hi guys I only repost things I like here for example: #marvel #attack on titan #hunger games, #supernatural, #avengers and some stuff will be for mature audience
Summary â Being on the same rank as levi was supposed to be easy. You were the same age, he couldn't boss you around anymore, and you were in just as much control as he was. Levi, however, still always got what he wanted. It didn't matter what he had to do or who he had to speak to. Levi Ackerman always got what he wanted â and this time, he wants you.
Word count : 4.1k
Chapters : 3/? (pt 1) (pt2)
CW : canon universe, harsh language, mentions of drugs/drinking, inaccurately aged characters, mentions of sex, mentions of death, non-canon information/events, mentions of violence, eventual explicit sexual content
Authors note: Chapters will probably slow the more we get into the week but i will try to write whenever i can. I'm also starting a tag list so anyone who wants in can be added.
The sun was too bright.
You felt like you could barely see the ground in front of you as your horse took off through the field. You didn't know if the sun was actually bright enough to cause a problem or if it was because you woke up late and your eyes wouldn't adjust.
The more time you spent one on one with Levi, the harder it was to sleep. He stressed you out. Being around him felt like permanent judgement and it didn't help that he decided to go with your plan. If anything went wrong today, it would be your fault.
You knew that was something he wouldn't let you get past. Every mistake you make, every move that's wrong, and every single thing you do will lead back to him lecturing you. You could be ranks above him and he would probably still lecture you.
A smoke signal fired to your right, signaling a titan. You saw the puff of smoke go in the air, grabbing one of your own flares to shoot off the same signal. Red flares shot up all around you before green ones started going off to your left.
You and the people around you started easing left to reform in that direction. You hadn't seen any titans so far. All you had seen were smoke signals, but it didn't shock you since you were located in the center rear. Most of the titans were covered by the front and sides.
Your team rode all around you , leaving you in the center of your small pod of people. Levi was next to you, leading the group just as much as you were.
He glared over at you the second he felt your eyes flick to him. Blank faced, he nodded his head back to the grass in front of you before pushing forward on his horse. The rest of your group followed his actions, attempting to catch up to be in correct formation with the other squads. A black puff of smoke shot up toward your left. An abnormal.
You watched a titans head rise over a small line of trees before falling down to its knees, seemingly having its ankles sliced. Your shoulders relaxed and you continued forth when you saw it raise back up with a soldier in hand, small bursts of blood shooting every way as his skull crunched beneath the monsters teeth.
You widened your eyes, mouth opening slightly as more black puffs of smoke rose up into the blue sky. A person shot across the span of sky, slicing a clean cut through the back of its neck and it fell.
Levi held his firm expression, "Focus," he said loud enough to hear over the sound of the horses galloping, "They have it handled."
You knew the comment was directed to your group, but you couldn't shake the feeling it was targeted toward you specifically. You were a captain, and technically, his second in command. You needed to focus and not distract yourself on distant threats.
You nodded, and the rest of your team shouted, "Yes, captain!" It was hard to hear over the constant pounding of the horses hooves, but it was clear enough for him to direct his focus back to clearing the field. The trees weren't far from where the formation currently was, and if this success was kept up, you'd be home a lot quicker than expected.
The ground felt like it started shaking more than usual, and not because you were on horseback. A titan was approaching from your right toward your rear. You turned back toward Levi, "Captain!" You shouted until he turned.
His expression was immediately annoyed and he pushed on toward your destination, "How did those idiots on the right rear miss that?" He questioned, turning his head to the side so everyone could hear, "Speed up! We'll handle the son of a bitch when it gets here."
You fumbled for a smoke signal, shooting a bright streak of red into the air and watching as nearby soldiers mirrored your actions. Since it was the center, there wasn't many places to move left or right that wouldn't end up with all soldiers out of formation.
No green flares were shot. You kept pushing forward as Levi told you to, turning back occasionally to gauge how close the titan was to your group. As it approached, Levi shot off of his horse and toward the titan. Your eyes followed him, confused. He usually didn't do stunts like that without informing the squads, but as expected, he was back within a minute and the titan was on the ground with blood flowing out of its neck.
"What was that?" You demanded as he returned to his horse and he cinched his eyebrows together, "You did that with no warning. You can't just shoot off and expect us to know what to do!"
Levi just huffed, "I handled it."
"None of us knew what you were doing."
"I said I handled it."
You just clenched your jaw and looked ahead as the trees started to get closer. You could see the groups to your sides start splitting to go around since there was no trail for their squads. Your group, however, went straight into the trees.
You forgot how large this forest was. Not necessarily the size of the area itself, but the height of the titan trees. You hadn't done a recon mission into any forests in a long time. The shade provided from them would've been peaceful if you weren't aware of how many titans could be hidden behind the giant pillars of wood.
Everything felt eerily quiet as you entered, which you figured to be due to the scenery change, even though just as many people were around you. Above you, some soldiers had been switched to ODM gear as they were instructed. You hoped this plan would go well. You didn't know how you'd be able to face Levi if anything went wrong while using your plan.
Why were you worried about Levi? If anything, you should be worried about Erwin. He is your commander, after all. Levi was a captain, practically your equal, but you still yearned for his approval. You didn't know why. You argued with him regularly, getting into meaningless fights just because he was too closed off and sarcastic.
No matter how irritated his personality made you, you'd always wanted his attention. You just wanted him to approve of you. He'd always been the soldier to look up to. Even being on his level, you still felt so far behind him. The closer you got to his rank, the more irritable it seemed he became. He was quicker to scold you and glare at you, forcing you to sink back into a shell you'd forced yourself to come out of.
It got to a point where you'd just started talking back, and that was what always got you in trouble. He never really yelled at you for how you spoke to him, but simply went back and forth until he won. You'd almost think he enjoys it if he weren't so grumpy all the time.
The forest was quiet for most of the ride through, but about 3/4 of the way, a titan slumped through the trees and toward your side of the squad. Looking up, you saw no soldiers directly above you on ODM gear. They were all behind you or way in front of you.
You snapped your head toward Levi, "I got it." Nobody had a chance to respond before you shot up into the trees, landing on a high branch before dropping down toward the 5 meter. It looked up suddenly and shot its hand out toward you, but you started to maneuverer to the side and out of its line of sight.
Before you could completely move, you heard another zip and the titans entire hand was gone. It didn't take long before Levi was beside you. He didn't say anything until he landed on a branch next to you.
"You were gonna get yourself killed." He stated flatly, flipping his blade back to the correct hold.
You watched the movement of his wrists. He always held his blade backward when using it. It was so strange. You didn't even respond before hooking onto a tree above the titan, wire snapping straight before you swung down and put a gash in its neck.
The thud of its body was loud and satisfying. A tree nearby made the perfect landing as you located Levi, who was still on the last branch. Shooting another wire, you landed next to him, "I had it under control on my own."
"Did you? Looked like a fly buzzing around ready to get swatted from where i was sitting." His voice was clearly one of annoyance. He'd already put away his blades, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I was getting out of the way. It missed me and then you cut its hand off!" You exclaimed, "You- I just-"
He stared at you distastefully. You breathed out deeply, "I killed it."
"You did." He admitted and your eyes widened. You weren't used to him saying you did anything well or even getting any comment that wasn't negative. He saw the look on your face and glanced toward the rest of the squad, moving ahead safely.
Your horses were both in the hands of Eld and Petra. Levi huffed, "Get that dumb look off of your face. Be grateful you're not dead."
"I wasn't gonna die!" You stressed, but only half the sentence met his ears as he moved through the trees and back toward your horses. You took a deep breath, relaxing your shoulders.
"I'm not gonna kill him. I'm not gonna kill him." You repeated to yourself like a mantra, trying to move your irritation aside and focus on the mission. He looked behind him as he settled back onto his horse. You were still in the trees.
Levi took your horses reins from Petra and held it up. It was a request to come back into formation. The gesture was more of a command but it was easier to convince yourself that he wasn't demanding you do anything.
In a few seconds, you were back on your horse. Levi just sighed, "Took you long enough. I was waiting for a titan to snatch you out of that tree." He handed the reins back to you.
You snatched them back, readjusting the hold on them in your hands, "You're so funny, Levi."
Levi's eyebrows raised after you said his name, used to you calling him 'captain.' Whatever he was thinking, he didn't speak on it for once and just turned back forward, "I'm serious. You're gonna get yourself killed by being an idiot one day. Then i have to find someone to replace you with."
"I love how much you talk about my death. It really makes me feel valued as a person." You said firmly, ignoring the stares you could feel from the rest of your squad. Levi didn't answer, riding along the trail in his usual silence.
You sighed, "Would it kill you to just be nice to me for once?" You weren't frustrated now, voice raised and directed at Levi.
"Probably," He grumbled, "What might really kill me is you being so distracted. Get it together."
As much as you hated it, you knew he was right. You were overreacting and unfocused on the task at hand. If you didn't get your head in the game, there would likely be consequences for everyone.
"Whatever." You grunted, pushing forward into the forest. Part of you hoped that another titan would emerge from the thick trees and try to grab you. At least then you could direct your anger onto that instead of killing Levi.
Fortunately for everyone, no more titans busted out of the dense woods and into your group.
Unfortunately for you, your frustration wasn't able to be deflected onto a titan. This meant that every time Levi spoke, you were nothing less than infuriated.
Every time your thoughts drifted, he called you back with, "Stop being an idiot and focus!" or, "If something runs up onto us and tries to eat everyone, you're going to die."
It was a miracle you made it back to the castle the scout regiment operated out of without attempting to hurt Levi in some way. You were already angry, but the way he looked so unbothered just made you want to pound a fist into his head even more.
The second everyone's horses were back at the stables, he stormed over to you and practically demanded that you come with him.
Whatever it was for, you just hoped it would make you want to punch him less. However, you knew Levi. You knew that it was likely going to be a lecture about something.
You followed after him and into the place you had found yourself more and more over the past weeks. That place happened to be where Levi was mostâ his office.
Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the hard surface of his desk, "Do you just want to die, brat?"
You blinked rapidly, staring at him as he sighed, "I'm starting to think you just have a plan to die out there by being an idiot. Honestly, I don't feel like putting in the effort it would take to bury you. If we had a body left, that is." He said, bringing his hand back down to grip the edge of his desk.
There goes any hope you had that he actually liked you.
You clenched your fists, attempting to keep a straight face, "Okay, yeah, i get it. I keep getting distracted and you don't care enough about me to give me a funeral. Whatever." You took a deep breath.
"I do care."
Levi's eyes shot up to meet yours, the room going uncharacteristically silent for the both of you.
You had no idea what he was talking about. Cared about you? Doesn't he insult you all the time? He's always been way easier on everyone else, including people he actually does hate.
He huffed, "I don't want you to die because i don't want to bury you. There's no way you're this dense. I'm starting to think you're just stupid." He said plainly but you just tilted your head in pure confusion.
"Starting?" You questioned, "You've been calling me stupid since the day you met me." You were unsure on what to say about him telling you he cares.
Levi wasn't a liar. He was being genuine, but it was just confusing. What were you supposed to do? Tell him his feelings were wrong?
His expression didn't change, "Then it looks like neither of us have changed much," His eyes trailed back to the dirt on his boots, "Are you gonna answer my question or are we gonna stand here in silence?"
Your eyes widened slightly. Right, the question...
"What question?" You asked quietly.
Levi sighed once again. When would he stop doing that? He tapped a finger on the wood of his desk, "Do you want to die out there?"
Taken aback, you uncrossed your arms, "No? You were just irritating me."
"I was protecting you."
"I don't need you to protect me, Levi!"
Levi ran a hand down his face, "If i didn't protect you, you'd be dead right now." He dragged his hand down to his face before slapping it back against the desk.
You shook your head slightly, "That isn't true and you know it."
"It isn't?" He snapped, "What about when a titan grabbed your wire and you only didn't hit the ground because i caught you? What about when a titan almost grabbed you but didn't because i cut its hand off? Even today, that bastard would've at least sent you off balance."
You clenched your jaw, "i would've been fine." You forced out.
"No. I'd be standing in front of your grave right now." He snapped again. You could tell he was frustrated, and rightfully so. You were being difficult and you knew it, but he was being difficult, too.
You rolled your eyes, "Like you'd visit my grave." You watched as he shut his eyes, breathing deeply out of his nose.
"For once in your life, could you just not be difficult? Is it impossible for you to have a conversation with me without accusing me of hating you or being irritated?" His hands gripped the edge of the desk, fingers not tapping anymore.
You started rocking back and forth on your heels, "Fine. Say whatever you need to say. I'll shut up." Your hands were behind your back, holding onto each other.
Levi took another deep breath, "You need to be more careful or you're really going to die out there one day and i really want you alive."
You paused. His tone was normal, but his wording was what you needed to pay attention to. He said want instead of need. He wants you alive.
He shook his head slowly, the movement so minuscule it was almost unnoticeable, "I trained you better than this for a reason. I'm not watching you die out there." He wasn't looking at you, eyes fixed on his shoes.
You stayed quiet, as promised, while he continued, "I've spent way too much time wondering if you're ever going to come back from some of the missions we go on. I taught you better than this so you won't die on me. I need you to be the best of the best and if you keep letting your emotions mess with you, you'll end up just like one of the other brats who I have to mourn every day."
Your eyes were wide, body tensed as you stared at him. What was he saying? He actually cared? At this point, you weren't even angry anymore, just confused.
You opened your mouth to start asking questions but he cut you off, "Dismissed. Don't be an idiot," He said sharply, turning toward his desk chair, "Are you going deaf now too? I said you're dismissed."
All you did was shut your mouth and open the door to his office, "Yes, Captain." Those words were the last things you mumbled before stepping into the empty hallway.
Confusion clouded over the previous irritation. You didn't know what to do anymore. He clearly doesn't hate you, so what does he feel? He just admitting to caring more than he ever let on.
A lot of things were unusual about his behavior recently, but that one easily took the cake. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you went straight for the showers, determined to wash away the filth of the day.
Standing under the water didn't help. All it did was give you silence to think about Levi's words.
'I do care.'
'I don't want you to die because i don't want to bury you.'
'i really want you alive.'
'I taught you better than this so you won't die on me.'
'you'll end up just like one of the other brats who I have to mourn every day.'
All of his confusing sentences echoed in your head. Did he care that much? Were you overthinking it? Maybe you should just stop talking to him in general.
You shut off the water and stepped out, getting dressed and heading back to your room.
Dinner came and went in short time. While Hange attempted to get you to talk, they made no progress. You still spoke, but were just quieter than usual. It worried them.
What especially worried them was how you went completely stiff when Levi passed your table.
Hange nudged you with their elbow, "Hey, what's wrong?" They asked, concern lacing their voice as you picked off of a piece of bread.
You tilted your head toward them, "Nothing. I'm just not in the mood. Got into another argument."
"Levi?" They guessed and you just nodded, "Again? When are you two gonna shut up and just get along! You two would be great together!"
You glared at them, "I don't like the way you worded that."
They raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?" When you didn't answer, they pestered you non stop until you stood up, "Come on. Did something happen?" They questioned.
You walked off, not looking back. You would talk to Hange, but not about this.
After throwing away your trash, you dragged yourself back to your room, throwing yourself into bed and attempting to go to sleep.
Sleep did not come.
The sun dipped below the trees and you were still wide awake, staring at nothing in the dark. It was useless, now. Your sleep was already bad and about to be worse.
You flipped back the covers, sliding on shoes and stepping out of your room. You made your way to the front of the castle, sitting on the steps as you watched the trees blow in the breeze.
"What are you doing, brat?"
You almost jumped out of your skin at the unexpected, sharp voice from behind you. However, you didn't turn around. You already knew who it was, "Sitting."
Levi's boots clicked against the stone as he approached, moving to stand at your side, "Get back inside. It's cold out. I'll kill you myself if you get sick."
You rolled your eyes again, bringing your knees up to your chest, "You're so dramatic. I'm fine. You should be the one all tucked into bed. What are you doing out here, anyway?"
He crossed his arms, as expected, "That's none of your business."
"But what i'm doing is?" You questioned.
"It should be." He responded quickly.
You groaned, resting your chin on top of your knees. The two of you sat in silence on the steps for a few minutes, "I was looking for you." Levi said out of nowhere.
You picked up your head to look at him immediately, "What?"
"You heard me." He shot back for seemingly no reason, sitting down next to you on the steps.
"I know that. I meant why? Why were you looking for me?" Your voice was softer than it usually was toward him.
He tilted his head back to look at the sky, "Hange said something was absolutely wrong with you and that i needed to come find you."
Your hope vanished again, "So you went looking for me because Hange told you to. Great." You murmured, chin resting back on your knees.
"That's not what i meant," he sucked in a breath, releasing it slowly, "I didn't realize i said something that bothered you enough for you to stop talking to Hange."
You moved your eyes over to him. He was still looking up at the stars, "You say that like you're gonna apologize."
"I'm thinking about it," He admitted, "Didn't think you'd get this upset over me telling you i want you not to die."
You put your face in your hands, "You're reading this all wrong. I'm upset because you're confusing me."
Levi moved his gaze back down to you, blinking slowly, "How?" he asked with genuine curiosity.
"Is that a serious question?" You removed your hands from your face, turning toward him quickly, "You're hard on me. You yell at me, You criticize me. You make me feel incapable. Then you say you protect me and you care about me and don't want to have to mourn me. I'm really confused!" You finally shouted.
Levi stayed quiet for a moment, "I'm hard on you because I need you to be the best. I'm not letting you die right in front of me because i didn't train you good enough."
"Why me?" You demanded.
He looked back at the short span of steps in front of him, "I don't think that's something you're ready to hear yet," He stood, going up a few steps, "I'm serious. Go to sleep soon. Be smart."
Levi walked a few more paces, then added, "Please." to his sentences. His voice wasn't soft or harsh. It was just a request for you to come inside.
You sat on the porch for another half hour before you finally brought yourself back to your room.
Hi there!! đ, this is a list of my favorite fics (in no particular order), about Bucky Barnes, the king of my heart đŠđŠˇ, because i'm absolutely obssesed with this man, so here you go, have a fun reading đŤ°
đŤ§Manchild ă°ď¸ @houseofhyde
đŤ§To have and to hold ă°ď¸ @unificsation
đŤ§Vibe Check ă°ď¸ @winteryn
đŤ§Taste Test ă°ď¸ @metal-armed-muse
đŤ§Hopelessly devoted to you ă°ď¸ @plantetbucky
đŤ§The long way back to you ă°ď¸ @phoenix-in-writing
đŤ§Friends don't knot ă°ď¸ @slutdier
đŤ§Vital Refractions ă°ď¸ @sheriff-bodecker
Well, this is it for now, you can tell i'm a sucker for the 'bestfriends to lovers' troupe and for yearning bucky đŠđŠ, if you have any suggestions please do ! , thx to the fantastic authors of this masterpieces, xoxo đŠˇđŤ°
lately iâve been plagued with the thought of reader getting like ridiculously turned on but trying to tough it out, only for bucky to figure out whatâs going on and getting all teasy about itâŚ..if youâd be interested in smth like this. love your work! love the way you write relationship dynamics!!
Lately, youâve been questioning every life choice that led you to this exact moment.
Movie night at the compound should not be this difficult. It should be easy, actually. Sit on the couch, watch whatever action movie Sam picked, make a few sarcastic comments, steal some popcorn, and go home. Normal. Simple.
The problem is that Bucky Barnes is sitting beside you.
Not doing anything particularly outrageous, either. Heâs just existing. Existing in a dark henley with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, leaning back into the couch with one arm stretched along the cushion behind you. Every so often he laughs at something Steve says, or mutters a dry comment under his breath, and somehow each little thing feels like a direct attack on your ability to function.
You try to ignore it. Really, you do.
You focus on the movie. You focus on the bowl of popcorn in your lap. You focus on literally anything that isn't the man sitting inches away from you. Unfortunately, the harder you try not to notice him, the more aware of him you become. Every brush of his shoulder against yours seems amplified. Every shift of his weight draws your attention. Every low rumble of his voice settles somewhere beneath your ribs and refuses to leave.
By the halfway point of the movie, you're miserable.
Not because anything is wrong. Quite the opposite.
You're so ridiculously attracted to your boyfriend that it's become embarrassing.
The worst part is that you're determined to power through it. You're not going to make a thing out of it. You're not going to climb into his lap in front of the entire team. You're not even going to acknowledge it.
You're just going to survive the evening with what little dignity you have left.
Apparently, that would be much easier if Bucky wasn't so good at reading you.
"You're quiet tonight."
His voice is low enough that only you can hear it.
You keep your eyes fixed on the television. "I'm watching the movie."
"Hm."
The sound carries just enough amusement to make your stomach drop.
You glance at him. Big mistake.
His mouth is twitching.
"Bucky."
"What?"
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
You narrow your eyes.
His smile widens.
Oh no.
The realization hits all at once.
He knows.
Somehow, impossibly, he knows exactly what's going on.
The smug look on his face confirms it.
You immediately look away again.
Beside you, Bucky lets out a quiet laugh.
The absolute menace.
For the rest of the movie, he doesn't say much, but somehow that makes it worse. Every now and then you catch him glancing your way. Sometimes his knee brushes yours. Sometimes he leans closer to make a comment about the movie, his voice warm against your ear. None of it is inappropriate. None of it is obvious.
It's just enough. Enough that your pulse never quite settles. Enough that you know he's entertaining himself. Enough that Natasha eventually notices and smirks from across the room.
You refuse to acknowledge that, too.
When the credits finally begin to roll, relief floods through you.
You stand almost immediately.
"I'm getting a drink."
Bucky rises with suspicious enthusiasm.
"I'll come with."
"You don't need to come with."
"I know."
That answer alone tells you everything.
The second you step into the kitchen, you hear his footsteps behind you.
You don't even bother turning around.
"Bucky."
"What?"
"You are insufferable."
His laughter follows you to the fridge.
When you finally face him, he's leaning casually against the counter with his arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"You've been staring at me all night."
The accusation makes him grin.
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
"Maybe I was concerned."
"Concerned?"
"Yeah." His expression turns mock-serious. "You kept squirming around like you were trying to escape your own skin."
Heat immediately crawls up your neck.
"Oh my God."
"There she is."
You groan and cover your face.
Bucky laughs harder.
When his hands gently catch your wrists and pull them away, the teasing in his eyes has softened into something far warmer.
Something that always gets you.
"You know," he says quietly, stepping closer, "you could've just told me."
"Told you what?"
His eyebrows lift.
You glare.
He looks delighted.
"Told me you were having a hard time."
"You are never letting this go, are you?"
"Not a chance."
You hate how much you love him.
Because beneath all the teasing, beneath the smug smiles and knowing looks, thereâs something impossibly sweet about it. Bucky notices everything about you. The little shifts in your mood. The things that make you nervous. The things that make you happy. The things that make your breath catch and your cheeks warm.
He pays attention because he loves you.
The realization steals every ounce of annoyance you were trying to hold onto.
His grin softens when he sees your expression change.
"There she is," he murmurs again.
You roll your eyes, but your hands find his shirt anyway, fingers curling into the fabric.
"You're the worst."
"Funny," he says, dipping his head to press a kiss to your forehead. "I was just thinking how adorable you are."
You groan dramatically.
He only laughs and pulls you closer.
And judging by the entirely self-satisfied look on his face, Bucky Barnes is going to be living off this victory for a very, very long time.
all the avengers (including sam and bucky obviously) living in the compound with the occasional visit of thor, and yes heâs in the kitchen with his pop tarts, clint in the vents, peter in the lab with tony and bruce or patrolling the streets in his free time and them all being one big happy family (and not just coworkers!!!!) is my canon. like that scene in age of ultron??? thats their friday if theyâre not on a mission
Hello how you doing! Can you make a smut oneshot about levi when he got drunk during a business party and kept saying he just wants his girlfriend so someone called her with his phone and she came and drove him to their home then they had passionate sex because all he wanted was to be inside her as soon as possible hahaa đ also, can you add an aftercare scene?
Being with you, just you.
Levi x fem reader
The party was the kind that Levi usually avoided, too much smelly perfume, too many loud voices, and far too many people trying to impress each other. When you stepped through the door, you spotted him right away. He wasn't at the centre of the crowd; he was tucked into a corner booth, his tie loose.
The moment his grey eyes landed on you, the scowl he'd been wearing for a few hours disappeared, replaced by a soft, glassy-eyed look of pure love and relief.
"You're here," he mumbled, his voice a bit lower and slower than normal. He didn't wait for you to reach him; he stood up and swayed just enough that he had to catch the edge of the table.
When you got close enough to steady him, he didn't just lean on you, he melted against you. His arms wrapped firmly around your waist, buried his face into the crook of your neck. He smelled like expensive whiskey and a familiar, crisp scent of soap.
"Levi, let's get you home," you whispered, arm wrapping around his shoulders to keep him upright.
"Tch. Finally," he grumbled against your skin. He peppered a row of clumsy, warm kisses on your jawline, not a single care that people were watching him. "Hate this place. Hate everyone here. Just wanted you."
As you guided him towards the exit, his head rested heavily on your shoulder. He was usually so coordinated, but now he was a tangle of limbs.
"You're too good to me," he mumbled, his breath hot against your ear as you reached the car. "I love you. Do you know that? I really...love you."
"I know, Levi," you laughed gently. "I love you too."
The city lights blurred into long, golden streaks against the rain-slicked windshield. Levi was slumped in the passenger seat, his usual rigid posture replaced by soft, sloppiness. One of his hands reached over to you, his fingers found your thigh and squeezed.
"Levi," you murmured, glancing at him with a small smile. "Are you drunk?"
"No," he answered instantly, though his voice was thick. He didn't look at the road; he only looked at you, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of your clothes. "Not drunk. Just...observant. You're so pretty. It's actually annoying."
You couldn't help but laugh. "You are very cute when you're tipsy."
He huffed. "I'm not cute. My walls are just down. This is just...me. Without the noise." He leaned his head back against the headrest, his eyes softening. "I've spent all night thinking about getting back to you. Everything else was just a distraction."
When you finally pulled into the driveway, the silence of the house felt so good. Helping Levi out of the car was a slow process; he was heavy and warm, his arm draped over your shoulders as you moved to the front door.
Once inside, the cool air of the entryway seemed to ground him, but he didn't pull away. You led him toward the bedroom, and the glow of the bedside lamp cast a long shadow across the sheets.
"Let's get this suit off you," you whispered, turning to face him.
Your fingers moved to his tie, but Levi's hands were already there, covering yours. He wasn't helping you unbutton the shirt; he was just holding your hands against his chest so he could feel your heartbeat.
"Stay," he breathed, his forehead dropped to rest against yours. "Don't just change me. Stay with me."
The air in the room shifted. He was still tipsy, but there was a sharp focus and a desperate need to touch you. His hands slid from your wrists to your waist before yanking you flush against him. His hands weren't precise like usual; they were heavy with a hunger that he'd been suppressing all night.
As he pulled you closer, his palms slid down to firmly hold you against him. His hand travelled up, his fingers bunching the fabric of your top as he clumsily sought the curve of your breast. There was a desperate way he held you, as if he was trying to keep himself close to the only thing that seemed real.
"Levi, wait," you whispered, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. You looked into his eyes, which were hooded and dark. "I don't want to do this if you're actually drunk. You know I need you to be able to give your full consent."
He stopped moving, his forehead still pressed against yours. He took a slow, deliberate breath. "I'm not that far gone," he rasped, his slur was gone. "I'm tipsy, yeah. But I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly what I want."
He pulled back just an inch, his gaze searching yours with a piercing clarity.
"I want you. All of you." He panted. "I'm giving you my full consent." He locked eyes with you as he said your name. "I've been sitting in that room for hours thinking about this...about being home with you." He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. "Please, I'm right here."
The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. With a small nod of your head, the last of his restraint snapped.
The clumsy movements from before sharpened into focused passion. He didn't want a single layer of clothing between you. As the suit jacket and your clothes were discarded onto the floor, the cool air of the room was quickly replaced by the searing heat of his skin.
He moved you towards the bed, his touch becoming more worshipful. Every press of his lips against your collarbone, every slide of his hand over your skin, felt like a silent confession. He was vocal in a way he never was during the day, low groans of your name, broken praises whispered against your neck. It wasn't just physical for him; it was an exorcism of the stressful night he'd left behind.
He didn't want to wait; he didn't want the slow burn. He was starved for the physical proof that he was finally out of the party and back in your warm arms.
His hands were trembling against you. He grabbed your hips, his fingers dug into your skin with a possessive strength as he pulled you towards the edge of the mattress. There was no calculated foreplay, only the desperate desire to be closer. As his lips crashed against yours, his footing gave way to his eagerness.
"I've been...waiting for this all night," his breath hitched.
His touch was everywhere all at once, his palms sliding up your ribs, his knee forced its way between your legs. The moment you hit the mattress, the last of Levi's hesitation evaporated. He didn't waste time. With a low growl, he hooked his arm under your knee, hiking one of your thighs high against his side to open you completely to him. He didn't wait for a slow build. He guided himself to your entrance and pushed inside with a slow, heavy deliberation that made the air catch in your throat.
The sensation was overwhelming, a blunt, searing fullness that seemed to anchor him to the present.
His movements were like a man in control. Instead, they were long and deep, his hips rolling into yours with a desperate, uneven friction. One moment, he was slow, as if he were trying to savour the feel of you; the next, he was frantic, his breath hitched in a ragged pant. He moved like an animal fighting against the very reason, his teeth grazed your shoulder, his fingers dug into the bedding as he sought a deeper, more impossible closeness.
"You're...everything," he choked out, his voice cracking. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his sweat-slicked skin sliding against yours. He wasn't the grumpy Levi right now; he was just a man who had finally found his way home, losing himself in the messy, beautiful reality of your body.
As he moved into you, the friction of his body against your clit sent jolts of electricity straight to your core. Your back arched off the mattress, your fingers dug into the sheets as the tension coiled tighter. The pleasure wasn't just a simmer anymore; it was a fever and a burn that made your vision blur.
"Levi...please..." you gasped, as your climax finally took hold.
The sudden, rhythmic pulsing of your walls around him was the final straw. Levi didn't slow down to savour your release; instead, the sensation seemed to drive him over the edge. Any lingering tipsiness was burned away by the pure adrenaline rush.
He surged upward, kneeling over you so his full weight and strength were behind every movement. His hands shifted from your waist to your shoulders, pinning you to the bed as he began to buck against you with a frantic power.
His movements were no longer long or smooth; they were hard, fast, and desperate. He was a man possessed; his breath came in ragged, guttural hitches that echoed in the quiet room. He didn't look away from you; his pupils were wide with a primal worship. He was chasing his own release with a singular, fierce focus, his body trembling with the effort to stay upright.
The room was filled with the heavy sound of his body smacking against yours, a raw friction that showed how much his restraint had fallen. Levi wasn't holding back anymore; every hard, fast thrust was driven by a primal desperation to be as close to you as possible.
He looked down at you. "God, you're...incredible," he managed to choke out. "Look at you. Look how you're taking all of me." He watched the way your skin flushed, the way your muscles jumped under his touch, and he couldn't stop the praise pouring out of him. "So beautiful. My girl...you're so perfect for me."
He felt like he was in heaven, the heat of your body anchoring him in a way no drink ever could. The friction was reaching a fever pitch, his muscles trembling with the effort of maintaining the pace. He felt the familiar, sharp coil of his own release snapping at his heels, his hand slid forward under your lower back to tilt your pelvis up, deepening the connection until there wasn't a bit of space between you.
"I can't...I'm not going to pull out," he breathed, his forehead dropping against yours. "I want to stay. Can I? Can I come inside you?"
The thought of him filling you, of that final, ultimate mark of his devotion, made your heart hammer against your ribs. "Please," you pleaded, your voice hitching as you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist. "Yes, Levi. Do it. Please."
That was all the permission he needed. With a low, guttural moan, he buried himself as deep as he could go. His body locked up, his back arching as he spent himself inside you in long, pulsing waves. He stayed there, pinned to you, his heart thudding against your chest as the world finally slowed down.
The intensity of the movement finally broke, leaving the room thick with the sound of heavy panting. Levi didn't pull away; instead, he collapsed forward, his forehead resting against yours as he fought to bring air back into his lungs.
Slowly, Levi calmed down. The fog in his eyes was clear and filled with a shimmering clarity as he looked at you. He started to pepper your face with kisses, small, tender ones against your lips and cheeks.
"God..." he moaned your name. He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "I'm sorry. I was...I was too rough. I lost my head."
He looked concerned, his brows furrowed as he scanned your expression for any sign of discomfort. The guilt of losing his composure was visible.
"I wanted it. I wanted you." You caressed his cheek. "I loved it. I loved all of it because I love you."
"Stay there," he commanded. "Don't move. I'm going to take care of you."
Despite the lingering heaviness in his limbs, his deep need to take care of you took over. He climbed out of bed, his movements a bit slow but focused.
He returned a moment later with warm water and a soft cloth. He was now his soft self, who worshipped the very ground you walked on. he sat on the edge of the bed and began to tenderly clean your skin, his touch light.
"You're good to me," he murmured, his eyes fixed on his work as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. "Thank you for coming to get me. I don't ever want to be anywhere else but here."
"You're wonderful to me too, the perfect man." You caressed his cheek. "I always want you with me."
"Good."
After he finished tending to you with a damp cloth, his movements remained with soft tenderness. He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned with two glasses of cool water. The condensation trickled on the glass. He sat back on the bed, his frame still a little heavy, and helped you sit up against the pillows.
"Drink," he mumbled.
He held you tightly against his side, his arm a solid weight around your shoulders as you both hydrated in the quiet dark. There was something so intimate about the silence, just the two of you, sharing a simple glass of water after the storm of the last hour. He took a long drink of his own glass before setting both glasses on the nightstand.
The moment they were down, he pulled you back into the centre of the bed, his limbs tangled with yours as he tucked your head directly under his chin. He held you with a protective grip, hoping to merge your heartbeats.
"I mean it," he whispered into your hair, his breath warm. "I'm sorry for being so...I shouldn't have let myself get that far gone."
You rubbed his chest. "Levi. I wanted it all. You were amazing, and I loved every moment. I love you."
He squeezed you tighter, his fingers slowly tracing patterns on your arm. "I love you more than anything. You know that, right? Coming to get me from that hellhole...taking care of me..." He paused, his voice craking just a bit from the honesty he only ever showed you. "You're the perfect girlfriend. I don't deserve you, but I'm damn sure not letting you go."
"Promise?"
He chuckled. "Promise."
As the last of the adrenaline faded, he pressed one final lingering kiss to the top of your head, his eyes finally fluttering shut as he held his entire world in his arms.
pairing: king!bucky barnes x commoner!reader, cinderella au
warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, dilf bucky, age gap, a man who yearns is a man who earns, jealousy, possessive behavior, daddy issues, physical violence and parental abuse, arguments, sexual tension, banter, semi-public sex, power dynamic, oral f!receiving, fingering, breeding kink, size difference, pet names: "my dear" "sweetheart" "my love"
word count: 16.3k
masterlist || đšđ˝. 1
a/n: due to popular demand + the new bridgerton season inspiring me. fic playlist
synopsis:
After fleeing the palace, you are now the most wanted woman in the kingdomâcaught between Prince Jamie, who won't let go, and his father, King Barnes, who refuses to lose.
After your discreet exit from the palace, you hadnât expected your step-family to return so soon. You had hoped for a few hours of solitude to bask in the memory of the Kingâs touchâto hold onto the feeling of his lips against your skin before reality reclaimed you.
But Beatrice wouldnât even spare you that small courtesy.
When you had tentatively mentioned your surprise at their early arrival last night, Beatrice had ripped her gloves off with a look of pure agitationâalready in a bad mood.
âThe King cleared the entire ballroom,â Beatrice snapped, her voice trembling with indignant rage. âApparently, some woman he was seeking went missing without his notice, and he turned into a madman. He ended the festivities right then and there, nearly throwing the delegates out of the palace in his haste to find her. The Prince had to deliver the Kingâs order because of how upset he was.â
She narrowed her eyes at you, unaware of the way your heart quickened anxiously at her words.
âA complete waste of a perfectly good gown. All because of some nameless little tramp who didnât know how to stay put.â
Beatrice paused, her tirade dying in her throat as she noticed your hesitation.
She took a slow step toward you, the sharp clack of her heels against the floors made you snap back to a reality you werenât ready to face.
âIâm surprised youâre still awake,â she pointed out suspiciously. Her eyes trailed over you, scanning from your head to your toes as if searching for a single hair out of place.
You blinked, forcing your spine to straighten despite the ache in your muscles.
âIâI had only just finished the kitchen,â you stammered. âI was about to climb into bed when the door opened.â
Her eyes narrowed into thin, venomous slits, and you swore you saw her eyebrow twitch as if she realized something. She stepped closer, invading your personal space until you could smell the expensive perfume. For a terrifying heartbeat, you were certain she would call you out, strip you of your dignity, and banish you from your own home and onto the streets to fend for yourself.
But she didnât.
Instead, a cruel, satisfied smirk curled her lips.
âGood girl,â she said, the praise sounding more like she was addressing a well-trained hound than a human being.
And now, with the morning sun rising over the large windows, you find yourself on your hands and knees again, the soaked sponge scrubbing against the marble floors. You were scrubbing a surface that should have already been polishedâhad Agnes not stomped across the foyer in her muddy riding boots without a care in the world.
âAnd donât forget to polish the shoes right after! Iâm going riding again later.â Agnes called out, kicking her boots off haphazardly.
They tossed in your direction, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that splattered even more fresh droplets of muck across the area you had just cleaned.
You winced at the sound, your shoulders aching with a deep, bone weary exhaustion. Your body was utterly spent, and your mind was miles away, still lingering in a dark study filled with the scent of ink, papers, and sex.
You remembered the way the Kingâs body had pressed into yours, the feel of his salt and pepper beard tickling your chin just before his lips collided with your own. He was a King who never knew what it was like to be hungry, yet he took you and made love to you like a man starving.
Agnes let out a tired groan, dragging her feet to meet her sister Margaret on the couch. She slumped down next to her, tossing her head back against the cushions with a weary sigh, acting as if she even knew what a truly hard day felt like.
âI canât believe it,â Agnes whined, her voice high and grating. âSuch gorgeous dresses wasted on a night that lasted a mereâwhat? Three, four hours? Ugh, I just canât believe it!â
âTell me about it, sister,â Margaret sighed, flipping the page of a book she was hardly reading. âPrince Jamie throws the most beautiful ballâand then his father comes in with a snap of his fingers and ruins it all.â
âI didnât see much of King Barnes last night either,â Agnes added, leaning in closer like sheâs sharing a secret. âHe appeared for the toast and then vanished like a ghost. He didnât even acknowledge the receiving line!â
Margaret let out a sharp, cynical laugh. âKing Barnes is always out and about, hardly ever present at his own balls, much less his sonâs. Makes you wonder why he ended it early in the first place. You know, I hear His Majesty has been messing around with several women behind closed doors.â
You felt your body go rigid.
âMargaret! You mustnât speak of the King that way!â Agnes giggled, though she didnât look the least bit offended.
âWhat? It is true! There are rumors,â Margaret insisted, smiling wide. She leaned in, using the book as âcoverâ, though her whispers were anything but quiet.
âThey say heâs a coldhearted rake who keeps a string of nameless girls in the west wing just to pass the time. He probably found a new plaything in one of the corridors and decided the ball was no longer worth his attention.â
You squeezed the scrub brush until your knuckles turned white, the soapy water burning the small cuts on your hands. Every word out of their mouths made you feel sickâalmost disgusted with yourself.
They were talking about the man who had held and kissed your hand with such kindness, the man who had looked at your burn marks and seen beauty instead of a blemish.
But to the world, he was just a predator who took what he wanted simply because he couldâand you were nothing more than a nameless rumor to be laughed at over morning tea.
âNow, ladies,â Beatriceâs voice rang from the stairs, echoing off the high walls.
Her hands gripped the railing as she stared down at everyone from above, slowly making her descent. With each step, the sharp clicks of her heels sounded like a threat.
âThatâs not the way to talk about our King,â she warned.
âIt wasnât fair!â Agnes continued anyway, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. âThe Prince didnât even look our way. He spent the entire night dancing with that⌠that nobody.â
âA random woman,â Margaret scoffed, finally shutting her book with a sharp snap. âShe wasnât even that beautiful. Her hair was far too simple, and that dress? It looked like something from a past decade. Where was she from, anyway? Some⌠obscure foreign land?â
âShe must have been,â Agnes added, her voice rising to a whine. âDid you see her? She could hardly even dance! The Prince asks you to dance and you canât even deliver? Ridiculous.â
Margaret leaned forward, her eyes malicious. âAnd the Prince only had eyes for her. But that wasnât even the scandalous partâshe danced with the King, too! Right in front of the entire court.â
Agnes blinked, as if piecing something together. Then, she let out a sharp gasp that made you jump.
âWhat if Prince Jamie is no better than his father? What if theyâre just alike? Perhaps they shared her in a corridor in the west wing before the night was through.â
They both broke into fits of snickers, their hands covering their mouths as they giggled at the mental image of your degradation.
You just wished the marble floors would open up and swallow you whole.
To them, the most beautiful and profound moment of your life was nothing more than a dirty joke.
Beatrice met them in the living room, crossing her arms over her chest. âFret not, ladies. She was probably some impoverished Duchess from the North, trying to sink her claws into the crown before the night was up.â
You kept your head down, your fingers tightening around the damp handle of your scrub brush. Your skin crawled as they picked apart your appearance, your dancing, everything. They were completely unaware that the so called âimpoverishedâ woman they were mocking was currently kneeling in the dirt at their feet.
Every insult only felt like a splash of cold water, reminding you that in their worldâand Buckyâsâyou were merely an interloper who didnât belong.
From the corner of her eye, Beatrice noticed the frown on your face. A slow, cruel smile tugged across her red lips. To her, your grimace was nothing more than bitter jealousy. She turned to you, smoothing her skirt as her eyes locked onto yours with a sympathy so forced she might as well not have bothered.
âItâs a shame you couldnât have gone,â Beatrice said, her voice sweet and fake. âThe palace was truly beautiful. The way the light hit the gold⌠itâs a world you canât even begin to imagine, isnât it, dear?â
You bit your tongue so hard you tasted copper. You wanted to tell her. You wanted to look her in the eye and tell her that not only had you shared a dance with the Prince they sought after, but the King had worshipped you.
He had called you his girl.
He hadnât âruinedâ the ballâhe had ended it because he couldnât stand a single second of it without you by his side.
But you knew that arguing with the ignorant would get you nowhere, so you did what you did best, which was staying silent and unassuming.
âBut then, someone has to stay behind and make sure the house doesnât fall into ruin. We canât all be Princesses for a night.â Beatrice let out a small, airy laughâas if this was all just a joke to her.
âAnyway, back to work!â She suddenly commanded. âAgnesâ riding boots wonât clean themselves, and I expect the foyer to be spotless before afternoon tea.â She glanced at her daughters slouching on the couch. âUp, girls. Itâs time for piano lessons.â
Agnes and Margaret pushed up from the couch, giving you glances they would as if it giving it to a insectâthough, theyâd probably look kinder than that.
You dipped your brush into the bucket, the cold water stinging the raw skin of your hands. You had dreamt of him in the few short hours of peace youâd found in your bed, and even now, amidst the dirt and cruel insults, your mind was still entirely consumed by him.
You could still feel the phantom sensation of his touch against your waist and the husky rasp of his voice calling you his.
His girl.
And even though you knew deep down that a maid had no chance of being with a King, a small, stubborn part of you couldnât help but wonder.
You wondered if he was standing in that cold, empty study right now, staring at the empty space on the desk youâd left behind. You wondered if, despite the crown and the kingdom, he was still thinking about you all the same.
Back at the palace, the morning sun bled through the towering windows, but the light felt intrusive. Bucky stood eerily still, staring out over the kingdom that belonged to him, his tired gaze fixed on the town below.
He hadnât changed his clothes. He hadn't slept.
In his hand, he held your white lace glove. He squeezed it so tightly his knuckles turned white, the delicate fabric bunching against his palm. He kept finding himself closing his eyes, bringing the lace to his face to inhale the fading scent of rosewater that still clung to the threads.
Every time he exhaled and opened his eyes, those icy blue orbs were filled with a dangerous mix of both yearning and fury.
How dare you leave him?
He had marked you. He had claimed you. And yet, you had slipped through his fingers like smoke, leaving him with nothing but a scrap of lace and a hollow, agonizing ache in his chest.
He knew he should sleep. He should take a hot bath, wash the scent of the night off his skin, and finally eatâbut he couldnât.
Not when you were still clawing your way into his mind, nearly driving him mad.
A set of footsteps approached him with caution. It was the same attendant from last night, looking pale and trembling.
Bucky knew he should have sent the man to the gallows the moment he realized the attendant had helped you escape. It would have been easy. But it also would have been unreasonableâthe man was simply doing his job and doing what he was used to with⌠Buckyâs shameful previous moments before you.
âSire,â the man stammered, bowing so low he nearly tipped over. âRegarding the girl... and the abrupt end to the ball.â
âIt seems Prince Jamie also ordered the ballroom to clear shortly after you left the dais,â the attendant whispered. âHe told the guests it was by your direct commandâthat the King demanded the palace be emptied for a search. He spent the remainder of the night with the captain of the guard, scouring the lower gates for a âmissing guest.ââ
Buckyâs grip on the glove tightened until the lace threatened to tear.
Jamie.
His own son had used his name to chase after the same woman. Buckyâs jaw clenched so hard his molars ached. The boy gets one dance with a pretty woman and he forgets himself. He forgets who he isâand more importantly, who his father is.
âHe did, did he?â Buckyâs rumbled.
âYes, Your Majesty.â
The silence between them was so still and heavy, that the faint ticking of the clock across the room sounded like a hammer against an anvil. The attendant remained rooted to the spot, standing so rigidly perfect that his spine began to ache, his breath held in his chest as he waited for the Kingâs next move.
âBring him to me,â Bucky finally ordered. He glanced at the attendant over his shoulder. âMy son. Bring him to me. Now.â
âY-yes, Your Majesty!â
The attendant gave one final, frantic bow before scrambling away to fetch Jamie. Left in the sudden quiet, Bucky turned his gaze back to the window, his mind a turbulent storm of a million different thoughts.
Bucky had always prided himself on being a good King. He was a man who ruled with a steady hand, treating his people with a fairness that was rare for his station. He gave everything to the land and asked for very little in return; he was hardly ever a selfish man.
He took that same pride in his role as a father. He had raised Jamie with meticulous care, shielding him from the hardness of his own past. He had taught the boy how to be a gentleman, how to be polite, and above all, how to treat a woman with kindnessâall the virtues Bucky himself had lacked growing up.
But now, staring out at the kingdom he had built, Bucky realized that his own teachings had backfired.
He had taught his son how to recognize a woman of worth, and now, they were both hunting the same girl.
âFather,â Jamie panted, the words catching in his throat as he reached the top of the stairs. He came to a halt behind Bucky, maintaining a respectful distance between themâthe gap between a Prince and his King.
âYou called for me?â
Bucky turned slowly to face his son. He didnât offer a greeting; rather, he simply watched, his eyes tracking the way Jamieâs shoulders rose and fell with every labored breath. He took note of the sheen of sweat on the boyâs forehead and the way he struggled to compose himself after the lengthy climb.
Bucky pursed his lips, a small pang of disappointment hitting his chest as he judged his sonâs lack of stamina.
Perhaps he hadnât been such a good father after all. Because as he stood there, watching Jamie stumble over his own exhaustion, the only thing Bucky could think was that the boy was outmatched.
Jamie was too soft, too unseasoned. He could never hope to catch up to a woman like youâand he certainly wouldnât be able to catch up with you in bed.
âI hear that you cleared the guests out shortly after I performed the toast,â Bucky said, dangerously calm. âI couldnât quite remember if the invitation mentioned the ball ending at midnight. I found myself wondering why the palace was being emptied with such⌠urgency.â
Jamie stayed quiet.
Bucky took a step closer.
âI was also told that you ordered every guest to leave under my command,â Bucky added, his tone dropping deeper and quieter. âUsing my name to finish a party that you were so excited to host. Why is that, son?â
Jamie stood up straighter, his own blue eyes sparkling with an enthusiasm that made Buckyâs eyebrow twitch. He didnât see the storm brewing in his fatherâs expression; he only saw an opportunity to confide in the man he looked up to.
âI had to, Father,â Jamie admitted, a small, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. âThere was a woman. Iâve never seen anyone like herâshe wasnât like the usual court vultures. She was... magnetic. But she vanished the moment the clock struck twelve.â
Jamie took a deep breath, his chest puffing out slightly as he warmed to the subject, completely oblivious to the fact that his father was slowly losing his grip on his patience.
âI used your name because I knew the guards wouldnât question it. I needed the halls clear so I could find her before she slipped past the gates. I just⌠I couldnât let her go without knowing who she was. I think I might be in love with her, Father. Iâve never felt this way about anyone before.â
Every word out of Jamieâs mouth felt like a personal insultâa boyâs shallow infatuation trying to claim territory already conquered by a King.
A desperate part of him hoped, prayed, that the woman Jamie was describing wasnât you. He wanted there to be a small, flickering chance that Jamie had met someone else, anyone else, who wasnât the girl in the silver blue dress.
âIn love?â Bucky repeated bitterly in disbelief. âYou shared a single dance with a stranger, and youâve decided itâs love?â
âIt was more than a dance,â Jamie insisted, his voice rising with that same stubbornness Bucky had at his age. âThere was a connection. I could tell she felt it, too. She was shy, hesitant, but there was a fire in her. Surely, you understand? You danced with her, too.â
Bucky felt like he wanted to punch a wall.
âYou saw her up close. She was beautifulâeven underneath the mask. Her eyes were so kindââ
Bucky couldnât stand to hear another word.
ââand her laugh was hypnotizing. She didnât even know how to dance, but she was the sweetest thing in the roomââ
Bucky felt like he was going insane. He had never, ever hated anyone as much as he hated his own son in this very moment. Each compliment Jamie uttered felt like a hand reaching for a prize that Bucky had already locked away in his soul.
âSonââ
ââI want to marry her, Father,â Jamie interrupted, his voice suddenly stern and determined.
His blue eyesâso like Buckyâs ownâmet the Kingâs with a steady gaze, and Bucky felt a wave of nausea roll through him.
âI finally found herâmy Princess. I want her to stand by my side at court as my wife. She would be the most perfect woman for it,â Jamie continued, a small, subtle blush creeping onto his cheeks at the mere thought. âPrincess BarnesâŚâ
Princess Barnes?
Bucky scoffed, a rude, incredulous sound that escaped his throat before he could stop it. Jamieâs head tilted, noticing the reaction, but Bucky was far beyond caring about appearances. Princess was a title for a girl playing at house. It was a secondary rank, a title that lived in the shadow of another.
No. That wasnât right at all. You werenât meant to be a Princess. You were meant to be a Queen. Queen Barnes. His Queen. His equal, his partner, his obsession. Not his sonâs plaything.
Bucky forced himself to reel back, drawing a slow, heavy breath into his lungs. He was a father first, a King second. He needed to speak carefully, to dismantle this before it ruined them both.
âDo not be a fool, Jamie,â Bucky said. âYou are talking about a woman you do not know. You are rushing into a fantasy. Marriage is about stability, about the crownânot about a girl who didnât know how to waltz... or⌠or one who didnât even have the decency to stay!â
It was cruelly ironic. He was lying through his teeth, and the taste of it was bitter. Every criticism he hurled at you felt like a sin, but he had to dissuade his son.
He had to make you sound small, sound insignificant, so that Jamie would stop looking for you.
âWait for the reports,â Bucky continued, his voice biting and harsh. His hand tightened around the lace, his grip crushing the delicate fabric more with every word.
âDo not waste your time. Focus on your duties. Do not go chasing shadows in theââ
âFather,â Jamie interrupted suddenly.
âWhat?â Bucky snapped, his patience fraying.
Jamie took a step forward. The moment Bucky saw his sonâs eyes lock onto the white fabric clenched between his fingers, his blood ran cold.
âThat glove,â Jamie whispered, his eyes widening with shock. He looked back up at his father, his breath hitching. âI recognize it. Itâs hers. I held that hand while we danced... I know the pattern of that lace by heart.â
Bucky pressed his lips together, his entire body coiling like a spring. He braced himself for the explosion. He expected Jamie to yell, to seethe in betrayal, to realize that his father had been hiding the woman he âlovedâ just a room away last night.
But instead, a bright, hopeful smile tugged at Jamieâs lips. His eyes sparked with a pure, joyous relief.
âYou found her,â Jamie breathed, letting out a small, huffing laugh of disbelief. âYou found her for me, didnât you? You saw how much I wanted her... and you went and found her.â
And now, Bucky wished Jamie wouldâve just yelled at him instead.
Before he could even respond, Jamie was already beaming with glee. Any other father would relish seeing their own son happy, but for Bucky, he felt like he was suffocating.
âWe must arrange a carriage for her at once!â Jamie exclaimed, already pacing the rug. âI need to have her hereâin this palace. I have so much to say to her, Iââ
Bucky shut his eyes tight, his mouth shuddering as he felt the delicate lace of your glove crushing against his palm. Right now, it felt like it was the only piece he had left of you.
âSon. Enoughââ
âThis is incredible! I⌠I never expected you to go out of your way for me like this, Father. I thought you were disappointed, but you were actuallyââ
Buckyâs heart was clawing its way out of his ribs. It was a frantic, taunting thud that made him feel like he was about to collapse under his own deceit.
âJamie. Stop itââ
âThank you, Father! Truly. Once we bring her back hereâthe moment she steps off that carriageâIâm going to propose. Iâll give her the world. Iâllââ
Propose?
Give you the world?
He wanted to give you the world?
Jamie didnât even know your world. He didnât know the way you tasted, or the way you trembled when a real man laid hands on you.
Bucky had given the order to the attendant the moment you vanished. He had planned to have his men quietly intercept you, to bring you back to his private chambers before your carriage could even take you past the palace gates. But Jamieâs âfake commandâ had ruined everything. The sudden, chaotic crowd of hundreds of guestsâthe horses, the carriages, the shoutingâhad created a wall of bodies and steel that Buckyâs men couldnât penetrate.
The guilt Bucky felt was suddenly swallowed by a surging, irrational wave of resentment. This was Jamieâs fault. All of it.
His sonâs childish interference was the reason you were gone. His vanity was the reason Bucky was standing here with an empty heart and a stolen glove.
Buckyâs restraint vanished completely. His arm moved in a blur of pure, enraged adrenaline. His fist collided with Jamieâs jaw with a sickening crack, the force of the blow sending his son stumbling back in pain.
âGoddamnit, Jamie!â Bucky barked, his thunderous voice echoing off the high walls like a cannon firing away. âI said that is enough!â
Buckyâs chest heaved, his eyes widening with horror as dark crimson began to leak between Jamieâs fingers, staining his pristine white cuffs. The adrenaline that had fueled the punch evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, sickening hollow. He stared at his own knuckles, then back at the blood on his sonâs face.
âFuck,â Bucky cursed. He took a frantic step forward, his hand reaching out. âJamieââ
âDonât!â Jamie hissed, flinching away from the touch. He looked up, his eyes glassy with tears he refused to let fall. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, but the blood only smeared across his cheek, making him look even more broken.
âI just wanted to make you proud, Father. Thatâs all Iâve ever tried to do,â Jamie muttered, his gaze dropping to his boots.
âJamie, that isnâtââ
âI thought youâd be happy!â Jamieâs voice broke. âI thought youâd finally be glad to see me take a wife, to see me grow up. I thought this was my dutyâto find a woman who could lead by my side. But⌠but I can never win with you, can I? No matter what I do, itâs never enough. Iâm never enough!â
Bucky felt like his chest was being stepped on.
He had hit his own son.
In all the years of training and discipline, he had never once raised a hand to the boy in anger. The glove remained clenched in his palmâthe very thing that had started thisâand it suddenly felt as heavy as lead.
âJamie, please,â Buckyâs voice grew quieter, shakier than it had ever been. âYou have to understand. Itâs⌠itâs not that simple. There are things you donât knowââ
âI understand plenty,â Jamie spat. He glared up at his father, a look of such pure resentment that Bucky had never seen before. He wanted to die right then and there.
His own son no longer looked at him like a hero, but like a villainâa tyrant guarding his hoard.
âYou donât want me to have her,â Jamie said, his voice turning to a cold, final whisper. âYou donât want me to have anything.â
âSon, Iââ
Before Bucky could grab his arm, Jamie turned and bolted for the stairs. His footsteps thundered down the hall, each heavy stomp of his boot against the cold floor echoing like the heartbeat in Buckyâs aching chest.
âJamie! Jamie, wait!â Bucky called out, his voice cracking.
He started to follow, but he only made it halfway before he stopped, watching his son disappear around the corner and out of his reach.
You were out in the town again, but the atmosphere felt different, and almost suffocating. As you moved through the market, you couldnât help but notice the royal guards posted at every corner.
Usually, the guards were a lazy fixture of the townâslumped at tavern tables playing cards or nursing drinks, doing a halfhearted job at best. But today, they were different. There were far more of them than usual, all standing with rigid shoulders, their steel armor gleaming with a sharp, intimidating light against the dusty cobblestone walls.
At first, the way they scrutinized the passing crowdâspecifically the womenâ seemed merely inappropriate. But as you stole a glance, a chill settled deep in your bones.
They werenât just watching; they were searching.
You saw them whispering in low, urgent tones, gesturing toward various girls and pointing to the shade of a womanâs hair⌠or the curve of a jawline as if comparing them to a mental checklist.
They were looking for someone with very specific features.
They were looking for you.
You quickly averted your eyes, tucking your chin and clutching your wicker basket against your chest like a shield. You weaved through the morning crowd, trying to make yourself as small and unassuming as possible, desperate to melt into the shadows of the common folk.
You were just steps away from the safety of a produce shop when a commotion at a nearby bread stall caught your ear. Usually, you would have kept your head down, but the desperation in the young manâs voice made you pause.
A boy with a deep hood pulled low was caught in a heated argument with the stall keeper. Even from a distance, you could see his hands were shaking. A dark, ugly bruise was already blooming across the bridge of his nose, accompanied by a faint smear of dried blood.
âItâs just a loaf of bread and some cheese!â the young man argued, his voice surprisingly prideful for a man whoâs supposed to be hungry. âYouâre charging me five times the worth!â
The stall keeper let out a harsh, mocking laugh, leaning over his counter with a sneer.
âWell, when youâre wearinâ a brooch like that,â he pointed a greasy finger at the glimmering silver pin tucked under the boyâs cloak, âit means youâve got money. Or you stole it. Either way, pay up or move on, fancy lad.â
âI told you, I donât have the coin on me! I⌠I left in a hurry,â the boy muttered, his fingers instinctively clutching the brooch. âI wonât give you this. Itâs a family heirloom.â
The keeper scoffed, pulling the tray of food back. âThen starve. I donât run a charity for runaways.â
The boy looked so small in that moment, his shoulders slumping with a defeat that felt all too familiar to you. Despite the danger of the guards nearby, your heart ached for him. You knew exactly what it was like to be seen as insignificant, to be at the mercy of someone more powerful.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward. You pulled a few copper coins from the deep pocket of your skirt and dropped them onto the wooden counter.
âThat should cover it,â you said. âAnd the change is for your trouble. Let the boy have the food.â
The keeperâs eyes didnât even glance at you nor the copper. They remained glued on the glimmering silver pinned to the boyâs chest.
âI donât want your coin, girl,â he grunted, his gaze narrowing with greed. âI want that brooch. That silver alone is worth more than my entire stall.â
The young man bristled, his hand tightening over the heirloom, but before he could snap back, you spoke first.
âCome on, Gary,â you said softly, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. âDidnât you used to pride yourself on making your craft affordable for the needy? Youâve helped me out plenty of times when the month was lean. Surely, you can lend a hand to someone else in need.â
Gary finally shifted his eyes away from the boy. When he realized it was you standing there, his harsh expression faltered just slightly. He took a long look at you, then back at the battered, hooded boy, and finally at the humble copper coins on the counter.
He knew you; he knew you worked hard and rarely asked for favors.
âFine,â Gary grumbled, snatching the coins off the wood with a reluctant huff.
He wrapped a loaf of bread and a thick wedge of cheese in a rough cloth and shoved it roughly toward the boy. âYou owe her one, spoiled brat. Donât let me see you around here again.â
The boy lifted his hands hesitantly to grab the parcel. He swallowed hard, shifting his attention toward you. His face flushed, and you couldnât tell if it was the humiliation of a common maid helping a man like him, or simply the throbbing pain of his injury.
âThank you, missââ he began.
As he tilted his head back to look at you, the sunlight caught the high curve of his cheekbones and the unmistakable cool shade of blue in his eyes.
The Barnes eyes.
Even with the dark, jagged bruise across his nose, there was no mistaking that it was him.
The blood drained from your face so fast, you felt your head spinning. You froze, your hands tightening on the wicker basket. Your heart, which had been steady just now in your confidence with Gary, now thrashed against your ribs like a trapped bird.
âI⌠Iââ you stuttered. You took a step back, bumping into a frantic man who yelled, âWatch your step!â but you paid no mind. Your gaze darted to the guards huddled at the end of the street.
It was no wonder why there were so many of them posted today. They werenât just looking for you. They were also looking for Buckyâs son.
If they saw you talking to himâif they realized who he was and who you wereâit was over.
You braced yourself for Jamieâs face to light up, expecting him to seize your hands and declare heâd finally found you. But instead, his brows furrowed in confusion. He took in your messy hair, your trembling lip, and your simple, soot-stained maidâs uniform.
To him, you were just a kind girl of the working classâa far cry from the elegant vision of silver, blue, and lace he had held in the golden ballroom.
Jamie leaned in slightly, his gaze searching yours with a look of dawning and haunting familiarity.
âAre you quite alright?â he asked softly. He paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the shape of your faceâthe curve of your jaw, the fullness of your lips, the depth of your eyes. âWaitâŚâ
He trailed off, and you felt your stomach turn.
âDo I know you from somewhere? You look... strangely familiar.â
âI⌠no,â you stammered, forced a short, brittle laugh that sounded more like a gasp of air. âItâs a small town. You must have me confused with someone else. Iâuh, have a good day, Your HighnessâI mean, sir!â
Jamieâs face shifted, a flicker of recognition sparking in his eyes. You sucked in a sharp breath, mentally cursing yourself for that slip-up. Before he could voice the realization, you turned on your heel and bolted, weaving through the thicket of market-goers frantically.
âMaâam, wait!â Jamieâs voice called out from behind you, sounding strained and breathless.
You didnât look back. You kept your head down, convinced that every second spent in his presence brought you a second closer to a prison cell.
If the guards found you and dragged you back to the King, the rumors would devour you. Youâd be branded a whore. Your step-family would throw you onto the streets without a second thought. The King would never provide for you; he was a King, and you were a maid, for Godâs sake. And now, you werenât just caught up with the King, but with the Prince as well.
âPlease, wait!â Jamieâs voice grew more distant and more desperate the further you pulled away.
You rounded the corner into a narrow alleyway. Just as you were about to disappear around the far end to lose him for good, curiosityâor perhaps lingering empathyâmade you glance over your shoulder.
Jamie wasnât running anymore. He was halfway into the alley, his body swaying dangerously. His face, already pale, had turned a sickly shade of grey. He reached out a trembling hand, catching himself against the damp brick wall to keep from collapsing.
You stopped. You were ten feet away from freedom, but you couldnât move. You watched as his knees buckled, his head dropping as he fought a losing battle to stay conscious.
You hissed a curse under your breath. You were a commoner, a maid who had no business meddling with anyone associated with a crown.
Yet, your feet were already moving back to him.
You hurried back to him, slipping into the shadows just as he began to slide down the wall. You caught him by the shoulders, your wicker basket dropping to the cobblestones as you struggled to stabilize his weight with yours.
âSir? Sir, look at me,â you cooed, but Jamie didnât answer.
He instinctively leaned into your touch, his head rolling forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder. He was bigger and far heavier than you expected. Realizing you couldnât hold him up for long, you allowed him to slide down the wall, sinking to the ground with him to act as his support.
He smelled of expensive cedar wood and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. A soft, pained groan escaped his lips, and he weakly gripped your forearms, his fingers digging into the rough fabric of your sleeves.
âI... I have you,â you murmured, shifting your body to support him. âJust breathe. Youâre alright.â
Jamie let out a jagged, shallow breath, his eyes squeezed shut as he leaned more heavily into you.
âGod⌠this hurts like hell,â he rasped.
A small frown creased your brow. Despite the danger, the sight of himâso young and so clearly sufferingâpulled at a maternal instinct you couldnât suppress.
âHush now,â you murmured.
Reaching up, you gently pushed back the heavy fabric of his hood. It fell back, revealing the full extent of the damage. The bruise was even worse up close. A deep, angry purple had swollen the bridge of his nose. You reached out, your fingers brushing his sweat dampened hair away from his forehead to get a better look at his face.
Up close, the resemblance to the King was haunting, but where Buckyâs features were hardened by duties and age, Jamieâs were still soft and pure.
You wanted to ask what happenedâhow a Prince who was always protected, who had likely never raised a hand in a real fight, had ended up looking like that in a place like this, so far from the safety of the palace.
âStay here. Donât move,â you commanded softly when he tried to shift.
You stood up and reached for the clean rag tucked into the waistband of your skirtâa bit of linen you used for workâand hurried to the small stone well tucked into a nook near the alley entrance. The pulley creaked as you splashed the fabric into the bucket, the water coming up icy and clear.
Wringing it out, you rushed back to his side and sank back down onto the cobblestones. Jamieâs head was lolling against the brick, his eyes half open and glazed.
âHere,â you whispered.
You pressed the cold, wet cloth gently against his nose and forehead. He hissed, flinching at the initial sharpness of the cold, but then his eyes fluttered shut as the chill began to numb the throbbing ache.
âThank you,â he breathed, his hand coming up to weakly cover yours, holding the rag in place. He stayed like that for a long moment, leaning into the coolness and your presence.
Then, without opening his eyes, a small, pained smile touched his lips. âYou have very kind hands, for a stranger.â
You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes on the damp cloth. âThatâs just what we do in this town,â you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper. âWe help each other. Even strangers.â
There was a soft, moment of silence in the damp alleyway. Gradually, Jamieâs ragged breathing began to steady into an even pace. He seemed stable enough now to be left on his ownâyou could leave, you should leaveâbut for some reason, your feet wouldnât move. The way his shoulders had completely slumped was a sign that he felt safe.
Safe simply because of your presence.
âYeah,â Jamie breathed, the word trailing off into the quiet air.
He didnât open his eyes yet, but his head tilted slightly toward you, his skin appearing ghostly white against the dark, angry bloom of his bruise.
âBut youâre not a stranger, are you?â
You froze, your hand still trapped beneath his on the wet linen rag. You didnât dare look at him, terrified that the recognition in his voice would be reflected in his eyes.
âI⌠I donât know what you mean, sir,â you managed to say, though your heart was beating so loudly, you were certain he could feel it through your hand and up your arm.
âYour hands,â he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, âthey feel familiar. Hands Iâve held before. And your voiceâŚâ He sucked in a shallow, shaky breath, his eyelashes fluttering as he finally opened his eyes to look at you. âItâs soothing. Just like hers.â
You knew there was no point in playing dumb any longer. Prince Jamie was smartâand he had already seen right through you. Continuing the charade in front of an injured manâmuch less a Princeâ felt less like a safety measure and more like rubbing salt into an open wound.
With a defeated sigh, you tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened to keep you there.
It seemed that being unyielding and possessive were simply the many traits of the Barnes bloodline.
âYour Highnessââ
âPlease,â Jamie interrupted, his voice weak and tired. âJust call me Jamie. I⌠I hardly look like a Prince at the moment, and I certainly havenât been acting like one.â
Your frown deepened. You found yourself relaxing under his touch. He looked utterly defeatedâlonely, exhausted, and stripped of the regal armor he usually wore so well. Your heart ached for him, and the question slipped past your lips before you could think to stop it.
âWhat happened, Jamie?â
Jamieâs shoulders tensed, and you regretted the question the second it left your lips. But before you could retract it, he surprised you by actually answering.
âI had an argument,â he began, his voice sounding hollow. âWith the Kingâmy father.â He paused, a flicker of pain crossing his features that had nothing to do with his physical injuries. Then, his eyes locked onto yours. âWe had an argument about you, actually.â
You held your breath, not daring to speak.
âI wanted to find you,â Jamie continued. âI wanted to find you and make youââ he swallowed hard, a sudden flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. ââI wanted to make you my wife. I thought you were the perfect woman to stand by my side on the throne. I assumed you were a noble woman in hiding.â
âOh, dearâŚâ you muttered before you could stop yourself.
Jamie caught the remark and huffed a dry, self-deprecating laugh. He seemed to realize in that moment just how naive his assumptions had been.
âI just wanted to make my father proud. I wanted to do my duty as his sonâto finally choose a bride. But when I told him I had decided it would be you, heâŚâ
Jamieâs jaw clenched as he remembered the look in his fatherâs eyesâthe look of a man who had no intention of letting his son claim the woman he wanted for himself.
âIâve never seen him act like this,â he continued. âHe hasnât slept, eaten, or even changed his clothes since the ball ended. When I told him I was adamant about finding you, he raised his hand to me. And⌠I left. I couldn't stay in that palace a moment longer.â
He tried to sit up a little straighter, groaning.'
âMy father is usually a cold, composed man. To see him lash out like this⌠to see him unravel over youâit made me realize that I wasnât the only one who wanted you. And who am I to compete against a King?â
He let out another laugh, though there was no humor in it. Only sadness.
âMy father,â Jamie swallowed hard, his sad blue eyes meeting yours. âHe loves you. And I can see why. Youâre kind, gentle, andâŚâ he looked down at your frayed, dirty dress before tracing back up to your face, âeven though youâre a maid, youâve captured my fatherâs heart. Terrifyingly so.â
âJamie,â you sighed, forcing a reassuring smile. You reached up, your hand gently cupping his cheek to try and calm him. âThe King doesnât love me. He loves the woman he saw at the ball. Nothing more.â
Jamie tilted his head, his brows furrowing. The look he gave you was hauntingly similar to Buckyâsâthat same piercing, knowing gaze, as if he were silently calling you out on your bullshit.
âHe didnât fall in love with the woman at the ball,â Jamie corrected softly, his eyes searching yours. âHe fell in love with the woman he saw at Marthaâs dress shop.â
You froze, blinking at him in sheer disbelief. âM-Martha? You know her?â
âMartha is a long-time family friend,â he explained, his voice finally steadying. âShe was the first person I ran to after I fled the palace. She told me everything.â He let out a weary, ragged sigh. âTurns out thereâs a lot I donât know about my father these daysâlike how he often sneaks out of the palace alone just to linger around her shop as a commoner.â
You bit your lip, the memory of that day rushing back vividly. You remembered him acting as a commoner who had been so charming, stumbling over his words as he spoke to you.
To say you hadnât fallen for him right then and there would have been a lie.
With a tired sigh of your own, you shifted closer, looking him directly in the eye with the firm authority like someone scolding a stubborn child.
âJamie, you need to go home,â you lectured softly. âThere are guards posted everywhere looking for you. Your father must be worried sick in that lonely palace of his.â
You watched his eyes carefully, noticing the deep well of hurt and loneliness they held. It made you want to stay, to protect himâbecause you knew exactly what it felt like to be cast aside and alone.
âYour injury would be healed much faster by proper medics at the palace, not by one of my cheap rags and cold well water,â you added, offering a small smile and a forced, lighthearted laugh to ease the mood.
But Jamie didnât budge.
âProbably,â Jamie whispered, his voice so vulnerable that it made your heart ache. He shrugged so weakly that it looked more like a shudder. âBut this feels far better. It feels like Iâm being cared for by a mother I never had.â
For a moment, you felt as if the air had been knocked out of your lungs.
For a man who held such a prestigious title and a legendary bloodline, he looked so smallâso utterly defeated. Every word that left his lips felt like a needle pulling at the strings of your heart.
With a soft, resigned sigh, you knelt back down in the dirt in front of him. You couldnât leave him like this; you couldnât send him back to a cold palace when he was clearly starving for even a shred of genuine warmth.
âI know that feeling all too well,â you said, your voice barely a whisper as a sad, knowing smile touched your lips.
âI live in a house that feels far too big for the little space Iâm allowed to occupy. I live among people who look at me but never truly see meâwho see a pair of hands to do their bidding rather than a heart thatâs breaking. I know what itâs like to starve for a kind word in a home thatâs supposed to provide shelter.â
You looked at the dark bruising on his face, your own chest aching with every breath he took. âBut Jamie⌠your father isnât like my family. He doesnât look at you and see a servant. I saw the way he looked at you at the ball; I heard the speech he made in your honor. He doesn't just love youâhe lives for you.â
âHe struck me,â Jamie whispered, his lip trembling.
âAnd you shouldâve struck him right back,â you added firmly. âAnd God knows, if I had been there, I wouldâve struck him, too.â
Jamie couldnât help but laughâa genuine, breathy soundâat the absurdity of the image. âStrike the King? Do you truly wish for a death sentence for the both of us?â
You couldnât help but giggle, and the sound seemed to make Jamieâs heavy shoulders ease just a little more. âHe wouldnât do that to youâhe values you too much. Me, on the other hand? Iâd be âoff with my headâ before I could even blink.â
He rolled his eyes again, though his lips remained curved in a soft, lingering smile. âDonât be ridiculous. He wouldnât dare.â
âSo, you understand how kind your father is, despite everything?â
Jamie chewed the inside of his cheek, his gaze dropping to the dirt wedged between the cobblestone. He knew the answerâbut just like his father, his pride was a stubborn barrier, refusing to let him admit it aloud.
âIâll return to the palace,â he said instead. âBut only on one condition.â He reached out, taking your hand in his again. âI want you to come with me. My father⌠heâs been searching for you since the moment you left that ballroom. Heâs going insane in there, and he needs you.â
âJamie, I canât,â you whispered, pulling back slightly. âIâm a commoner. A maid. I donât belong in those halls.â
Jamie didnât argue. He didnât try to persuade you with logic this time, or even use his title to his advantage.
He simply slumped back against the damp brick wall and crossed his arms over his chest with the indignant, brooding pout of a stubborn child.
âThen I wonât go,â he declared flatly, that princely entitlement coming back into his tone. âIâll stay right here in this alley. Iâll rot in the dirt and let the guards find me like this. And it will be all your fault.â
You blinked, stunned. âYou canât be seriousââ
âOh, but I am.â
You stared at him, realizing that for all their power and prestige, the Barnes men were impossibly, infuriatingly stubborn. You glanced toward the mouth of the alley where the guards were pacing.
You cared for him, but you had to put yourself first.
If Jamie returned, the hunt might end. The streets would clear. You could complete your chores without looking over your shoulder every five seconds.
You forced a smile and stood up, brushing the dirt from your skirt before grabbing your basket. You reached out a hand to him, and he looked up at you, his eyes wide and shimmering with sudden hope.
âFine,â you nodded. âLetâs go back to the palace then. Together.â
Jamie blinked at you, his expression frozen for a second as if he couldnât quite believe youâd actually agreed.
Then, a bright, genuine smile broke across his face. He gripped your hand, using it to hoist himself upâthough he was clearly doing most of the heavy liftingâand began brushing the alley dust from his trousers.
âOkay,â he breathed. âLetâs go.â
You let go of his hand and motioned to the end of the alley, where the silhouettes of the guards were still visible against the sunlight. With the wicker basket tucked carefully into the crook of your arm, you gave him a playful bow.
âLead the way, Prince Charming.â
Jamie couldnât help but snicker, the sound light and boyish.
As he led you out of the alley, his chin held high and his hood pushed back, the market noise began to ripple and change. The chaotic noises of bartering died down, replaced by whispering as people realized exactly who was walking among them.
âIs that Prince Jamie?â
âLook at the bruises on his face!â
âWhat is Prince Jamie doing outside of the palace?â
âIs that why there are so many guards?â
One of the guards finally spotted him as the crowd parted like a sea of fish.
âPrince Jamie!â he shouted, stumbling forward as his eyes went wide. âYour Highness! The King has been worried sickâheâs nearly razed the palace to the groundââ
Jamie raised a hand, stopping the guardâs rambling. âI am here, and I am safe,â he said calmly. âNow, arrange a carriage immediately. For me and the maiden. We are going home.â
The guard blinked, visibly confused. âY-your Highness?â
Jamie raised a brow, the Barnes temper flaring just slightly. âWell, donât just stand there gaping! I said arrange a carriage for me andââ he turned halfway, gesturing to the space at his side where you had been standing just a second ago. ââthe maiden.â
But as Jamie looked back, the space was empty.
You were nowhere to be seen.
You found yourself back on your knees in the living room, tending to the flickering flames of the fireplace.
Ever since youâd returned, Beatrice had been even snappier with you than usual. Your encounter with Prince Jamie had made you much later than intended, and for Beatrice, whose patience was already paper thin, this was the final straw.
âHurry up with those flames,â Beatrice barked from behind her teacup. âAnd once youâre finished, we need a fresh pot. Make it quickâyouâre already falling far behind schedule.â
âYes, maâamââ
You hissed as a stray spark leapt from the hearth and bit into your finger. You dropped the iron poker in pain, the metal clattering loudly against the stone.
âIncompetent girl,â Beatrice sneered in disdain. She set her saucer down on the side table with a sharp clack and swept out of the room, leaving you alone in the dim light of the rising fire.
It had been days since Jamie returned to the palace. You felt a twinge of guilt for breaking your promise to go back with him, but you told yourself it was necessary. He was a smart boyâ surely, he would understand that a dirty maid couldnât simply walk through the front gates of a large, pristine palace.
With Jamie home, the number of guards roaming the town had decreased significantly. It was exactly what you had hoped for, yet a small, desperate part of you realized something that hurt.
Bucky hadnât been looking for you all this time.
He was looking for his son.
Your eyes pricked with tears, though you tried to hide it behind the pain stinging your fingers from the fireplace spark.
It was selfish.
It was sad.
It was pathetic for you to crave the feeling of being desiredâof being wanted by the Kingâyet push away every advance both he and the Prince had given you.
As you pushed yourself up to start a new pot of tea, Beatriceâs voice rang out from the other room, shrill and demanding. âThe floors are disgusting! Clean them this instant!â
You called out a quick, âYes, maâam!â and retreated outside to the well. After fetching a heavy bucket of water and mixing in some soap, you began to scrub. The water, which had been clear only seconds ago, was already turning a murky gray. You had just deep cleaned these floors yesterdayâwhat could they have possibly done to make them this filthy again so quickly?
As you scrubbed, your body began to ache with every movement. You leaned back on your heels for just a small moment of respite, trying to catch your breath. The sudden sound of horsesâ hooves clacking against the cobblestone made you instinctively look out the window.
Your eyes widened as you saw the carriagesâfancy, polished, and several of them in a row.
The horses looked powerful and well fed, taken care of far better than you were.
Through the glass, you watched as the carriage door opened, and you felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach.
King Bucky stepped out, looking every bit the sovereign in his dark, tailored suit. For a moment, you didnât believe a word Jamie had said about his father lacking sleep or refusing to change his clothes. This was the exact man you had encountered in the garden the night of the ballâclean, determined, and terrifyingly intimidating.
But it wasnât just his appearance that caught your breath.
It was the small, delicate flash of white tucked into his breast pocket. Peeking out from the dark fabric was a lace glove.
Your glove.
âWhat are you doing? Did I tell you to stop?â Beatriceâs voice shrieked from the hallway, sharp enough to shatter your moment.
You flinched, tearing your gaze away from the window. âSorry, maâam,â you murmured, your voice trembling as you gripped the scrub brush.
You forced your head down, focusing entirely on the floor as you tried to make yourself invisible. You couldnât understand itâwhy was he here?
He had already retrieved his son, hadnât he? What more could he possibly want?
Why couldnât he just leave you alone?
Three solid knocks echoed through the house. Beatrice let out an agitated groan as she stomped toward the door, completely oblivious to the royalty standing just outside. âWho could be here, disrupting my peace?â
As she swung the door open, her annoyed scowl instantly collapsed into a jaw drop.
âY-Your Majesty!â she stammered, her face turning red in shock.
At the sound of the title, your stepsisters came tumbling down the stairs, silk skirts rustling as they shoved one another for a better view. You didnât even need to look back to know they were vibrating with glee.
âThe King is here!â Agnes whisper yelled into her sisterâs ear.
âWhat is he doing here?â Margaret stood on her tippy toes, straining for a better view. âMy, heâs even more handsome in person!â
Agnesâs eyes widened, grabbing her sisterâs arm and bouncing. âDo you think the Prince is here, too? Do you think heâs calling on us?â
âHe must be!â Margaret beamed, her smile so wide it looked painful.
They both smoothed their hair, convinced the Prince had finally sent his father to claim them after the ball. You wanted to snort at how ridiculous they were. After your time with Jamie in the alleyway, you knew for a fact he would never look twice at those two.
Bucky stood just right outside the door, his presence so massive it seemed to suck all the air out of the foyer. He didnât look at the daughters. He didnât even acknowledge Beatriceâs low, trembling curtsy. His eyes were already scanning the interior of the house, sharp and predatory.
âI am looking for someone,â Bucky stated. âA lady who I believe lives in this household. May I come in?â
Beatrice blinked, her hands fluttering nervously at her throat.
She looked back at the living room, where the bucket of gray water sat and you were still huddled on the floor. âOh, Your Majesty... please, the house is quite a mess. Our maid is currently cleaning the floorsâitâs hardly fit for a Kingââ
Buckyâs eyes snapped to hers, cold and dangerous. âAre you denying your King entry?â
Beatriceâs breath hitched, and she let out a small, terrified squeak. âN-No! Never, Your Majesty! Please... forgive me.â
Reluctantly, with her hands shaking, she stepped aside. Bucky crossed the doorframe with a heavy, purposeful stride, the heels of his boots clicking against the very floors you had just been scrubbing. He stopped in the center of the room, his gaze landing directly on you.
His stare was so heavy, it felt suffocating. Yet you didnât dare lift your head. Beatrice scurried to his side.
âAre you here for my daughters, Your Majesty?â she gestured toward Agnes and Margaret, who were still lingering by the staircase. âAgnes, Margaret, come hereââ
Bucky raised a hand, silencing her instantly. âNo.â
Beatriceâs gaze followed the Kingâs, and when she saw how intently he was watching you, she let out an awkward chuckle. âI apologize. My maid must be in your way.â Then, her voice sharpened, loud enough to make you flinch. âThe floor needs scrubbing over here!â
âY-yes, maâam,â you muttered, keeping your head down as you dropped the sponge back into the bucket. You groaned, trying to heave the heavy wooden bucket to the other corner of the room. Bucky watched you, his expression pained as he saw the dirt on your skin and the exhaustion in your movements.
âWell?â Beatrice urged, her voice tight with a forced smile. âBe quick! Donât get in the Kingâs way.â
As you hurried your footsteps, your shoe caught a wet spot on the floor. With your arms aching from the weight of the bucket, you lost your balance. You gasped as the bucket tilted, and a wave of dirty, murky water splashed directly over the Kingâs pristine, polished shoes.
âOh⌠my⌠Godââ Agnes gasped from behind, her hand flying to her mouth in horror.
âThat imbecile!â Margaret hissed, her eyes wide with shock.
Terrified, you didnât even dare glance at Beatrice. Your head tilted up instinctively, your gaze locking onto Buckyâs with worried, pleading eyes.
In that split second, you didnât think about statuses or your station; your eyes gave away everything.
Please, donât be mad at me.
Sheâs going to kill me.
Save me, Bucky.
His expression remained completely unreadable, a mask of stone that made you feel utterly alone. Out of all the mistakes you could have made, this was the worst. This was enough to get you thrown onto the streets. All the hiding, all the rejecting the Prince and Kingâs advancesâit would all be for nothing because you were clumsy enough to spill murky water all over the Kingâs pristine shoes.
Weakly, your voice trembled, so quiet that only he could hear. âB-Buckyââ
But before you could say anything else, Beatriceâs voice barked out like a whip crack. âWhat the hell are you doing just standing there, girl!â
You finally turned to face her. Her features were scrunched into such an ugly grimace of rage, you felt like you could collapse.
âClean his shoes!â she commanded, her finger trembling as she pointed at the mess.
âIâŚâ
âDonât be stupid! Polish the Kingâs shoes this instant!â
Bucky swallowed hard, his voice thick. âThat wonât be necessary.â
But you were already too far gone in your panic. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as you dropped frantically to your knees. Your heart was beating so hard it actually ached. All you could think about was the cold rage in Beatriceâs eyes and the threat of being cast out, leaving you with nothing but the clothes on your back.
You grabbed the hem of your apron, reaching out to scrub the murky water from his leather boots with trembling hands.
Buckyâs jaw clenched so tight, he felt a muscle leaped in his cheek. His heart throbbed with sharp, visceral pain. He had spent every waking moment since the ball dreaming of seeing you againâof finally finding youâand now, here you were.
You were finally right in front of him, but you were on your knees. In tears.
In any other context, the sight of you beneath him might have stirred a much darker and hungrier feeling in his blood. But seeing you like thisâutterly broken, terrified, and humiliatedâonly made him want to burn the house down with everyone else inside it.
âGet up, my dear,â he murmured gently.
His voice was so soft, intended only for your ears.
It was so gentle it felt out of place in this cold room, but you didnât even hear him. You let out a small, pathetic sniffle, wiping a stray tear away with the back of your palm before returning to the frantic scrubbing. You were a mess of desperation at his feet, and Bucky couldnât bear it.
âSweetheart, please,â he pleaded.
You ignored him again, your hands moving in a blur as you kept scrubbing and scrubbing.
Bucky didnât care about his suit or his dignity anymore.
He dropped to one knee right there in the dirty scrub water, his massive frame casting a shadow over you. His large hand shot out, firm but incredibly gentle as he always was with you, and clamped around your wrist to force you to stop.
âDarling,â Buckyâs voice broke, his brows pulling together, pleading. He sounded like a man on the verge of crumbling himself. âPlease. Enough.â
As your chin was tilted upward, the wall youâd built around yourself finally crumbled. Your face scrunched up, the effort to stay composed failing as the tears spilled over your cheeks.
You were so tired. Your body ached, and your heart yearned for the very man in front of you.
âIâm scared,â you whispered, the words broken and barely audible, a raw confession that youâve been holding in for years now.
Bucky let out a ragged, shaky sighâa sound of pure heartbreakâand pulled you forward. He didnât care how dirty you were, or that the murky water was soaking into his expensive suit. He had never cared about that. All he cared about was you.
He gathered you into his arms, crushing you against his chest as if he could shield you from the very walls of this house.
âOh, my dear,â he cooed, nuzzling his nose into your hair and breathing you in. âYou have no reason to be afraid anymore. I have you.â
Beatrice watched the scene, her face contorting into a mask of absolute horror.
To her, this wasnât a reunion; it was a scandal.
She saw her foolish stepdaughter throwing herself at the King, threatening the familyâs entire existence.
âWhat do you think youâre doing to our King!â she shrieked, taking a frantic step forward. âGet up, girl! Youâre making us look like a disgraceâYour Majesty, please, forgive her, sheâs touched in the headââ
âSilence, you wretched harridan!â Bucky seethed. The insult was so sharp it made Beatriceâs eyes bulge out of her head. âThe only thing that is a disgrace in this household is you.â
He stood up slowly, bringing you with him, his arm firm around your waist to keep you steady. He looked down at Beatrice and your sisters as if they were nothing more than insects beneath his bootsâexactly the way they had always looked at you.
âYou have treated this womanâthe daughter of this houseâas nothing more than a slave. In truth, you have treated her like trash,â he bit out harshly.
âIâve read the family ledgers. Your husbandâher father, may he rest in peaceâwas a nobleman of the highest order. This girl is a proper Lady of the house. She has noble blood in her veins, making her more significant than the whole lot of you. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a commoner who married into a title you donât deserve.â
Beatrice gasped in disbelief, her hand flying to her heart as if she were the victim. âY-Your Majesty!â
âEnough,â Bucky raised his hand, silencing her. âI donât want to hear another syllable from you. I came here for one thingâand that was her. Now that I have her, we are leaving.â
He looked over his shoulder, beckoning to the line of attendants waiting by the door. âCollect her belongings. Every last item. Whatever she decides to keep, whether it be as large as a trunk or as small as a ribbon, package it into the carriages. We are returning to the palace immediately.â
All the attendants nodded, bowing low to their king. âYes, Your Majesty.â
The attendants rushed into the house in a quick blur, you could barely process the shift in your reality.
Only minutes ago, you were on your knees in the dirty water. Now, the world was rearranging itself around you.
Bucky looked down at your sniffling face, his heart visibly breaking as he leaned down to bring himself eye to eye with you. His thumb, rough yet incredibly tender, brushed away the tears that traced your cheeks.
âYouâre okay now, my dear.â Bucky cooed gently. âIâve got you. Iâm never letting you go again.â
You had spent so much time pushing him away, fearing the consequences or the class divide, but now, even under the scrutiny of your step-family, you no longer cared. You felt your heart pulling toward his, and being in his arms felt like the only sanctuary you had ever known.
Behind you, Agnes and Margaret crept forward, clutching at their motherâs sleeves, their faces pale and twisted with confusion.
âMother, what is happening?â Agnes whimpered. âWhy is His Majesty touching her like that?â
Beatrice ignored them, her eyes locked on the King in a state of pure denial. She shook her head, her voice rising to a shrill squeak.
âY-Youâve fallen for her, Your Majesty? Truly? B-but sheâs just a maid! Sheâs a servant who spends her days in the kitchen and the dirt! She is nothing!â
Bucky stood back up to his full height, keeping you tucked securely against his side.
âShe was a Lady long before you even knew how to spell the word,â Bucky growled, his hand tightening protectively on your waist. âAnd as for her being a maid? That ended the moment I stepped through that door. From this breath forward, she is the woman who holds the heart of the King. From this moment on, she is your Queenâand you will treat her as such.â
The room suddenly went very quiet.
You looked just as surprised as Beatrice, your breath hitching in your throat. He was actually going to do it. He was making good on every promise he had made to you in the dark room of his study.
Before you could even find your voice to speak, Buckyâs hand found itself on your lower back, guiding you toward the door.
âCome, my dear,â he gestured, his tone leaving no room for argument. âWeâre leaving.â
As he led you out of the house that had been your prison for so long, you couldnât resist stealing one last glance over your shoulder. You werenât looking to offer sympathy or a farewell, of course. You simply wanted to see if a fly might find its way into their mouths, given how far their jaws had hung.
Outside, a prestigious carriage awaited you. The doorman snapped to attention and pulled the door open as you and Bucky drew closer. Jamie was already waiting inside, seated comfortably on the plush velvet cushions.
Poking his head out, he beamed the moment he caught the sight of you. The bruises on his face already looked a million times better. It was clear that since returning to the palace, he had received the proper care and rest he so desperately needed.
Jamie scooted over, patting the velvet seat beside him with an enthusiastic grin. âI was going to step out to help, but I thought itâd be better if I stayed in here. Your stepsisters wouldâve driven me up the wall the moment they saw my face.â
âJamie,â Bucky interrupted. He stood at the carriage door, one hand on the frame as he leaned in, looking grumpier than ever.
âOut,â Bucky commanded, giving a sharp nod toward the slightly smallerâthough still very fancyâcarriage waiting behind them.
âWhat?â Jamieâs brows furrowed. âBut we have plenty to talk about! I havenât even told her aboutââ
âYou can discuss it at dinner,â Bucky said, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. âRight now, I am tired. I want to sit with the woman I just spent three days hunting for without my sonâs constant commentary. Move.â
âOh, I see.â Jamie drawls, eyeing the both of you suspiciously. âThe Great King Barnes finally finds his Lady and suddenly his favorite and only son is chopped liver? Is that how it is?â
âSon, consider this a mercy,â Bucky rumbled. âThink of it as punishment for using my name under a false command at the ball. Your sentence could be a lot worse than a private carriage and a bit of silence. Now, move.â
âTruly, the heart of a tyrant,â Jamie muttered.
After a roll of his eyes, he slid out the door, but as he passed his father, he stopped for a brief second. He turned to you, his gaze softening from playful to genuinely warmâlike he missed you. He gave you a small little knowing smileâone that said he was glad you were safe, and even gladder that you were finally exactly where you belonged.
âSee you at the palace.â He said to you softly.
With that, Jamie hopped down from the steps and retreated to the carriage behind yours. Bucky watched him go until he was settled, then stepped aside and raised a hand to help you up into the plush interior.
As you sat, Bucky occupied the seat across from you. He leaned back tiredly, the carriage creaking softly. For a long while, he just looked at you, his head tilted slightly as he let out a slow, exhausted breath.
Silence filled the carriage. Despite him already declaring you his Queenâhis partnerâyou couldnât help but sit up straight, folding your hands primly over your lap out of habit and respect for the King of Brooklynne.
You didnât even know where to begin. You didnât know if you should thank him for dragging you out of that hellhole you called a home, or if you should apologize for the trouble he had gone through to do it.
âYour Majestyââ
âSweetheart, please,â Bucky interrupted, his voice sounding almost agitated. âI lost sleep over you. I couldnât eat. I⌠I couldnât even think. I felt like I was losing my sanity every moment I was in that palace and you werenât there.â
He paused, the clip-clopping of the hooves against the cobblestones filling the space for a second.
âMy heart burns for you,â he rasped, almost painful. âThe least you can do is offer me the decency of calling me Buckyâjust as you did earlier.â
You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering in your throat. Buckyâs eyes were a cold blue storm of conflicting emotions. You felt as if he were picking you apart, piece by piece, intending not only to love you but to devour you.
He said he couldnât eat without you, and now that you were here in front of him, he looked as though you were going to be his next meal.
âIâm sorry. I⌠I just wanted to say thank you,â you admitted softly. You couldnât maintain his intense gaze, so you looked down, your fingers fiddling anxiously with the coarse fabric of your skirt.
âThank you for helping me out of that house, and thank you for never giving up on me.â
Your face flushed with a mix of warmth and embarrassment as you continued, still refusing to make eye contact.
âBoth you and Prince Jamie have been nothing but kind to meâa mere maid with rags for clothes.â
You huffed a small, incredulous laugh, one tinged with sadness for yourself. âYou both extended your hands to me and showed me worlds I never thought Iâd experience. In your presence, despite the gulf between our social standings, I have never felt alone. And for that... I am truly grateful.â
Buckyâs frown tightened as he leaned forward, his large hands catching yours and squeezing them firmly to still your fidgeting. The movement forced you to go still, and when he hooked a thumb under your chin to tilt your face up, there was no escaping him anymore.
âEnough,â he rasped, almost desperate. âEnough of this talk about social standings. You know none of that matters to me, not when it comes to you.â
Those piercing blue eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing warmly over the curve of your cheek.
âWhen I told you I was falling for you in that study,â he continued, lowering himself to one knee in the narrow space between the seats, âI meant every single word with every beat of my heart.â
While one hand remained on your cheek, the other began a slow descent. It traced the line of your ribs down to your waist, giving your hip a firm, possessive squeeze through your dress before trailing lower to rest over your thigh.
âYou arenât a âmereâ anything,â he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours. âYou are the very air Iâve been gasping for. Ever since the night of the ball, my body and my heart have been craving you. And now that youâre finally hereâŚâ
His hand found the hem of your skirt, lifting the fabric slowly, inch by painfully agonizing inch, past your knee. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, a small groan escaping him at the sight of your bare thigh.
âI finally get to have you.â
Bucky leaned forward, his head dipping low as he pressed his face against the skin he had just uncovered. You shuddered at the feel of his stubble pressing against your leg, and he snickered.
He started at your knee, his lips brushing against your skin.
A low, vibrating growl tickled against your thigh as he began to work his way upward. Each kiss was slow, wet, and worshipful. He moved with a starvation that made your breath hitch, his tongue darted out to taste you, marking you as his over and over again.
âThese legs,â he growled, his voice muffled by your skin. âI missed feeling them wrapped tight around me. I missed the soft feeling of them in my hands. Did you miss that too, my dear?â
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you looked down at the King of Brooklynne worshipping your body.
âI-I did, Bucky. I missed that too⌠being touched by you.â
âGood,â he soothed, his heavy, warm palm dragging up and down your leg possessively. âThatâs my good, perfect girl.â
As he continued to worship the curve of your leg, his hand reached beneath the bunched up fabric of your skirt. His fingers hooked into the edge of your thin, worn undergarments, but he didnât rush; he wanted to savor every second of your undoing.
With a slow tug, he began to peel them down, his knuckles grazing your hips and sending a wave of shivers through you. He watched your face the entire time, his blue eyes dark and hooded, waiting for the exact moment your composure finally shattered.
Bucky was barely holding on. His jaw hung slightly, his lips slick from the way he had been kissing and licking the skin of your legs.
It was an unbelievable sightâthe King on his knees, panting over you like a loyal, starving hound.
âI want to break you,â he rasped. His words were threatening, yet his voice was coarse but soft spoken. âI want to see you cry for me while I ruin you. I want to see you come apart for me, just as I did for you when you left me.â
He looked up at you then, still kneeling between your legs, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of you completely vulnerable in his carriage.
âGod,â he breathed, taking in your wet slit hidden just beneath the hem of your flimsy skirt. âIs that so wrong of me to want? To see my own woman completely broken for me?â
Buckyâs grip on your thighs tightened, while his other hand went down to cup his own erection through his pants.
âI should hurt you,â he sighed, his voice pent up with frustration. âI should pull you over my knee for daring to leave me... for making me endure that kind of agony. I should bind your arms together so you never even think about defying me again.â
He let out a shaky and jagged breath, his forehead dropping against your knee for just a second before he looked back up, his eyes searching yours, his cock already throbbing at the sight of your pleading face.
âBut I wonât,â he whispered, his thumb tracing the smooth flesh of your inner thigh. âI love you and respect you too much to ever truly lay a hand on your pretty little body in anger. Youâre my Queen. Youâre my soul.â
A dark, self-deprecating chuckle caught in his throat as his gaze dropped back to where he had bared you to the cool carriage air. His fingers twitched, hooking into the waistband of his trousers.
âBut fuck, Iâm already disrespecting you, arenât I?â he moved closer, his body hot as he crowded your space, his chest heaving against your knees. âBecause weâre nowhere near the palace, and Iâm about to fuck you right here in this carriage. Iâm about to claim you again before we even reach the front gates. Isnât that right, sweetheart?â
âYou said I was yours, Bucky,â you whispered, your voice trembling despite how hard you tried to keep it steady. âSo you can do whatever you want to me. Iâm not running anymore. Iâm here to stay.â
Bucky let out a low groan of satisfaction, burying his face against your thigh for a moment as if trying to catch his breath. Every word you spoke was like music to his ears.
âLean back,â he commanded in a rough, broken rasp. âLean back against the seat and hold on.â
You obeyed excitedly. The moment your back hit the plush velvet cushion, he grabbed your leg, his large hand wrapping around your calf as he hoisted it up, propping your knee over his broad shoulder. The position left you completely open and vulnerable, your thin skirt bunched around your waist as you exposed your cunt to him.
Bucky didnât waste time with a preamble. He ducked his head between your thighs, his tongue finding the sensitive peak of your clit. Your body jolted at the sudden, wet heat of the contact. He licked you with long, firm strokes, his tongue heavy and wet as he tasted your arousal.
A sharp, needy cry escaped your lips, echoing in the small space. You could only hope the driver was too disciplined to look back.
âAh! Bu-BuckyâŚâ your hands flew down to his hair, fingers tangling in his brown locks as your toes curled in the air.
Bucky only growled against you, his hand sliding up from your thigh to grip your hip, holding you steady.
His tongue continued to trace eagerly over your wet folds, sucking and lapping in ways that were anything but royal or noble. He was taking everything from youâyour pleasure, your scent, the taste of your arousal.
He wanted everything.
When he finally lifted his head to look at you from below, you felt like your heart could leap out of your chest at the sight of him. Drool collected around his chin and his lips were slick and swollen from making out sloppily with your cunt.
Buckyâs smirk was slow and predatory as he took in the sight of youâchest heaving, face warm, and eyes glazed with the pleasure only he was giving you. He looked like a man who had finally reclaimed his throne, but the only kingdom he cared about in this moment was the one between your legs.
âLook at you,â he taunted. âDripping all over my clean carriage.â He clicked his tongue. âNaughty girl.â
He lifted his hand, his long middle finger dragging slowly up the length of your slit, tracing the seam of your cunt from bottom to top, gently rubbing at the clit before dragging back down and poking his nub against your entrance.
He did it again and again, teasing the entrance until you were whimpering, your hips bucking on reflex for more of him.
âYouâre so wet, sweetheart,â Bucky rasped, his pupils blown wide with desire. âAre you this desperate for your King?â
âBucky, please,â you begged, arching your back against the seat. âEnough with the teasing. I canâtâoh!â
Before you could finish your sentence, Bucky buried his finger deep inside you.
The air left your lungs in a jagged gasp. You were agonizingly tight, your walls clenching and fluttering around him in a frantic, rhythmic pulse that spoke of how long youâd been empty without him. You gripped his shoulder, your nails digging into the expensive fabric of his coat as you tried to pull him closer, your body trying to swallow his finger whole.
âAlready making demands out of me,â he scoffed, though he was grinning. âYouâve got no shame, do you, my dear?â
He felt the internal squeeze of your muscles around his digit, making his jaw tighten so hard the bone looked ready to snap.
âGod, youâre so tight,â he choked out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow, deep circles against it. âClenching around my finger like youâre never going to let me go. Youâre going to break me before I even get my pants off, arenât you?â
Your vision blurred as you felt yourself getting embarrassingly close. Your hips stuttered against his hand, your breath coming in shallow and broken hitches as you prepared to shatter all over his finger.
But just as the peak approached, the sensation vanished.
Bucky abruptly retracted his hand, the wet, sliding sound of his finger leaving you squelching in the carriage. You let out a cry of pure frustration, your body slumped back against the velvet, twitching and unfulfilled.
âBucky,â you panted in agitation, âwhy would you do that! I was close!â
He sat back on his heels, still kneeling in the narrow space between your legs. He looked up at you with a wicked light in his eyes, his chest heaving as he reached for the buckle of his belt.
âNot yet,â he teased. âI didnât give you permission to finish, did I?â
His fingers worked the leather of his belt and the buttons of his trousers irritatingly slow, his gaze never leaving yours. He watched the way you squirmed on the seat, your legs still draped over his shoulders, trembling and desperate for the contact he had just stolen away.
âLook at you,â he scoffed softly, though his hands were shaking slightly with his own restrained need. âSo impatient. I spent my time hunting the city for my Queen, and the moment I get her in my carriage, sheâs already trying to come without me. Where are your manners, sweetheart?â
Once he finally freed himself, his length sprang forth, thick and pulsing with a bead of pre-cum bubbling at the tip.
You watched, enamored, as his left hand wrapped around your leg, giving it soft, possessive squeezes, while his other hand wrapped firmly around his cockâgiving himself slow, deep pumps that made the veins in his forearm jump.
âFuck, you missed me, my dear?â Buckyâs thumb catching a bead of his pre-cum and smearing it against your aching clit. âDid you spend every night thinking about this? About how Iâd feel inside you again?â
You couldnât even find the words to argue. You just nodded frantically, your head thrasing against the velvet cushion as you let out a broken whimper. Bucky absolutely loved seeing you like thisâcompletely unraveled, stripped of your prim, timid manners, and desperate only for him.
âGood.â
He positioned himself, the slick head of his cock catching against your wet entrance. He paused for a second to catch his breath, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the seat, before he slowlyâinch by torturous inch âslid inside.
âFuck,â he gritted through clenched teeth, the word sounding both like a prayer and a curse.
You were so tightâBucky had to squeeze his eyes shut, his neck muscles flexed with every powerful effort to not simply snap and bury himself in you all at once.
He wanted to savor all of this.
He wanted to feel every ripple of your body as it stretched to accommodate him.
But fuck, you werenât making it easy at all.
As he tried to maintain a slow, steady pace, your walls began to clench around his cock in desperate pulses. You were squeezing him so hard it was a wonder he could move at all.
âGod... sweetheart, stop,â he choked out, his composure fracturing little by little. âIf you keep... clenching like that...â
You couldnât help it. You had missed Bucky, and your body missed being filled by him even more. Every deep, ragged pant he let outâdriven by how unbearably good you feltâonly made your muscles flutter and tighten more. He was so big, the feeling of him stretching you made your eyes roll back.
âIâm sorry,â you breathed, your nails digging into the firm muscle of his back through his clothes for support. âI canât help it. IâI missed you. I missed this.â
âChrist...â the groan escaped Buckyâs lips as his head fell back.
He didnât even try to be gentle anymore.
His hips surged forward, his massive hands sliding from the edge of the seat to your thighs and then your hips, his fingers digging through your dress as he kept you in place. He drew back just enough to gain momentum before slamming into you again, making your body jump against his.
âAh!â you cried out as Bucky fucked into you again and again, driving his hips deeper each time.
âSo⌠tight. Fuck,â he groaned, his voice a broken rasp of disbelief.
The carriage groaned under the violence of his movements. The wood creaked and strained, the vehicle rocking so violently that no one could possibly excuse the motion as a bumpy road. You were being jostled and slammed against the velvet cushions, the sheer size of him stretching you until you were sure youâd breakâand yet, it wasnât enough.
You wanted more.
He needed more.
âBucky! Ahâ!â
The sound echoed off the carriage walls, dangerously loud. Buckyâs eyes flared with as he quickly brought his hand up, his palm slamming over your mouth to stifle your cries.
âShhh,â he hissed against your ear, though his own breathing was a series of ragged, wet gasps. âThis is a royal carriage, my dear. All eyes are on us right now. Do you want the whole kingdom to hear me fuck you like a slut?â
He quickened his pace, his cock disappearing and reappearing in a blur of friction as he drove himself deeper into your sensitive pussy.
âIf thatâs what you want⌠then Iâll just drag you out of this carriage myself,â he threatened, his voice dropping to a dark, possessive growl. âI'll fuck you right there on the gravel where the whole kingdom can watch their King ruin his sweet little wife. Is that what you want, my dear?â
Wife.
You felt like you could collapse from just hearing the word.
The heat and smell of his warm palm against your lips only made you more frantic. You let out muffled, desperate whimpers into his hand, your eyes rolling back as your walls fluttered and spasmed around him. You were seconds away from release yet again, squeezing his cock so tightly he nearly choked on his own breath.
Bucky leaned in even closer, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he inhaled the scent of your skinâa intoxicating mix of salt, sweat, and the heavy musk of sex filling the carriage.
âFuck,â he groaned against your neck. âYouâre cumming already? Just from this?â
He taunted you, and although he would never admit it aloud, but he was barely hanging on. He was simply a determined King wanting to watch you shatter first.
âIâmmph, canât,â you whined into his palm. Your legs hooked around his waist, ankles locking behind his back to pull him even deeper, inviting him in to breed and fill you right there.
âMâgonnaâmphâcumâŚâ
Your mind went dizzy, your breath hitching sharply against his hand as the world outside the carriage ceased to exist.
You no longer cared about the palace or the guards. You only cared about the burning sensation of coming around Buckyâs cock. It was explosiveâa kind of release that your body had been starved of.
He felt the way you were milking him, the desperate, crushing tightness of your climax nearly forcing him to join you then and there. But he ground his teeth, refusing to let go just yet.
âThis is just the beginning, darling,â he rasped, his palm still firm over your mouth to catch your muffled, high pitched cries. âAfter this, Iâm going to fuck you in every inch of the palace. In every room, against every window, on the cold marble floors until you canât even remember your own name.â
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and blown wide, searching your face to ensure you understood the delicious lack of mercy waiting for you behind the palace walls.
âThe next time I see you on your hands and knees, it wonât be for scrubbing floors,â he growled. âItâll be with your pretty tongue out, servicing my cock.â
Between the sensitive aftermath of your climax and the filthy possessive promises pouring from his lips, your senses were screaming and overstimulated. Every time his cock thrusted back into you, it felt like he was branding your soul.
He slowed his pace slightly once he felt himself getting close. His hips grounded against you in a circular motion that made you whimper for mercy. He leaned down, his lips wetting your cheek as he began to recite your future.
âFrom this second on, no one touches you but me. Iâm going to take such good care of you, my dear. Youâre going to have the finest silks, the softest beds, and the heaviest crownâbut youâre going to spend most of your time right here, pinned under me.â
He delivered a sharp, shallow thrust that made your hips twitch.
âIâm going to make you my pretty, perfect wife,â he continued, his hand moving from your mouth to cup your jaw, forcing you to look into his blown out, hungry eyes. âAnd Iâm going to spend every single night making sure I knock you up. I want you heavy with my heirs, so round and beautiful that youâll never even think about running away again. Youâre going to be so full of me that there wonât be room for anything else.â
The thought of it, that same reminder of being his Queen, his wife, and the mother of his childrenâsent a fresh jolt of lightning through your core.
You were a mess of tears and sweat, clinging to his shoulders as he began to pick up the pace again, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic.
âIâm going to fill you so deep, youâll feel my love in your chest,â he hissed, his cock pulsing inside as he felt himself get closer. âMy wife. My Queen. My life.â
Buckyâs body suddenly went rigid, his muscles locking tight as he let out a final, guttural grunt of your name. His hips slammed into yours one last time, burying himself so deep it felt as though he was trying to merge with you as one.
âFuck... cumming!â he choked out almost painfully.
His head snapped back, his eyes rolling back as he finally let his body go. His hips froze as his cock pulsed and throbbed. Then, you felt the scalding, thick ropes of cum pumping into your coreâa seal on every promise he had just made.
âMine,â he panted, holding you close. âAll mine.â
He stayed buried deep inside you, his heavy chest heaving as he crushed you into the velvet cushions, his heart beating frantically in time with your own.
For the remainder of the ride, Bucky refused to let even an inch of space come between you, like he was scared of losing you again.
He pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your shaking, overstimulated body. His large hands, which had been so rough and demanding only moments ago, were now impossibly gentle as he stroked your hair and traced the line of your jaw.
Between the sounds of heaving breathing and the trotting of horses, he kept his lips pressed to your temple, murmuring soft, sweet promises into your ear, âMy sweetheart,â âI finally have you again.â âMy precious, darling girl.â
When the carriage finally lurched to a halt in the palace courtyard, the footman stepped forward, swinging the door wide and offering a steadying hand as Bucky allowed you to step out first.
Just in time, Jamie had hopped out of his own carriage and met up with you both, huffing a breath of relief.
âFinally!â Jamie called out. âThat carriage ride felt so longââ he paused, stopping a few feet away, squinting as he took in the sight of you.
Your hair was a birdâs nest, both of your lips swollen, and Buckyâs collar was half-undone and his hair was disheveled with gray locks sticking out in unusual directions.
âGood grief,â he remarked, completely oblivious to the carnal acts that just happened inside the carriage.
âYou guys look rough.â
thank you for all the love you guys showed for part one, and thank you for taking the time to read yet another lengthy fic <3 i wasn't planning on writing a sequel at all, let alone this soon, but the new season of bridgerton got me twirling my hair. i hope you guys like it!
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âĄËË Äąl. synopsis. bucky barnes decided itâs a good idea to put on a cheap suit and crash an elegant, ârich people shit,â partyâalongside with his friends, steve and samâthere, he finds a beautiful mystery and one thing about bucky barnes is that heâs goddamn good with women and nothing intrigued him more than a forbidden challenge.
âĄËË Äąl. content warning. 18+ MDNI smut - multiple sex scenes, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral sex (f & m receiving), masturbation to filthy thoughts, infidelity (not on bucky but with bucky), use of nicknames: princess, doll, sweetheart. class difference, internal conflict / moral conflict, no use of y/n, lower-case intended.
đˇ âĄËË Äąl. lovie's gossip. iâm back from my 2 month long break! i canât believe iâve gained 300 followers while i was away! you guys are truly amazing. tysm for 800 followers <3
to start, this story has been in progress for monthsâitâs been re-written so many times and the plot has changed 2-3 times because i wasnât satisfied with it. i planned to post this back in december but itâs already february (yikes) because unfortunately, yes, i am a slow writer.
coincidentally, i finished the day just before my birthday so this is my birthday post and an early valentines day gift to you guys.
lovieâs mâ sterlist
bucky barnes is a man who has one weaknessâor so he saysâand that is a beautiful mystery, whether itâs art or a person, he takes it as a challenge to study the conundrum.
quoting what he often says, âi like to unravel the layers from its polished exterior.â like heâs some poetic archeologist of human behavior.
at least thatâs what he tells his roommates ALL the time.
which leads him to where he is now: sam and steve had been telling him that he should clean his room for the past couple months. itâs not his fault, really, he finds art in the chaos. but that earned him a slap on the back of his head by none other than sam wilson.
what shouldâve been a quiet, peaceful sundayâthe kind where you do nothing but drink terrible coffee and pretend to meditate, has now devolved into a cleaning day. a full, catastrophic cleanse.
youâd think heâs a hoarder the way theyâre treating him, like theyâll open his closet and find a family of raccoons filing taxes in there.
as if!
despite his complaints, buckyâs grateful. they may give each other hell, sure, but when one of them is drowning, the other two will show up with a bucket and a poorly thought-out planâitâs really the thought that counts.
âdamn, buck, iâm surprise you donât have a rat living in your closet.â steve spoke, snapping bucky out of the internal rant heâs been spiraling into for the past five minutes.
steveâs hands reached to fold the clothes with precision like a retired scout leader that sam mostly kept throwing at him.
âman, he ainât cinderella.â (get the reference?) sam adds, tossing another shirt at steveâs face.
bucky rolls his eyes as he starts organizing his art materialsâbut he does it in the most chaotic way possible, aggravating samâs ocd on purpose. pencils scattered here, sketchbooks stacked crookedly there.
a tiny evil and mischievous grin tugs at his lips when he imagines wilsonâs reaction to when he finally notices the âworkâ bucky had done to clean his own room.
samâs voice cracks through the room, loud and delighted: âlook at this! didnât know you had a fancy rich-people suit!â he holds the suit up, admiring himself in the mirror near the doorframe like heâs prepping for a low-budget james bond audition.
bucky turns around slowly, unimpressed. he opens his mouth to comment, but steve beats him to it.
âyouâd definitely fit right in at this fancy event iâm catering tonight,â steve says. and thatâs whenâ
ding!
a lightbulb goes off in buckyâs head. his smirk stretches, curling at the edges in a way that immediately alarms his roommates.
âlet me come with,â bucky announces, voice full of suspicious optimism.
steve shakes his head instantly. âno. absolutely not. youâll get me fired.â
âcome on, steve,â bucky counters. âhow many times did i sneak you into the movie theater for free when i worked there?â
something somehow intrigued wilson, because suddenly, heâs on buckyâs sideâwhich is extremely rare.
âlook,â sam says, gesturing between himself and bucky, âweâll be wearing these cheap-ass suits anyway. they wonât even notice us. rich people are too busy arguing about stock portfolios or whatever.â
âiâm just in it for the foodâŚâ bucky admits, placing both hands on his stomach as if making a solemn confession. âdâya know the last time i had fancy sushi? thing filled me up for an entire week.â
sam points at bucky, then at steve, eyes wide and persuasiveâborderline cartoonish.
âthink about the expensive drinks! unlimited! weâll sneak you something home. hell, iâll stuff every spoonful of caviar in buckyâs suit.â
steve gives him a deadpan stare. samâs hands land dramatically on steveâs shoulders as if heâs pitching the business plan of the century.
âplease donât encourage that.â bucky mutters, but heâs grinning.
steve looks between the two of them with the expression of a man who has already lost but is still pretending he has a choice. bucky recognizes that look instantlyâvictory is imminent.
and finally, inevitably, steve exhales the sigh of someone reluctantly accepting his fate. âalright. fine. just⌠justâdonât shove caviar in your pockets, sam. theyâll know.â
sam celebrates and immediately returns to âcleaning,â which now looks as if he has an ulterior motive (and he absolutely does)
steve somehow managed to smuggle two fully grown men into a high-class event without anyone noticing. honestly, it was impressive. borderline criminal, but impressive.
they walked in like they belongedâsam wilson especially, who immediately snagged a champagne flute off a passing waiter with the confidence of a man who absolutely did not pay for the ticket.
âthis one yours?â the server asked.
sam shrugged, âit is now,â and kept walking toward the food bar like it was a pilgrimage.
bucky, meanwhile, drifted away from both of them the second they crossed the threshold. the house was⌠well, calling it a âhouseâ was frankly disrespectful. mansion. estate. manor.
the walls were lined with artwork that looked so expensive, it surely costs more than a year's rent from his living quarters.
his eyes roamed as he wandered. everything screamed wealth: the polished marble floors, the crystal chandeliers, the carefully curated guests.
men in overpriced suits talked business with the kind of intensity usually reserved for hostage negotiations, while their wives sipped champagne with delicate fingers adorned with diamond necklacesâgifts, probably, offered to them as apologies for their husbandsâ absence.
bucky barely paid attention, one of the paintings caught his eye. the brushwork was beautiful, the kind of thing he could get lost in for hoursâuntil his gaze drifted just slightly to the left and landed on something far more captivating.
you.
you were sitting near the large glass doors that led outside, though âoutsideâ was a generous understatement. the backyard looked like it was connected to a second mansion. maybe even a third. he couldnât tell.
before he really knew what he was doing, he found himself gravitating toward the door, almost tripping over a decorative plant in the process. very smooth, very mysterious-man-of-intrigue vibes.
he slipped past small clusters of guests and stepped into the garden. the moonlight spilled over everything, but you⌠you didnât just glow. you radiated. effortlessly.
you were seated on the patio, elbows on the tea table, palms holding up your head. lost in thought. staring at the meticulously planted flowerbeds like they had whispered an existential crisis directly into your soul.
bucky pushed his hands into his pockets, fishing out a cigarette he didnât actually plan on smoking. he hesitated when he reached your table, suddenly unsure if interrupting was wise.
eh. too late to retreat without looking weird.
âgot a light?â he asked, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down without waiting for an invitationâlegs spreading like he was claiming territory.
you jolted, clearly startled out of whatever deep philosophical spiral youâd been in. his eyes dragged over youâslow and shameless.
the black dress, the subtle diamonds, the perfume that made his brain beserk for a moment. nothing about your outfit screamed for attention, but somehow, you commanded his.
âwhatâs got you thinking so deeply?â he asked.
you blinked fast, straightening your back. âi donât have one.â
he leaned in slightly, eyebrow raised in confusion. âwhat?â
you cleared your throat realizing how stupid you mustâve sound from his point of view. âa lighter,â you clarified, flustered. âi donât have one.â
âah.â bucky nodded, placing the cigarette back into his pocket like it was all part of the plan.
thatâs when he noticed your untouched champagne. he reached for it without asking and downed the remaining half like he desperately needed it.
you didnât comment, though your eyes did widen slightlyâmaybe at the boldness, maybe at the way his lips touched where yours had.
âwhy arenât you inside the party?â you asked politely, your finger absentmindedly tracing circles on the tabletop.
âwhy arenât you?â he shot back.
you looked away again. you were dodging him and he noticed. ultimately, he decided not to pushânot yet.
âgonna be honest with you, doll,â he said, leaning back, âi crashed the party. donât know anyone. except my two idiot friends.â
that earned a soft giggle from you. he felt it straight in his chest. his smile followed, subtle but undeniably pleased.
âwhat about you?â he asked. âyou crash it, too?â he asks jokingly.
you shook your head, the diamonds at your ears swaying lightly. âpartyâs about me, actually.â
his brows shot up. as he mutters a small âoh shit.â under his breath before calming his cool and reverting back to his confident demeanor. then the smirk returned, like gravity kept pulling it back to his mouth.
âbirthday?â
another shake of your head.
his curiosity flared, bright and ravenous. heâd barely known you five minutes and he was already committed to the excavation of your soul.
but before he could dig deeper, you stood. smoothing imaginary dust off your dress. he watched your hands, eyes darkening just slightly.
âi should go back inside,â you announced quietly. âtheyâre probably looking for me.â
âalright, iâll go with you.â he rose immediately, stepping closer than necessary.
his sleeve brushed your bare armâjust barelyâand your breath hitched in a way he absolutely noticed. after all, buckyâs mind flourishes on small details, thatâs what makes him a good artist.
âiâm james,â he introduces himself but his voice slurs as your mind fades back into the void it was in before he casually interrupted your peace.
you took a subtle step away, not from fear, but from self-preservation. the housewives inside would devour any rumor like wolves waiting for breakfast and you werenât going to let them prey on you. not this time.
and bucky didnât knowâyetâthat the party wasnât only about you.
it was about your engagement.
your fatherâs business partner.
an arrangement youâd reluctantly agreed toâmore for responsibility than romance.
the date went well enough: polite conversation, basic kindness, acceptable behavior. but the illusion cracked the moment a friend sent you a blurry video of him at a club, kissing a woman like he had no fiancĂŠe waiting at home.
you confronted him. he laughed, drunk, and said, âstop being so fucking insecure. loosen up, babe.â
and since then, ironically, you buried yourself in hobbies and events. piano lessons, charity galas, wedding planning, anything to avoid him. anything to keep the bored, nosey housewives from digging too deep.
you didnât even realize youâd stopped walking until you were standing before the glass door leading to where the party is.
buckyâwho had introduced himself as james on the way while you were lost in your own thoughtâwas already holding it open, waiting patiently, watching you think yourself into a maze.
âi really need to get inside that head of yours, sweetheart.â he murmured, offering his hand.
you hesitated, then slipped your fingers into his.
and just like thatâwarm hand in yours, chandelier light spilling over the marble floorsâyou let him guide you back.
the moment you stepped back inside, the blast of artificial cold air hit your skin. a full-body shiver crawled up your spineânot entirely from the temperature. the room felt even louder than before, crowded with people you didnât know, smiling politely at strangers who thought they had a right to your future because their names meant something on paper.
itâs your engagement party, and somehow you felt like the only person not actually engaged in the celebration.
you turned your head toward the man beside you and the fluorescent lights caught him in an unfairly flattering way.
his jawline looked sculpted, like someone carved it out of stubborn marble. the stubble only enhanced it. and those eyes⌠those stupidly blue eyes. they didnât just look at you; they examined, unraveled, saw through every surface you desperately kept polished.
he looked like a walking contradiction: someone who shouldnât belong here yet fit into your chaos more than anyone else in the room.
âi donât want to be here,â you said quietly but still keeping that fierce tone.
his thumb brushed your knuckles, slow and deliberate. only then did you realize your fingers were still intertwined with hisâsomehow youâd never let go. he didnât pull away, and neither did you.
âalright,â he murmured, voice low like he already understood more than you said, âwhere do you want to go?â
you swallowed. âanywhere.â
he didnât hesitateânot for a second. he simply tugged your hand gently and led you away from the chandeliers, the orchestra, the congratulations-from-people-you-donât-know. he guided you down a side hall, toward a service door that obviously wasnât meant for guests.
he pushed it open, and suddenly you were outside againâthe loading area behind the estate. the moonlight bled into the garage space where catering vans were parked, illuminating half-unpacked crates, carts of silverware, and stressed-out banquet staff on smoke breaks.
people stole glances at you, confused. you were dressed like royalty among servers, but there you were, slipping through their world hand-in-hand with a man who didnât belong in yours.
bucky approached a tall blond guy in a catererâs uniformâblue button-up, black apron, mildly exhausted expression. before bucky could even open his mouth, the man sighed like heâd aged ten years on sight.
âgodâno. not again, bucky.â
again? bucky?
bucky raised a brow. âi havenât even told you what i need, steve.â
the manâsteveâgave you a single glance then flicked his eyes back to james with a look that screamed, i know exactly what you need.
bucky smirked. âjust being the knight in shining armor to this princess.â
steve sighed again, heavier this time, the sigh of a man who has given up resisting destiny. he set the tray he was holding onto a nearby table and started refilling it with champagne glasses, muttering something suspiciously close to âyou owe me for this.â
you remained confused. deeply confused.
bucky didnât explain. he simply squeezed your hand. âcome on.â
he led you across the garage until you stood in front of a sleek black car that definitely didnât belong to a caterer. he opened the passenger door for you with an inviting little gesture.
âhe called you bucky,â you muttered, more a question than a statement.
he chuckledâamused, a little smug. âmy second name. buchanan.â then, as if to clarify without overexplaining, he added, âjames buchanan barnes.â
you stared at the open door. your heart thumped uncomfortably against your ribs. was this smart? was it catastrophically stupid? was leaving your own engagement party with a strangerâwho openly admitted he wasnât invitedâa terrible idea?
probably.
but he looked at you like he wouldnât let anything happen to you. like the world outside this estate wasnât so suffocating. like he saw the real you beneath the diamonds and expectations.
âiâm not going to murder you,â he said, reading your hesitation with an annoyingly accurate grin. âif thatâs what youâre thinking.â
âthatâs what they all say and before you know it, youâre already in his freezer, dead.â you say, sarcastically as bucky chuckles at your statement.
fuck it, why not?
reluctantly, you slid into the seat. his cologne lingered in the car, warm and intoxicating, and your pulse jumped unreasonably.
bucky jogged around to the driverâs side with the casual confidence of a man who had absolutely no permission to take this vehicle but was going to do it anyway.
you exhaled slowly.
what was the worst that could happen?
he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. you stared out the window, watching unfamiliar streets pass byâshops youâd never seen, neon signs flickering, people lingering outside late-night diners. this part of town felt more alive than the mansion ever did.
âyou look like youâre starring in a sad music video,â he said suddenly.
you turned your head, caught off guard, then smiledâgenuinely, fullyâthe first real one youâd managed all week.
âmakes me the silver lining,â you muttered as he nodded once, agreeing completely.
âwhere are we going?â you asked, tucking the stray strand that had rebelliously slipped from your intentionally-messy bunâmessy buns only seem effortless; this one took twenty minutes and three breakdowns.
instead of answering, he pulled over beside a narrow sidewalk, switched off the engine, and leaned across the seat. before you could question him, he unbuckled your seatbelt, popped his own off, and jogged out of the car. he swung your door open, extending an arm like a chauffeur with questionable credentials.
âmysterious.â you utter out with a smile.
âalways.â he shot back.
he led you toward a cramped apartment buildingâold brick, peeling paint, a buzzing light above the entrance that was trying its best. the only way up was a set of steep stairs that spiraled to upper floors.
you lifted your foot to start climbing, but he placed a hand on your wrist, stopping you. he pointed at your heels.
âtake âem off, doll.â
you stared at him. âyouâre joking.â
his face said he absolutely was not.
âiâm not stepping on the dirty floor,â you say with an unintentional condescending undertone and instantly regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth.
he didnât look offended. he didnât even look annoyed. but he definitely didnât look happy either.
you sounded⌠well, exactly like the kind of person raised around pearl necklaces and pristine hallways. the kind of person you werenât trying to be right now.
before you could apologize or rephrase, he bent downâquick and decisiveâand scooped you up in his arms, bridal style.
âoh my god, jamesâput me down!â
he ignored the protest entirely, his grip firm, secure. your arms flew around his neck instinctively, fingers locking behind him just in case he dropped youâthough something told you he wouldnât.
he carried you like you weighed nothing, even though the climb was no joke. his muscles flexed through the fabric of his suit jacket, the seams working overtime.
you were pressed against him, closer than youâd ever been to a stranger in your life, and his cologne clung to the air between youâwarm cedar, something smoky, something addictive.
five flights of stairs later, he finally set you down gently. your heels clicked against the hallway floor.
he was breathing heavilyânot gasping, just windedâand for good reason: he had literally hauled you up each flight like you were the worldâs fanciest sack of flour.
you watched him as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. his brows were still drawn in faint concentration, chest rising and falling.
you stepped forward without thinking, hands reaching up. he froze.
your fingers brushed his chest lightly as you undid the crooked bow tie hanging limp at his collar. his gaze locked onto your face, unapologetically intense, drinking in every detail while you focused on the knot.
âthe least i could do,â you whispered. âyou looked uncomfortable wearing it.â
you stepped back with a soft, almost shy smile.
bucky just stared.
utterly star-struck.
utterly gone.
it took him a moment to recover, inhaling once, deep and steady, like he needed to reset his entire nervous system before moving again.
his pulse was so loud he felt it in his shoulders, in the tips of his fingers, in the space between the two of you.
the click of the lock echoed softly before the door eased open, revealing what you instantly assumed was his home. the scent hit you first: a faint mĂŠlange of paint, old paper, and something woody, like dried cedar he probably didnât even realize was in the room.
it wasnât a big place, barely enough floor space for two people with personal boundaries, but the walls compensatedâevery inch was cluttered with framed paintings, some taped sketches, and one or two threatening to fall simply because they looked aggressively handcrafted.
your gaze drifted toward the window, drawn to the halo of lamplight illuminating his canvas. an easel stood guard beside a small table overloaded with pencils, brushes, a cup of murky watercolor residue, and a palette with paint so dried it looked older than your relationship with your fiancĂŠ.
so, he was talented, to say the least.
you began to wander, fingertips gliding over a few frames as you moved, mesmerized by the strokes and lines that seemed to breathe emotion.
he followed you closely, not saying a word, just watching with the intensity of someone taking mental polaroids of their museâwhich, apparently, was now you.
his untied bow tie had already been tossed to the floor, abandoned.
you reached for another sketch, but before you could truly examine it, his warm hands enveloped yours. his other hand found your chin, guiding your head away from the artwork and toward him. the shift was so gentle you almost allowed it without protest. almost.
the two of you stood there, suspended in a silence more charged than anything that had happened tonight. his eyes flickered down to your lips, slow, deliberate, like he was giving you time to stop him.
and god, for a second, you really considered not stopping him.
but then your brainâannoyingly, inconvenientlyâremembered the giant sparkling symbol of your impending doom. the engagement party.
your engagement party.
your palms shot to his chest, halting him inches away.
jesus, you were no better than your fiancĂŠ right now. one man cheats physically, the other cheats aesthetically. wonderful.
you cleared your throat, mentally blaming every glass of overpriced wine youâd downed prior for the fact that james buchanan barnesâor bucky almost got to kiss you.
he stepped back with a faint smirk, fascinated by your sudden retreat like heâd just stumbled upon his favorite subplot.
âthis is a little inappropriate, james.â you muttered, pretending to find the wall art wildly interesting again, even though it was the stubble on his jawline that almost turned you into a homewrecker. of your own home. iconic.
he nodded and looks as if he understood that you werenât comfortable with his pace.
âyâwant a beer?â he asks so casually.
you were perplexed at the casual pivot. still, you nodded becauseâwhat else could you do? lecture him about boundaries while he looked like a renaissance painting that stole a leather jacket?
he crossed to a fridge that was⌠almost entirely filled with beer. almostâbecause a lone slim jim sat in the corner like it was being punished.
âdo you eat anything else? or do you just drink beer until your organs file a complaint?â you asked, trailing after him and perching on the nearest stool.
âthis is my studio, doll. got another place with roommates.â he passed you a cold bottle, leaning his elbow on the counter.
âah,â you said, taking a sip, âso this is where you bring your girls.â
âmore or less,â he shrugged, tossing you a wink that sent an involuntary blush racing up your neck. if he noticed, youâd gaslight him into believing you were just warm. or allergic to beer. or something.
âmy roommates⌠they donât know about this place,â he added, watching your reaction.
âwhy?â you asked.
he shrugged again. âi donât know. been renting it for a year. never came up.â
âso what do you even do here except paint? donât they ever ask where you go?â
âlike you said,â he teased, âi bring my girls here.â
you gave him a deadpan stare, and he finally cracked, admitting, âthey just assume iâm crashing at someone elseâs place.â
the conversation fell into a lazy rhythm, comfortable enough that he felt brave enough to lean closer though the counter sets a boundary between you.
âenough about me. i want to know about you.â
you inhaled deeply, already regretting agreeing to this. âwhat do you want to know?â
âshit. you sound fuckinâ rich.â he cuts you off when you start listing off the things you usually do.
âyou make it sound like your art is a cheap hobby.â
he pauses, then nodded, agreeing. âpaints ainât cheap, sweetheart.â he says, taking a sip of his beer.
âdo you do commissions?â
âyeah. why? you want me to draw you like one of my french girls?â he teased, referencing the titanic. the line far too flirtatious to be casual.
you pretended you didnât hear the undertone, choosing instead to laugh lightlyâpartly because of the beer, partly because you genuinely couldnât process how you ended up in an artistâs studio with a man who crashed your engagement party.
what a night.
âyouâre dainty in figure, gorgeous to draw,â he said, brutally straightforward, no hesitation, no shame.
heat crawled up your neck, blooming on your cheeks for the second time tonightâcaused by a man you barely knew, which felt like an entirely different crime. pathetic.
maybe it was his charisma, maybe itâs the alcohol. either way, your eyes darted anywhere but him.
âsay the words, princess, and iâll draw you right now.â he winked, and you took another sip just to avoid combusting. god, he was making it painfully difficult to remember you were engaged.
silence fell and bucky felt the need to break it. without a thought, he asks you the firstâwell, second question he has on his mind. âdo you ever enjoy your⌠hobbies?â he asked suddenly.
your brows knitted. âof course i do. thatâs why i do them.â
he gave a shrug paired with a crooked little smileâone of those expressions that screamed, âsure, if you say so,â without actually saying it.
âso you donât ever have days where you just⌠chill? especially in that huge fuckinâ house.â
you paused. no. no, you really didnât. and for the first time tonight, the truth settled heavily on your shoulders. you shook your head, a stray strand of hair slipping down from your carefully curated messy bun.
bucky looked at it, contemplating whether he should lean in and tuck it behind your ear. he didnât. maybe because you looked ethereal like thatâmaybe because he knew if he touched you again, heâd lose the last shred of common sense he had left.
âwhatâs the party about?â he asked quietly. âyou said it was about you.â he finally asks the question thatâs been lingering on his mind since the moment you uttered your words to him.
you inhaled slowly, mind stuttering even though there was absolutely no reason to hesitate. âengagement party.â
he chuckled at first, assuming you were joking. but your expression didnât budge. his smile dropped to something small, almost disappointed. âshitâno way. youâre kidding.â
you shook your head. his face shiftedâsomething like desire darkened by guilt, by logic, by the awareness that he shouldnât want you but very much did.
and yet he couldnât help himself. you were beautiful, delicate, and for reasons he couldnât articulate, painfully compelling. a muse wrapped in silk and moral conflict.
heâd worked hard for everything in lifeâhis dream college, his career, the girls he wanted, the places he wanted to see. but the one thing he absolutely shouldnât wantâwas now sitting one feet away from him, sipping beer and unintentionally ruining his self-control.
he shouldâve driven you back immediately. he shouldâve kept his distance. he shouldâve done a dozen responsible things.
but he didnât.
instead, he leaned in closer, studying your features with the slow reverence of a man memorizing the lines of a sculpture. the room quieted under a strange, comfortable tension.
you stared back, equally entranced, equally confused why this manâthis complete strangerâfelt like gravity in human form.
your thoughts tangled uselessly. you couldnât pinpoint what made him so enthralling. maybe you didnât want to.
he wondered the sameâwhat about you made him ignore every internal alarm?
âi think i should go,â you said softly. âmy fiancĂŠâs probably looking for me.â you emphasized the word fiancĂŠ, trying to remind both him and yourself of reality.
honestly, in his defense, you hadnât told him earlier. so the guilt was yours to carry. great.
it didnât matter if your engagement wasnât romantic or if it was an arrangement. it was still an engagement, and you shouldnât be sitting in another manâs studio, flirting, drinking, and trying very hard not to melt under his gaze.
âstay for a while.â he didnât even know why he said it. he shouldâve encouraged you to leaveâgod knows that was the reasonable option.
âi donât want to intrude.â
âyouâre not,â he murmured, eyes steady on yours. âi invited you here.â
your body shiveredânot entirely from the cold condensation of your beer bottle.
as if cued by fate (or whatever cosmic entity was watching this disaster unfold), his phone rang. the sound sliced through the haze. he glanced at the caller id, swiped, and lifted it to his ear.
âyeah?â he listened. âyeah, alright.â then hung up.
âguess the universe doesnât want you here with me, doll.â his voice dipped lower, colored with reluctant resignation. âtheyâre cleaning up. partyâs almost over.â
if the universe had been kinderâor cruelerâyouâd be bent over the counter by now as his hands are held over by your mouth, stifling your whimpering moans. he didnât say it, but the thought lingered in the air between you.
he approached anyway, offering his hand with a gentlemanly calm that contradicted the inappropriate images in his head.
you set your half-finished beer on the counter, placed your hand in his, and hopped off the stool. a small smile tugged at your lips.
now, you were sitting in the passenger seat of his carâseatbelt on, window half-down, the kind of breeze that pretends it can fix your life brushing against your cheek.
this was supposed to be a simple unwinding moment. something harmless. something adult and responsible, if you squinted hard enough.
this week had been so overwhelmingly busy that you hadnât realized how badly you needed thisâyou needed an absurdly attractive stranger to abduct you (politely) from a party and convince you to drink beer with him as if that were the most logical remedy for burnout.
âi shouldnât have almost kissed you earlier.â he said suddenly, breaking the quiet hum of the engine.
his eyes flicked from the road to you when the traffic light bled into red. it really was unfairâsome men looked ridiculous in traffic light glow; he looked like the cover of a brooding romance novel that would emotionally devastate someoneâs aunt.
âitâs okay,â you said, shrugging. âit shouldnât have taken me that long to pull away.â
âlet me make it up to you.â
your brows instinctively furrowed. âiâll paint you for free.â bucky says, glancing over at you.
you shook your head quickly. as much as the proposition made your brain misfire like a faulty christmas light, you were not delusional.
you were many things, but delusional? not tonight. you knew damn well you wouldnât be able to sit still in front of a handsome artist while he looked at you like you were a complicated masterpiece and not someone barely holding herself together with caffeine and the fear of disappointing your fiancĂŠ.
âthatâs⌠thatâs nice of you,â you said. âbut, no thank you.â
âhow âbout a drink then?â
absolutely not. you were barely tipsy and youâd already run away with a stranger, nearly kissed said stranger, and were now contemplating whether youâd allow that stranger to immortalize you on canvas like a van gogh fever dream. you could not survive alcohol on top of this.
he mustâve sensed your refusal piling on his attempts because he huffed a tiny laugh.
âah,â he said, clicking his tongue, âdo i have to be on your waiting list and shit to schedule when i can see you again?â
you snorted out a laugh, âyes. yes, you do.â you playfully answered.
the smirk he gave you shouldâve been illegal. thank god you were sitting; your knees wouldâve submitted to gravity and public humiliation.
âoh, come on, princess,â he teased. âi doubt your husband would mind.â
husband. the way the word lodged in your ribs like a bad cough. it wasâor felt more like an insult.
your fiancÊ felt less like a life partner and more like a complicated⌠assignment. a commitment with the texture of a contract your father basically strong-armed you into.
the nickname princess didnât help eitherâit made you feel like a porcelain doll in a glass case.
âfiancĂŠ,â you corrected, though as if it makes anything better.
âfiancĂŠ,â he echoed.
silence fell again, but your mind was anything but silent. your fiancĂŠ did tell you to loosen up. to have fun. to try spontaneity as if you were some tax-evading duchess who needed a hobby. maybe accepting a drink with james would technically count as personal growth. or a mistake. or both.
âiâll think about it,â you murmured.
he watched you, like heâs trying to diagnose the exact flavor of emotional constipation you were suffering from. âyouâreâŚâ he started, trailing off.
you raised an eyebrow. âiâm what?â
âyouâre so uptight.â he joked.
you gasped dramatically, hand on your chest like a melodramatic victorian widow. a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. âiâm not uptight!â
he gave you a look that could only be described as: sure, jan. âyeah? whatâs on your itinerary for tomorrow?â
rolling your eyes playfully, you leaned back, listing things sarcastically as if to add on to the playful conversation. âpiano lessons, charity gala, poloââ
he snorted, cutting you off. âokay, thatâs enough.â
âone spontaneous drink, princess,â he said, gently nudging. âjust one.â
you shouldâve said no. you knew that. every responsible part of you knew that. but your mouth betrayed you. âsurprise me.â
his smirk sharpened. âhow âbout right now?â
you blinked, startled by his lack of hesitation. it took you a second to evaluate his impulsive tendencies versus your rapidly deteriorating self-control.
you tried to claw yourself back into reality. âi have to get back toââ
âthe party?â he interrupted, raising a brow. âi know a place with free drinks.â
âthe partyâs drinks are free.â
he pauses at your defense. defeated, yet somehow more smug. âwell, it came out of your pocket.â he says, making up a poor excuse in a mock-defensive tone.
then he simply grinned and turned the wheel, steering you toward a bar like heâd just claimed victory in a fight you didnât know you were having.
when he parked, you stared out the window for a moment, wondering when exactly youâd lost all critical thinking skills.
he jogged around to your side. again. opened your door. again. and offered his handâagain.
and you took it. again.
inside, the bar was a mix of office workers drowning sorrows, girls on a chaotic girlsâ night, and a handful of people who looked like theyâd been there since the invention of alcohol. the usual.
he led you to a booth, slid into the seat across from you, and for a moment the music seemed to fade out. it was just the two of you, suspended in this strange, intoxicating almost-moment.
then a friend of his appeared, shattering whatever tension had settled. âyouâre paying this time,â the man said, pointing at james like a disappointed landlord.
james only smirked. âcome on, tony. just put it on samâs tab.â
of course. naturally. this was a man who could charm his way out of a federal indictment. and you⌠god.
your imagination was already misbehaving.
because if james could persuade his friend this easily, what else could he compel you to do? follow him back to that studio of his? let him trace your body like you were a sculpture heâd been dying to draw? let him paint you like some leonardo da vinci masterpiece
two shots in and you were already laughingâloud and careless, the kind of laugh that startled even you. maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way james told stories, or maybe it was just the simple fact that he had lived a life so wildly different from yours.
he told you about sneaking into his high school after hoursâbecause apparently teenage bucky believed he was an elite assassinâand how heâd been escorted home in a cop car while his mother stood outside, face wielding disappointment.
everything about him intrigued you. his life, his humor, the way he held himself like heâd seen the world chew people up but still had the audacity to grin and throw his middle fingers up at it
he felt like a magnetic force, tugging you closer with every new revelation. you couldnât tell if you were being drawn into his misery or his contentment, but either way, you were spiraling into his orbit.
three shots in, you were the one talkingârambling, reallyâabout what it was like living a very fortunate curated life.
a life where your meals had itineraries and your emotions had to be pre-approved. he listened, genuinely listened, his eyes never leaving your plump lips as you spoke.
it made every word feel too intimate, too exposed, like he was reading secrets right off your lips. exactly what he wanted from you since the moment he saw you.
seven shots in, and the entire dynamic shifted. he moved from across the booth to beside you, closing the distance like it was nothing.
his thigh brushed yours, deliberate and warm. his hand found your palm, tracing slow, lazy circles that felt like incantations. the two of you were leaning in, too close, too touchy, too everythingâyet neither of you cared enough to stop.
the alcohol had softened the edges of your restraint, turning your âno, thank youâ into something mushy and easily ignored.
and before you could fully register it, you were back in his living quartersâhis small, cluttered studio apartment that somehow felt more alive than your entire childhood bedroom.
you didnât remember how you got there, only that his lips were on yours the second the door shut. he backed you against it, mouth hungry, hands everywhere. the kiss was messy and frantic.
his hands slid along your shoulders, fingers hooking under the thin strap of your dress and pushing it down in one slow glide. the other hand fumbled behind you, unzipping your dress with enough enthusiasm to suggest he had a personal vendetta against zippers.
your head felt heavy from the alcohol you had consumed that night. your limbs were warm, unreliable. you werenât drunk enough to forget your name, but you were absolutely drunk enough to forget your morals.
your hands found his chest, feeling the heat through his half-buttoned dress shirt. you worked the buttons open one by one, clumsy but determined.
his mouth grazed your lower lip, teeth catching it for just a second before he paused, silently asking. you parted your lips and he didnât waste a millisecondâhis tongue slid into your mouth, deepening the kiss until your knees threatened to liquify.
âwe shouldnâtâŚâ you whispered against his mouth when he pulled away for a breath. your words were thin, barely audible.
he nodded, forehead pressed to yours. âi know.â he agreed, but his hand stayed on your waist, thumb slowly stroking your skin.
neither of you moved. neither of you stepped back or loosened your grip on the other. instead, the two of you just stood there, breathing the same small pocket of air, eyes locked in a stare that felt far too potent to be legal.
the world shrank until it was just his blue eyes, the warmth of his breath, and the dangerous gravity pulling you both inward.
your dress hung precariously off one shoulder. his shirt was completely unbuttoned now, pushed open just enough for your fingertips to skim the edges of his collarbones, tracing your fingers downwards where his abs formed.
you could feel him exhale, slow and uneven, like he was fighting the same internal war you were.
âseriously,â you murmured, though you made no effort to move. âwe⌠really shouldnât.â
âwhyâs that, sweetheart?â he asks in a low, sultry voice. enough to have you immediately hooked like you donât have a fiancĂŠ at home.
then his hand slid just a little higher on your waist. your fingers curled into his shirt. his lips brushed your cheek. and the two of you stayed trapped exactly like thatâcaught between restraint and ruin.
âc-canâtâŚâ you try to say, or at least attempt something that resembles a coherent sentence, but your voice fractures the moment his lips touch your skin. he doesnât kiss you like a man hesitatingâhe kisses you like heâs starving. like heâs been waiting all night to taste you.
his mouth trails from your lips, to the soft curve of your cheek, then lower, gliding across the delicate line of your jaw until it finds the warm space at your collarbone.
the contrast between his hot breath and the cool air sends your head tipping back against the door. giving him enough space like a blank canvas for him to start painting on, he sucks on the sweet spot of your neck leaving you a moaning, whining mess.
âjamesâŚâ your breath catches, breaking into something between a gasp and a plea. âfuck.â
you donât know if youâre telling him to stop or begging him not to. you donât even think you know the difference anymore.
âthatâs it,â he murmurs against your skin, voice low, devastatingly self-assured. âsay my name like that.â
he sucks lightly at the side of your neckânot gentle, not rough, but deliberate. purposeful. by the time he pulls back, your skin is flushed and marked.
âtell me to stop,â he whispers, brushing his thumb along your jaw. heâs pleading for his resistance, he knows itâs wrong yet he couldnât stop. âsay the word and iâll let you go back to your fuckinâ husband and leave you to live that boring fuckinâ white-picket-fence kinda life of yours.â
you shake your head immediatelyâtoo quickly, too desperatelyâbefore he can even utter out another sentence. you donât trust your voice, not when your body betrays how badly you want him.
his mouth tilts into a slow, victorious smirk.
he taps your thigh lightly. you understand him without needing words. your legs wrap around him instinctively, and he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you across the room. the world blursâyour heartbeat, his breath, the soft thud of your back meeting the mattress.
youâre slipping out of the expensive fabric your fiancĂŠ gifted you like shedding someone elseâs expectations, throwing the fabric to god knows where somewhere on his floor.
âfuck it,â you whisper to no one, to him, to yourself.
his gaze darkens, something deep and dangerous flickering behind his eyes as he crawls over you. his hand settles beside your head, grounding. while the other skims your waist, your ribcage, your chest, your breastsâeverywhere and nowhere all at once.
his lips find yours again, slower this time, deeper, like heâs savoring the moment heâs not supposed to have. every shiver that runs through you.
he squeezes your left bosom and your breath leaves you in one soft, helpless sound he immediately swallows. the room spins, but not from the alcohol.
from him. just him.
his lips leaves your mouth, descending down to where his right hand was placed he starts to place gentle kisses around your chest, nibbling before sucking on your breastsâ skin, leaving hickeys that will for sure darken as time passes.
his right hand trails lower, tugging on the hem of your panties before discarding them, and throwing them to who knows where, somewhere on his floor.
he pulls away, watching your reaction as his fingers play with your glistening slick folds. you whine, drunk out of your mind to even respond.
âp-please..â you beg for something you aren't even sure of. all you knew was that you needed him.
something awakens inside you, because suddenly, youâre pushing him away. away from you. bucky stares at you in confusion. a questionable look as if heâs trying to figure you out. one moment youâre encouraging him to keep going, the next youâre not.
gently, you push him toward the bed, his head back leans against the headboard as you hoisted yourself up to straddle him. bucky smirks, already knowing how itâs going to go.
you reach down to his belt, unbuckling it while holding steady eye contact with the man before you. with buckyâs help pushing his pants down, youâre then met by his huge cock.
your body dips down, wordlessly asking if you can to which he responded by giving you a simple nod. you wrap your hand around his cock, attaching your plump lips as his fingers find themselves tangling with your hair.
slowly, you suck on his tip before flattening your tongue as your hands move up and down while low groans leaves buckyâs lips. his grip on your hair tightens but not enough to actually hurt you. if anything, it serves you pleasure.
you hollow out your mouth, slowly taking him in inch by inch. trying hard not to gag at his length thatâs fucking your throat.
your eyes glance back up at him, watching his expression equal parts pride and hunger. his palms that were placed on the crown of your head, slowly caresses your hair before pushing your head further down, forcing you to take all his length.
placing a hand on your cheek, he admires his muse, making sure to take another mental polaroid of this moment for him to paint.
you pull away with a soft âpopâ sound. bucky moves his fist down to his shaft, slowly jerking himself off as he hoists you back up to straddle him.
he licks his lips like a predator hunting its prey. and before you know it, heâs already inside of you, pounding rough and deep.
his hands grip on your wrist like a makeshift handcuff. âbucky, d-dont stoââ your sentence cut short when he pulls out with a mischievous smirk on his lips.
âcome on, beg for me. does your husbandââ he pauses, âfiancĂŠ, i mean, fucks you like this?â he corrects himself, the tip of his cock just placed on your entrance to tease you.
âplease. please, bucky.â grinding your hips onto his cock, desperate for more friction. and with that, bucky pounds back into you. drilling into your insides. âfuck, your tight cunt likes that, huh?â
his words starts to sound indistinct to your ear, closing your eyes tight as you arch your back. your walls swallowing his cock making him let out an audible groan.
you feel your insides pulse, indicating for a sweet release as bucky fastens his pace, chasing for his. âiâm gonna cum inside you, baby.â he says, more of a warning than a statement as you nod your head in agreement.
his thrust moves slow and and deliberate, teasing your climax. âbucky, please.â you whined. he then quickly changes his pace. his thrusts goes from slow to a rough one.
soon, you feel your insides painted with warm white strings as bucky pants above you. his eyes stayed watching your expression, admiring his muse before he pulls away making you moan at the sensitivity.
your eyes flutter shut as sleep swallows you whole. the world goes dark but you feel a hand comb through the tangles of your hair as he whispers incoherent sweet nothings into your ear.
a week had passed since youâd been with james, and the guilt gnawed at you like a persistent, unseen animal. it wasnât just the act itselfâit was the weight of it. the knowledge that youâd crossed a line that couldnât be uncrossed.
and then came the announcement from your mother. the wedding date. closer than youâd realized. three more days till it felt like a lifetime compressed into moments of panic and dread.
the closer the wedding date came, the more trapped you felt. not the exciting kind of captivated. not the kind that made your heart race with anticipation. not the kind you felt when you were with bucky. no, this was the suffocating kindâbound by obligation and expectation.
you tried to keep your mind away from him, your thoughts away from the man who had been the only thing in the last week capable of making your pulse spike without warning. but it was impossible. every time you looked at your fiancĂŠ, you couldnât see him. all you could see was jamesâbucky, james-bucky, whatever he insisted on calling himself.
and the worst part? you knew your fiancĂŠâs faults were far worse. but somehow that knowledge didnât absolve you. it only made the guilt sharper. you should have been better than this. you were better than him. yet here you were, thinking about a man you barely knew.
sleeping with a strangerâa handsome, infuriatingly magnetic strangerâhad shattered the carefully constructed version of yourself you had tried to uphold for so long. it was reckless. it was wrong. and yet, every nerve in your body remembered it like it had never stopped.
you needed to set things right. not just for your conscience, but for the fragile life of order you had been maintaining.
so, you made your decision. keys in hand, you left without alerting anyone. just a desperate need to see him, to confront him, to tell him everything was a mistake before your life became a full-on farce.
somehow, after navigating a series of wrong streets, wrong turns, and more than one near collision, you found it: his building, small, yet entirely familiar from memory.
you parked, heart hammering in your chest, your mind wondered if heâd be there considering he told you he lives somewhere with roommates, but you hoped he was.
bucky sits in his dimly lit apartment, pencil in hand, sketching a picture of youâa mental polaroid heâs been carrying since that night. every line on the page is a memory: the way you tilted your head, the subtle curve of your smile, the way the light caught your eyes.
his walls are plastered with drawings, paintings, and sketches, each a silent testament to his obsession, his muse. as your fingers brush lightly over the sketches, he canât help but watch.
he knows itâs wrong. that youâre promised to another, locked into a life he shouldnât even dream of interfering with. yet he canât stop himself. itâs maddening. the way your memory refuses to let him breathe.
and a week ago, even his roommates noticed a changeâa certain lightness in his step, a smirk that wonât fade.
âthe fuck is wrong with you?â steve asks, breaking the silence, glancing over at sam whoâs sprawled lazily on the couch with the same questioning expression.
âwhat do you mean?â bucky replies, turning just enough to flash a grin at the men, his arms full of a laundry basket of freshly washed clothes.
âi usually do your laundry.â steve flashes him a look as if heâs an interrogator.
âi know. just⌠got laid, âya know, motivation.â he says with a proud and teasing smirk, his eyes glinting, before heading to his room with a victory strut that screams triumph.
âdude, youâre fuckinâ gross.â sam mutters, throwing a pillow at him, which, unsurprisingly, doesnât even hit.
the rest of the week passes in the same routine: chores done with a distracted fervor, work punctuated by stolen moments thinking of you, and nights spent alone in his secret apartment, sketching, painting, imagining.
and as he sets his pencil down, leaning back in his chair, he canât deny itâyouâve taken up residence in every corner of his mind, in every quiet moment, in every heartbeat.
then his mind drifts to somewhere far more less appropriate: how your plump lips are wrapped around his tip, how your tongue feels when you trace the veins of his cock. bucky feels his pants tighten up, reminiscing about the night before.
he tucks in his palms into his pants, promising to soothe himself with the thought of you.
the thought of an engaged woman. itâs fucked up. bucky knows that. yet he couldnât stop himself getting more and more attracted to you each day despite only knowing you for one night.
âfuck..â he lets out a moan, his thumb brushes over his tip, imagining itâs your tongue thatâs doing the work.
he tugs at his jeans, kicking them off. freeing his hardened shaft as he shuts his eyes shut, replaying the same memory over and over again.
both of you, suspended in a moment neither of you were brave enough to end. the memory of bucky kissing your lips as his hips continues to pounce onto you. his mouth leaves trails of wet kisses and hickeys while you try to stifle a moan into a pillow.
another memory replays on his mind: your legs thrown over his shoulder, he grins seductively and takes another mental polaroid to lock inside a box inside his mind only he can access to.
your eyes lock with his as he thrusts inside you, watching you squirm and beg for him.
âp-please⌠james..â you moan in desperation as he thrust into you. a proud smirk forms at his lips when he hears his name instead of the man you were engaged to. âyou like it like this, huh? you like me thrusting into âya like this?â
you managed a nod though his sentence was near incoherent due to the pleasure and ecstasy you feel at the moment. âyeah, take it. tell me, does he fuck ya like this?â
buckyâs head falls back as he replays the memory over and over in his mind, his eyes closed shut as he continues to fist his needy cock. his strokes was smooth and slow as he continues to imagine and re-live the experience he treasures.
how you moan compliments when he connects his lips back to your mouth like: âfuck, bucky, youâre so handsome.â or when you dug your nails down in his back while muttering a few praises which makes his shaft twitch in anticipation for a release.
well, what can he say? he thrives on compliments.
his strokes came to a halt when suddenly, he hears a knock on the door, he starts breathing heavily, panting like he got chased by a wild animal. his mind questions why and how. surely his address didnât leak to his roommates? right?
irritated, he pulls his pants back up, shoving his hardened cock back into his pants before walking over to give a piece of his mind to the person behind the door. he pulls his hoodie a little down to try and cover his very clear and obvious boner.
bucky, already vexed, opens the door with a frown so deep it couldâve been carved. he clearly doesnât want to deal with whoeverâs on the other side, but duty wins outâand when he finally looks up, heâs met with the last person he expected to see.
you.
the same person who was still on his mindâyou, who he was just touching himself to. for a moment, his vocabulary felt invisible in your presence. his heart pounded hard when you offered him your sickly, sweet smile.
he pushes the loose strands of his hair back, inhaling slowly as if composure is something he can physically grab and force into place. he looks calmâannoyingly soâbut inside, his chest is doing something far less dignified.
âi⌠i need to talk to you,â you say, and immediately wish youâd rehearsed it better.
bucky pauses for half a second, just enough to tell you he knows this isnât small talk. then he steps aside and pushes the door open wider, gesturing you in like this is a normal visit and not an emotional ambush.
âyeah,â he says. âsure.â
you walk in, heels clicking softly against the floor, shrugging off your expensive fuckinâ coat and placing it on the nearest empty table.
the apartment hasnât changedâstill sparse, still intentional in that way that suggests he doesnât care about furniture but deeply cares about everything else. canvases line the walls. sketches are taped up crookedly, some curling at the edges. it smells faintly of paint, paper, and beer. very him.
bucky closes the door behind you, slower than necessary.
unbeknownst to you, his eyes track you with embarrassing ease. the way you move. the way you stand like youâre bracing yourself. he doesnât even try to stop himself this time. whatâs the point? youâre already here.
âuh⌠âcha want a beer?â he asks, voice casual like this isnât the exact same offer that detonated both your lives last week.
you shake your head immediately.
nope. absolutely not. never again.
âright,â he mutters, nodding as if he respects that, even though heâs already reaching for one himself. he cracks it open, takes a sip, then leans back against the counter, eyes never leaving you. not staring. watching. like heâs waiting for you to pull the pin.
you inhale deeply, shoulders rising and falling. you want this over with. quick. clean. no dramatics. say the words, turn around, leave with whatever dignity you still have clinging to you.
âiâm just gonnaâ you know what?â you say, straightening your posture, slipping into that polished version of yourself that knows how to survive meetings, expectations, and rooms full of judgmental people. âiâm just gonna get on with it. james, i think youâre a great personââ
âthanks,â he says immediately, grinning like you just complimented his art.
you stop. blink. then shoot him a look sharp enough to make a lesser man flinch.
he lifts both hands in surrender, beer dangling loosely from his fingers. âsorry. keep going.â
you press your lips together, visibly recalibrating.
heâs smiling. not mocking. not dismissive. just⌠easy. like this conversation is a mild inconvenience instead of the moral reckoning you drove across town to deliver. and somehow, that makes it worse.
because god help you, that smile still works.
âi think youâre a great person,â you repeat, making sure your voice doesnât waver this time. âi just donâtâwhat happened between us last weekââ
âwas a mistake?â bucky finishes for you, his voice softer than you expected, like heâs already prepared himself for the answer.
you nod slowly. not rushed, not dramatic. itâs the same controlled movement you were taught as a child, the kind meant to show grace even when youâre uncomfortable.
your diamond earrings sway with the motion, catching the light as if they have their own opinion about this conversation.
bucky lets out a breath and sets his beer down on the kitchen counter. a thin layer of condensation coats his palm, and he wipes it against his shirt before walking toward you.
his steps are unhurried, but intentional, like heâs choosing to cross the space instead of letting it linger between you.
âainât that what everyone says in those forbidden-love movies?â he says, attempting humor, though the seriousness beneath it is impossible to miss.
your body reacts before your mind can catch up. you take a small step backward, heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room.
you avoid his gaze, suddenly fascinated by anything that isnât his face. âitâs clichĂŠ, i know,â you admit quietly, your eyes drifting to the artwork on his walls instead. it feels safer to look at something that doesnât look back at you with heated intensity.
he stops just short of where youâre standing. close enough that you can feel his presence, close enough that the space between you feels charged rather than empty.
his eyes scan your face, searchingânot pressuring, but clearly hoping for something more than what youâre giving him.
âthen why are you here right now?â he asks. his tone isnât sharp, but it is direct. âif it really was a mistake, why come back here at all? you couldâve just moved on with your life. you couldâve pretended it never happened and never thought about this âmistakeâ again.â
you try to respond, but the words refuse to come. your throat tightens as the question settles in, because he isnât wrong. you had asked yourself the same thing the entire drive over, and you still didnât have an answer that felt honest enough to say out loud.
finally, you swallow and meet his eyes.
âiâm getting married in three days.â
the words feel heavier once spoken, like they take up more space than they should.
buckyâs expression changes immediately. his jaw tightens, and something darker settles into his gazeânot anger, but the quiet realization that this was never going to be simple, and that whatever this was between the two of you had already crossed a line neither of you knew how to step back over.
bucky takes another step closer, and for reasons you canât quite name, your feet refuse to move. your body freezes in place as if distance has suddenly become a foreign concept.
he flashes you a smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes, insincere but practiced, before bending slightly at the waist to bring himself closer to your height.
the warmth of his breath brushes against your face, familiar in the most dangerous way. just like that night, whatever resolve you managed to gather on the drive here begins to dissolve.
âwhat?â he murmurs. âyou here to invite me or something?â
the question hangs in the air, weighted and loaded. your throat tightens as the tension thickens between you, pressing in from all sides. you clear your throat, hoping the small sound might ground you, might remind you why you came here in the first place.
âno, i justââ you start.
âjust what?â he presses, not raising his voice, not backing away either.
âiâm here toâŚâ your words trail off, unraveling the moment he steps closer again, invading what little space you had left. your thoughts scatter, carefully prepared sentences evaporating under the heat of his proximity.
panic wins before reason can catch up.
âyou know what?â you say quickly, stepping back at last. âiâll just come back.â
you turn on your heel and move toward the table where you left your coat, eager for something solid to hold onto, something that isnât him.
your fingers barely brush the fabric before his hand closes around your arm. his grip is firm but not rough, enough to stop you, enough to pull you gently back toward him.
you turn your head to look at him, breath uneven.
his expression has changed. the teasing edge is gone, replaced by something quieter, more guarded. his eyes soften, though you can see the restraint behind them, the careful control of someone watching himself as much as heâs watching you.
he studies your face like heâs trying to read what youâre refusing to say, waiting to see whether youâll run againâor finally stay.
âhas your husbandââ
that word felt like an insult. you correct him before he can finish, the word striking something sharp in you. âfiancĂŠ.â
he pauses, then nods once. âright. fiancĂŠ.â his gaze drops briefly, tracing the curve of your lower lip as if it has a gravity of its own, before lifting again to meet your eyes. âhas he ever touched you the way i did?â
your breath stutters despite yourself. you straighten instinctively, clinging to composure like itâs armor.
âthis is an inappropriate conversation, james,â you say, forcing calm into your voice even as it threatens to crack. you remind yourself to stay poised. dignified. untouched by the chaos unfolding in your chest.
âoh, to hell it is,â he replies, not raising his voice but hardening it. âyouâre the one who drove all the way here just to have it.â
âi came because i thought i wanted to clear things up before my wedding,â you say, lifting your chin, standing taller as if posture alone could defend you from him. from the pull. from the truth you donât want to say out loud.
âis that really what you want?â he asks, leaning closer again. his tone borders on teasing, but his face doesnât mirror it. thereâs no smile now. only intent.
âyou donât know me,â you snap, the words tumbling out sharper than planned.
he doesnât flinch. doesnât retreat. âmaybe,â he says calmly. âbut i know you better than your fiancĂŠ.â
the statement lands clean and cruel, stealing the air from your lungs. you hate that heâs right. you hate the small, knowing smirk that curves his lips like a victory he didnât even have to fight for.
silence settles between you. bucky leans in, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that instinct screams louder than reason. for a fleeting moment, your body betrays you, wanting to close the distance, wanting to repeat a mistake that no longer has alcohol to blame.
you donât let it.
instead, you lean away and press your palm flat against his chest, firm enough to stop him, gentle enough to reveal how badly you wish you didnât have to.
âdonât,â you say quietly, the word carrying far more weight than it should.
and for the first time since you walked through that door, he listens.
âiâm sorry, james,â you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can second-guess them.
you slip free of his graspâfiguratively first, then literallyâuntangling yourself from the weight of his presence and the gravity of everything unsaid.
you donât look back as you cross the room, afraid that if you do, your resolve will fracture completely.
you grab your coat from where you left it, fingers trembling as you put it on, and head straight for the door.
the moment it closes behind you, the air feels colder.
you exhale shakily, the sound catching somewhere between relief and regret. your heart is still racing, your thoughts still tangled, but you keep moving anywayâdown the hall, away from him.
outside, reality crashes back in with brutal efficiency.
what were you even thinking?
âso youâre telling me,â sam says slowly, turning his head to look at bucky like heâs trying to solve a riddle he very much does not want the answer to, âthat youâre sleeping with a married woman?â
the living room is frozen in time. the football game they were supposed to be yelling at plays forgotten in the background, commentators droning on to absolutely no one. buckyâs confession has effectively murdered the vibe.
âsheâs not married,â bucky corrects immediately, as if thatâs the most important part of the sentence.
sam squints at him. âyou said promised to another.â
âengaged,â bucky amends, waving a hand dismissively. âbig difference.â
âis it though?â
steve, who has been silent up until now, just stares at him. not blinking. not impressed. the kind of stare that makes bucky feel like heâs twelve again and just broke something expensive from steveâs momâs antique collection.
bucky leans back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm along the back like this is some casual, post-dinner anecdote and not a moral dilemma dropped into a boys night. âand i didnât say iâm sleeping with her. past tense. we slept together.â
âwow,â sam mutters. âthat clears everything up.â
âsheâs getting married tomorrow,â bucky adds, almost as an afterthought.
that does it.
samâs head snaps toward steve, both of them sharing the same wide-eyed look of disbelief, silently negotiating whether this calls for a lecture, an intervention, or a long walk away from bucky before they say something regrettable.
âbuck,â steve finally says, rubbing a hand over his face, âyou do realize that makes her basically married.â
ânot really,â bucky replies too quickly, eyes flicking away. the denial is almost impressive in its confidence.
sam lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. âman, you are doing some olympic-level mental gymnastics right now.â
âso what?â sam asks, leaning forward on the couch, disbelief etched plainly across his face. âshe just comes over here and goes on dates with you without us even knowing anything?â
bucky shrugs, eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead of him, like the answer is obvious. âwe slept together once.â
sam blinks. once. just once. he lets out a slow breath through his nose. âso⌠a one-night stand.â he asked, tone almost fed up with buckyâs nonstop bullshit.
âno,â bucky snaps back immediately, posture stiffening as he finally turns to look at him. thereâs something defensive in his tone now, something sharper. âit wasnât like that.â
sam raises an eyebrow. âthen what was it?â
âit was something special,â bucky says, a little too firmly.
the way he says it makes sam scoff, half-expecting a grin or a laugh to follow. but it doesnât. bucky looks seriousâannoyingly soâand thatâs what makes sam frown instead.
âokay,â sam says slowly, skeptical. âdo you even know her last name?â
bucky doesnât hesitate. âno.â
sam stares at him, unimpressed.
âbut sheâll be screaming it once i see her again,â bucky adds, cocky grin finally breaking through.
sam squints. ââŚyou do realize sheâd be screaming her own last name, right?â
steve lets out a short huff from the other end of the couch while sam points at bucky like heâs just proven a point in court. âsee? this is what iâm talking about.â
the room fills with their usual back-and-forth, the kind of casual arguing that normally means nothing. but this time, thereâs tension underneath it, something unresolved.
then bucky straightens slightly, looking over at steve. âheyâsteve. you know her last name, right?â
steve pauses. âwhat?â
âthe people you catered for,â bucky says. âlike⌠a week ago.â
steveâs brows knit together as realization slowly dawns.
sam, meanwhile, does the math in his head and whistles low. âa week of wedding planning and an engagement party?â he shakes his head. âdamn. they must be loaded.â
steve suddenly gets a break from his own thoughts as he looks at his friend with a concerned look, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line.
âcome on, whereâs your suit? you got to stop the wedding,â he says, his voice carrying urgency and a hint of disbelief, which immediately makes both sam and bucky glance at each other, confusion written all over their faces.
steve, the good, moral steve, suddenly wants to stop a wedding? bucky thinks, incredulous, his mind racing to understand what could have possibly prompted this sudden moral crusade. thereâs got to be more to the story, surely, some piece heâs missing.
âman, whatâs gotten into you?â bucky finally blurts out, his tone a mix of appallment and genuine confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies steveâs unusual expression.
âwas your âgirlfriendâ the woman i saw you with the other night?â steve asks, his gaze piercing directly at bucky. in response, bucky nods, feeling a mixture of guilt and anticipation wash over him.
âyeah, you got to stop the wedding,â steve repeats, more firmly this time, as if the urgency in his tone could somehow make bucky see the situation as clearly as he does.
âwhatâs going on, steve?â sam interjects, leaning forward with curiosity and concern, his eyes flicking between the two, silently asking what bucky is also thinking but too polite to voice.
âdonât be fuckinâ dramatic, man. weâre not in a movie,â bucky mutters, rolling his eyes, but the words come out half-hearted as he senses steve is dead serious. steve rolls his eyes in return, takes a slow breath, and braces himself before finally beginning to explain.
âher fiancĂŠâs the one who hired us,â steve explains, his tone serious, almost grim. âthat night, i saw him hit on one of my coworkers. she refused him, and he tried to blackmail her just to get her fired. i stepped in, gave her something to doâobviously to get her out of his slimy fingers. thatâs not a man worthy of marrying.â
âso is infidelity, steve.â sam pauses, taking a breath before speaking up again.
âlet me get this straight,â sam says, skeptical, voice rising. âyouâre saying we have to stop a wedding because her fiancĂŠe is a horrible person⌠but bucky slept with her too? shouldnât that make this a little⌠complicated?â
âsure,â steve says with a shrug, like itâs obvious. âbut from what i heard, sheâs trapped in a business-type relationship with that guy. bucky actually cares. thatâs the difference. thatâs why this⌠matters.â steve adds, leaning back slightly, remembering the conversation he overheard between your fiancĂŠe and his coworker the night before, the details clear as day in his mind.
sam looks over at bucky, eyebrows raised, âdâyou know this?â
bucky shakes his head slowly, completely taken aback by the revelation, his mouth slightly open in surprise. he just sits there, taking it all in, trying to calm the rapid pulse in his chest.
steve leans back, crossing his arms. âlook, man. youâve got one shot. if you donât stop this, sheâs marrying a guy who doesnât give a damn about her. you know it. i know it. we all know it.â he says as if heâs in a very dramatic movie as he comforts bucky.
sam looks over at steve with an expression that shouts âreally, man?â as steve shrugs in response, turning his attention back to his friend whoâs in need of comfort.
bucky exhales slowly, running a hand down his face, feeling a mix of frustration, and some stupid, undeniable desire he canât explain. he glances at sam, whoâs shrugging helplessly, then back at steve, whoâs giving him the most pointed look of expectation.
âfine,â bucky says finally, standing up in a borderline dramatic, cartoonish way, like this is a movie scene heâs just stepped into. he storms over to steve and plants a quick, victorious kiss on his friendâs head. âsteve⌠youâre a fuckinâ hero. i have to stop the wedding.â
âgood thing i cater the wedding too,â steve replies, smirking like he knew exactly what was coming next.
sam groans, throwing his hands up. âwait⌠hold up. weâre crashing another partyâa wedding?â sam asks in disbelief. the first party was nice, but a second one seems tiring. either way, heâs got to support his friend no matter what.
steve just nods, expression dead serious. buckyâs grin widens impossibly. exactly. this is happening. heâs going to get what he wants, no matter how messy, ridiculous, or chaotic it might be. if it means stopping this wedding, then hell yes.
âby the power of love,â bucky announces dramatically, loud enough to sound heroic, but not enough to wake the neighbors.
sam stares at him like heâs lost his mind. âdonât be corny, buck.â
âlove doesnât wait, sammy,â bucky says, stretching his arms back, smirk still plastered on his face. âsometimes you gotta take whatâs yours before itâs gone.â
and in that moment, thereâs no turning back. wedding, rules, consequences⌠none of it matters. all that matters is you.
âĄËË Äąl. lovie's gossip. i have a very fun and exciting fics to come !! i donât know when iâll finish writing it since i am very much a slow writer but oh well
i canât believe i actually locked in and let the demon writer inside of me posses and write the last part in one sitting just because of what my friend said to meâŚ
All my stories are R18. I write smut and I may touch sensitive topics, or topics that are not intended to be read by minors.
YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN CONTENT CONSUMPTIONS. +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Masterlist | Challenge Masterlist
February 8th.
Prompts: Going to a wine tasting, one of you gets silly drunk.
âI want you so badly it hurts to hold back."
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mexican F!Reader
Warning/Tags: Alcohol Mention, Very Self Inserted, Tipsy Reader, Tipsy Bucky, Fluff. Sex Mentioned (No smut.)
Word Count: ~1.4k
Author's Note: This is a very self inserted fic, I've been having a horrible week and this really made my day, I hope you like it as much as I did writing it!
You knew he hadnât experienced a lot of things; even after being freed he deprived himself of a lot of experiences, his excuse was that âhe was too old for thatâ, and you accepted for the first six months of relationship, even when you turned a year together. Not pushing too hard, letting him decide what was worth the trouble of convincing him to do it, and what was not worth.Â
He was always drinking beer, strong drinks, he did it just for the sake of the olâ times, not because he could get drunk, the mere fact that he couldnât get drunk was something that amused you; before he told you, you could sense it. He drank on all your first dates, and you didnât even see him tipsy. Then, when he told you he couldnât get drunk with normal alcohol it made you curious.Â
All party or club nights ended the same, you being tipsy or drunk, while he was just happy to see you there, silly, doing your own, having the time of your life. And how could you not? You had your super soldier to protect you, and a super soldier who respected you the most and your friends, a man who never hesitated to protect all of you if someone tried to cross your boundaries.Â
It was not like you had a drinking problem, but in your country, Mexico, it was kind of part of the culture for alcohol to be part of your celebrations, parties, basically on your most important dates.Â
He learned fast that you loved wine, tequila, and other kinds of drinks rather than beer or any other drink that you were offered there, and even when you were grateful with the things you were offered, you really missed the liquor you were used to in Mexico.Â
Thatâs when he came up with the idea of taking you there. He planned it for a whole month; he knew you had some forced time off, and he was happy to take advantage of it. When he gave you the news of your short trip you couldnât have been happier.Â
And you took the opportunity, before even taking the plane you booked a wine tasting in a city near your hometown. He never really enjoyed those things in NYC, he said they were pointless for him, he just had to see people getting tipsy, so you never really went to one, but being in your home, he couldnât say no, he really had no choice for it.Â
You got carried away with the experience, and he was so happy to see you like that, being completely you, feeling not out of your place for once. Something he hated the most of you living in a foreign country, that from time to time you got all homesick.Â
But there? You were enjoying yourself, drinking everything the people there gave you, making him drink too. He was amused by the way you could resist alcoholâbut you explained to him that it was sort of part of your context there, so it completely took him aback the way you were all silly drunk by the third hour there.Â
Every drink made you even more clumsy, dancing all over the place, singing loudly, making him dance with you, drinking the things he didnât want, staring back at people who looked a little bit more at him.Â
âSweetheart, donât you think itâs time to take a break from drinking? Just maybe half an hour, drink some water, and⌠maybe eat something that itâs not charcuterie?âÂ
You shook your head, âThatâs the experience hereâgetting completely wasted.âÂ
âI can see it, but I donât want to carry a cute drunk bulk all over the place.â
âIâll be fine! Iâm enjoying it, and you should do it too.â You took the glass of wine you had in your hand, placed it in front of him and pouted to him.
He snorted and opened his mouth to let you pour the whine on his lips.
Deep inside, he hated when you got drunkânot merely for the fact of you being drunk, but more for the fact that you got⌠horny. But not horny as âLet me kiss you a bit longer than usual.â Nope. Horny all the way. You would touch his abs, his arms, make him kiss you feral, take him to secluded places and have a mid public make out session.Â
And ever the respectful man he was, he never let it go further than that. Not because he didnât want to fuck that attitude out you, but because he hated the idea of having sex with you being so vulnerable.Â
Unfortunately, for him. You were at that point there, drunk, horny and eager.Â
âPlease, Buckyâitâs gonna be quick, I know a place right over there.â You murmured.Â
His mouth went to the floor, âIâm not sure if I want to know why you know a place.âÂ
âWhat? I was twenty and crazy, can you blame a girl?âÂ
He chuckled, âSweetheart, you know itâs not my style, but when you sober up, Iâm gonna make you all mine.âÂ
You sighed, âItâs not fair that you donât want to fuck me while Iâm drunk.â
Your body leaned on his broad body; he just chuckled in response.Â
âWhatâs so funny?â
âI want you so badly it hurts to hold back, but I know better than doing it when youâre not completely capable of consent.âÂ
You pouted.
âSweetheart, I know you can wait a few hours âtill you sober up for me to fuck you dumb.âÂ
âI just think itâs not fair that Iâm the one whoâs always all horny while Iâm drunk and you just get to decide that we canât fuck âtill Iâm sober.âÂ
âItâs been years since the last time I was drunk.â
He said while he slowly caressed your bare leg.Â
âI mean âyearsâ itâs an understatement.â You chuckled, âYou should say âdecadesâ.âÂ
âOh no, the last time I got drunk was in Wakanda. Somehow, MâBaku got a hold of Asgardian liquorâthatâs the only thing that can get me drunk.âÂ
Your mouth fell to the floor.
âWhy didn't you tell me that before?âÂ
âI meanâI never thought you would need that informationâtsâ not like you want me to get drunk.âÂ
He raised an eyebrow, but your face did the trick to let him know that it was exactly what you wanted.Â
âNo. No. No. That shit is horrible, you can be the expert at drinking tequila, wine, whatever liquor you wanna list, but Asgardian liquor itâs something different.â
âOh, that wonât be for me. That will be for you.âÂ
He titled his head; he was really amused by the fact that you wanted to see him drunk.Â
And thatâs how he ended up collecting a couple of favors to find Asgardian liquor and give you what you wanted.
Seeing him getting drunk.
The night was cold, the rooftop at the Tower gave you the perfect weather, a glass that held clear liquid, and a glass of your tequila brought directly from your country.Â
A couple of drinks later, you could see the reaction in his bodyâhis cheeks and the tip of his nose were turning red, the words in his mouth were now being slower, you could even hear a stuttering here and there.Â
You were amused, almost excited on the way he was now at the other side.Â
âGod, you are so beautiful, sweetheart.â He said half smiling, âThe man by your side is the luckiest man in the world.âÂ
âIâm the lucky one.â You said just looking at him.Â
âOf course youâre not. Look at youâbeautiful, amazing, gracious, kind, and you fell in love with the bastard with a horrible past?â
âBucky⌠youâre now officially drunk.âÂ
âCan be, but thatâs not a lie.â He stood up and yanked you from your chair, to carry you on his waist.
You giggled and hugged him by his neck.
âThe bastard by your side is the luckiest.âÂ
His lips found your neck, pecking it slowly.Â
âI wanna make you mine.â He mumbled.Â
âGuess what? That lucky man that you mentioned taught me that we cannot fuck with drunk people.âÂ
He grunted.Â
âNow youâre going to use my words against me?âÂ
âItâs like when we play UNO. This is my UNO Reverse.â
He cracked a laugh. A playful giggle left your lips, âI mean, youâre not lying, I could never have something with you in this state.â
âThen, when I sober upâI will teach you why you donât use my words against me.âÂ
âIn the meantime, let me enjoy the sight of you being so vulnerable.âÂ
i appreciate all the love for the last part gen made so giddy
jst like last time there's not much damian interaction until the end
this was supposed to be slow burn but im impatient (this is realllly fast paced now it was meant to be wayyy longer)
no use of y/n, intentional lowercase, screw forced proximity he WANTS you there and he always gets what he wants, blunt damian, cass and steph are fun
im really bad this whole writing thing
dividers by: @uzmacchiato
synopsis: you and damian lay down the law together but apparently, there aren't many. afterwards, you call your friends and begin to panic on the phone over dinner with his family.
after some planning, scheming, and tomfoolery you've found yourself facing damian midst the gloomy moonlight that washes over the manor in a particularly pretty nightgown.
you tried your best to not bite your cheek as damian spoke. you found youself back in his study, this time sitting across from him. you barely had any time to settle before the clock hit 2:20, you assumed damian was the type of person who when they say 12:00 they actually mean 11:50, you were right.
you've been sitting in this chair for only a couple of minutes, you can barely even understand a word that he's saying when his lips look so soft and pretty every movement, every syllable just looks so precious.
"-which is why this marriage will be publicised. is that all clear?"
"what? oh. yeah, got that." you bite your cheek despite yourself.
he nods, you can tell he's unconvinced. "well, for your wedding dress and bachelorette party, that is if you decide to have one, will be covered by us. you get to choose whatever you want under the supervision of my sisters."
"so, the dress has to be approved first?"
"yes, just so you don't wear anything outrageous. i know this arrangement may cause you some negativity which may lead you to, say, sabotage the wedding."
you perk up. "w-well, of course i can assure you that i have no intention to! i can't even think of a reason why i'd want to do that."
"to embarrass my family and i?"
"why in the world would i do that?" you exclaim, obviously offended. "that'd be meaningless and i'd only be embarrassing myself!"
"i know." he states blankly, "but we can never be so sure."
"but, why does it have to be your sisters? can't you approve it?"
"because-" his words seem to get caught up in his throat. "because i'm sure they know much more about it than i do and.... i don't want to see you in your dress before the wedding."
you couldn't help the red crawling up neck, "of course! tradition and all..." 'why would he even bother with tradition?' you thought to yourself. it's almost as if this is an actual wedding, with actual feelings. you shake the thought out of your head. 'im going crazy.'
the rest of your talk went smoothly, he was pleased with quite a few things, you being early, your reassurance, he even admitted to finding your blush amusing which just made it worse for you.
you crashed onto your bed. 3:20 pm.
you think of ways to kill the time. 'shit!'
"i forgot to call the girls!" you yelled out loud.
you frantically rummaged through your bag which was brought up by alfred early, you pull out your phone dialing Valerie's number almost instantly.
"hey girl!"
"valerie! gosh, im so sorry i lost track of time."
you hear a few distant laughs
"it's alright! we told you to call when you could, not as soon as you got there. is everything alright?"
"y-yeah. we just went over a few things, they're gonna be giving me a few shares of the company which was apparently in the contract so that's cool."
"wait, right, let me put you on speaker!"
"are you guys sleeping in the same bed!?"
you hear lilie almost immediately.
"lilie!"
annabel, you assumed.
a couple more laughs were exchanged.
"no, unfortunately not. i have my own room."
you could hear their gasps and snickers
"unfortunately? weren't you the one whining about how much you didn't wanna see this guy?"
mitch teases.
"well..." you trail off. "can i be honest?" you continue before they can answer because you already know what they'll say. "he's kinda hot."
"of course he is! he's a wayne!"
"told you, i told you!!"
"seriously!? c'mon girl, willpower!!"
"he is, right? right."
"he totally is, are you kidding?"
their voices overlap one another. you couldn't help but chuckle.
"is he an asshole like they'd say he'd be?"
lilie speaks up again
"lilie!!!"
anna's probably wrestling her again.
"no, actually, he's been really nice and respectful since i got here. scary, yes? douchebag, no. their house is scary too."
"of course it is that thing is huge. have you gotten lost yet?"
"no, mitch, i've actually only been in like, three rooms so far. but, tonight i'm having dinner with his family."
"eeek!!"
chelsea screeched
"get an autograph from richard for me!"
"chels, she's not gonna ask her future in laws for autographs!"
you could feel valerie rolling her eyes through the phone.
"are you prepared though? that's a lot of pressure."
"ugh, don't remind me, mitch. im petrified. i don't even know what to wear yet."
"do you have anything with you?"
"i brought tons of clothes but i don't know how these people dress at home! damian has been in a suit... do i have to dress formally for a family dinner!? or- maybe business casual to be safe? what if they're all dressed really comfortably and ill stick out like a sore thumb!"
"woah. calm down, uhm... well can't you ask him? you said he's been nice."
"yeah... but we're not really on the casual conversation level yet."
"right..."
"well! i know that they all live separately and rarely see each other so I'm sure business casual could work."
chelsea shared
"oh, okay. uh- how do you know that?"
"richard grayson fan, remember?"
"ah! right, right. but, where do i even start to figure that out?"
"well... what's your goal here?"
valerie finally speaks up again
"honestly? i wouldn't mind if i caught his attention."
high pitched giggles and screaming erupted in the background. you'd think these girls just graduated middle school.
"do you know his favorite color?"
"I noticed a lot of green in his study?"
"green it is then!!"
the afternoon went by devastatingly quickly. it was 7:10 pm when alfred knockes on your door informing you that dinner was to start in 20 minutes.
"sure thing!" you yelled through the door. you just finished talking to your friends. you picked a silky, green button up and some slacks. you didn't do anything too crazy with your hair and makeup. business casual. you reminded yourself.
you carefully stepped out of your room with your perfume lingering behind you and down the shining stairs of the manor. as you stepped into the dining room you could feel their gazes as if you were tonight's meal.
your eyes immediately went to damian who was gesturing you to come to him, considering that the table was really long and had a lot of vacant chairs, you could sit anywhere but there was one in between damian and 'tim? i think?' you walked towards him and he stood from his chair.
"everyone, this is my fiance. we'll be married in 6 business days as you all know. i can only hope you all behave and treat her accordingly." he says before he sits back down with you following along. for a moment, his eyes linger on your top.
"hi." a girl black haired girl waves at you with a gummy smile. "im cassandra. call me cass."
"nice to meet you." you gave her your iconic commercial smile.
"woah. you could be a model with that smile." the other girl gleams.
"i'm stephanie by the way."
"that smile isn't the only thing that could make you a model." a smug smirk is plastered on the face of the man chelsea desperately wants an autograph from, you can see why.
you turn to face him in acknowledgement but through the corner of your eye you can see damian's burning gaze towards him.
"i hear you're still in school." everyone instinctively turns to face the big voice. The man himself, Bruce Wayne.
"Y-yes sir. for my phd in molecular neuroscience."
you swear you saw actual stars in damian's eyes.
"Impressive. I also hear you already have your phd in linguistics?"
you nervously nodded.
"Very well."
the table is silent for a moment.
soon enough though, the thousands of questions stephanie and cass had for you started to pour out. the night went on in a blink, surprisingly enough a couple of genuine laughs were shared. you even exchanged a few words and book recommendations with the quiet jason todd.
before everyone dispersed damian came up to you. "that went better than expected. thank you." he left before you could respond. you let a stupid tiny smile as you watched him walk away.
now, you're on your bed, heels throw to god knows where and dialing valerie's number.
"hey! how was it?"
"way better than i thought it would be. he didn't say anything about my outfit though. expected but dissapointed."
"he's probably just being shy."
mitch pitched in
"well-" you were cut off by your doors bursting open.
stephanie and cassandra with disproportionately huge grins.
"hi!!! mind if we crash with you?"
"sister-in-laws sleepover!!"
"o-oh!" you stood from your bed. "i mean, sure, that sound great! im just on the phone with my friends."
stephanie ran beside you. "the one's you brought from home? hi everyone!" she exclaimed to your phone.
"heyy!"
"hi"
"hello!"
layered greetings flooded my phone's speakers.
"anywho," cass moved closer. "what were you guys talking about?"
"they're sad that damian didn't compliment their outfit."
valerie teased through the phone.
"val!" you said as the red rushed up your face.
"omg." steph turned to cass and cass turned to steph as if they were communicating telepathically.
"we have just the thing." cass says before running out the room with stephanie following closely.
"what- what??" you look around the room like there'd be someone there to explain.
"what happened?"
"dunno they just bolted out."
right as you said that the two girls ran back in with a paper bag in hand and grins even bigger than the ones they had when the first came in. which just seems impossible.
"sooo." stephanie stepoed towards you carefully.
"we got a bit excited and bought this a while ago but we assumed it'd be to forward to just give to you, butttt, since we're apparently looking for compliments."
cassandra pulled out a short, lacey, green nightgown from the bag.
"wh- guys! valerie look at this thing!"
you hold up your phone and open the back camera for valerie to see.
"this is crazy!"
"that's so cute!!"
lilie screamed
"damian comes down to drink water every night at 10 pm. you could 'accidentally' come across one another in the kitchen while you have this on." stephanie winks.
"wh- no!" you said with an embarrassed smile.
"c'mon! it would look so nice on you!"
mitch added
"you guys are no help!"
"it'd be fun! plus, great way to lose some tension."
valerie shrugs
"more like add tension."
"but it'd be a better type of tension!"
"c'monnnn, pleaseeeeee!" stephanie whined and soon enough 7 grown women when begging you to wear a silly nightgown.
"ok! ok! I'll wear it..."
cheers and squeals erupted from your room.
you nervously stepped out of the bedroom with everyone cheering you on from inside. you could feel the cold air attack your thighs as walked down the stairs.
9:58 pm
minutes before damian supposedly comes downstairs to drink water. the only source of light you had was the shine of moonlight coming in from the giant windows. before you could even process it, there he was, standing in the doorway.
his usually perfect hair is slightly askew, his gorgeous eyes were heavy and tired.
"why are you still up?" he spoke in a smooth caution while walking up to you.
"uhm... just getting some water." you backed up until you hit the counter.
he hummed in response, "you look nice." he moved even closer, putting his hands at your sides on the counter, trapping you beneath him.
"really nice." he breathes in making you shiver. "tell me, have you been dressing up for me tonight? he leans closer to your ear. "i can't help but wonder."
you turn your head opposite of where he is, trying not to jumble your words. "I-"
he gently takes your chin and makes you look back at him. "don't avoid my eyes now. you couldn't stop staring this morning."
you swear your knees were about to give in. "you haven't answered my question yet, habibti."
"y-you're one to assume." your pathetic attempt of being cocky most definitely failed as it did nothing but make him grin.
"is it so wrong to appreciate my fiance for looking so beautiful for me?" he nibs at your ear, you hold back a whine.
"n-no..." you said with shaky breath.
he opened his mouth, about to say something else only to be interrupted by some clattering from the doorway.
alfred stood oblivious with a few dishes in hand. "Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"O-oh, no, it's fine." Damian has a slight flush through his face.
"I was about to leave anyways!" you spoke so loud it was almost a yell.
you bolted out the kitchen and back into the bedroom redder than red.
cass and steph were waiting for you.
"what happened? you're so red!" steph laughed.
you playfully hit her before jumping into bed and drowning yourself in the sheets to hide away from embarrassment.
"just go to sleep already!"
steph, cass, and the girls on the phone spent the rest of the night trying to pry out what happened.
to your demise, you caved in.
you'll be teased for this forever.
im ACTUALLY going to kms, when i posted this the last part with damian was completely removed like tf????? i didn't realize until wayyyy too late
this was kinda rushed, the rest of the chapters will be written more carefully, promise
should i make a taglist?
ive been working on a few oneshots and one of them will be themed off the song glorybox and im wondering if it should be bruce, or maybe damian AND tim, or dick and jason???? like they fight over you
love them jealous
sorry to the people who read this the first time, you missed out big time
thankyouthankyouthankyou so much to everyone who read the first part, i didn't expect it to be so well received esp since it was like my first post ever
Please read the warnings before reading any FF. Most of them are +18 and Of course Bucky
I don't like limit tags, but I understand why is in there
<part7 ...
January 2026
by @phoenix-in-writing
âłď¸ Sirens & Skates | +18 | Sheriff Lee Bodecker x Reader | Every time Sheriff Lee Bodecker rolls up to the drive-in, you know exactly how the nightâs going to end. Itâs always filthy, itâs a routine at this point, and neither of you can stop coming back for more.
âłď¸ A Disturbance in the Force | +18 | In your relationship with Bucky, you have come to learn he doesn't really have a thing for costumes. Until you both watch one particular movie.
Respect the Cold | +18 | Bucky Barnes always taught you to respect the cold. But now, stranded together after a mission gone wrong, you learn exactly what happens when you don't heed his warnings.
âłď¸ wanna play a game? by @honeysucklewatr | +18 | itâs late and youâve booked an airbnb with your friends on halloween. now everyoneâs missing from the house, including your boyfriend bucky, when you suddenly get a call. you thought you were alone but someone is inside with you and they are watching.
âłď¸ If We Talked by @pellucid-constellations | After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.
âłď¸ Wife Speak by @tallaennatargaryen | You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasnât done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.
by @gemmawritess
âłď¸ It can't be unlearnt | +18 | He knows he shouldn't endanger you like this, but everything in Bucky needs to learn you, your body, your everything.
âłď¸ Is it really goodbye? | Trying to live your life again after Bucky broke up with you â he brings you back to reality, but is it the right one?
âłď¸ Agora Hills by @alpinesmommy | +18
by @spdrveil
âłď¸ After Hours | +18 | so, you wanna be a star, baby? a recommendation from bucky barnes will make you one â thatâs what he tells you when he smushes your face down into the cold leather of his casting couch, giving you a taste of the industry youâre so desperate to join.
âłď¸ Hot'n Ready! | +18 | when struckerâs pizzeria sends a mouth watering delivery boy to your doorstep, you find yourself paying for your order another way.
by @barnes-babydoll
âłď¸ january jumble scribbles | +18
âłď¸ The Line | +18 | You have a deep-seated hate for Bucky, fueled by pure irritation. However, after a particularly heated conversation between the two of you, the team suggests that you channel that energy elsewhere. Initially, you find this idea absurd, but eventually, your perspective begins to shift. Will you be able to handle the stress of an ongoing mission that feels too personal while also engaging in a complicated sexual relationship with Bucky Barnes, or will you crumble under the pressure?
âłď¸ Our Secret by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor | +18 | Steve Kemp x reader | You stay home alone to watch the house, but don't realise how long your neighbour's been watching oyu.
by @pinksplace
âłď¸ now playing | +18 | you need to relax and your new (large-handed) masseuse has a few ideas.
âłď¸ now watching | +18 | steve thought it was a joke when bucky said his mom is hotter than all the girls on campus. bucky, who for some reason drives home every weekend, wasn't joking.
âłď¸ now playing | +18 | sam said yoga would be a good idea, help him destress and stay in shape between missions. that's nice and all, but how is he supposed to stay "loose" when his pretty instructor has him nothing but hard.
âłď¸ belong to you by @chateaubarnes | +18 | So, your boyfriend was a werewolf.
by @metal-armed-muse
âłď¸ snowbound | +18 | you don't understand why your body is reacting this way to being under the same roof with your dad's best friend. one thing you do know is that this isn't normal.
âłď¸ mommy dairies diaries | +18 | your husband has always been obsessed with you. but he seems extra with all the looks he's been throwing at you feeding your daughter. whatever is on his mind?
âłď¸ Honey & Steel Series by @wildflowersandvibranium | +18 | "A chance encounter in a broken elevator ties together the lives of a hardened , emotionally closed off CEO James Barnes and a struggling single mother balancing her daughter , her new job , healing old wounds , and building something neither of them expected , a family."
by @planetbucky
âłď¸ NO SPRING CHICKEN | +18 | bucky undergoes an experimental wakandan treatment designed to counter the serumâs effects. the physical changes leave him more insecure than he expects, but you are always there to remind him how much you love him and his new dad bod.
âłď¸ BUNNY GONE WILD | +18 | the winter soldier infiltrates a college halloween party to follow the pretty girl with bunny ears who collided into him on the sidewalk.
âłď¸ WINTER'S TOUCH | +18 | in the shadows of hydraâs control, the winter soldier secretly finds refuge in you. in the safe sanctuary that is your apartment, he allows himself to be fed, tended to, and held, while he silently guards the woman who anchors him. every touch, every whispered reassurance, is a rebellion against a cruel world that tries to erase his humanity, and a reminder that even a weapon bred for destruction can crave love and safety.Â
âłď¸ CONTAINMENT | +18 | kidnapped by hydra and initially considered a mere âcog in a vast machineâ, you are forced to serve as the asset's personal medical caretaker.
âłď¸ MY WIFE | +18 | three times in which the new intern tries to impress her hot grumpy boss, mr. barnes. or, three times in which bucky canât stop talking about his lovely wife.
âłď¸ baby-girl-69 | +18 | bucky, is a lonely man who can afford anything, except the kind of connection he craves. one fateful night he takes his friend's advice and visits a live cam site where he meets you, a mischievous, sweet vixen who loves... big things.
âłď¸ the only exeeption by @ornateglass | when bucky moved into his new brooklyn apartment, he never expected his quiet neighbor across the hall to steal his heart. what's a man supposed to do when this woman he's pining over is taken? and what if you feel the same?
âłď¸ pink cotton candy by @buckybunni | +18 | maybe you don't hate bucky as much as you think.
by @heldbybarnes
âłď¸ break the bed | +18
âłď¸ ovulating | +18 | begs Bucky to fuck her and then they fuck like bunnies
by @nonotwithoutu
âłď¸ show & tell | +18 | You're not sure which one of you managed to convince the other that watching porn together was a friendly thing to do, but here you are nonetheless.
âłď¸ under wraps | +18 | You're determined to get your nipples pierced, even if the highest rated piercer in your area is...less than pleasant to interact with.
âłď¸ voluntold | +18 | lee bodecker x reader | on the night of graduation, trying to impress your crush ends in getting busted for a party you didn't want to attend in the first place - and you're the only one sheriff lee bodecker finds at the scene.
secret languages | +18 | When a few of your old college friends reminisce about a certain kink you've long since deemed unachievable, Bucky, who was convinced he already knew everything about you, takes a pointed interest in getting to the root of it, and figuring out if you really mean it when you say you've let it go.
âłď¸ Bucky Barnes. by @multiversefanfics | Bucky is grumpy, youâre a ray of sunshine, but when you stop trying to get his attention, heâs a little hurt.
âłď¸ Subject: V-13 by @lazyastronomer | +18 | You've always known something was a bit off, about you.
âłď¸ The Escort by @azriona | +18 | Nat says you need to relax. Nat says she knows a guy who can help with that.
by @godmadeaterribleerror
âłď¸ It's Been Calling Me | +18 | You've had these⌠dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.
âłď¸ Along the Line | +18 | After you get hit with a chemical on a mission, Bucky has to take care of you. But he won't do the one thing that will fix it, no matter how much you want him to.
by @aquaticmercy
âłď¸ Elevator, Baby! | +18 | The team thinks Bucky has a crush on the towerâs interior designer. They donât know that theyâre already married.
âłď¸ Dangerous Game | Bucky Barnes is dating a trigger-happy antihero, and she has him wrapped around her finger. Sheâs just Buckyâs pretty girl, and he lets her get away with everything.
âłď¸ Unauthorized Response by @lolobeey | +18 | The experimental neurobond was an accident. Getting stuck with Bucky Barnes was just your luck. Now youâre linkedâbody, mind, and something worse: sexual tension. Youâve got 72 hours to resist him. And every hour, it gets harder to remember why you should...
âłď¸ Midnight Hunger by @buckytakethewheel | +18 | Lee Bodecker x Reader | You come to check on Sheriff Lee Bodecker after hours, but heâs hungry for something that has nothing to do with food.
âłď¸ Quiet Comfort by @stanmarvelous | +18 | After a difficult day, Bucky is stuck reminiscing about the past. When you remind him he's not alone, he realizes just how grateful he is to have you.
âłď¸ bucky ignores by @mcrdvcks | +18 | you while playing video games
by @amoremarveloustime
âłď¸ Fuck, Marry, Kill | +18 | Youâre Congressman Barnesâ overworked, underpaid assistantâthe one making sure his career doesnât implode before the next news cycle.
âłď¸ Newspaper Club | You transferred in for your senior year, already behind on credits and scrambling to fill an elective.
âłď¸ Women are meant to be loved by @thenameswinter99 | Bucky learns how hard being a woman in the 21st century is.
âłď¸ House Rules by @tw1sters | +18 | Lee Bodecker x Reader | Five times Lee successfully resists you and the one time he doesn't.
âłď¸ Butterfly by @sleepypanda27 | After a girl's night out, you come home drunk, and Bucky takes care of you.
âłď¸ what, pray tell, the fuck by @solivagant-reverie | +18 | Bucky and you hate each other, but that doesn't prevent you from going on mission together. This time though, he inhales a strange pollen, and you both get locked into the smallest room imaginable.
âłď¸ Wild Geese by @starling-in-the-sky | +18 | After the helicarrier crash into the Potomac, Bucky Barnes ran. In rural south Maryland, he stumbles across a quaint little farm and the gentle, sad, yet stubborn woman who tends it. A temporary shelter becomes a soft place to land for Bucky, as he slowly recovers his memory and relearns what it is to be human.
by @buckyseternaldoll
âłď¸ you, unblurred. | +18 | You hated him. You swore you did. Until the dick pics youâd been seeing for months turned out to belong to your mission partnerâthe man who barely looked at you in daylight.
âłď¸Love Me or Leave Me | angst | You loved him deeply. But loving him started to hurt. And Bucky? He saw it comingâhe just couldnât stop it.
âłď¸ on command. | +18 | It started with a question you didnât realize sounded filthy: âCan you come on command?â Bucky thought you were teasing. But you were just too clinical to know better. And now? Heâs going to show you exactly what happens when curiosity goes too far.
âłď¸ GHOSTLY PAST AND SPIRITED PRESENT by @wint3rbarnes | +18 | in which, bucky barnes has mastered the skill of evading your sunny disposition that glows brighter than a jack-o'-lantern during halloween. yet, when spectres are conjured from his past, he discovers you're the closest thing to reality he has, and every fibre of his being is never letting you go.
by @lokinks
âłď¸You wanna repeat that, Barnes? | Everyone at the Tower knows you and Bucky are something.
âłď¸Happy birthday, James Barnes | You celebrate his birthday late at night in weekend with help from Sam and Joaquin.
by @jobean12-blog
âłď¸Just My Type | Bucky canât imagine that heâs your type.
âłď¸Take Care | Now that Sam is Captain America, being his childhood best friend brings you into the spotlight and makes you a good bargaining piece.
by @marvelselfinserts
âłď¸Nickname | You want to come up with a cute nickname for your boyfriend.
âłď¸Bucky's Birthday | You didn't realise it was Bucky's birthday.
by @castielscaplan
âłď¸Soft Mornings | Cuddling in bed before you go to work.
âłď¸Mornings Like This | Laying with Bucky always made you feel at ease.
âłď¸Cold Without You | Bucky wakes up when you slip out of bed in the middle of the night.
âłď¸I've Got You, Babe | You've had the worst day possible. It wasn't until you got home to Bucky that everything made you feel so much better.
by @witchywithwhiskey
âłď¸just want you for my own | you convince your husband to stay home from work and pretend you've been snowed in so that you can spend the day decorating for christmas.
âłď¸room for one more | +18 | stucky x reader | you meet your boyfriend's best friend for the first time, and he perfectly matches the energy of your relationship.
âłď¸ a beautiful, perfect summer day | +18 | your best friend takes you out in his sailboat on a beautiful summer day, and it turns into the perfect day when your relationship is taken to a new level.
by @cosmicsstar
âłď¸in your arms | After a restless night, you run into Bucky. He brings you to the couch to cuddle and calm your racing mind. You fall asleep in his armsâand in the morning, the team find you both snuggled up, leading to teasing and a few surprised looks.
âłď¸where you are | Bucky, hiding out in a Bucharest safehouse with you, becomes quietly fixated on the warmth and steady heartbeat he clings to for comfort, finding the peace and safety he thought heâd lost forever in you.
âłď¸miles between us | During a quiet night together, Bucky gets called away on a sudden mission. Finding it hard to sleep without each other, though, Bucky calls and asks to sleep on call with you. Easing both of your minds.
by @dontpulltohardman
âłď¸Tears | "I get wet at the thought of you, being a responsible guy", or reader can't help but get turned on by Bucky taking care of her.
âłď¸Uninvited Commentary | While Bucky trains, youâre right there supporting him with loud cheers and flirty commentary that gives you the title of his âpersonal cheerleaderâ.
âłď¸college age bucky by @bluelamour | +18
âłď¸The Other Woman by @daxisyzz | You fixed Buckyâs broken pieces, but his heart belongs to someone else.
âłď¸Love the Little Things by @sophville | They to enjoy the little moments, so hereâs a collection of you and Bucky being adorable.
by @buckytakethewheel
âłď¸Words That Break | +18
âłď¸Friendly Fire | +18
âłď¸Study Sessions by @witchslove | +18 | Wanda Maximoff x Reader | You and Wanda have been best friends since your first semester of college. When you have to take a physics class, Wanda is more than happy to help you study, but your late night study sessions blur the lines between friendship and romance.
dad's best friend!bucky barnes
word count: 3.8k
disclaimer: not proofread. rough, fully consensual smut. angst. mentions of violence, injury. fighting, existential crises... more I don't remember sorry
a/n: the way this took me two months... I'm so sorry. I promise I'm posting again for uncle bucky soon to make up for how horrible this is
⌠series masterlist ~ previous part ~ next part coming soon. âŚ
itâs as though heâs everywhere, the inescapable pressure of his blazing hot skin up against yours nearly burning you alive. thick flesh fingers dig into the back of your neck as he holds your head down, holds your body in place for him to do as he pleases. to take, not to give.Â
not this time.
every snap of his hips against yours is punctuated with the obvious frustration coursing through his veins, his inability to restrain himself evident in the way he pins you beneath him as he pushes you to give more and more of yourself.
from the position heâs put you in, you can feel every inch of him as he fucks into you, your knees underneath you struggling to refrain from buckling and giving out on you the way your hands did the moment he first pressed inside.Â
every part of your body hurts, and you know for fact that youâre going to be sore for days.Â
you donât particularly care.
âstop fucking holding back already,â you bite, not a part of you daring to hide your own anger as you snap at him. itâs not enough, itâs not enough.
âstop fucking mouthing off, brat,â he hisses in response before tightening his grip on the back of your neck and pressing the side of your face deeper into the pillow.Â
despite his discordant response, he does seem to listen to you as you feel his weight shifting behind you, harnessing all his pent-up energy and giving it to you the way youâve asked.Â
âgotta fuckinâ fix that attitude of yours, kid,â he mumbles as he doubles down on his movements, the words heâs spoken almost eluding your ears as the sensations of how he touches you makes your thoughts fade away.
the ache in your back worsens, and your knees threaten to give out on you once more. you can hardly even breathe, but itâs beyond worth it as the drag of his cock inside you burns in only the best way as you begin to go lightheaded on him.Â
you can barely withhold the yelps and screams that continue to develop in your chest, and itâs all you can do to hold your breath and bite down on your bottom lip to keep your debauched noises from reaching either of your ears.Â
âdonât do that,â he instructs, an order you dare to ignore in favor of focusing on your orgasm as it slowly rises within you. you donât have the energy or the attention to spare for him as you race towards release.Â
you practically choke when his hand spans around to the front of your throat, a performative measure as he wraps his other hand around your torso and yanks you back tightly against him, leaning back on his haunches and pulling you back with him. you lose your balance in less than a second, but his arms around you keep you from falling.Â
âI told you to stop being a fucking brat,â he mutters into your ear from behind, both his hands on your skin pressing down harder.Â
the restricted circulation to your brain makes you go fuzzy, your eyes rolling back in your head in bliss as reality grows more and more distant.Â
yet you would never dare try to escape the feeling of him so deep against your cervix, his heavy metal hand sharp up against your lower abdomen, forcing you to feel him where heâs sheathed inside you where pleasure borders on pain.Â
âwhat are you sâposed to do when I tell you to do something?â he says as though itâs a threat. as though youâre not here of your own volition, as though you donât already blindly listen to every word he says.Â
you instead choose to bite your tongue, further goading him on, provoking him into doing something to actually make it hurt.
âdonât wanna respond? fine,â he murmurs to himself.Â
his metal fingers trail up the flesh of your torso, tickling at your skin like feathers as he carefully brings his hand to your mouth. that softness is soon replaced as he harshly digs his forefinger and thumb into the sides of your jaw, forcing your mouth to open just wide enough for him to all but gag you on three thick fingers.Â
âyou come after me,â is all he says as you choke, drooling all over yourself as a result of his torments.Â
and for a moment, your brain finally stops, and all you can feel is him.Â
~~~
you must nearly black out for a moment, because the next thing youâre consciously aware of, youâre whining and shaking as your body comes down from the most incredibly fierce orgasm youâve had in weeks.Â
his chest rises and falls as he heaves, still pressed up against you, although his hands fall to your waist in a gentle hold as he guides the both of you to lay down on the sheets beneath you.Â
not a word is spoken between the two of you as each of you struggle to come back to yourselves, neither of you sure what to say.Â
you havenât had sex, or even seen him since beforeâŚ
when you eventually regain your strength enough to sit up, you slowly turn to face him where his face is now the one pushed into the pillow, both his eyes dully shut.Â
âlook at me,â you instruct with as much force as you can manage. âcome on, Bucky.âÂ
a rough grunt, followed by him turning his face fully inwards against the pillow until you canât see an inch of his face.Â
god fucking damnit, the words play out in your head, gritting your teeth and forcing yourself not to yell at him in your anger.Â
because itâs the only emotion youâve felt for weeks: pissed. frustrated. pure, unadulterated anger being the only feeling at the forefront of your mind.Â
you know heâs pissed, too. doesnât mean he can ignore you like this.Â
a deep breath in, and out.Â
you extend your hands out in his direction, bringing one to delicately massage at the back of his scalp for a few long seconds.Â
your other hand swiftly yanks the pillow out from underneath his face, taking him by complete shock and forcing him to do as you say when you quickly reach for his chin and turn his head towards you so he has no choice but to actually look at you.Â
and there it is, what he didnât want you to see: the remnants of the bruising on the other side of his face, the evidence of your deceptions etched into his skin still unhealed even after weeks have passed.Â
you know heâll lie about it if asked. you know this bruise is far more recent, proof that there was another altercation. another conversation between your father and his best friend, a meeting that nobody will tell you about.Â
you know theyâre both just trying to protect you.Â
but what if you donât need their protection anymore?Â
âseriously?â he quips when you grab his face, but you know heâs not just mad. you know that underneath his facade, heâs insecure. scared. and, yes, far beyond angry, just as you are.Â
but where youâre angry with your parents, heâs angry with himself, for reasons youâre already fully aware of.Â
he hates himself for ever getting involved with you.Â
but at what point does that bleed over into him hating you?Â
he lets you analyze whatâs left of the bruise, the shiner heâs been trying to hide from you, to protect you from.Â
whether itâs a measure to protect you from him or to protect you from hating your father for it, youâre not sure.Â
you notice the cut underneath his eyebrow, the way his eye itself is still red from the brunt of the impact. the way he softly winces when you try to trace a finger so delicately over the edges of the bruise. the way he avoids meeting your eyeline, the look on his face one of pure shame.Â
âalright, enough of that, kid,â he murmurs after a few more moments, gently turning his head away from you and staring down at the bed underneath him, now forced to hold himself up on his forearms after your sudden seizure of his pillow. he speaks again with an forced clearing of his throat, âso, you leaving now or what?â
âoh, so you want me gone, now?â you canât help but retort in your own hurricane of emotions.Â
of course he wants you gone. how can he even look at you? youâre the reason heâs in this position, the reason any of this happened.Â
itâs all your fault, and it always has been from the start.
âthatâs not what I meant, and you know it,â he immediately replies with fervor, snapping his head in your direction as he clarifies his inquiry. âI just didnât know, what with your folks and allâŚâ
your eyes automatically roll unconsciously at the sound of that. âugh, you really think I want to go home to that right now?â you ask of him as you finally lay back down and stare up at the blank ceiling.
âkid, you know they got a right to be pissed. more than you or me. hell, even if your dad had killed me, I wouldnât blame himââ
âenough!â you force out, unable to even consider that as an option right now. your next words come out softer, your anger fading into vulnerability. âdonât⌠donât talk like that, Uncle Bucky, please.âÂ
he lets out a long sigh and nods to himself in silent understanding despite the fact youâre not looking at him. the next words he intends to say are a mystery even to his own tongue, completely unsure of how heâs supposed to respond. how heâs supposed to move forward.Â
how do either of you move forward?Â
âitâs going to be okay,â he eventually whispers, eyes darting to your side profile as you continue to gaze at the white paint on the ceiling above you.Â
you want to believe it.Â
you wish you could.Â
~~~
everything that happened that day was chaos.Â
the yelling and screaming still rings out in your ears when youâre alone. the vision of your father repeatedly punching Bucky right across the face still looms over your head, like itâs your shadow behind you that follows wherever you go, unable to escape it even in darkness.Â
your own cries that day had been in vain, a mere side effect of the situation at hand that no one dared bat an eye at. your feelings, invalid. disregarded. unwanted.
but more than that, how you feel is stupid and pointless, no matter the fact that itâs your own sentiments that led you to this point in the first place.Â
itâs stupid, and itâs pointless, because how could they ever see it the way you do? how could anyone ever understand that you love him, that itâs notâ
youâre not completely stupid. you know how bad this is, how bad it looks on Buckyâs part in particular. which is why the second he was gone, out of your house and most likely to never return, the yelling stopped.Â
then the heated interrogations began, inquiries to which you refused to answer.
âhow long has this been going on?âÂ
âhow many times have you lied about where you were going?âÂ
âdid he force you into this?âÂ
in that moment, you couldnât breathe. there was no room for you to process the conversation that you and Bucky had earlier that afternoon, no room for you to recover from the last week of absolute torment youâve been suffering without him.Â
there wasnât an inch of room for you to process the fact that your worst nightmare was finally coming true, Buckyâs attempts at reassuring you not having had the time to settle into your mind before the worst outcome imaginable finally happened.Â
you were both emotional that afternoon, acting illogically and irresponsibly in such a manner that caused you both to completely forget about where you were. completely forgetting about the fact that this fate was even a possibility.Â
how could you be so deluded? how could you let yourself go like this?
but you know the truth. youâve both been acting illogically and irresponsibly since the first day you got together, since the moment your tryst began.Â
and in the mix of your tears and despair coupled with the vehement questioning by your parents, the yelling began once again. this time, your own voice was the one cracking through the air as you tried to excuse your actions, tried to explain it, anything to try and get them to understand.Â
you canât even remember what was said. the adrenaline in your veins coursing too quickly for your conscious mind to keep up with whatever thoughts you were voicing.
all you know is how you cried yourself to sleep that night. how Bucky didnât text or call you for days afterwards.Â
how your departure from home to the life of the alias you embody at university was sullied by the reveal of your deceits, how detached youâd already felt from yourself and your family the moment you left it all behind.
how even your holiday season so many weeks later was muddled by the fact that youâd done something so terrible that it should have ripped your entire life to shreds.Â
thatâs what you had expected would happen when the secret finally came to light: that youâd be the villain in this situation, the perpetrator of the terrible, nasty situation that youâve managed to get yourself into.Â
but they wonât believe you.Â
the entirety of your time at home following your return for the holiday season, there was not a word of the event that you know was on the forefront of both your mother and your fatherâs minds the same as it was yours. you skirted around the topic as your family did whatever they possibly could to ignore it, to pretend like everything was normal, to pretend as though your lives had not been completely turned upside down since the day your father found his best friend naked in his daughterâs bed.Â
you knew it was always going to happen, but it was quite cruel of the universe to put that image in anyoneâs heads.Â
but the pretending and the ignorance began to eat away at you like sandpaper abrading your skin. slowly, painfully, torturously.Â
and everything youâd tried to shove down for the sake of keeping the peace finally erupted.
youâd sat on the couch with a book, hoping and praying for the distraction to take over and to be able to escape your own reality. trying to pretend like everything was normal, like you werenât more distraught thinking about the reality of your relationship, of your future.Â
yet somehow, sitting in the silence and trying to disillusion yourself only made it worse.
âitâs all my fault,â your voice spoke without any warning, tears immediately beginning to well up in your eyes as the emotions consumed you. âit was all because of me, I swearââÂ
âenough,â your father interrupted as you spoke. âunless you plan to tell us the truth, this conversation isnât happening.âÂ
âI am telling the truth,â you insisted as your voice cracked. âIâm sorry I lied to you, I am. none of this was ever supposed to happenââÂ
and once again, you were suddenly cut off.Â
âno. it shouldnât have,â he affirms. âBucky never should have put you in this position. we should have known better, paid more attention to the fact that he was capable of doing this.â
your jaw fell as did your tears, the reminder that their image of Bucky was forever ruined because of your actions, because of something you had done.Â
âit wasnât his fault,â you try again, âI am trying to tell youââÂ
ââstop lying to try and protect himââ
ââthat I love him!â
a terrible choice of words, you realized, the instant after you said it. the room going quiet once more, the appalled look painted on each of their faces telling you that you said the wrong thing.Â
your name spoken into the dull air, and the lecturing began.Â
telling you that youâre wrong. telling you that youâre the victim. telling you that you should never have lied, and that youâre never to see him ever again.Â
youâre an adult. why does everyone keep telling you that youâre crazy, that you donât know what you want, that youâre just a kid?
as you should have expected, the yelling began once more, your mind no longer grasping the concept of what it means to know peace and quiet.Â
it doesnât matter what you say, or what you do.Â
their minds are made up.Â
and youâre still more concerned about Bucky.
Bucky, who sounds so sad every time you call him. Bucky, who you havenât seen in weeks since the incident.Â
Bucky, who youâre sure is beating himself up on the inside.Â
and after the discussion that evening, this evening, your anger didnât leave you. your anger about everyone in your life making decisions for you, trying to tell you whatâs best for you.Â
your anger about the fact that Bucky is getting the short end of the stick when you know youâre the one who deserves it.
your anger didnât leave you when you walked away from the yelling that evening, doesn't leave you as you try to fall asleep late into the night. it only seems to keep growing as you continue going over the situation in your head, replaying the scene as you inevitably find yourself stomping out the front door in the middle of the night when no one can stop you.Â
whatâs worse is that you know that heâs in full agreement with your parents that this is his fault entirely. that heâs the one poisoning you, that heâs not good enough for you.Â
and heâs exactly like them in the manner that he wonât fucking listen to you when you tell him that heâs wrong.Â
why would anyone listen to you, the helpless little girl who doesnât know what she wants? barely an adult, not even graduated from college yet. what the hell do you know about life and love?
you never claimed to be an expert.
but despite your periods of denial, youâve never once doubted how you feel about Bucky Barnes.Â
you fist pounds against his front door when you get there, screaming and yelling in your emotional state for him to open up and let you in.Â
âwhat the fuck, kid? itâs three in the morning,â he groans when he opens the door, rubbing his face with both hands as you push your way inside.Â
âI need you,â you mutter, forcing yourself past the entryway and grabbing the hem of his shirt. âI donâtâ I canât think, I just need you toââ
âhey, come on. now isnât the time, okay? youâre clearly sleep deprived, and emotionalââ
âoh, Iâm emotional, now am I?â you snap at him. âyou think Iâm not capable of making my own fucking decisions just because Iâm emotional? you think Iâm insane to want to fuck you, just because Iâm emotional?â
his own anger begins to grow in tandem with yours as you speak. âhavenât we been over this already? about busting my door down and picking a fight with me? I love you, but youâreââ
âno. no buts. you donât get to pick and choose when you want to be with me!â you yell back, ignoring every word he says that you know youâd be listening to if you were in a calmer state of mind. âI know what I want, and itâs you. now. I need to justâŚâ
as your words trail off, and your gaze directs itself upwards, your mind focuses just enough to notice the way heâs standing. facing away from you, not looking you in the eye.Â
âwhat are you doing?â you mumble. âwhy arenât you looking at me?â
âIâm⌠Iâm looking at you,â he tries to cover, meeting your line of sight while still hiding from you. what heâs hiding, youâre not sure.Â
âyou donât understand,â he murmurs, pacing back as you try to step closer and try to reach for him to force him to look at you. âitâs not⌠this isnâtââÂ
âI donât understand? what the hell donât I understand?â you cry.Â
his lack of a response tells you everything you need to know. that heâs trying to hide from you the reminder of the fallout of when you both got caught. that heâs still trying to shield you from the real world, the real consequences of which youâre already facing, a fact that no one seems to accept or understand but you.Â
and then you start in on him.
âno, Bucky. youâre the one who doesnât understand,â you assert, this time devoid of any emotion whatsoever. âI understand. you think my parents havenât been down my throat trying to tell me that Iâm just an idiot kid, that I didnât know what I was doing? of course I know. of course I make my own decisions willingly, whether I show up here angry, or emotional. I am an adult, goddamnit. you never would have touched me if you believed that I wasnât capable of making my own decisions or facing the consequences of them. and now, youâre pushing me awayââ
ââI am notââ he tries, but you refuse to let him get a word in.
âof course you are! you wonât even look at me!â you yell.Â
and with the sound of that, something in him changes.Â
he turns towards you and stalks closer without hesitation, and youâre barely able to keep up with him as he grabs you by the waist and tosses you over his shoulder. you almost caught a glimpse of the bruise on his eye.Â
âI put up with enough of your shit, you know that? fine. Iâll give you what youâre practically begging for,â he says.Â
âfucking finally,â you whisper to yourself, grabbing onto the back of his shirt as best you can to hold on and avoid falling.Â
he picks up on your words and chuckles lowly to himself.Â
âIâll make you regret that.â
~~~
which is how you ended up here, tricking him into letting you see the bruise on his eye, clearly from a more recent fight that heâll never tell you about.Â
âitâs going to be okay,â he says.
you donât know if you can believe him.Â
you donât know how to believe those words, because right now, it feels like your entire world is ending.Â
being around your parents feels like walking on eggshells. trying to see a future with Bucky is as though youâre looking into a black hole, expecting to see a light on the other side.Â
and on top of all of it, you have to leave again.Â
how could it get any worse than this?Â
âyeah, youâre right,â you agree. âitâs going to be okay.âÂ
if he can sense your disbelief in saying those words, he doesnât show it.Â
who knows what will happen.
all you can do is pray the fallout doesn't get worse than this.
⌠masterlist ~ next part coming soon. âŚ
gif creds @/dilfgifs
uncle bucky tag list: (send an ask or dm to be removed)
Tags: Western AU. Shotgun Wedding. Strangers to Lovers. Slight Angst. Comfort. Domestic Fluff. Slow Burn. Smut.
Warnings: Reader has Heterochromia. Loss of Virginity. Period-Typical Gender Roles and Expectations.
Summary: She came to White Creek for a teaching position that didn't exist. He needed a wife but never expected to find one like this.
Note: After seeing this picture, I just had to write something related to it.
Word Count: 7k.
The wagon lurched over another rut in the road, and she pressed her palm against the worn wooden side to steady herself. Four weeks. Four weeks of rattling bones and dust-caked skirts, of sleeping in way stations that smelled of unwashed bodies and stale coffee, of watching the landscape shift from the familiar greens of home to something vast and unforgiving.
Her fingers found the letter in her pocket, the paper soft now from constant folding and unfolding, the ink slightly smeared where her thumb had traced over Mayor Powell's signature. A man she'd never met, in a town she'd never heard of until her brother had come home one evening with news of the position. White Creek, Montana. Teaching position. Room and board included.
Montana? As if she were some scandal-plagued woman fleeing her past, rather than simply someone whose eyes had marked her as cursed from birth.
She pulled her hand from her pocket and adjusted her bonnet, though there was no one to see her out here except the driver, who hadn't spoken more than three words since they'd changed horses at the last station. The brim cast her face in shadow. A habit now, after twenty-six years of watching people's expressions change when they noticed. The confusion first, then the recognition, then the sign of the cross or the averting of eyes or, worse, the whispered conversations that followed her like a cold draft.
One brown, one green. The devil's mark, some called it. Witch-eyes.
She'd tried not to let it define her, but it had anyway.
She'd spent her childhood with her nose buried in books. Her parents had known, even when she was small, that finding a husband would be difficult for a girl with devil's eyes. So they'd scrimped and saved to pay for her to sit the teaching examination, to give her the means to support herself when no man would.
Her marks had been good. High enough that she'd earned her certificate without issue.
For all the good it had done her.
The schoolhouses in town wouldn't hire her, parents didn't want a woman with the devil's eyes teaching their children to read. The families who could afford private tutors took one look at her face and found other candidates. She'd been reduced to taking on the children no one else wanted to teach: the slow learners, the ones whose families could barely scrape together pennies for her services.
It hadn't been enough. Not nearly enough.
Her brother had made that clear the night he'd presented her with the letter. I can't keep supporting you, he'd said, not unkindly but with the weariness of a man who'd reached the end of his patience. You're twenty-six years old. What you make as a pupil teacher barely covers your thread and fabric. This is an opportunity. One I had to call in more than a few favors to get for you. You know how hard it is, given... how you are.
He'd married six months ago. A nice enough girl who kept a clean house and didn't complain about taking over the cooking and washing that had been her domain for years. But three people in a small house meant thin walls and the kind of awareness that made everyone uncomfortable. Her brother wanted privacy with his new wife. Wanted to start a family without his spinster sister listening to every creak of the bedframe through the wall.
She'd wanted to tell him that traveling alone to the frontier, to some tiny settlement she'd never heard of, seemed less like an opportunity and more like an exile. But he'd been right, hadn't he? She was a burden. An unmarried sister with nowhere else to go, taking up space that should belong to his growing family. And to be honest, living with Jeremiah after their parents passed, under his rules, hasnât been easy. Ever.
So she'd packed her things. One trunk with her few dresses, her winter cloak, and the quilt her mother had made before she died. And the carpetbag at her feet now, heavy with books and slates and the few precious pieces of chalk she'd been hoarding.
The landscape had changed as they traveled west, but it hadn't emptied. If anything, the trees had grown denser: tall pines that stretched toward the sky, their trunks thick enough that three men couldn't wrap their arms around them. Timber country. That's what the last station master had called it when she'd asked about White Creek. Logging town, he'd said. Rough place. You sure that's where you're headed?
She'd shown him the letter, and he'd shrugged.
----
The wagon began to slow. She leaned forward, peering through the gap in the canvas cover, but all she could see from her side were trees. Endless trees, their shadows long in the late afternoon light.
"We're here, miss," the driver called back.
Here? She turned to look out the opposite side and felt her stomach drop. There was a structure, barely. A rough cabin set back from the road, smoke rising from its chimney. Stacks of cut lumber lined one side, and she could see the worn paths where wagons had come and gone. But no town. No church steeple or row of buildings or anything resembling civilization.
"This isn't the town," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The driver was already climbing down. "No, ma'am. But this is where your fare was paid to."
"I don't understand." She gathered her skirts and moved toward the back of the wagon, where he was already pulling down her trunk. "My brother paid passage to White Creek. The town. Where the school is."
"Don't know nothinâ about that." He set her trunk down with a heavy thud that sent up a small cloud of dust. "Just know the fare was paid to the lumber post. Happens sometimes, a fellow arranges for someone to meet a passenger here and guide them the rest of the way into town. Common enough."
She climbed down carefully, her legs unsteady after so many hours sitting. "Then... someone is supposed to meet me?"
He shrugged, already reaching for her carpetbag. "Couldn't say, miss. I just drive where I'm paid to drive."
The late afternoon air was cooler here, flooded with the scent of pine and fresh-cut wood. She looked around, seeing no one. No horse tied up waiting. No helpful guide ready to escort her the rest of the way.
"How far is the town from here?"
"Few miles, I'd reckon. Not a terrible walk, but you don't want to be doing it in those skirts." He handed her the carpetbag, and she took it automatically. "You could wait here, see if someone comes along."
"Could you-" She swallowed. "Could you take me the rest of the way? I can pay. I have-"
"Sorry, miss." He was already moving back toward the driver's seat. "Got to turn around, head back to Clayton. This wagon's needed for the evening stage. They're waiting on me to swap out horses and-"
"Please." The word came out desperate. "I'll pay whatever you ask."
But he was shaking his head, gathering the reins. "Can't help you, miss. Schedule's a schedule."
She watched him climb back up, her heart beginning to pound in a way that had nothing to do with exertion. "Wait. At least, could you wait until I knock? Make sure someone's here?"
The look he gave her was hard to read. Something between pity and impatience, maybe. Or perhaps just the desire to be done with an uncomfortable situation.
"You'll be fine," he said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Like I said, happens all the time out here."
It was only then that she noticed the sign. Rough wood, nailed to the post beside the cabin door. The letters were uneven but clear enough:
WIVES WANTED
She stared at it, her mouth going dry.
"What is this?" she asked, turning back toward the wagon.
The driver was already urging the horses forward. "Just an advertisement, miss. Same as you'd see for seed or dishes or whatever else folk are looking for. Don't mean nothing by it."
"But-"
The wagon was moving. She took three steps after it, but the wheels were already picking up speed, and her skirts caught around her ankles. She stopped, watching helplessly as the driver guided the horses back onto the road without so much as a backward glance.
And then she was alone.
She stood there, carpetbag in one hand, staring at the sign until the words seemed to blur together.
Wives wanted.
Her gaze moved to the cabin itself. Sturdy enough, from what she could see. Logs chinked with what looked like moss and mud, a stone chimney with smoke rising steadily into the darkening sky. Then to the woods surrounding her on all sides: dense and deep, full of shadows that were growing longer by the minute.
She had three choices, really. Wait here by her trunk like a piece of abandoned luggage and hope someone comes along before nightfall. Start walking toward where she assumed the town might be, and risk getting lost in a remote place she didn't know -maybe being eaten by the wildlife- or⌠knock on that door.
The guide, she thought, trying to hold onto reason. If her brother had truly arranged for someone to meet her here, they wouldn't necessarily be waiting at the door. How could they know which day she'd arrive? Which hour? It wasn't as if she'd come by train with a published schedule.
That had to be it. Someone from the town was meant to collect her here, and she'd simply arrived at an inconvenient time.
She picked up her carpetbag, left her trunk where it sat -too heavy to carry to the door anyway- and walked toward the cabin. The packed earth was hard under her boots, worn smooth by years of foot traffic.
She raised her hand and knocked. Three raps that sounded too loud in the quiet.
Nothing.
She waited, counting slowly to twenty in her head. The smoke continued to rise from the chimney. Somewhere in the woods, a bird called out, the sound strange and unfamiliar.
She knocked again, harder this time.
Still nothing.
She muttered a string of curses. Who could reprimand her in this god-forsaken place, an owl?
Someone had to be here. You didn't leave a fire burning unattended, not out here where everything was wood and tinder-dry despite the season. It was dangerous. Foolish.
She knocked a third time, harder still, and called out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then she heard it, movement from inside. Heavy footsteps. The scrape of something being moved.
The door opened.
----
The man who did it was tall -way easily over six feet- and for a moment, all she could process was the size of his body filling the doorway. Then the details came into focus, each one more mortifying than the last.
He was bare from the waist up.
No shirt. Not even an undershirt. Just skin and muscle and a fine sheen of sweat that caught the fading light despite the cool air. His suspenders hung loose at his sides, still attached to his work pants but doing nothing to preserve any sense of modesty.
A thin, dark trail of hair ran south of his belly button, beneath the waistband of his pants, which sat lower than they should without the garters holding them up. She could see the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his shoulders filled the entire frame of the door.
She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but they betrayed her, dropping to his chest before she could stop them. It was like those sketches in her history books, the ones of Roman statues that she'd studied with purely academic interest. Except this wasn't marble. This was flesh and warmth and the kind of raw physicality she'd never encountered outside of her imagination.
Her gaze snapped back up, heat flooding her cheeks.
Blue eyes met hers. Glassy, slightly unfocused. His face was covered in several days' worth of beard, dark and unkempt, and there was a flush high on his cheekbones that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
He blinked at her slowly, his brow furrowing.
"Can I help you?"
His voice was rough, scratchy in a way that suggested he hadn't used it much today. Or that he was unwell.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
"I-" The words stuck in her throat. She was staring. She knew she was staring, but she'd never seen a man without his shirt before, and certainly not one who looked like he'd been carved from stone and then somehow given life. "I'm sorry, I-"
Get it together.
She forced herself to meet his eyes and keep them there, even though her face felt like it was on fire.
"I'm the new teacher," she managed.
----
He had to be hallucinating.
That was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. The fever had finally cooked his brain enough that he was seeing things, hearing things, and apparently talking to them now, too.
He was in bad shape when he'd decided to stay at the post instead of making the walk back to his own cabin. That trek through the woods, uphill most of the way, had seemed impossible when he could barely stand without his head spinning.
The other men had already cleared out by the time he'd dragged himself here, off to their own places or down to the saloon for Saturday night drinking and cards and whatever else passed for entertainment in White Creek.
He'd managed to strip off his shirt and suspenders before collapsing onto one of the cots, and he'd been drifting in and out ever since. The fire needed tending, but the thought of getting up to deal with it made his muscles ache in protest.
The knocking had started a while ago. He'd heard it through the haze of fever. Three sharp raps that he'd tried to ignore. Could've been anyone. A peddler, maybe, though what kind of fool tried to sell goods at a lumber post on a Saturday evening, he couldn't say. He'd burrowed deeper into the thin blanket and willed whoever it was to go away.
Then he'd heard a mumble.
A woman's voice.
That's when he knew the fever had him good and proper. There was no reason for a woman to be at the post. No reason for any woman to be out here at all, except maybe Mary when she came up with the sheriff to deliver mending, and that wasn't until- when? Monday? Tuesday? Hell, he couldn't remember.
The knocking came again, harder, and the voice called out.
Hello? Is anyone there?
Christ.
He'd forced himself upright, his head immediately protesting the movement with a sharp spike of pain behind his eyes. His body was slick with sweat despite the chill in the air, and when he stood, the room tilted sideways for a moment before righting itself.
He'd made his way to the door, his bare feet heavy on the wooden floor, and pulled it open.
And there she was.
A woman. An actual woman, not a fever dream. Young. Dressed like she was heading to church, all buttoned up and proper with a carpetbag in one hand. Pretty enough, though it was hard to tell with most of her face in shadow from that bonnet.
She was staring at him.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and realized belatedly that he was shirtless. That he probably looked like hell. That he was swaying slightly on his feet.
"Can I help you?" The words came out rougher than he'd intended.
She just kept staring, her mouth opening and closing like she'd forgotten how to speak. Her eyes dropped -just for a second- and then snapped back up to his face.
Finally, she managed: "I'm the new teacher."
He frowned, his fever-addled brain struggling to make sense of the words.
Teacher?
He wrinkled his nose, trying to think through the fog in his head. He'd been in town just three days ago, had walked past the bulletin board outside the general store like he always did. There'd been the usual postings: requests for labor, advertisements for patent medicines, a notice about a town meeting he'd had no intention of attending. Nothing about a school. Nothing about hiring a teacher.
And he would've heard. White Creek was small enough that news traveled fast, especially news like that. The women would've been talking about it. Hell, the men would've been talking about it too, complaining about the cost, probably, or arguing over where they'd even put a schoolhouse.
"Didnât know we were openinâ a school," he said, and even to his own ears, it sounded doubtful.
She looked taken aback, her brows drawing together beneath the brim of her bonnet.
"Open?" she repeated. "No, it's not- it's not a new school. I'm here to replace the previous teacher. Miss..." She paused, clearly trying to recall the name. "Miss Hartley? She married and left the position."
Bucky shook his head slowly, which was a mistake, the movement made the world tilt again, and he had to brace one hand against the doorframe to steady himself.
"Ma'am," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle despite feeling like his head was splitting open. "There ainât no school here. Maybe Sunday school at the church for the kids when the circuit preacher comes through, but thatâs..." He trailed off, watching her face.
Something was changing in her expression. The confusion was still there, but it was being joined by something else. Something that looked a lot like dawning horror.
"That can't be right," she said, but her voice had gone thin. "I have a letter. From Mayor Powell. He hired me specifically to-"
"Mayor Richards," Bucky corrected automatically, then wished he hadn't when he saw her face fall further. âLook, donât mean to be rude, but the mayor -Richards- heâs more interested in spendinâ town funds on fixinâ up the saloon than on education. Ainât been talk of hirinâ any teacher."
She was staring at him now, but not the way she had been before. This was different. This was the look of someone watching their world come apart at the seams.
"No," she said quietly. "No, that's not- my brother, he said-"
Her hand went to her pocket, fumbling for something, and she pulled out a folded piece of paper, already soft and worn at the creases. She stepped closer -close enough that he caught a faint scent of lavender and travel dust- and held it out to him.
"Here. It's all explained in the letter. If you could just read-"
He took it, his fingers clumsy, and that's when he saw her eyes.
One brown. One green.
Different colors, clear as day now that she'd stepped out of the shadow of her bonnet and into the light spilling from the cabin behind him. He blinked, thinking maybe the fever was playing tricks on him, but no. They stayed the same. Mismatched and striking and...
He didn't react. Didn't have the energy for it, honestly, and besides, he'd seen stranger things. There'd been a fellow in his unit during the war who'd had six fingers on one hand. People were born looking all kinds of ways.
He focused on the letter instead, squinting at the words. His head was pounding hard enough that reading was a chore, but he managed to pick out the important bits.
White Creek. That was right, at least.
Teaching position... previous teacher departed... room and board included...
Mayor Powell.
And there, at the bottom, a signature that could've been anyone's scrawl.
Shit.
He looked up at her, then back down at the letter. She'd been tricked. That much was obvious. Whether it was her brother's doing or someone else's, he couldn't say, but this letter was about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.
"Ma'am," he started, trying to figure out how to say this without making everything worse. "Iâm real sorry, but... none of this is true."
He watched her face carefully, saw the way her breathing was starting to come faster.
"Mayorâs name is Richards, not Powell. And thereâs no teachinâ position. No school at all, âcept like I said⌠sometimes on Sundays." He held the letter out to her. "Donât know who wrote this, but somebodyâs been dishonest with you."
She took the letter back with shaking hands. Her chest was rising and falling too quickly now, like she couldn't quite catch her breath.
Damn.
His head gave another vicious throb, and he had to close his eyes for a second against the pain. When he opened them, she was still standing there, looking like she might either scream or faint or both.
"Look," he said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could manage. "Donât mean to be rude, but Iâm sick as a dog right now. Youâre welcome to come inside and sit for a minute. Thereâs coffee I can heat up, and itâs warmer than standinâ out here." He paused, seeming to remember himself. "Nameâs Barnes. James Barnes. Most folks call me Bucky."
She introduced herself quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Then she hesitated, her eyes darting past him into the cabin, then back to his face. Then down to his bare chest. Then, unmistakably, to the sign nailed up beside the door.
WIVES WANTED.
Her gaze came back to him: shirtless, sweating, standing in the doorway of a shady cabin in the middle of nowhere, and he saw the calculation happening behind those mismatched eyes.
He couldn't exactly blame her for the doubt.
----
The world tilted sideways.
Not literally, though given how light-headed she suddenly felt, it might as well have been. Everything she'd held onto for the past month, every miserable mile in that wagon, every night in those filthy way stations, every moment of doubt she'd pushed down because at least she was going somewhere, to something-
All of it. Gone.
A lie.
No school. No position. No Mayor Powell.
She looked down at the letter in her hands, the paper now trembling visibly. The ink hadn't changed. The words were still there, neat and official-looking. But they meant nothing. They'd never meant anything.
Her brother had done this.
Jeremiah had looked her in the eye, had handed her this letter, had told her he'd pulled strings with an old friend to get her this opportunity. Had watched her pack. Had put her on that first stage with her trunk and her carpetbag full of books and the last of her savings sewn into the lining of her skirt.
Had sent her here. To nothing.
The urge to laugh came suddenly and sharply, but she swallowed it down because if she started, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop. And then what? She'd fall apart in front of this half-naked stranger while standing in the middle of the wilderness as the sun set behind the trees?
She forced herself to think. To push past the panic that was making her chest tight and her breath come too fast.
The money she had left wouldn't get her back home. She'd counted it three times already during the journey, watching it dwindle with each fare and meal. Even if it could -even if by some miracle she could afford the return trip- what was waiting for her there?
Jeremiah had made his position clear. He didn't want her. His new wife didn't want her. She was a burden, an embarrassment, a spinster sister with devil's eyes taking up space in their house.
If he'd been capable of this -of lying to her face, of sending her across the country to God knows what- what would he do if she showed up on his doorstep again?
She looked up at the man in the doorway. He was still watching her, his expression difficult to read. Concern, maybe. Or just discomfort at having a strange woman on the verge of hysteria standing outside his door.
The light was fading fast. The woods around them were already deep in shadow, and she could hear sounds she couldn't identify. Animals, probably. Or the wind through the trees. Or something worse.
She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. And night was coming.
The man -Mr. Barnes- had invited her inside. Had mentioned coffee. Warmth. He'd said he was sick, which was obvious enough from looking at him. Fever-bright eyes, that sheen of sweat, the way he'd braced himself against the doorframe like standing was an effort.
A sick man was probably less dangerous than whatever was in those woods.
Probably.
Her eyes flicked once more to the sign. Then back to him, shirtless and swaying slightly, clearly unwell.
She didn't have a choice. Not really.
"I..." Her voice came out thin and unsteady. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that. The coffee, I mean. And somewhere to sit."
He nodded and stepped back from the doorway, gesturing her inside with a movement that looked like it cost him effort.
She crossed the threshold, her boots loud against the wooden floor, and set her carpetbag down just inside the door. The cabin was sparse, a few cots along one wall, a table with chairs that had seen better days, the fireplace with its dying fire. It smelled of smoke and sawdust and something else she couldn't quite place. Sweat, maybe. Or illness.
She turned back toward the door.
"Ma'am?"
But she was already stepping outside again, back into the rapidly cooling air. Her trunk was still sitting in the middle of the road where the driver had left it, and she wasn't about to leave it out there overnight. Everything she owned was in that trunk.
She heard him behind her. "What are you-" but she'd already reached the trunk and was bending to grab one of the handles.
She'd barely lifted it an inch off the ground when she heard boots on the packed earth and a muttered curse that sounded more exasperated than angry.
"Christ, just- leave it."
She looked up to see him coming toward her, still shirtless, still clearly unsteady on his feet.
"I can manage," she started to say, but he was already there, shouldering her aside with less force than he probably intended but enough that she stumbled back a step.
He grabbed both handles and lifted the trunk like it weighed nothing, though she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched. Fever or not, he was strong, she'd give him that.
"You shouldn't be-" she tried again. "You're sick. I can-"
"Inside," he said shortly, already turning back toward the cabin. "Both of you."
She followed, feeling useless and foolish and still trying not to stare at the way his back muscles moved under sweat-slicked skin as he carried her trunk through the door.
----
He set the trunk down just inside the door, letting it drop the last few inches with a heavy thud. His breathing had gone rough, and when he straightened, she saw him close his eyes briefly, like he was fighting off a wave of dizziness.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said quietly. "You're clearly unwell."
"It's fine." But his voice was strained, and the way he moved suggested it was anything but fine.
She looked around the cabin properly now. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, and there was a dented coffeepot sitting on the edge of the stone. Cups on the table. A water bucket near the door.
"Let me," she said, moving toward the fireplace before he could protest. "You said there was coffee. I can heat it up. You should sit down before you fall down."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but another wave of something -pain, nausea, dizziness- seemed to pass over him, and he sank onto the nearest cot instead.
"Woodâs by the hearth," he managed. "Should be enough to get the fire goinâ again."
She nodded, already moving. It felt good to have something to do, something practical that didn't require her to think about the fact that her entire life had just collapsed around her ears. She could build a fire. She could heat coffee. These were things she knew how to do.
She crouched by the hearth, finding the pile of kindling and split wood where he'd indicated. The embers were still glowing faintly, and she carefully added the smaller pieces first, blowing gently until they caught.
Behind her, she heard him shift on the cot, heard the creak of the frame.
The fire began to grow, flames licking up around the new wood. She added a larger piece, then another, until it was burning steadily. Then she reached for the coffeepot.
----
He should close his eyes. Should try to sleep off this fever before it got any worse. But he found himself watching her instead, lying on his side on the narrow cot, his head pillowed on one arm.
She moved purposefully around the small space, her skirts swishing softly as she tended the fire, reached for the coffeepot, and positioned it over the flames. Every movement was made with focus, like she was grateful to have something to do with her hands.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd been under the same roof as a young woman. Mary didn't count; she was the sheriff's sister-in-law. The girls at the saloon didn't count either, for different reasons.
But she, buttoned up in that traveling dress, her hair neat beneath her bonnet despite the long journey, there was something about her that made it hard to look away.
Even though he was as sick as he was. Even knowing he probably looked like death warmed over.
He wondered if after all that traveling, the corset bothered her. It had to, didn't it? All those whale bones and laces, squeezing her flesh. How did women even breathe in those things? What would she look like without it? Without all those layers of propriety and fabric-
Christ.
He closed his eyes, disgusted with himself. The poor woman had just had her entire life pulled out from under her, had traveled God knows how far only to find out she'd been lied to, and here he was, thinking about getting under her skirts like some kind of animal.
His ma had raised him better than that.
But his ma had been gone a long time now. And he'd been out here in the wilderness for two years, working himself half to death six days a week and spending his Sundays trying to remember what it felt like to be something other than tired.
He opened his eyes again and they reached for her. Couldn't help it.
----
When she looked over her shoulder a few minutes later, he was asleep.
Or unconscious. It was hard to tell. His breathing had gone deep and uneven, and he was lying completely still except for the occasional twitch of his fingers.
She turned back to the fire, waiting for the coffee to heat through. After a moment's hesitation, she reached up and unpinned her bonnet, setting it carefully on the table. There was no point wearing it indoors, especially not at this hour, and she doubted he'd object even if he were awake enough to notice.
Which he clearly wasn't.
The coffee was hot enough. She poured herself a cup, the bitter smell filling the small cabin, and retrieved one of the hard biscuits from her carpetbag. Not much of a dinner, but she'd eaten worse during the journey. At least it was something.
She sat at the table, breaking the biscuit into smaller pieces to soften in the coffee, and found herself looking at him.
Really looking, now that he couldn't catch her at it.
Underneath the grime and the sweat and the obvious illness, he was... handsome. Striking, even. Strong features, dark strands of hair that curled slightly where it was damp against his temples. The beard made it hard to see the shape of his jaw, but she could imagine it well enough. And his body⌠well. She'd already seen more of that than was proper.
No ring on his finger. Not that it meant anything. Plenty of men out here probably didn't bother with rings, even if they were married. Though given the sign outside...
He made a sound -half groan, half whimper- and shifted restlessly on the cot.
She put down her cup and crossed to him, crouching beside the cot. Up close, she could see the flush high on his cheekbones, the way his skin seemed to radiate heat even from a few inches away.
Carefully, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.
Burning.
He was burning up.
She pulled her hand back, biting her lip. He needed water. Cool cloths. Someone to watch him through the night to make sure the fever didn't get worse.
She looked around the cabin: at her trunk by the door, at the dying light outside the windows, at the complete absence of anywhere else to go or anything else to do.
Well then.
She stood, moving back to the water bucket near the door. If she was going to be stuck here until morning anyway, she might as well make herself useful. And honestly, what else was there to do? Sit and think about how thoroughly her life had fallen apart?
No. Better to stay busy. Better to help someone who actually needed it, even if that someone was a half-naked stranger who lived in the woods.
----
She found what she needed easily enough. The post was clearly meant to be a waystation of sorts, there were basic provisions stored in crates along one wall. Extra blankets, some dried meat, and a few tins of beans. And, mercifully, some clean rags that looked like they'd been meant for cleaning tools but would work just as well for her purposes.
She soaked one in the water bucket, wrung it out, and returned to his side.
The heat from the fire was already making the cabin warm. Too warm, especially after she'd built it back up. She could feel sweat beginning to gather at her temples, at the small of her back beneath all her layers.
She pressed the cool cloth to his forehead, and he made a small sound that might have been relief.
The cabin grew warmer still as she worked. She'd need to reach his wrists, his ankles, under his arms. She remembered that much from when her mother had been sick, years ago. Fever had to be brought down from the extremities, not just the head.
Her collar felt like it was choking her.
She sat back on her heels, glancing at him. Still unconscious, still burning up.
No one was going to see. And she could barely breathe.
She reached up and unfastened the top three buttons of her high collar, letting the fabric fall open enough that she could take a proper breath. Better. She rolled her sleeves up to her elbows -carefully, precisely, the way she'd been taught- and secured them there.
There. Much more practical.
She wet another cloth and carefully lifted one of his arms, pressing the cool fabric against the inside of his wrist, then higher, into the hollow of his armpit. His skin was slick with sweat, burning hot under her fingers. She tried not to think about the impropriety of it, about the fact that she was touching a man she didn't know in ways that would have scandalized everyone back home.
He needed help. That was all that mattered.
She moved to his feet next, unlacing his boots with fumbling fingers and setting them aside. His socks were damp with sweat. She peeled them off -tried not to notice how strangely intimate even that felt- and pressed cool cloths to his ankles.
"You need to drink," she murmured, though she wasn't sure he could hear her. She retrieved her cup of coffee -now lukewarm- dumped it out, and filled it with fresh water from the bucket.
Getting him to drink while unconscious was harder than she'd anticipated. She lifted his head as carefully as she could, supporting it with one hand while she brought the cup to his lips with the other.
"Come on," she said softly. "Just a little."
Most of it ran down his chin and neck, soaking into the pillow beneath his head, but she thought some of it made it into his mouth. Enough, maybe.
She set the cup aside and reached for another cloth, wiping the water from his face and neck. His beard was rough under her fingers, and she found herself wondering absently what he looked like clean-shaven.
The fire crackled. The cabin was stifling now.
She unbuttoned her cuffs entirely, pushing the fabric up past her elbows. Her hair was coming loose from its pins -she could feel it, sticking to the back of her neck- but she didn't care.
She'd deal with propriety in the morning.
For now, she had work to do.
----
The hours blurred together.
She lost track of how many times she soaked the cloths, how many times she pressed them to his burning skin. The fire needed tending. The water bucket needed refilling from the pump outside.
By the time she collapsed into the chair near his cot, she was exhausted.
Her hair had long since given up any pretense of being properly pinned. She could feel it falling around her shoulders, sticking to her neck and temples with sweat. The cabin was stifling despite the cool night air outside, and she'd unbuttoned her dress almost to her sternum just to be able to breathe.
Improper didn't even begin to cover it. But there was no one to see, and she was too tired to care.
She leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.
This was her life now. Stranded in the middle of nowhere with a sick stranger, no money to get home -not that home wanted her anyway- and no prospects beyond hoping the town might take pity on her in the morning.
If there even was a town.
If any of this was real.
The thought hit her suddenly, sharp and overwhelming: Jeremiah had sent her here specifically to get rid of her. To dump her somewhere so remote, so impossible, that she'd have no choice but to-
What? Marry the first man desperate enough to overlook her eyes? Disappear into the wilderness and stop being his problem?
A sound escaped her throat -half laugh, half sob- and then the tears came.
She pressed her hands over her face, trying to muffle the sound, trying to hold it together, but it was useless. Everything came pouring out: the humiliation, the betrayal, the bone-deep terror of having nowhere to go and no one to turn to.
She didn't hear him wake up.
Didn't realize he'd moved until his voice cut through her crying, rough and confused.
"Hey- hey, don't-"
She jerked her head up, swiping at her eyes with the heels of her hands. He was sitting up on the cot, swaying slightly, one hand braced against the wall for balance.
"You shouldn't be up," she said automatically, her voice thick and unsteady. "You need to rest."
"Maâam you're crying." He said it like it was a problem he needed to solve, like he couldn't quite process why she'd be upset.
"I'm fine." She stood, wiping her face again, trying to pull herself together. "Please, just lie back down. You're still-"
But he was already on his feet, moving toward her with the unsteady determination of someone who wasn't thinking clearly. Fever-bright eyes, unfocused but concerned.
"Listen, I-" He stopped in front of her, too close, near enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. "I know this is bad. I know you got dealt a shit hand. But weâll figure somethinâ out in the morninâ, alright? The town⌠someone'll help. You won't be-"
"You don't know that." The words came out sharper than she intended. "You don't know anything about me or what I-"
"I know you came all this way for nothinâ," he said quietly. "I know that ainât fair. And I know-" He swayed slightly, and she reached out instinctively to steady him, her hands landing on his bare arms. His skin was still too hot, slick with sweat. "Maâam, I know youâre scared."
She was. God, she was terrified. And having him say it out loud, having someone acknowledge it, made her throat close up all over again.
"I'm sorry," she managed. "I don't usually- I'm not-"
"It's alright." His hand came up -she thought maybe to touch her shoulder, to offer some awkward comfort- but then his expression changed. The concern shifted to something else. Confusion. Alarm.
"I don't- Â He blinked hard, like he was trying to clear his vision. "I don't feel very well."
"I know," she said gently, still holding his arms. "That's why you need to-"
"No." He shook his head, which seemed to make everything worse. "No, I mean I really don't-"
His knees buckled.
She saw it happening but couldn't react fast enough. One second he was standing, and the next he was falling forward, his full weight crashing into her.
She tried to catch him, tried to brace herself, but he was huge and completely deadweight. They both went down hard as his body drove her to the floor.
She screamed, the sound echoing in the empty shed as she fell. Pain exploded at the base of her head, and a brilliant white light flashed behind her eyes.
i don't usually take requests, but this was pretty hot đ¤
18+ mdni, smut
the super-soldier serum had its perks when it came to sex. bucky never tired; he could hold you up and easily maneuver your body for his pleasure. but the last thing he ever expected to come with the serumâalong with becoming a nuisanceâwas hyperspermia.
when he climaxed, it was a lot.
it was overwhelming, and frankly, very annoying to clean up.
bucky tried using condoms to avoid practically drowning you in his cum, but most of the time, they'd slip right off because of how quickly he'd pump the rubber full. so, he just gave up and decided he would try to pull out right before he came.
and each time he did, his rough hand would blur over his shaft as he pumped himself to climax, spilling his warm, thick seed all over your belly, shooting high enough to nearly hit your collarbone and chinâmaking you flinch.
"jesus," he'd rasp, catching his breath. "goddamnit. i did it again. god, look at you. you're covered in cumâi'm so sorry, baby. let me grab a towel and clean you upâ"
"bucky," you'd chuckle, trying to sit up, but it only made his release dribble down your navel and onto the sides of your stomach. "it's fineâ"
before you could finish, he'd quickly scramble off the bed, face red with embarrassment, to grab a clean towel.
this was the same routine every time you two had sex. and for once, you wanted him to come inside. you wanted to feel all of him, especially since you knew just how much bucky wanted to fill you up too; he was just holding himself back.
the next day, bucky had you pinned to the mattress, the poor bedframe creaking and groaning as he fucked you deep against the soft cushions.
"god, you feel so fucking good, baby," bucky moaned. "fuck."
he was close, you could feel it. he was pulsing, throbbing, and his movements were sloppy and uneven.
he drew his hips back just slightly, and you knew he was going to try and pull out.
but before he could, your legsâtrembling and shakingâquickly wrapped around his hips, nudging him back against your pelvis as he slammed into you with one hard thrust.
"oh my godâ!" he gasped, his body collapsing and enveloping yours as he lost his balance. "jesusâbaby. what are you doing? you know i can't cum insideâit's too much. you won't be able to take itâ"
"i can take it," you rasped. "i can take it, bucky! please, let me try taking it all. i want to try."
"shit," he grunted. "thisâthis is bad, baby. this is dangerous. i'd fill you up so deep, it'll be spilling out of you. i'll make a mess, sweetheart. i can'tâfuck, i can'tâ"
but despite his words, his hips kept grinding sloppily and lazily against yours. it was growing impossible to pull out by the second. how could he? when your breathy moans were filling his ears deliciously, and your soft legs were wrapped tight around his waist, refusing to let him go?
so with one, final hard and deep thrust that made your head spin, he let himself spill inside you.
thick, hot ropes of cum shot deep inside, filling you completely to the brim as his body shook and trembled atop you. it was a lot, and it kept going and going, but even then, your legs refused to drop from around his waist. you told him you were going to take it, and you did.
you felt every pulse, every ridge, and every throb his cock had to give you as he filled you completely until your body couldn't hold it all and it started dripping out of you and onto the mattress.
bucky's face immediately burned hot with embarrassment. he didn't even want to see the damage he'd done to youâhe felt it.
"jesus christ," he mumbled into your neck, his body shaking from the aftermath of his intense orgasm that couldn't seem to subsideâno matter how much he came.
"i'm sorry. i tried to pull out, but your legsâfuck. they're just so soft, and you felt too good. but you said you could take it, right?"
DOMESTIC DISPUTES | mob!bucky barnes x wife!reader
authors notes: based off of this ask! i'm so in love with this series, even if it was never actually supposed to be a series in the first place. taking any and all reqs for these two btw!
you can read part one here, and part two here!
word count: 1.2k
masterlist! ËËË âĄ ËËË
it wasnât often that work spilled over from the warehouse and into your house, but when it didâ it usually ended bad for some poor soul in the city. tonight was one of those rare nights, buckyâs office had been made into a makeshift war room, half of his men crowded around his deskâ papers scattered everywhere. you left them to their own devices most of the time, floating in and out to refill glasses and check that none of them had killed each other yet.Â
they were doing suspiciously well at that last one.
you had just one rule, well, one rule that applied to this situation. boots were left by the door. your poor carpets were still recovering from when your husband had lovingly bled all over them the last time, and it would appear that everyone other than your husband had listened to youâ typical. some days you genuinely considered the fact that his ears might be for decoration.Â
it was almost like he wanted you to go and shout at him again. and if thatâs what he wanted, who were you to deny him?
you were just being a good wife, right?
âyou think i didnât think of that?â bucky snapped as he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his head fall back against his chair with a quiet thud. some new kids on the block thought they could move into his territory without him noticing.
he noticed.
he always noticed.
somebody only had to take a step in the wrong direction and he was on it, because the white wolf didnât share anything.
âi offered them that solution two fuckinâ weeks ago andââ his head snapped up like a soldier coming to attention as you pushed the door open. âbaby, nowâs not reallyââ but as quickly as he started, you cut him off, eyebrow raised as you gave him the look. it was your turn to talk now. ânuh uh, donât baby me. thatâs not gonna save your ass this time. i gave you one rule, buck. one, wanna tell me what that was? even tony managed to stick to it, no offence, and you know what heâs like.â
âhey, none taken. pepperâs gonna love it when i tell her that all her house training has finally pulled off. gonna put me in the good books for the rest of the yearâ tony grinned, looking way too impressed for someone who youâd technically just insulted, even if you did mean it lovingly.Â
âshut it, stark.â bucky snapped, glaring at him so hard that heâd be six foot under if looks could kill. thank god they couldnât. âi donât remember asking for your opinion, keep it to yourself.âÂ
âbecause you didnât, she did and iâm just sayingââ
and from there, a full blown argument broke out between the two of them. no, scrap that. it wasnât even an argument, it was bickering. they were bickering like kids out in the schoolyard, and you werenât even finished yet.
oh no.
âjames!â you leaned forward and clicked your fingers right in front of his face, finally snapping his attention back to him. âjamie, look at me.â
oh, he was fucked.
so fucked.
he swallowed thickly as he looked up at you, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. yep, definitely fucked, just in case he needed anymore confirmation. âyes maâam.â could he remember what you were talking about? no. did he have a clue which âruleâ it was that he was supposed to have broken? also no. he was pretty sure that if the world ended in the next few minutes then heâd be the last one to find out about it.
youâd never looked more perfect than you had right in that moment, bar maybe your wedding day. your eyed were glittering with both mischief and the reflection of the christmas lights that you had draped over every single free surface that youâd foundâ not even his own personal space was free. and after your little warehouse decorating spree, he was sure that more decorations had appeared around the place, he just didnât bring it up.
your head tilted a few degrees to the left, your lips curling up into a grin when you realised that youâd got him exactly where youâd planned. âmy ruleââ you leaned over his desk and cupped his cheek with your hand, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. âwas no boots in the house. if i have to get these carpets cleaned again, iâm not gonna be a very nice person and you can sleep on the couch until next year.â you wouldnât throw him on the couch, not really. the last time you tried, you managed all of six and a half minutes before you dragged him back to bed to steal his body heatâ and a cuddle or two (or a whole night's worth).
he opened his mouth to defend himself, to vocalise the fact that his boots were the last thing on his mind in the middle of the shitstorm going on, but he couldnât. if you squinted hard enough then he was practically leaning into your touch like a giant housecat. and then you leant in, just a fractionâ just enough to make him think you were going in for the kiss, but then you stopped.Â
you just stopped, a fraction away from your lips touching his. you chuckled quietly as you pulled your hand away and straightened up, taking two steps backwards before you turned around and headed for the door.Â
he faltered for five whole seconds once the door was closed behind you, five whole seconds where he wasnât even sure if he could remember his own nameâ let alone anything else. there was something that he knew, though, something that he always knew. he was completely and utterly in love with his wife and the frankly ridiculous list of rules that apparently came attached with that. he was pulled out of his thoughts by tony and steve laughing.
laughing at him.
âlaugh again and neither of you are gonna have a fuckinâ job left. not. a. word.â but neither of them could help it, not when they knew that his threats carried about as much weight as a feather. and even if he did try and get rid of them? well, youâd have his mind changed in about thirty seconds flat, just like you always did.Â
he was pretty sure that normal people didnât get that warm fuzzy feeling anytime their partner berated them. hell, heâd made people disappear for less, but for you? for you heâd actively put a foot wrong for you to swoop in and correct him.
âyou know sheâs probably gonna kill you one day, right?â steve managed to get out through his laughter, shaking his head as an actual tear ran down his cheek. the muscle in buckyâs jaw tightened a fraction as he pushed his chair back, old leather creaking as he reached down to unlace his boots. âyeah, yeah, laugh it up.â he grumbled. âreal funny.â
the final joke was on them, though. because if bucky barnes ever died at the hands of his slightly crazy wife? well, heâd die the happiest man in the world, living or otherwise.
Summary: Driving back to your apartment after a rough phone call with your boss, ending in quitting your job. Only you get a flat leaving you stranded in a new unfamiliar town, with one mechanic shop down the road.
Warnings / Tags: 18+ mdi, modern AU, mechanic!bucky, family death mentioned, PTSD, tension, grieving, smut, slow-ish burn, shitty parenting, DILF.
Word count 2.2k
Youâve spiraled since you got to your momâs house. Filling her in on your crush, aka your boss that you shouldnât like.Â
âWait, he has a kid?â Your mom saidÂ
âYes, but sheâs so sweet. She hangs out with me every day after schoolâ
Your mom said you name in a scolding matter âhe had a kid, and divorced. That's a red flag, do you even know how his marriage ended?â
âWell- no, but-â
âNo buts, I donât like this. You shouldnât be dating someone that much older than youâ
She was unfortunately right, stupid logical. But you couldnât get it out of your head. Not leaving once the shop closed, but going upstairs to there apartment with him, the cat, and Becca. How nice it would be to bring them to your momâs house on Christmas. Let Bucky meet you brother- or well his grave. You also ended up talking to him for a while, sitting alone in a graveyard telling him all about whatâs happened in more detail than you did your mom.
âOh and heâs really hot. Heâs got a little gray in his bread, and I donât know if he works out or if itâs just from his work but he is built. I bet he could pick me up, and his daughter. Oh, and she is so sweet, you wouldâve loved teaching her swears, and giving her toys that would make a mess. Ya know all the uncle stuffâ you say leaning on his headstone
âDonât worry Iâll make him come meet you before we start datingâ you said standing up and wiping your legs off grass âbye, Iâll see you in a few monthsâ you said readjusting his flowers before walking back to the car
You said goodbye to your mom the next day, before driving back, but you did make a small stop at the closed shop before going home. Becca squealed running to hug you âyour back! I missed you!â She saidÂ
âAw thanks, I missed you tooâ you say picking her up, and walking into the garage where only Bucky was working âyour back early.â He said wiping his hands off after pulling them out of an engineÂ
âYeah, well I guess I was excited for workâ you shrug watching how he moved to stand infront of her âuh, me and Becca were gonna go get lunch at the dinner across town, if you wanted to joinâ he said
âOh I donât wanna intrude daddy daughter timeâ you say putting Becca down âplease, itâs always just me and dad. We havenât seen in you in sooo longâ Becca saidÂ
âI guess I can, and I was gone two days Beccaâ you said, poking her shoulder as she dragged you to Buckyâs truck. It was older, but in very good condition. Red on the hood and sides with a sliver base. It looks polished and clean, with what looks like new leather on the inside. It was only one row, but it was cozy. Becca made herself comfortable in the middle as you climbed in next to her, and Bucky sat in the driver's seat.
âWow, you take amazing care of this car. I feel like Iâm in the 70sâ you said double checking Beccaâs seat beltÂ
âItâs my dadâs old car, he bought it in 1973, I fixed it up when Iâm bored.â He shrugged, pulling out of the shop's parking lot with practiced ease. It was a quiet, but peaceful Becca sang along to the radio quietly looking at the window, but your eyes kept catching on Bucky driving. Calmly, it felt safe, like you could fall asleep and rely on him.Â
The dinner was small, with a charming atmosphere. You walk in together, sitting in a booth in the corner. Becca calmed the seat across from you, and Bucky sat on her left. As you look over the menu, Becca barely looks at it, same with Bucky. Itâs enough to make you hurry and pick something. Cheeseburger, fries, and a coke- Diet Coke. Becca got the same, but a large chocolate milk shake. Bucky the same, minus a milkshake.
âI guess you two come here a lot?â You ask watching Becca play with a packet of sugarÂ
âYep! Every Sunday dad takes me, but I think he should take you too because he likes youâ Becca said not realizing how red her dadâs face gotÂ
âYou a good friend, plus I think Becca needs another girl in her cornerâ he said quickly in an attempt to defend himself
âThanks? Iâm glad, Becca is a very good kid.â You say blowing the paper on your straw at BeccaÂ
âHey! Thatâs not niceâ she said âhow did you do thatâ
âIâm sorry, but it was funnyâ you say putting your straw into your own cup âhere just take the paper off at the top, and blowâ you say moving your eyes at Bucky trying to get her to aim for him, and she does. Giggling as she hits his face âreally, Corrupting my sweet little girl?â He said in a teasing tone before blowing the paper of his straw right between your eyesÂ
âNice shot, I donât think Iâve ever been hit thereâ you say leaning across the tableÂ
âWell, Iâve got my own secretsâ he shrugged âoh, dad can she go to the movie with us too?â Becca asked staring back at youÂ
âI mean, I donât have anything else to do tonight. I wouldnât mind if itâs okay with your dadâ you shruggedÂ
âYes, I canât wait now!â She saidÂ
After you ate you reached for your purse to pay your part before Bucky shoved his card down âitâs fine, you do a lot for me.â He shruggedÂ
âItâs okay, I can by 20 dollars for my own foodâ you said watching the waitress walking awayÂ
âYeah, itâs my treatâ he said before the woman handed his card back âyou two have the most beautiful girl. She looks just like you twoâ she said handing Bucky his card and recite backÂ
âThank youâ he said taking Beccaâs hand as the three of you walked back out to his trunk
Oh my god, why didnât he say anything. Becca wasnât you kid? She was his and another womanâs. A woman you still donât know, butâ maybe it was just so he didnât have to explain. Yeah, that's more realistic, you were just friends. Becca probably just wants a mom.
Bucky drove back to the shop while Becca kicked her feet back and forth. Becca said your name taking you out of your trance âcanât you just stay with us until we leave for the movie, I can show you my room, and dadâs really old photoâ she askedÂ
âBecca, she might want to go home. I can just pick you up if you wantâ Bucky said glancing over at you before back to the roadÂ
âI donât mind staying, unless you want me out of your hair for a whileâ you sayÂ
He nodded slowly, almost unsure, but Becca was very happy with your choice. She kept talking about how much she wanted to show you her room.
Once you got to their apartment above the shop Becca dragged you inside showing you her room first. It was purple head to toe with a little camo bear on her dresser.
 âThis is dads home uniformâ she said handing you the bear âI got it when I was really really little. I donât even remember him not being hereâ she saidÂ
You turn the bear in your hands. âThis is very sweet, Iâm sure he missed you,â you say, glancing at Bucky in the door. He seemed mixed about the toy in your hands, also grieving or angered at it. You set the bear down in its shelf before she showed the rest of her room off âI should probably go wash the grease off myselfâ he said stepping back into what you assumed was his bedroom âoh- yeah, Iâll just hang with herâ you said point to Rebecca who was setting up a tea partyÂ
He walked off shutting the door as you at the very tiny table that caused your knees to be pushed up to your chest. You drank pretend tea as Rebecca poured it for you.
âMy dad does talk about you all the time. I donât know why he doesnât just say itâ she saidÂ
âMaybe your just misunderstanding himâ you said putting you teacup down
âI donât want to, I wish you were my mom. Everyone else at school has momsâ she said looking down at the table âIâm the only kid with just a dad, and my mom doesnât come to see my anymoreâÂ
âIâm sorry to hear that Becca. If you were my little girl Iâd come see you all the timeâ you say reaching to hold her hand giving it a squeeze âbut you do, so doesnât that mean you could be my mom? You help me with my homework, you play with me, you help me when dadâs busy, isnât that what moms do?â she saidÂ
âI- I donât think you dad wants thatâ you say pushing her hair back as she frownedÂ
âI wish your were my mom thenâ she said laying her head on your shoulderÂ
You just nodded pulling her to sit on your lap as you braid her hair not knowing what to do without over stepping so invisible line youâve set.
Bucky eventually comes back in non-work clothes. Itâs the first time youâve ever seen him like it. He had white shirt on, covered with a flannel, jeans, and he trimmed his bread slightly. âAre my girls ready?â He asked as you finished her last braid
His girls, did he just call you his? No, your imagination things, there is no chance he said that to you. Becca nodded, jumping up to go back to the car. At the movies Bucky paid for your ticket and you got his popcorn. Becca shoved you two together and sat next to her dad. While a kids movie played about some green ogre. Bucky rested his arm over your seat, but didnât quite touch your shoulders. Becca was asleep by the time the credits rolled, it was sweet watching him carry Becca out to the car. You sat next to her watching him drive.
âThank you for this. Best dateâ you say jokingly of course
âAh great, I took the best woman on a date with my five year oldâ he said sarcastically but he did mean it even if you couldnât pick up on it âdo you mind if I ask about what happened between you and Beccaâs mom?â You asked quietly glancing at himÂ
âA lot, it was mainly my fault. I had a rough time after the army, and I was having nightmares. I just started staying up all night, or sleeping on the couch so I didnât want her or Becca to wake up. We started fighting a lot more too. It wasnât great, and then I found out she was cheating on me, a lot. I only found out when Becca was born. My mom made the bear for her, and Becca thinks it was made when she was 2 or something. I donât really know why, Sharon probably told her. She used to come visit her once a summer, but she stopped last yearâ he said, gripping the wheel tighter. âShe left when Becca was 6 months old. I started therapy, and I just wanted to be better for her.â He saidÂ
âIâm so sorry, I really amâ you say, reaching your hand onto his shoulder. âAt least you have Becca, and you can come to meâ you said as he pulled up to your apartment building. He got out to walk you in leaving Becca asleep across the seats.Â
âThis is meâ you said point to your door âthank you, I really did have fun todayâ you say again unlocking the door before turning around to himÂ
âIâm glad, you're great with her,â he whispered, brushing hair behind your ear.Â
You didnât know what to do, but your heart wanted to race and yearned to pull him in, luckily you didnât have to, he did. His lips hit your softly, slowly as if savoring the moment. âBucky-â you breathe back as he pulled away resting his forehead on yours âsorry, Iâve been wanting to do that all dayâ he whisperedÂ
âDonât be, I liked it. I like youâ you say softly resting your hand on his shoulderÂ
âNext date, I wonât bring a five-year-old.â He said smiling at you
âMm, I donât know if you can top this oneâ you say kissing him again this time more heatedÂ
âOh, I promise I can top itâ he grinned against your lips âIâll see you tomorrow, I gotta get back before Becca thinks i abandoned herâ he saidÂ
You watched him walk off before going inside and screaming into your pillow like a teenage girl. No, did that actually just happen? Yes, yes it did. The man you worked for, the most grumbling, aloof man kissed you? You barely slept that night so excited to go to work and see him.
main masterlist | note: as the trope includes smut, all of the fics include +18 content. also since at least one party is under the influence of some kind of a chemical, this is dubious content. please proceed with caution and minors dni. enjoy!
toxic heat ⢠bucky barnes x reader | by @nyletac
summary: while waiting for the extraction team after a successful mission, bucky leaves you and runs into a greenhouse room in the mission building with strange plants. accidentally breathing in the gas from the plants he returns to you, but something is off. (smut) (6,4k words)
take you there ⢠bucky barnes x reader | by @heli0s-writes
summary: sam plays a game called fuck or die. it's like he willed it into existence as you and hucky explore the basement of an old hydra lair. (smut, dub-con) (3,8k words)
louder than fear ⢠bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @godmadeaterribleerror
summary: missions involving hydra often go very wrong. this is different. this is worse. this is a strange bioweapon, nobody telling you exactly what's wrong, and staring at the ceiling as bucky roars you name. itâs echoing in your brain. and you love him. (smut, light angst) (8,5k words)
lustful agony ⢠bucky barnes x plus size!reader | by @fatecantstopme
summary: after getting hit in the face with a pink dust during a visit to an old hydra lab, you are confused as to what happened. thankfully, your mission partner knows what it is, and thankfully he knows the solution. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, masturbation)
what was rule number #2 again? ⢠tfatws!bucky barnes x reader | by @satinestales
summary: messing around in banner's lab, the night before your mission wasn't as good an idea as you thought, and you begin to question your actions the moment you step out of it. things worsen when you realize the super soldier serum isn't immune to an unknown contagious disease. (smut)
delirium ⢠bucky barnes x reader | by @flowersforbucky
summary: stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, angst, friends to lovers, avenger!reader) (4,1k words)
play pretend | part two ⢠bucky barnes x reader | by @wkemeup
summary: when bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. (smut, dub-con) (7,8k words)
summary of pt.2: in the aftermath of munich, bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. but now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. (smut, mutual pining) (5,8k words)
strawberries ⢠bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @ellemj
summary: bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months? (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, size kink, fuckboy!bucky) (7,5k words)
does it hurt? | bonus chapter ⢠bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @ellemj
summary: bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that hydra was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. when you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. anything. (angst, smut, unprotected sex, abduction, violence, voyeurism, mentions of sa) (24,3k words)
summary of bonus ch.: when you're finally out of hydraâs clutches, the recovery process drives you and bucky farther and farther apart. you can't decide if what you felt between you was real or chemically-induced. what will it take to sway you? (smut, angst, non-descriptive smut) (12,4k words)
untitled ⢠bucky barnes x reader | by @myfictionaldreams
summary: it was your first mission out with your mentor, bucky, but not all goes to plan when you stumble across an old hydra laboratory and accidentally trigger a trap. (smut, dub-con, grumpy x sunshine, rough sex, praise kink)
high for this ⢠new avenger!bucky barnes x reader | by @buckysleftbicep
summary: during a mission, you and bucky are exposed to a gas meant to strip away restraint. he resists, and well, you try. but when the heat fades, itâs not the mission that haunts you both, itâs what happened behind that door. (smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, angst, regret) (3,8k words)
desperate | uncertain an sure ⢠bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @buckets-and-trees
summary: enemies? rivals? it's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the winter soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered. (smut, kidnapping)
desperate measures ⢠bucky barnes x avenger!fem!reader | by @simplyholl
summary: when you encounter a mysterious substance during a mission, it forces you and your mission partner to get closer. (smut)
petals ⢠bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @biteofcherry
summary: it was supposed to be so simple. a boring reckon mission. just to check the cabin and secure any samples of the ongoing experiments the former hydra doctor ran the place. however the unexpected comes in the form of a flower. (smut, dub-con, fingering)
unleashed ⢠avengers!bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @veltana
summary: during a mission, bucky is exposed to something that removes his inhibitions and all he wants is you. (smut, slight fluff, possessive!bucky, unprotected sex) (4,2k words)
crimson fever ⢠bucky barnes x fem!reader | by @mandoalorian
summary: in the icy shadows of 1944 occupied europe, you uncover a dangerous hydra secret that could shift the warâs tide. but hydraâs ruthless scientist, arnim zola, marks you as a threat, unleashing a sinister drugââcrimson feverââthat set your body and soul ablaze with an unrelenting desire. as you fight to protect vital intel, your path collides with sergeant bucky barnes, your childhood friend from brooklyn, whose unspoken love for you burns brighter than the warâs chaos. (smut, dub-con, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, violence, torture) (6,7k words)
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