bucky’s hand immediately left his cock and went straight back to your head, pinning you in place against the seat.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
You winced. “What? I can’t even look at you now?”
“You don’t get to make demands of me anymore,” he murmured roughly. He guided his cock up and down against your slit, coating himself and spreading his pre-cum everywhere. “Not when you’re bent over like this. Bent over like a dirty little slut.”
Your pussy immediately pulsed and twitched against Bucky’s tip. He probed and teased the entrance, pushing against the tight heat of your cunt to make you moan, but never quite slipping inside.
It was enough to drive you insane.
Despite everything, you wanted him to fill you right here—right in the truck in the middle of the road, where anyone could see you getting fucked by him.
You started to wiggle your hips, your entrance catching his tip and forcing a broken groan from his throat.
“Still all this talk and no action,” you taunted, wiggling your ass against him. “You just keep proving me more right every day. You’re all talk—”
A yelp broke from your lips as his palm connected with the bare curve of your ass. Your body arched, a sting blooming across your skin and making your toes curl.
“You just don’t know how to keep that mouth shut, do you?” Bucky growled, leaning over you until his breath was hot against your ear.
Without waiting for an answer, he brought his hand down again, forcing another yelp from you as the slap echoed in the small truck.
Your bottom—bare and vulnerable—began to throb with a pulsing heat. Bucky’s right hand smoothed over the warm skin, and he mockingly clicked his tongue when you bucked your hips back for more, seeking friction from his cock despite the pain.
“Christ,” Bucky groaned, his fingers swiping your sensitive slit. “Did you just get wetter?”
“Bucky…” you whined against the leather seat. “... p-please.”
Bucky froze behind you, his eyes widening slightly as the word hung in the air. Then, a devilish little grin tugged at his lips.
Please?
Did you just say ‘please’?
He continued to soothe your burning skin with his palm, his touch gentle and taunting. “Sorry, sweetheart. What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
You groaned, burying your face out of embarrassment. “You know what? Forget it—”
Another gasp escaped you as his hand came down hard against your bottom again, making your body jolt. Before you could pull away, both of his hands clamped down on your hips, dragging you back until you were pushed against him.
You could feel the ridge of his warm, throbbing cock resting right against the curve of your ass.
“Come on, baby. I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard you say ‘please.’ Say it again. I know you’ve got a voice.”
When you continued to remain stubbornly silent, he guided his cock toward your entrance, sinking just the tip in.
You arched your back, a needy sound catching in your throat. Bucky groaned, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of your tight hole. He wanted to grab your hips and slam you down on his cock—but he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to make you beg for it.
“Fuck—come on, sweets. Just say please like a good girl,” he coaxed, his own voice breaking. “Come on, I want to hear you say it. Just one more time for me, baby. Say please once and I’ll give it to you good—I promise.”
Just once.
All he needed from you was a simple, breathy little ‘please’— a broken whimper he could hold onto.
He knew he couldn’t make you beg for much longer, mostly because he was just as greedy as you were. He was starving, and he wanted to fuck you right here, right now, until instead of begging him with a ‘please’ you’d be begging with a ‘stop’.
“P-please…”
The word finally broke from your lips—breathless and broken. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.
With his tip buried in your tight entrance, and you pulsing and wet around him, he needed to feel more. That breathy little ‘please’ was the perfect invitation.
“Good girl,” Bucky praised, his grip on your hips tightening as he began to sink into you—slowly, making sure you felt every agonizing inch. “Good fucking girl.”
Your mouth hung wide open, drool surely spilling out and onto the seats as Bucky stretched you wide until you felt completely filled. Your breath hitched, coming in short, panicked bursts.
“God, you’re so small,” Bucky groaned, leaning over you—his chest pressing hard against your back. “Tight enough to break me.”
Even with your lungs feeling squeezed and your head light from the stretch, you couldn’t help the small, muffled huff that left you. You turned your face to glance back at him with a dazed and defiant look.
“Maybe you’re just… hah… out of practice,” you managed to choke out, a weak smirk tugging at your lips. “Forgotten what a real woman feels like?”
Bucky’s eyes went dark, his brow twitching at your words. He didn’t give you the satisfaction of a laugh. His fingers dug into the leather on either side of your head and he began to pull out, agonizingly slow, only to slam back into you completely—filling you in one hard and ruthless thrust. A thrust hard enough to make the truck shake.
“Out of practice?” he hissed. He did it again, a short, hard thrust that knocked the wind out of you. “Since you’ve got such a big mouth, I’ll make sure to fuck that one next.”
Bucky grabbed your hips, his fingers pushing into your flesh and making you gasp as he began to rock his hips back and forth. He withdrew nearly all the way, leaving you cold and aching for a split second, before fucking all the way back into you.
The truck began to rock and creak, the worn leather squeaking beneath your sweaty palms as he fucked you into it.
He made sure you felt every ridge and throb of him, his tip aiming at your softest spots until your vision swam and blurred.
“Still.. got something.. to say?” he grunted between words, his heavy balls slapping against your cunt as he fucked you.
You couldn’t even form a syllable. Your eyes—rolled back—were disoriented as he used your body for his pleasure.
All the noises that filled the small space of the truck were filthy. The wet squelching of your pussy as Bucky’s cock pumped in and out of you. The breathy grunts and groans leaving Bucky’s lips. Your gasps and mewls whimpering in the air.
“I… hah—mph—B-bucky, I—”
“Look at you,” he huffed a deep, condescending laugh. “Can’t even talk now, can you? Just laying there and taking it. God—I’ve dreamed of this so many times, you know? You, pinned underneath me, finally putting this bratty pussy to work. When I fill you up, we’re not nearly done. I’m going to use your mouth next, I’ll make sure of it.”
Every filthy word that left Bucky’s lips only made you clench tighter around him, bringing you closer and closer.
“But fuck, your pussy is so tight—feel like I could be buried here all day,” Bucky groaned.
He reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing with a pressure that sent sparks through your vision. He felt you flutter around him, tightening around his cock almost painfully so.
“Fuck—you gonna cum?” he asked roughly.
“M-mph—mhm—!” you moaned against the leather, nodding your head frantically. “M’gonna cum, Bucky!”
A deep, sexy vibration of a laugh rumbled in Bucky’s chest—and you couldn’t hold back anymore.
Your body shook against the leather as your walls clamped down on him with heavy pulses. A broken, high pitched keen left your throat as you felt yourself come undone all over him, wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure crashing over you while he savored your tightness.
Bucky clenched his teeth, hissing as your pussy—already tight as it was—became restrictive and completely unbearable for him.
But despite the tightness, he didn’t stop—not even for a second.
It was too good not to.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum, baby—” Bucky gasped, his hips moving uncoordinated as his cock pulsed and throbbed. “Fuck, fuck, gonna cum… inside… gonna fill you up—!”
Bucky pushed his hips into yours, bottoming out until there wasn’t a breath of space left between you.
You felt his cock pulse inside you—and then you started to feel even fuller than you already were. His cum began to seep into your tight pussy, pumping into you until you overflowed, the excess dripping out and onto the seats.
He dropped his forehead against the back of your neck, his hot breath tickling your damp skin as he felt himself start to calm down, catching his breath.
His hands roamed over your hips, giving you a gentle rub before he pulled himself out of your abused pussy with a wet squelch. He sat back on the seat, chest heaving as he motioned for you to come closer.
“Come here, baby,” he cooed.
Bucky gently guided you toward his lap, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your sweaty forehead. Then, his vibranium hand found the back of your head, slowly—gently—guiding you down toward his cock, which was still half hard and coated in juices.
“I said I was going to use your mouth next, didn’t I?”
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered with a shaky laugh.
You were exhausted, your body still trembling from the way he had completely ruined you, yet here he was—demanding more. Bucky didn’t look bothered at all. He just flashed a lopsided, lazy grin.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded softly, his vibranium fingers curling gently into your hair, guiding you back toward his lap.
You rolled your eyes even as you sank down, your tongue slowly dragging up his spent cock. Your tongue danced around the tip—then beneath the head—making him shudder and groan.
He was sensitive, yet he still wanted more. You stretched your mouth open, taking him in as best as you could. He was already thickening back to fullness, responding instantly to the warmth of your throat.
As you bobbed your head lazily on his cock, Bucky tossed his head back against the leather seats with a moan, rutting his hips up gently—just barely—seeking more.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “God—that fucking mouth—”
But the sound of his phone ringing cut through the truck, silencing him instantly. Bucky stiffened, his breath hitching as he felt around the tangled leather seats. He grabbed his phone, glancing at the flip-phone screen with a low curse.
It was Sam.
He answered, pressing the phone to his ear while his other hand stayed tangled in your hair, his thumb stroking your cheek as you continued to work his cock.
“Hey man! I'm halfway there,” Sam’s voice crackled through. “Just hold on for about twenty more minutes, alright?”
Bucky’s head fell back against the headrest, his eyes squeezing shut as you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock. His hips gave a small, involuntary twitch, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out.
“Alright,” Bucky managed to grit out, his voice a strained, gravelly mess. “We’re here… waiting— fuck.”
He cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath as you took him deeper, his fingers tightening in your hair as a warning. There was a moment of silence on the other line.
He was sure the connection had died or Sam might’ve hung up.
“Yo, Buck? You sound hurt,” Sam said, his voice rising with concern. “Y’all good? You two aren’t fighting, are you?”
Fighting was one way to put it.
“We’re perfectly fine,” Bucky huffed, growing impatient. “You said twenty minutes, right? Okay. We’ll wait for you. Bye.”
He flipped the phone shut and tossed it somewhere behind him, his attention snapping back to you. You fluttered your eyes to look up at him, your mouth still stuffed with his cock.
“You heard that, baby? You’ve got twenty minutes to make me cum again,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register. “Think that’s enough time for you?”
You popped his cock out of your mouth, wiping at the saliva that spilled onto your chin with a smug, little grin.
“Bet I can do it in two.”
“Oh, here you go again.”
i actually had a lot of fun writing this. now i want to book a trip to new orleans.
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
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