Title: rebel with a cause
Rating: Explicit, 18+
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Warnings: SMUT, unintentional exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, enemies to lovers, religious themes, cheesy use of lyrics, sass
Word Count: ~6k
Summary: Even a good Catholic girl in a small town lost in time can be corrupted by the right person.
A/N: a cute lil campy fic with ~smut~ for sweet becca's 500 follower writing challenge! my prompt:
"well your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation" - only the good die young, billy joel
i heard this song in my head the entire time i was writing, i was very entertained :)
if you enjoy it, reblog it! leave a comment if you feel so inclined! thank u <3
tags for people that haven't told me to stop: @lovestruckbucky , @phantomkat813 , @xxshelbsxx , @harrysthiccthighss , @n00t-no0t , @lavendercitizen , @doasyoudesireandlive , @buckybarnesthots , @thewritingdoll , @midnightf , @bucky-soldat , @buckys-blue-eyes , @buckybarneschokeme , @sebs-oceaneyes , @fragile-heartt
The needle scratches on the record as you replay The Stranger for the third time today, your face practically pressing through the paned glass window at the front of your parents’ house as the sleek red motorcycle comes into view, the rider driving way too fast, his leather jacket whipping in the wind behind him. Damn, you love that hog. And the bike, too.
---
Growing up Catholic, to be frank, sucked. Daughter of a religious leader in a small-minded town, dresses with collars up to your neck, strict curfews, basically no privacy. Didn’t parents know that the harder they try to hold on, the more they push their kids away? You were at the point now where you’d rather put yourself in dangerous situations just to give you a valid reason, in your mind, to stay out of that hell house each day for as long as you could.
That was how you met Bucky.
One night, the roaring sounds of motors had drawn you to the abandoned strip of highway just on the outskirts of town, unpoliced and overrun by the outcasts and self-labeled undesirables of your generation. As a group of degenerate kids told they had no future to look forward to, they had figured, hey, what have they got to lose, anyway? Throughout the night, they had drag-raced outlandishly painted cars, the palettes of which rocked you to your core, so garish and out of place.
You watched from the shadow of an old rest stop building with your hand pressed to your chest, grasping the gold crucifix that hung from a heavy chain around your neck. It was blasphemous, the obvious abuse of booze and drugs, the desecration of childhood purity and youth. It had all been so very shocking.
When his breath danced across your ear, you jumped, the wisps of your hair fluttering as he murmured, “This don’t look like mass to me, Virginia. You lost?”
Whipping your whole body around, you came face to face with Bucky Barnes. Town vandal, leader of the gang of ruffians you’d been spying on all night, general debaucherous lech. He made you vibrate with nervousness as well as a newfound flustered and warm sensation. You weren’t sure what was going on, but it was new, and you’d always been taught that if it was new, it was to be feared.
He stood casually, perpetually unbothered in his oversized leather jacket, hands tucked in his well-fitting jeans, stance wide as he chewed on a toothpick half sticking out of his mouth. Your tongue felt cold, which was when you realized your mouth had been hanging agape since you’d turned. You snap it shut quickly, straightening yourself and brushing your hair back into your perfect bun.
“My name isn’t Virginia, it’s-” you were going to continue, but he held up a hand to stop you.
“I know that, sweetheart. That’s just somethin’ we call girls like you,'' he took a step towards you, his eyes sparkling as the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk.
Exasperated, you dropped your hands to your hips in displeasure, asking, “Excuse me, what is that supposed to mean?”
He took another step toward you, “Y’know. For girls who are, uh, let’s just say,” he took a long pause and one more step forward, “inexperienced. Don’t wanna offend your female sensibilities and whatnot with such crude phrases.”
You crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one hip, popping up a judgmental eyebrow. He was clearly bad news. That was what your mother told you every time she saw him when the two of you were out. “That boy’s no good. You stay away from him, you hear me?” she’d ask, smacking the back of your head to get you to stop staring and answer her. You’d nod your head in agreement, and the two of you would continue on your way.
Now, there you were, face to face with temptation. And he had the prettiest blue eyes.
He walked past you, brushing your shoulder with his as he whispered, “After all, what would your mother think?” He smacked a hand hard against your ass through your stark-white dress, and you whirled around with an indignant look on your face, mouth agape once again. All he did in response was wink. You melted; you were putty in his hands, and he knew it.
---
The next night, you’d wandered out to the same old road again, watching the gang race, hooting and hollering, passing around bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniel’s. You dared to stand a little closer this time, less focused on the race and more focused on finding Bucky. Just to make sure you could avoid him, of course. Obviously.
He turned around, eyes twinkling as he laughed at something his buddy said, no doubt vulgar and inappropriate. That’s when his gaze landed on you. He clapped his friend on the shoulder before making his way over to you.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh, Virginia?” he sauntered over and his wide grin set your skin alight. You told yourself it was purely out of anger.
You turned your nose up at him, looking to the road as another race was about to begin, “I just wanted to see who was causing all the ruckus. I shouldn’t be surprised it’s you. Again.”
Bucky leaned in, circling you like prey, “You might have heard, I run with a ‘dangerous crowd’. You sure you wanna risk bein’ out here? What if your good ol’ preacher daddy spots ya?” His grin never left his face, and you couldn’t stop staring at it.
Licking your lips, you responded, “He's a deacon, actually." You shook your head, clearing it of Bucky's effortless allure, then asked accusingly, "Is that a threat, you derelict?”
He backed up a step, though he still moved around you, throwing his hands up in the air and laughing, “I didn’t say that. Listen, we might not be too pretty, and we ain’t too proud. And we might be laughin’ a bit too loud,'' he got close to you again and winked, talking in a low, seductive voice, “but that never hurt no one, did it?”
Crossing your arms, you shrank into yourself a bit, “No, I suppose not.” You looked out to the highway and watched a car take off with a young man sticking out of the sunroof, waving an open bottle of whiskey around as his friends on the sideline chased the car, cheering. “You could kill yourselves out here doing this stuff, you know,” you shook your head, unamused by the spectacle.
Bucky followed your gaze, laughing at the man falling back into the car after it flew over a hill, “Only the good die young, Virginia. We’ll be alright.” A roar from the crowd watching erupted as the man stuck his head back out of the roof, beating his chest as he and his friend were declared the winners of the race. Bucky clapped his hands over his head and motioned toward the rollicking group, “Wouldn’t you rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints?”
A young woman spotted Bucky just then and waved him down, motioning for him to head back to his crew. He started walking toward her, calling over his shoulder, “The sinners are much more fun.”
You watched him walk away from you and rejoin his group, immediately taking a swig from the Jack Daniel’s bottle handed to him before you turned away, a bit solemnly, and headed home.
---
Now sitting along a fountain edge in the town square, you bask in the sun as it shines down on you, content. You had begun to relax for the first time in your life, wearing lower cut dresses of different colors, though you still kept your bright white, pristine dresses for church on Sundays with your parents. You let your hair down with a sense of newfound freedom, seeing the world from a new perspective. The future was wide open and bright and alight with those icy blue eyes you can't get enough of.
The sound of leather rustling next to you doesn’t startle you in the slightest. Keeping your eyes closed and your head leaned back, you say, “You know, my mother says you’re no good. She says I oughta keep away from you.” You tip your head forward to meet Bucky's smirk, his eyes piercing you down to your subtly shivering core.
“Yeah, well, she ain’t ever liked me much,” he sits next to you on the concrete, toothpick hanging off his lip. He pulls a knee up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it, the buckles on his boots clanking as he shuffles. “You like me though, don’t ya, sweetheart?” he asks as though he already knows the answer, his teeth practically glistening in the sunlight. You swoon- internally of course. Outwardly, there are appearances to keep up.
Tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear, you stare out across the square, squinting, that bright new world around you overwhelming, though not as frightening as it once seemed, “I dunno. Mother also says she’s heard rumors about the way you treat the girls around town. She says you’re a slime and a sleaze and no one worth their salt would be with you.”
Silence crops up between the two of you, but you keep your head facing out toward the shops across the way, watching shoppers mill about. You wait for Bucky to respond, but he doesn’t say anything, so eventually, out of the sheer need for him to acknowledge what you said, you turn to look at him and catch his eyes roving over your body, especially ogling your chest. Smacking him on the arm, you ask, “Any of that true?”
Bucky laughs, turning to look out across the way just as you had, prompting you to do the same. You spot a couple strolling down the sidewalk, hand in hand, laughing, not a care in the world. “Well, your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation. Depends on what you wanna believe, Virginia,” he says, spotting the same couple you do. The two of you watch them until they turn the corner, leaning in for a kiss just out of view.
“So, you’re not denying it?” you ask, slightly pleading but refusing to turn back his way. You resent how hurt you sound. “Y'know, she’s just worried, is all. Wants you to turn your life around, make something of yourself.”
Another silence falls and Bucky shakes his head, incredulous, “Aw, she never cared for me.” That pulls your attention toward him as he continues, “Tell me, did she ever say a prayer for me?” He looks back at you, his eyes genuine and questioning. You didn't have an answer for him.
Turning away from him again, you grip the edge of the fountain and shut your eyes, feeling the heat of the sun on your face. The sudden absence of rustling leather tells you you’ve been left alone with your thoughts. You cling to your mother's ideals: staying pure, keeping your head held high above the sinners, obeying orders and never straying from your parents' guidance. But now there's a forbidden question marring the path your life has been set on: why?
Bucky is the corruption you've been taught to fear your entire life, but maybe he has a point. Maybe you have a lot left to learn. Maybe he could be the one to teach you.
---
A few days later, you find yourself back at that abandoned highway, watching the same cars, and now a few motorcycles, line up to go head to head down that same stretch of road for nothing more than bragging rights. You shake your head. The stupidity of it was mind boggling.
“Only the good die young, Virginia.” Bucky’s voice echoes in your mind as your eyes sweep across tonight's racers. They land on a familiar black helmet and shining red motorcycle, and you feel your chest tighten. Bucky?
You take one step forward, your off-white dress fluttering around your knees once you breach the open air, and see a checkered flag whip downward, the racers roaring off the starting line. Your breath hitches and you run, heart pounding now, your sensible heels clacking against the concrete parking lot of the rest stop as your pastel cardigan slides off your shoulders, clinging to your elbows. By the time you make it to the sidelines, all the racers are nothing more than dots across your vision. All you can do is wait and hope he makes it back in one piece. And, ironically, pray.
It felt like it took hours for the racers to finally make it back. You had paced back and forth, standing breathless on the side of the road when they all began to reappear. Leaning forward now, you crane your neck over the crowd that had formed in front of you; they huddle around one particular competitor, the vehicle smoking, dark clouds billowing up into the night sky. Immediate panic seizes you as you realize they're crowding a shimmering cherry red motorcycle.
You shove your way through the bodies in front of you, clawing at shoulders and ripping arms backward, shouts hurled at you as you tear inward.
"Bucky?!" you scream, still pushing through the cluster of people. As you make it to the epicenter, you slow down, recognizing chants of praise coming from the people around you.
The scene that unfolds before you sets your nerves alight. Hands clap Bucky's shoulder as he turns toward you, though not looking your way. His face is brushed with smoke, dark marks smearing his face in patches, his hair mussed from the helmet, his head cocked back with an arrogant air. You clench your thighs together reflexively.
He turns his head toward you after you shout, that familiar smug smirk appearing almost instantly. Bucky's the only one who turns toward you though, too insignificant for anyone else in the crowd to care about. You try not to take it personally; you aren't one of them, anyhow.
With a huff, you brush back your hair, fix your cardigan to sit evenly on your shoulders, and turn away, your hair whipping around you. You aren't quite sure what you're mad at, but you're pretty sure it's yourself. Why do you care so much about this heathen? Why couldn't you listen to your mother and leave well enough alone?
You reach the side of the building you'd been hiding by before, reaching a hand out and bracing it on the cool stone. Get yourself together, for Christ's sake!
The thought straightens your spine. You'd never thought anything like that before. If your mother could have heard that… you place your free hand on your chest, feeling how hard your heart is beating. Get it together.
Before you can fully collect yourself, you're whirled around by your shoulder, the world spinning until a second hand stops you, gripping both of your shoulders tight. You're face to face with Bucky. And he's still smirking.
You shake your head again, attempting again to fix your hair, turning your nose up and clicking your tongue, "What do you want?"
"Oh, c'mon now, don't be like that," Bucky croons, taking a step closer, leading with his hips and cupping your chin with his hand.
Unwilling to pull yourself anywhere further away from him, you stay in place but do your best to look completely unbothered, "Like what?" You can only eke out a few words before you shut your mouth for fear of what might come out. This boy has a hold on you like no one ever has before.
Bucky drops his hand from your face, rolling his eyes and falling against the building, throwing one leg in front of the other. He ruffles his hair and pulls out a toothpick, popping it between his lips.
"All uppity and whatever. It ain't a good look, sweetheart," he sighs lightly and looks you up and down, taking in your full figure. You subconsciously cock out a hip and raise your ribcage, pushing your bust against the thin fabric of your dress. Simpering, he shoots an eyebrow up, "'Specially since we both know how you really feel."
Biting your lip, you twirl a strand of hair between your fingers, feeling your thighs tense, "And how's that?"
He breaks out in a hungry grin, suddenly inches from you. One hand grips the nape of your neck while the other lands firmly on the small of your back. He leans in slowly, lips so close you can feel his breath skirt across the delicate skin of your lips, "Smitten."
Chucking his mostly unused and wasted toothpick to the side, his mouth meets yours and your nerves are alight, a sharp tingle coursing through your veins as his hands slide down, one cupping the front of you, groping your perked breasts, the other gliding across your ass, grabbing at the fabric draped around it. You reach up, your hands grazing along his torso as they slowly rise, your hips pressing forward to meet his, unsure how your body knows what to do without you telling it. Both of your palms land on the sides of his face, holding him to you.
The two of you hit the wall behind you with a thud, making you groan and laugh. You hold the new sore spot on your back for a moment as Bucky readjusts and settles himself in front of you. Looking up into his eyes, you snatch the collar of his jacket and pull him towards you, liking the surprise you see in his eyes, “What happens now?”
The corner of his mouth twinges with the hint of a smirk, “Well, you Catholic girls, y’know,” he drawls, moving closer to you still until you’re backed firmly up against the same bricks that had bruised you moments before, “you start much too late.”
Giggling at his gall, you ask, “Oh, is that right?”
“Mmhmm,” he noses the crook of your neck, the tip tickling your skin. You suck in a breath as he continues, “And sooner or later, it comes down to faith.”
You scoff and roll your eyes at him. A month ago, you’d have been livid at the blasphemous metaphor he was making, but you realize that you, quite contentedly, don’t care. And in that moment, you feel freer than ever before.
His lips press against your neck, soft and pillowy, as he murmurs, “You believe in me, Virginia?”
Your hands snake their way across the back of his head, your fingers winding through his hair. A shiver skitters across your body as you whisper, “With all my heart and soul.”
“Well then,” you feel the hem of your dress rise again, this time past your hips, falling to rest against Bucky’s belt and staying there, “I might as well be the one-”
“You’re awfully chatty for an aloof, delinquent, bad boy, aren’t you?” you quip, grinning wide at him when he raises his eyes to meet yours.
With a hungry growl, he plows his mouth into yours, reuniting your lips and acquainting your tongues as they duel for dominance. His hands find their way back to your chest with surprising ease, kneading your flesh through your clothes.
Your dress flutters and his hands are beneath the fabric, fingers reaching upward, running across the silky, lace-adorned fabric pushing your breasts up and together, the bra possibly a size too small as you’re just barely contained within it. He pulls the cups down, thumbing your hardened nipples. You lurch your chin toward the sky as he does, gasping and taking tight hold of his hair.
A chuckle deep within his chest pulls your attention back down to him. All you see is a waggle of his brow and the flash of bright white teeth before he disappears beneath your clothing. You wait for a moment to see what he does, and in the next instant, a moan erupts from your throat.
His mouth had found its way to one of your tits, tongue swirling around your nipple before his teeth skirted along its edges. He continues, giving each one the same amount of attention and devotion, fondling with his long fingers the mound not being lavished by his tongue. Eventually, he makes his way out from beneath your frock, your chest heaving, your cheeks flushed.
“You gonna be able to handle this, Virginia? We’ve only just started,” his grin makes your cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. In an effort to assuage your flush, you dive straight at him, your teeth biting down on his lower lip, making him jolt, though he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he pushes harder back into you, taking you in handfuls between him ripping off different layers of clothing. By the end of his torrent, the two of you are staring at each other, both dressed down to your skivvies, the silk detailing on your pulled down bra and panties glinting in the moonlight, the tone of Bucky’s muscles deepened by the shadows of the night.
“You really scared me back there, y’know,” you break the tension that had settled between you, the quiet calm at the center of the storm. You move toward him, while Bucky just looks at you, tilting his head ever so slightly, waiting for you to go on. “I thought you got hurt,” when you reach him, you punch him in the arm, a laugh escaping him. “It’s not funny!” you hit him again, crossing your arms.
“Aw, I never said it was! Hey, hey,” he moves toward you this time, holding your shoulders as you pout, “I’m alright, see?” He holds his arms out, wiggling his fingers, then his toes, and then, when you’re distracted and looking down, he whips you around, spinning you into a dip. Shock is the only feeling you can express before he kisses you again, passionate and intoxicating.
You giggle, shoulders lifting in giddy anticipation and arousal, “Okay, okay. What now then, stud?”
Bucky’s grin breaks back onto his face and he brings you back up, spinning you out and away, back to the spot you’d been in moments before, “Oh, I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”
His muscles ripple as he rushes you again, grabbing hold of your face and pressing it to his, the fight for control clanging your teeth together, making you laugh into him. You can feel his lips curl into a smile at the sound of your amusement, and then you feel him rooting around between the two of you. His hand slips into your panties and you shiver, then tense, this feeling foreign and invasive and exhilarating.
Pleasure explodes in your core as his fingers at first brush against, then press firmly into your clit, the sensitive skin tingling at his touch, your toes already starting to curl. He builds his pace, moving his fingers faster and faster. Your mouths are still mashed together when you moan into him, a sound so compulsory that your eyes fly wide open in surprise and you pull back, searching Bucky’s face for a reaction. What you get in return is a new, wolfish grin that sets something alight deep inside you.
With fervor, he dives back into you, first kissing your lips, then moving along your jawline and down your neck, periodically biting and sucking and licking, only to do it again in a new spot a beat later. The feel of him nipping at your skin coupled with his resumed fondling of your bud stretches you onto your toes, the cool of the brick seeming to be the only thing keeping you from floating away in sheer ecstasy. And then, his fingers shift.
You feel his hand crawl further down you, bringing his hips closer to you all the while, so close that you can feel his erection against your abdomen. You suck in a breath and it hitches as his fingertips skirt your lips, soaking and needy and swollen. He teases you, circling your entrance, reveling in the look on your face as you throw your head back as much as you can, watching your chest heave with each inhale and exhale.
He enters you, one finger moving slowly in. You squirm as he pushes, making small noises and reaching out to grab his arms to stabilize you. The feel of his rock hard muscles coupled with his dick pressing harder into you rouse your body to action. You feel your hips start to roll and you rut into his palm, his finger having reached deep enough for him to cup the rest of your sex.
“Fuck, Virginia, you’re so tight,” he whispers, his mouth retracing the now well-formed dark marks on your neck, his hot breath sending another shiver through you. All you can do is moan in response as he works his finger around inside you, stroking your walls, the velvet feel of them like something from heaven.
Something hot and sticky and wet draws your attention downward, and you peek at his cock against you with one eye. The precum on his head is starting to slip down your skin, a new kind of turn on that rolls your hips again. You wrap your hand around his shaft and stroke up once, swirling a finger around the tip, collecting his involuntary expulsion and dragging it back down, reaching his balls and fondling them.
It’s at this point that you realize his hand is still against and inside you. You peek up at his face, both eyes open this time, to find his jaw slack and his eyes shut. You run your hand along his length again and watch him shudder, a sight sending a spark straight down to your pussy. Your walls clamp down at the prickling sensation, ensnaring his finger and drawing his attention back to you.
His pupils are dark and blown out with lust, and in a flash he’s retrieved his finger and ripped your panties down your thighs. He frees his cock from his boxers and wraps a strong arm around your waist, pausing only for a moment to give you the opportunity to say no. You grin back at him, knowing your eyes must look just like his, then jump, kicking your feet to free yourself from the fabric trapping your legs, then wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs over his hips. Your efforts leave your panties dangling off one of your ankles.
You feel him hold you steadily as he lines himself up beneath you. Once he’s in place, you drop slowly down onto him; the feel of him inside you is indescribable. There’s a pressure on your core you’ve never felt before, his thickness filling you. Your hips are tingling as he slides further into you. Only one small noise escapes you as he settles you down onto him, shifting to get both of you comfortable.
“You did so good for me, sweetheart. Took all of me in,” he murmurs, holding the two of you still for a brief moment of respite. You, however, crave friction between the two of you, and you start to wiggle your hips back and forth, the pleasure from that along throwing your head back again and pushing your chest into the air, hardened nipples exposed to the moonlight.
Bucky chuckles and leans down, licking one of your exposed tits before biting down on one. That releases a real, full, deep moan from you, the first one loud enough to turn a few of the heads in the crowd back by the road turn in your direction, though you don’t notice. Or care, quite frankly. All you need right now is your corruptor to finish his job.
You pull yourself up, pressing your forehead against his. Panting, harder than you thought you would be, you give yourself over to the moment, to the desire, and to him, “C’mon, baby. Ruin me.”
Needing no more provocation than that, Bucky thrusts into you, brushing against a sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars each time he rubs it. You bounce as he collides into you, quickly falling into his rhythm, grinding your hips into him as the two of you grunt together. He presses you against the bricks one more time for extra leverage and easier access.
You lean forward, high on his touch and desperate for a taste of him, Your teeth make contact with his neck and you bite down, your lips enveloping that spot of skin. You hold them there as you feel his pulse beat against your tongue, then you bite down harder. He tenses in response, only minorly disrupting his thumping rhythm. It’s easy enough to keep him going as you run your fingers along his scalp and through his soft, dark hair.
The brick falls away from you and suddenly you’re on the ground, the pavement now pushing against your back. Your legs never leave Bucky’s body, clung to him tightly as he continuously plows into you, the slap of your skin echoing around you. Noises escape your throat with each thrust, only making him fuck you harder, loving every sound.
“That’s it, sweetheart, scream for me. Scream my name,” he prods, now on a mission. His back muscles ripple as he looms over you, pinning you down on the ground.
“Oh, Go- oh, God! Faster, Bucky, faster!” you scream, not caring who hears you. You’re blinded by thirst, unconcerned with the group slowly making their way towards you, too drunk to be as sneaky as they thought they were being.
Your hips are in constant motion, rolling and bucking and thrusting. You wrap one hand around Bucky’s arm, gripping his bicep, as you reach down to find your clit. Furtively, you touch yourself, immediately gratified by the spark it ignites in your nerves. You press down, hard, rubbing slowly at first, back and forth, before getting comfortable with not only the feeling, but the way you see yourself now. No longer the good little girl, prim and proper and reserved for Jesus, you feel yourself blossom into someone free to chase her desires, someone sexy and independent and desirable. Bucky was making all of that very clear.
With your hand pressed against your sensitive bud, you start to circle it, feeling a wave rush over you, a heat that dragged a chill along with it. You feel it ripple across you from your toes up to the top of your head and it makes you want even more.
“Bucky- yes, fuck, oh my god-” you work your fingers faster, feeling your core tighten. The muscles in your neck were strained, your legs bent and upright and spread wide, your thigh muscles tensing and relaxing in a constant dance of their own.
Bucky was breathing hard above you, looking down at you as you’re lost in your own world. You look beautiful; hair splayed around you, breasts plump and bouncing, chest slick with sweat, eyes shut and mouth open as your fingers work their way around your clit. The sight of you is enough to make him come alone, and he jerks at the thought, knowing he’s close.
You moan again, loud, feeling Bucky tense against you, though he keeps his pace as best he can. You, on the other hand, can’t stop your hips from rutting as though they have a mind of their own.
“I’m clo- I’m close-” you squeak and a wave of several short moans follow after before your whole body tenses. Your toes fully curl as your back arches, chin jutting straight up as stars cover your vision. You’re lightheaded for a moment under the moonlight as your muscles stay tense, riding out your orgasm. Bucky pulls out of you at the same time, just barely free of you before his own seed spills out in ecstasy, a breathy moan leaving his lips.
As each of your muscles relax again, you meet eyes, breathing hard. Bucky stays propped above you, smirk reappearing on his lips, “Well, Virginia, turns out you handle yourself pretty well.”
All you can do is giggle, feeling yourself blush. You wrap your arms around his neck again, pulling him down into a long, passionate kiss, never wanting to leave this moment. Even if there is a crowd gossiping in the distance.
Your mother screamed at you that night, reprimanding you for the state of your dress and the hour you returned home- sometime in the very, very early morning- but you barely heard her, smile plastered wide on your face. There was something different about you, but your mother couldn’t place it. She just knew she didn’t like it.
---
The steps creak as you come down the stairs now, a few days after fucking Bucky Barnes. The two of you are going steady, much to the despair of your parents.
You breeze through the foyer, plopping down on the couch in the front room after setting the needle down on your new favorite record. Billy Joel’s Only the Good Die Young howls through the house at the highest volume possible, your mother coming in and hollering, her arguments and insults falling on deaf ears as you stare out the front window. Your father just lurks in the background, a hard look on his face, arms crossed, his face red and the vein in his forehead visibly pulsating. Oh, the scandal. The thought makes you smile as you tap your foot to the blaring track, waiting. Then, you see him.
You jump up, rushing to the front door and grabbing your new leather jacket and your packed duffle bag off the stairs, the chains hanging off your jeans clanging as you barrel around the house, your combat boots rattling the floorboards and the good china in the cabinet in the dining room. You check your makeup in the mirror that hangs in the front hall one last time before you leave. Eyeliner: sharp, mascara: smudge-free, lipstick: bright red and sexy. You blow a kiss to yourself before you rip the door open, racing across the front lawn while your mother berates you from the front porch.
Not slowing down for an instant, you open your arms and leap, wrapping yourself around Bucky, who’d just locked the kickstand for his bike. First, you kiss his lips, then his neck as you slide down his body. You feel his arms wrap around you, resting on your lower back before they creep down and grab your ass, something you’re sure he did just to piss off your mother and possibly pop the visible vein on your father’s still-bright-red forehead. You chuckle and let go of him, sighing. Content.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Couldn’t be any more ready if I tried.”
He reaches behind him and hands you your own helmet, a gift that makes you squeal and plant one last big kiss on his cheek before you tie your bag down on the back of his hog and let him strap your helmet on.
The engine roars to life once the two of you settle onto it. You cling to Bucky with your head rested against his back, turned toward your parents’ house as he backs you out of the driveway. When you reach the street, in the lull between shifting gears and setting off down the road, you hear your mom screeching. You tap Bucky on the shoulder before he takes off, wanting just a second to try to figure out what she was blathering on about.
Focusing, you hear her yell, clear as day: “NOT EVEN A PRAYER CAN SAVE YOU NOW, YOU LITTLE HARLOT!”
You laugh one big, roaring laugh and tap Bucky on the shoulder again. As you pass directly in front of your old front door, you lift up your hand, making direct eye contact with your mother, your father standing intimidatingly and silently behind her, grasping her shoulders, as you flip her the bird.
You snuggle against Bucky while your mother shrieks as the two of you ride off together, free and, for the first time in your life, completely sure that you were doing exactly the right thing for you. You’re even pretty sure that the praying statue in the front lawn winked at you as you left it in the dust, riding into the sunset toward your new great, wide beyond.
