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COUNTRY ROADS TAKE ME HOME... dad's best friend!bucky barnes x female!reader [7k]

— ⟢ SUMMARY: after graduating college, you return to your father’s hometown, disheartened and uncertain about the future. two years later, you have a stable job, a trustworthy best friend and a doting boyfriend who wants to spend the rest of his life with you, and dreams of kids looking like you two running around his farm. the only problem? he’s your dad’s best friend. — ⟢ WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI; she/her pronouns for reader; age gap (bucky’s in his 40s, reader’s in her late 20s); pre-established relationship; secret relationship; dbf!bucky (they met when reader had already finished college); farmer & store owner!bucky; whipped!bucky; very light angst; fluff; romance; discussion of marriage and having kids; mention of bucky drinking one (1) beer (he's not tipsy nor drunk); smut; feral!bucky; implied lactation kink; nipple play; heavy breeding kink (bucky calls reader mama twice); kinda dom!bucky; bucky uses pronouns for reader's pussy; oral (f receiving); fingering; pussy slapping; squirting; overstimulation; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); rough & primal sex; doggy style; multiple orgasms; creampie.

A/N: found out the em dash is not supposed to be separated from the words preceding and following it, and now I'm screaming. I separated them because it looked good, but I got curious and looked it up. now I want to cry because, one, the sentences look stuffy to me (idk if it makes sense, but everything is so close??), and two, of course I have to edit everything 😭 anyway, hope you’ll enjoy it 🩵

You let yourself in by sliding the key into the lock, the same one Bucky pressed into your palm five months ago. The house is a single-story ranch set back from the road, the kind of place someone builds when they plan to stay, dreaming of muddy shoes by the door, a full table, and years unfolding in the same rooms.

The door opens with a soft catch, and you lock it behind you, standing at the entryway for a second to breath in the familiar scent: a mix of clean soap and worn leather. Underneath, a trace of hay and cedar that never quite leaves.

Bucky is still out with the guys, today it’s darts night at the bar. Your dad thought you were staying over at Wanda’s, which isn’t exactly a lie—you had dinner with her, and your friend would cover for you anytime, being the only person you trusted enough to confide in about your unusual situation.

You hang your coat on one of the hooks by the door, before sitting on the nearby bench to slip your boots off. The house is quiet as you pass by a stack of mail sorted carefully on the console table, before your attention is instantly drawn to a familiar brown jacket draped over the back of a chair, probably a last-minute outfit change before going out. Your eyes promptly catch a hole near the sleeve once you hang it back by the front door, so you make a mental note to mend it for Bucky tomorrow.

Fixing things is just who he is—not in a grand way, but in a thousand small ones. A hinge tightened; a cracked step reinforced; a toaster coaxed back to life with patience and a screwdriver. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him.

You met Bucky two years ago. That night, one of your dad’s friends, Sam, hosted a cookout—one of those informal gatherings that somehow turn into half the town showing up with folding chairs and enough home-cooked meals to feed a whole county.

You had just arrived, still living out of a suitcase, still feeling like a guest in your dad’s hometown. You stepped out of his truck to the distant sounds of laughter and animated chatter, when you saw him. Bucky stood by the grill, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms dusted with dark hair, his henley stretching across a chest that looked built by years of hard work rather than any gym. His salt-and-pepper stubble was slightly unkempt, and his sun-kissed skin spoke of long days outdoors.

He wasn’t trying to impress, yet your eyes couldn't look away.

Your dad nudged you out of your stupor. “I get to finally introduce you to Bucky. Have I already told you he owns the local feed store?” As if that explained everything. And technically, you didn’t need a recap of his whole life; after all, you had spent the past three years on video calls listening to the exact same things.

“Today Bucky fixed the screen door. Saved me hundreds of dollars.”

“I can’t keep up with him anymore. He and Steve are too fast.”

“He’s such a sore loser at darts.”

Yet, you listened to it all over again, this time eager to remember every single detail about the handsome, older man.

Your dad was on the verge of depression when he moved back to his hometown after your mom asked for a divorce. You were worried about him, yet couldn’t do much while living on the other side of the country. Then, after a week spent reacquainting himself with the place he had left to follow your mom’s dream career, the light in his eyes gradually returned. All thanks to this James Barnes guy who he met at the store while looking for chicken feed. Apparently, their parents knew each other very well. From that day on, he and Bucky became inseparable. The farmer was well-loved by the community, especially after taking over his family’s store.

He introduced your dad to darts night and weekend morning runs, and you couldn't be more thankful for that.

When you were finally introduced to him, Bucky smiled like he had all the time in the world, his blue eyes full of a gentle attention that made you feel seen without being appraised.

The way your name rolled on his tongue made your knees tremble. Then, he shook your hand, slowly, as if to savor the feel of your skin. “Welcome back.”

Over the following weeks, you kept hearing his name everywhere. At the diner, where the waitress mentioned that Bucky had tipped them generously, again, even if he always orders the same thing. At the flower shop, where your boss Wanda would roll her eyes fondly and repeat, “If you need help, just ask Bucky. He’ll be on his way before you know it.”

Then at the hardware store, the post office, the bar...

Always the same refrain: good man. Reliable. Kind. Devoted.

He helps without making it a favor; fixes fences for neighbors who can’t; makes deliveries after hours whenever storms hit; sits with old men who want company more than conversation. He loves his land, his animals, the rhythm of days that begin early and end with the satisfying ache of honest work.

And with you, he was a gentleman.

He never assumed, nor rushed. When he touched you at the beginning of your relationship, it was careful, reverent even, like he understood the weight of what you were doing and refused to treat it lightly. The age difference lingered there, quiet but acknowledged in the way he always checked in, giving you room to choose him. And well, he is your father’s best friend after all. That man trusts Bucky with his own life. You don’t think ‘delighted’ would be the right word if he found out his daughter and his forty-something friend have been sneaking around behind his back for almost two years.

You lean against the counter now, posture relaxed as you fill the kettle. Outside, the stars shine brightly in the sky, an unusual sight for someone used to the constant glow of city lights. You know he’d probably come home later than usual—darts nights always run long—but you don’t mind waiting. You like this part, too. Being here alone, belonging.

You move through the house easily with your cup of steaming tea cradled in your hands, turning on a lamp in the living room, straightening a cushion that didn’t really need it. The walls tell his story without trying: framed photos of Bucky and his family posing on the porch in different seasons, several ribbons from different county fairs pinned beside a faded map of the town, and his father’s tools hanging neatly as a reminder of his hard work.

This is a man who stands firm in who he is.

You change into one of his old shirts—soft and discolored in places—and curl up on the couch with a book you barely pay attention to.

Somewhere down the main road, laughter spills out of Barton’s Corner, the oldest bar in town, always crowded with familiar faces. Soon enough, you’d hear the rumbling sound of Bucky’s truck pulling in, older than most of the others but spotless. The kind of vehicle someone keeps not because they have to, but because it carries their story.

For now you just wait, safe and cozy.

The front door opens slowly, the sounds of heavy steps followed by the low click of the lock. Bucky walks inside, moving on instinct: his boots are lined up neatly by the door before he even thinks about it, and his jacket is hung right beside yours. The house is steeped in silence, the lamps casting that familiar honeyed glow that tells him someone has been awake recently.

His gaze goes straight to the couch.

You are asleep, a book fallen open on your chest and one arm draped loosely over it as if you’d tried to hold onto the last sentence. Your expression is unguarded in a way that makes something warm bloom in his chest. He stands there for a moment, longer than necessary, taking you in as the quiet of the night settles around him like a held breath.

It’s not the beer, he only drank one tonight, almost an hour ago. This dizzy feeling stems from something completely different. Coming home and finding you here, waiting for him to come back safely… It feels like a gift he’s still not sure he deserves.

Bucky crosses the room quietly to crouch beside your relaxed form. He murmurs your name, as gently as he can, his knuckles brushing against your arm, barely there.

“Hey, sweetheart. You’re gonna wake up with a crick in your neck.”

You frown faintly, nose scrunching as if his voice has deeply offended you.

“Mh.” You completely ignore him.

A soft grin tugs at the corners of his mouth despite himself. He says your name again under his breath, then tries a little firmer, but you only bury your face deeper against the cushion beneath you, clutching the book like a shield.

He sighs. “All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

After successfully prying the book out of your grip, placing it next to your half-empty cup, Bucky slips his arms under your body and hosts you up in one smooth motion. An exaggerated grunt falls from his lips as he settles you over his shoulder, and the reaction is immediate.

“Bucky!” You screech, eyes snapping open as you suddenly find yourself upside down, head dangling toward the floor. “Oh my God! Put me down!”

He chuckles, deep and unbothered, adjusting his firm grip on you. “You had your chance,” he playfully pats your asscheek. “I tried wakin’ you up.”

“So you thought this was a good idea?” You protest, laughter bleeding into your words.

He starts climbing up the stairs with careful steps. “I know I’m too old to be doin’ this kind of nonsense, so you’re gonna have to appreciate the effort.”

You huff, lightly thumping his back with your fingers. “You’re not that old.”

“Tell that to my knees tomorrow.” Bucky grins. “Now hush before I drop you.”

You go still, but not before squeezing his ass hard enough to elicit an indignant noise out of him. It’s in small moments like this that Bucky feels quiet joy settling deep in his chest. Making breakfast together, your laughter filling the kitchen, curling up on the couch in comfortable silence... Even the simplest, most ordinary things feel extraordinary since he met you.

He nudges the bedroom door shut with his heel, careful not to let it click shut. The room smells faintly of laundry soap and something inherently his. He adjusts his grip on you out of habit even though you’re already stirring to be let down.

“Easy.” He murmurs, more to himself than to you.

The moment he lowers you onto the mattress, you ignite like a spark on the Fourth of July. You’re on your feet in an instant, arms wrapping around his neck with enough force to knock the breath out of him.

“Hey—wow.” He guffaws, instinctively bracing himself. “Go easy on your old man.”

You make a small, irritated sound against his shoulder, half whine, half reluctant chuckle. “Stop calling yourself that.” Your face presses harder to his neck, your next words muffled against his skin. “You’re not old.”

Bucky immediately feels the sharp tension of the thought that flares to life at the back of your mind whenever he makes these jokes. He’s noticed it before, the way your smile tightens and your eyes go briefly distant. You mentioned it once during one of your late night talks in his truck, that you’ve always hated how your dad used to joke about that too, back when time started showing up in his bones, coloring his hair with grey streaks. Even when you were younger, it scared you—how fast years could slip by, how easily people started measuring themselves in what had already passed.

Bucky swallows and his arms adjust around you properly, one hand spreading solidly between your shoulder blades. “Alright.” He says softly. “I hear you.”

Your body melts into his hold at once, cheek pressing against his chest and eyelids fluttering shut. “It feels like it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. I missed you.”

He closes his eyes as well, and for a moment, the whole world reduces itself to the feeling of you: your warmth, your breathing against his, your soft hands on his skin… He lets himself bask in it.

“It’s only been three days.” He teases lightly.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, brows drawn together in mock severity. “Still too long.”

He guides your head back into your favorite hiding place with a low hum in his throat, his body mindlessly swaying side to side, settling into the rhythm of a slow song no one else can hear.

You could fall asleep just like this, content in his arms.

“You stayed out later than usual.” You ponder drowsily.

There it is. Bucky feels heat creep up the back of his neck as he gently pulls back to properly look into your eyes. “Ah, yeah. Guess I did.”

You squint at him, suspicious and amused all at once. “Did you ask for a re-match again?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a sore loser, contrary to what the rumors say.” You let out a skeptical hum, prompting him to tickle your sides. You burst out laughing, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes as you beg him to stop. Bucky’s barely contained grin makes him look so boyishly pretty as he keeps teasing you, until he eventually decides to spare you.

“You know I hate when you do that.” You pant, still smiling.

He exhales a small, helpless laugh as his hands slide up to your waist, thumbs brushing familiar circles into your sides as if to ground himself. Then, when you’re finally calmed down, “I’m not going to the farm tomorrow.”

You stiffen, gazing up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Nor to the store.”

You straighten up, now staring at him like he’s just told you the sky's been purple all along. “You’re sick.” You conclude decisively. “You have to be sick.”

He shrugs, the corners of his mouth lifting up. “Feel fine.”

“You never skip work.”

“I know.”

“But—”

“And you, my love, are skipping yours too.”

Your brows furrow, he can clearly see the gears turning in your head. “Did I—did I forget something? I didn’t ask Wanda for the day off. Is it someone’s birthday? My dad’s? Oh God, is it—”

A chuckle claws out of his throat, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek before you can spiral any further. “Baby, breathe.”

You blink at him, worry softening into confusion.

“I just… needed a day off.” He shrugs. “Life has been hectic lately. Always somewhere to be, something to fix, someone needing my help.” His thumb brushes the skin under your eye. “I figured it might be nice to slow down for a bit. Have you all to myself for once.”

Your expression shifts, surprise giving way to something hopeful and almost shy. “Just… us?”

“Just us.” Bucky nods, trying to not grin. But then you smile, bright and a little disbelieving, and he can’t help himself. He leans in to kiss you, unhurried, lingering like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips. Your hands cup his jaw, so soft, so sure, that something in his chest tightens unexpectedly.

He pulls away before he can sink any deeper into it, jaw tightening as he realizes his focus has pathetically thinned with a single kiss, mind slipping somewhere far more tempting.

The tips of your noses brush against each other as his voice drops into that playful register that always gets to you, refusing to burst the quiet bubble of peace.

“So here’s how it’s gonna go: we’re sleeping in. I don’t care that we both wake up at the crack of dawn—we’re rotting in this bed until one of us gets hungry enough to complain.”

You laugh softly. “You always get hungry first.”

“True. Then I’m making pancakes—the good ones.”

Your eyes light up. “The ones with Nutella inside?”

“The very same.” He beams, eyebrows wiggling up and down. “And then,” he continues, resuming the gently rocking motion, that teasing grin you love so much tugging at his lips. “We’re catching up on that show we started a month ago.”

“I knew you liked it!”

“In my defense, the day we watched the first episode I spent the entire afternoon arguing with Mr. Jones over that fuckin’ tractor part he ordered. He kept insisting it was the wrong one, and you know how stubborn that old man is.” He kisses you once more, savoring the sweet taste of your lips. “Lunch is whatever you want. I’ll cook.”

You open your mouth to argue, yet he silences you with another kiss, quick but firmer in intent. “I want to.” He rasps out, forehead resting against yours. “Let me take care of you. All I need is for you to be here, nice and warm by my side.”

Your eyes soften. “You don’t have to do everything.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “I just want to.”

Drawing you impossibly closer, his hands tighten at your hips. “So,” he clears his throat, voice low and content. “We sleep, we eat, and we make love on every piece of furniture in this fuckin’ house. Sounds like a productive day, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It really does.” You can't help but laugh again at his serious tone, your forehead falling on his chest.

“But,” you start, palms smoothing the fabric clinging to his pecs. “Since you’re taking the day off, I suppose I should warn you.”

He raises a brow. “About?”

“Me.”

He snorts. “Bit late for that.”

You gasp affronted, giving his chest a light shove that doesn’t actually create any distance between you.

“Excuse you. I was going to say that I tend to steal blankets and hog pillows, but you never notice since you’re always falling asleep before me—”

“Damn right if I do, sweetheart!” He cuts in smoothly. “And add ‘thinking out loud’ to your little list of quirks.”

You freeze. “I do not.”

“Oh, you do.” He grins, nodding. “Especially when you’re looking for something you’ve just put down. You ask questions like there’s a second you in the room with all the answers.”

Your mouth falls open, then closes again. “That is wildly exaggerated.”

“And,” he continues, enjoying this a tad too much. “You leave half-finished mugs of tea everywhere. Windowsills, bookshelves... Even the bathroom counter.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re one to talk. You fix things that aren’t broken.”

“I told you already, it's called preventative maintenance.”

“You fixed the door hinge because it ‘sounded sad’.” You tilt your head, making air quotes.

“It was asking for help.”

You burst out laughing despite his seriousness, shaking your head. “Oh, my poor Jamie.” You sigh, slipping into a dramatic tone as you cradle his face. “Always working so hard, and not getting a single moment of well-deserved peace in his own home.”

A tingling warmth settles in his chest at the word home, even wrapped in teasing. He stills you gently, thumb brushing along your jaw, his expression turning solemn. Certain.

“Our home, my love.”

Those soft words land heavily than intended, like the final piece of a puzzle setting into place.

Blinking and caught off guard, humor drains out of your face at once. You can only swallow a fresh set of tears, a slow and real smile brightening your features as you lean into his touch.

“Yeah.” You bite your bottom lip. “Our home.”

Bucky presses his forehead to yours, breathing in the scent of your body lotion lingering on your skin since this morning, before playfulness returns to his voice, familiar.

“And for the record, I find your habits endearing.”

“Oh, now you’re backtracking.”

“Not at all. I reserve the right to complain while secretly liking them.”

Your laugh is full and bright, making Bucky feel like he’s stepping into sunlight after months spent in the shade of a dark, cold winter. Your arms wrap around his neck again, and he holds you there, thinking—not for the first time—that he wants to spend forever doing this with you. Just existing together, right here.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as Bucky lowers his face into the slope of your neck, leaving a trail of small, open-mouth kisses from the sensitive patch of skin just behind you ear, to your shoulder.

“Aren’t you tired?” You mumble, eyelids falling close as he starts leading you backwards.

“For you? Never.” He pushes you gently until you are lying on your back, pliant and open amidst the soft sheets.

When the cold tip of his nose touches the skin of your throat, a shiver runs down your back. He inhales deeply, moaning as your scent finally melts away the rest of the day’s tension. His broad body presses you more firmly into the mattress, still teasing your neck with pecks and languid licks, while his hips start a gentle grinding motion against your core. You can’t stop yourself from squirming, your chest heaving in anticipation at the feeling of his already half-hard cock brushing your sensitive clit.

You bite your lip, placing your hand on his belt, and after making sure Bucky is paying attention, you slowly slip your hand under his flannel shirt, gradually hiking it up to reveal more and more of his skin.

“Go on.” Comes his raspy encouragement. His blue eyes turn darker with lust, relishing in the soft pressure of your nails as you caress his belly. He shudders once, too impatient to wait. Once he removes the shirt himself, his heartbeat quickens as blood pumps hot in his veins, and travels way too fast south.

Your eyes barely manage to set on his naked chest before Bucky is back on you, devouring your lips in a scorching kiss, his hands roaming freely over your covered torso. Your back arches, arousal pooling hot in your core as he brushes the underside of your breasts, thumbs teasingly tracing the shape of your nipples.

“Bucky.” You whimper.

“Arms up, doll.” Soon, you are left in your panties. It’s way too hot in his bedroom, and yet you shiver under his intense stare, the ever consuming urge to have you closer bleeding out of his pores.

“Cute.” He flicks the little bow on the hem of your panties with a small smirk, and you let out a trembling breath, torn between hiding in embarrassment and pushing your hips harder against his hand.

“Jamie, please.” Bucky focuses on your chest now, goosebumps raising once he traces the swell of your breasts with his nose, before leaving a harsh bite.

“You’re so mean.”

His little grin presses against your cleavage. “I know, bunny. I know.”

He looms over you, taking in the view, his breath ghosting, sliding over your hot skin until he suddenly gets fed up with his own teasing and leans in to kiss the supple flesh. He grabs one of your tits in his hand, studying your face as his thumb grazes over your nipple. You suck in a sharp breath, mouth parting around a low moan at the rough texture—proof of years spent taking care of the land.

Your eyes roll back as his tongue circles your left areola, both your nipples finally receiving soft nibbles and sweet suckles that gradually turn harsher.

“Don't stop.” You whimper melts into a gasp when Bucky delicately blows on your sensitive flesh, the cold contrast making you squirm. “Please, don't stop Bucky."

He switches from one breast to the other, using his fingers to tease the neglected nipple, moaning appreciatively when your hand tugs at his hair and presses his face firmly into the soft flesh. At some point, Bucky lets his teeth gently graze your nub, and you reward him with a sweet squeal, prompting him to do it again.

Momentarily pulling away, he glances up at you with glistening lips, then back at your breasts, his eyes hazy.

“One day…” He mumbles, leaving a kiss on a raw nub. You suck in a confused breath.

“What?”

Your whisper is like a bucket of icy water dropping right over his body. The moment realization hits him like a freight train, horror dawns upon his features, his eyes widening, startled at his own admission.

“Bucky?” You raise on trembling elbows when he withdraws from you as if your skin just burned him. “Bucky?” You plea again, fingers desperately grasping onto his shoulder when he gives you his back, settling at the edge of the bed with his chin tipped down.

Dreadful minutes of silence stretch between you, before Bucky finally summons the courage to speak. To lay bare the truth for you, and for himself.

He nervously fidgets with his fingers. “I’ve been trying to let it go. To be subtle.” A low, humorless chuckle echoes in the still room. “Didn’t wanna scare you off.”

Your shoulders drop at his dejected tone.

“I just couldn't stop thinking about it.” He shakes his head. “Which is stupid, right? I mean—look at me. I am in my forties, and you still have your whole life ahead of you. I don’t want you to be stuck in this damn town—”

“Bucky, hey. Look at me.” You stop him immediately, frowning. You crawl at the edge of the bed by his side, slowly guiding his chin to face you. “I am not ‘stuck’ in this town. I chose to stay here because I like it, and I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much, you are my whole world. But I don’t want to tie you down. I can't hold you back.” He swallows around the uncomfortable knot in his throat, words turning frantic. “And your dad—God, he’s my best friend and here I am, dreaming about marrying his daughter, about having kids who look like us running around the farm and calling you mama.”

Your throat tightens, and you swear your heart stops for a second before resuming its fast pace, as if trying to come out of your chest.

“But… when I think about a future without you… it’s just wrong. Everything is wrong if you are not by my side.”

He looks down for a second, tentatively intertwining your fingers together. His shoulders loosen a bit when you don't dismiss his touch, and the fact that he would even think that feels like a stab in your heart. When his eyes land back on yours, the storm inside has now eased into a gentle drizzle.

“I want everything with you. Even if it means your dad will hate me forever. I’ll let him punch me in the face if he wants, I’ll fix every single thing in his house—”

“You already do that.” You sniffle, biting your bottom lip to hide a smile. Bucky stops short, the corners of his mouth slightly lifting up before he cradles your cheek.

“I hate myself for wanting this, for feeling like I'm clipping your wings, but I can't imagine my life without you. I’ll wait, sweetheart. As long as you need. And if you don’t want it? Good, okay. Means we’re spending the rest of our lives making love and—and traveling. You’d like that, right angel? You mentioned you want to see the world, and I can make that happen.” His smile is pleading, blue eyes glistening with tears. “I know this is all so sudden, but—” He swallows. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“You would really give up your dreams of having kids… for me?” Your jaw clenches in hope to keep the tears at bay, even if your voice breaks.

Bucky nods resolutely, frowning as if you’ve just asked him if the grass is green. “Of course. I just want you, my love. Just need you.”

Your chin trembles, glassy eyes looking at the man you love—raw, uncertain, fragile in a way that pulls painfully at your heart. The sight of him like this, laid bare and willing to give up something so deeply rooted just to be with you, leaves you with a bitter taste on your tongue. And all you can think, is that you want that future too. You want him, and every piece of that life he's been dreaming about, without hesitation.

“Bucky, I want to be with you.” You choke on a sob. “And I want—” Taking a deep breath, you smile through the tears sliding down your cheeks. “Kids who look like us running around the farm and calling you dad.”

“Yeah?” He whispers hopeful, his shaky hand holding your jaw as if guarding a priceless treasure. “You really want that with me?”

You nuzzle closer into his palm, momentarily closing your eyes to bask into the familiar warmth. “I love you, Jamie. Don't ever think that you're tying me down, or holding me back from some... imaginary life you've made up for me in your head. I love you, and I want everything with you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He chokes out. “But what about your dad?” He presses his lips together, tense.

You can't help but chuckle at how adorable he looks right now. “Well, he’d better start working out. He’ll soon have a grandchild to keep up with.”

Finally, he gives you a relieved laugh. “Soon?”

Your playful smirk makes his hold on you tighten just slightly. “Well, we’re already half-naked, and there’s an empty bed right here, so...”

His breath hitches for half a second, because this is finally real: you, him, the possibility of building a life stitched together from little hands reaching for both of you, and sleepy hugs before school. All the dreams he’d never dared to voice, the small, secret hopes he’d held onto before falling asleep... They were all worth waiting for.

A squeal claws out of your throat as Bucky abruptly grabs your waist to pull you closer, filthily kissing you until you’re left clinging desperately to his shoulders. Your giggle soon turns into a gasp when you find yourself lying back on his bed.

“Wanna fill you up so fucking bad.” He mutters, sparkling blue eyes reverently tracing your curves. “Gonna worship you every night, and still want you more by morning. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“You already do.” Your voice wobbles pathetically, suddenly a little breathless, squirming beneath him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, doll.” He breathes you in, dragging his nose down your throat as he tightens his hold on your thighs. “I’ll stuff you full until it takes. Again and again. Fuck you against the wall, the shower—hell, even the damn barn.”

“Please!” Your pussy shamelessly throbs at the thought of him taking you right there, out in the open for anyone to see.

“But first,” Bucky’s fingers lightly graze the embarrassingly damp spot on your cotton panties. “Need to feel you around my fingers.” You whine in protest at that, but you know it’s futile. Kneeling between your thighs to keep them nice and open for him, his arm drapes over your hips to keep you still. Your panties are tossed somewhere on the floor, before he attacks your pulsing clit, alternating between steady flicks of his tongue and slow rubbing motions with his calloused fingers. Two of his digits stretch you open, your eyes rolling back at how perfectly they hit your sweet spot, until you flinch, a desperate gasp escaping your lips at the sudden sting.

“So fucking gorgeous.” A growl is swallowed back when you fist his locks. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, dark eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features. You can barely form any coherent word, crying out as he smacks your pussy again.

“Good girl.” The proud praise elicits a whimper out of you before you can stop it. “Taking whatever your old man gives you so well.” His hand falls on your tender flesh a little harder this time, making you gasp at the delicious pain, back arching up.

“You want another one, doll?”

“Please.”

“So fucking polite.” He groans between your folds, forcing you to stay put for his greedy mouth. “Go on, make me proud and come for me.”

The knot in your lower belly snaps at his command. Your thighs shake around his head, your hole tightening to keep his fingers trapped inside you as he nurses on your nub until overstimulation sets in.

A high, desperate sound escapes your throat as Bucky pulls away, and for a second you truly believe he’s finally going to fuck you, but his hand is back at it again, leaving quick, little slaps on your clit that make your hips jerk helplessly, straining against his muscled arm.

If seeing your pussy drool means taking you apart until you can barely remember your own name, then so be it.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, head tossed back against the pillow.

“You’re so messy, lovely.” He marvels, voice husky with arousal. His mouth latches back around your bundle of nerves, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds. “Look at her, sweetheart, crying so prettily for me.”

He grinds against your swollen clit once more, your legs jerking close at the raw scrape of his stubble, before he is getting out of his own clothes with a brisk motion.

Boneless and gasping for breath, you glance up at him through your damp lashes, gaping at the leisurely pace he uses to stroke his hard cock, the flushed tip copiously leaking precum.

Bucky smirks, his mouth glistening with your slick as he settles closer to your core. “My pretty girl is finally gonna let me put a baby in her.” His hand assertively squashes your cheeks together until your lips pucker, only then his tongue pushes past them, claiming you with a hungry kiss. A strand of saliva connects your mouths, thin and filthy, as he slightly pulls back.

“Been thinking about you round with my kid for months. All soft and giggling, with a ring shining on your left hand.” He confesses roughly, dragging his mouth along your neck.

Your lips part in a silent moan when his cock makes itself comfortable between your folds, the head slipping inside you without hesitation. His right palm settles on your belly, heavy and possessive, but still mindful. The pressure makes everything better as his hips speed up, immediately setting a punishing, impatient pace.

“I’ll be good,” his voice cracks against your breast, your body shoved further up the bed with each brutal thrust. “Best husband ever. You’ll never have to lift a finger, my darling wife.”

“You’re already so good to me, Jamie.” You moan, high and helpless, inevitably clenching around him as he calls you his wife. He growls at the pressure, harshly moving your hips to meet his, the room soon filling with the shameless slaps of your skins and the wet squelch of his cock driving deeper and deeper.

“Gonna rub your feet when they hurt, and eat all your weird cravings with you in the middle of the night—fuck mama, this perfect pussy is so tight.” His head falls back in bliss.

That’s when the hand on your belly moves lower, until his fingers are back at toying with your clit, pinching and flicking it, as you squirm under his possessive stare.

“God, you’re taking it so good. Look at you, such a pretty little thing.” He gasps, frantically moving your bent knees back until they are touching your chest, his thrusts turning cruel as soon as you respond with a delirious sob at the new angle.

“Let me hear you” He pants, his lips hovering over yours. “Tell me how badly you want it, princess.”

“So bad, Jamie!” Your nails leave red marks along his back. He moans at the delicious pain, thrusting harder. “Fuck Bucky, give it to me! Wanna be always full with you, breed me Jamie.”

The way he wrenches himself back with a snarl makes you wail, your pussy feeling pathetically empty, before he flips you on your hands and knees. The change of position is so sudden that your hazy brain can barely catch up, not until his length is filling you again, his thrusts turning messy as its tip perfectly slams against your sweet spot at an almost desperate speed.

The maddening pace drives you forward, your nipples rubbed raw against the sheets and your arms scrambling to anchor yourself, before his thick belly pushes heavy against your back, and one of his hands traps both of your wrists under you. His other arm wraps around your waist, palming your stomach.

You can only lie there, pliant and still, as he stakes his claim on you.

“There we go, sweetheart. Are you gonna make a stupid mess all over my cock?” He coos in your ear, fingers traveling lower only to give your throbbing nub a mean pinch.

The way his hips are driving into you at such a primal pace, his strangled moans as his cock abuses your sweet spot… It’s too much. You scream his name, eyes rolling back and toes curling when your climax finally unravels, violently. Shaking and with tears running down your cheeks, you end up squirting all over his crotch and sheets, body erupting in flames and vision momentarily fading to black.

Bucky grunts when your slick slides down his heavy balls, wishing he could have his mouth on your pussy to taste it.

“Good girl. You came so hard angel, look at that.” His smile is predatory, delirious. “My turn now to make a mess, mama.” His cruel fingers fly back between your thighs, rubbing and slapping your clit only to feel your body squirm pathetically under his.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Bucky spills into you, the animalistic urge to feel his cum leak out of you and onto his cock is too intoxicating to resist.

“I'm coming, baby, fuck. Gonna come so fucking hard for you, not gonna waste a single drop.” He grits his teeth, forehead falling on your shoulder. “Take it, sweetheart, take it. Love you so fucking much.” He chokes out, and then his cock is pulsing with each spurt of cum filling you, mixing with your creamy mess.

A satisfied sigh unconsciously falls from your lips, your spent body finally slackening as you’ve never felt so full before.

Your legs are now sore with that unique ache that seeps deliciously into your bones, yet you can’t stop the pained whimper when you try to move, still trapped under Bucky’s heavy body. He gently tries to adjust the two of you, at least enough for his arms to support the majority of his weight, but his face buries in the slope of your neck, cuddling your damp skin like a needy cat.

“Jus’ a little more.” He grunts, words slurred. “Need to make sure it takes.”

One moment, Bucky is gently rocking into you from behind; the next, you are clean and tucked under clean sheets with his arms wrapped securely around your waist, your back perfectly molded to his chest. The way his palm rests on your belly, protective and certain, makes your heart beat just a little bit faster. It makes you realize just how much of him you already carry with you.

Quietly, he breaks the peaceful silence. “You with me, sweetheart? Are you alright?”

You nod, even if your throat still hurts a little and your limbs lie uselessly, heavy and spent. Your index finger sluggishly drifts up, blindly touching his cheek as if to ask ‘what about you?’. Bucky huffs a laugh against your neck, before pressing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Never felt anything like this before.” He mumbles, a soft sigh of wonder slipping past him.

The room holds its breath for a moment, the quiet stretching so long it feels almost sacred. You swallow hard, before your voice finally rises in a trembling whisper. “Do you think… we did it?”

His chuckle is easy, the warm sound somehow pacifying the tension coiled in your stomach. His fingers gently lift your chin, delicately turning your head enough for your eyes to meet.

“Don't worry, my love.” His voice is a teasing murmur. “I’m gonna keep you full until we do.”

When Steve stops the truck in your front yard, he raises an eyebrow at your house still being swallowed in darkness.

“Isn’t your daughter home yet?” He frowns at the time displayed on the dashboard. Your dad shrugs with an amused grin on his lips.

“She’s at Wanda’s.” He mocks your voice, skeptically raising both his eyebrows, and Steve does a double take.

“You still haven’t told them you found out about their relationship?”

“Oh please, you wouldn't either if you could see Barnes twists in his seat whenever I ask about his weekends.”

“You are such an asshole.” Steve guffaws.

Your dad groans as he jumps down the red truck. “Hey! I’m allowed to have some fun too.”

— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🩵 my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist

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