Ash

Ivy greets you as you pass by her pulling weeds from her garden. You wave, one hand still on your walker, and say good morning.  You continue on, leaning into the metal frame as you roll the wheels over the cracks.

You turn onto the main street and focus on the wooden sign jutting out from the center. You noticed a few weeks ago when it went up. The banner announcing the grand opening has since been disposed of. You avoided the furour of the exciting premier, knowing you would only get jostled, even lost, in the chaos.

Now you feel good enough to make it down. Not without real purpose. You desperately need to do a shop after procrastinating for far too long. 

You pause and wait for Len to pass in his dusty white truck. He gives a beep and a wave. Sometimes, he’ll drive you back home if he catches you on the way. He’s one of the nice ones; one of those who see you. Then there are those who pretend they don’t.

You cross and push your wheels over the curb. You can feel the inflammation in your hips already. You make slow progress along the crooked sidewalk. It dips at points and in places the grass along the edge is higher than the pavement.

You slow as you get close to the bakery and admire the handpainted calligraphy on the sign; Brooklyn’s Best Bakery. You stop in front of the windows and look at the baskets of buns and rolls on display. You can smell it all as the door opens after a customer.

You press on as a couple approaches. The man holds the door for the woman and follows her through. You try to catch the door after them and it hits your walker and knocks you back. The bell jangles above.

You wrench your walker away and let the door close. It’s not the first time it’s happened. You thought they would’ve seen you hurrying to get in after them. Of course, you can’t expect everyone to hold the door but you weren’t that far behind.

You angle and open the door, using your back to keep it open. You push on it and pull your walker close, turning it through the door. You grunt as you lift the wheels over the high step that leads inside.

As you roll through, the door swings shut and spurs you forward. You hit a shelf with the wheel and steady yourself. You check to make sure you didn’t knock anything over.

To your surprise and disappointment, there’s a line. Oh well, you have to wait. Other people exist too.

You join the line and turn your walker to sit on the seat, your bag dangling from the handle. You rub your hips and lean to the side. The last x-ray showed degeneration at the base of your spine and in your tailbone, a little in your hips.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice comes through.

You sit up but can’t see past the couple in front of you. The woman points to the croissants in the display as the man’s hand rests on her lower back. He doesn’t seem to be listening as he reads the chalkboard sign above the counter.

“‘Scuse me,” the same voice grits and several bodies shuffle apart in the queue. “Hey, you.”

You blink and look over, startled. You peek back, thinking maybe you didn’t see the mess you made after all.

 You twist back as a man approaches in an apron. The red fabric is dusted with flour and other ingredients. He’s tall, his shoulders broad, and a dark beard trims his jaw. He wears a short sleeve shirt over a tank top, exposing tattoos on his chest and arms.

“You,” he points at the man ahead of you. “That wasn’t very polite.”

“Huh?” The man ahead of you snorts. You think his name is Donny or… Dustin?

“You dropped the door on another customer.” The man crosses his arms.

“Who?” Wait, his name is Devin, replies hotly.

“This lady right here,” the man in the apron points at you. “I’m sure you saw her.”

“Dude, I didn’t see her–.”

“How do you know you didn’t drop it on her if you didn’t see her?” The man’s forearms bulge.

“It was an accident.”

“So now you did see her?”

“No. I… look, uh,” Devin turns. “I’m sorry, really.” As he looks down at you, you stand, feeling smaller than ever. “I didn’t see you and if the door hit you–”

“It did.” The aproned man insists.

“I didn’t see you and I’m sorry I hit you with the door.” Devin scoffs and looks at the man. “Happy?”

“Not really,” the man retorts. “Get your food and get out.”

Devin huffs again and shakes his head. He mumbles as the woman beside him shifts away.

“Excuse me?” The man in the apron drops his arms. “You wanna say something, make sure I can hear you.”

“I said you’re a fucking tight ass.” Devin retorts.

“Common decency is being a tight ass? Well then, you can just go.” The man grabs Devin by his hoodie and drags him between a set of shelves.

There isn’t much of a struggle as the cafe employee is much stronger, even if he’s not as heavy as Devin’s rounder build. He shoves the door open and hurls Devin through. He claps his hands then turns back.

“You’re more than welcome to stay and order,” he says to the woman as he approaches. “And whatever you’re getting,” the man stops by you. “It’s on the house.”

“What? No. It’s… okay.” You babble dumbly, surprised at being addressed.

“Not okay. Not in my joint.” He sneers.

“Um, okay, uh, thank you, sir. You really didn’t have to–”

“I did,” he says and offers his hand. “Steve Rogers. It’s my place, my rules.”

You lean back on your walker, keeping your hand on one side and shake his hand. He squeezes and you nearly dissemble in his grip. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and utter your name out of courtesy.

His cheek dimples as he nods. “Pretty. I’m almost finished a batch of strawberry turnovers. That’s my recommendation.” He lets go.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Obi-Wan believes that aftercare is intrinsic to having and maintaining a healthy sex life. 

He follows a usual pattern or routine after intercourse, making sure you’re cared for in all aspects. 

He will first lead you to the refresher so that you’re able to urinate—peeing after sex helps clear the urethra of harmful bacteria that can potentially lead to a risk of developing a UTI. If the session was particularly rough or the two of you made any mess, he’ll change the sheets if need be, then, once you’ve finished up in the refresher, he'll fetch you some water or a snack, depending on your needs. Sometimes, he’ll run you a bath or start a shower for you if you’ve not taken one beforehand or have gotten too sweaty and sticky from your escapades.

He won’t rest or offer cuddles until your other physical needs have been met; he’s not a risk taker by those measures. 

Every sexual encounter is different, and he will gauge his response based on how you are in the moment, catering his methods towards what you need or ask for. His main love language is acts of service and won’t address his own needs until yours are satisfied. 

Once you have been cared for properly, he’ll scoop you into his arms and hold you against his chest or he’ll spoon you from behind. In these quiet moments, he likes to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, praising you for how well you’ve done for him, how happy you make him and how deeply he cares for you. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part of yours are your lips, primarily because of how much he craves your sweet kisses, but he also adores your natural pout, how they purse together in concentration when you’re deciphering his words like a riddle, the subtle downturn when you’re frustrated, the thin-lipped stretch of them when you break a smile and show your teeth…your face is always so expressive and the quirk of your lips tell him so much about how you’re feeling and your level of comfortability. 

Every physical feature or attribute serves a necessary function and Obi-Wan is pragmatic about his own body. He hasn’t ever considered himself through the lens of physical attractiveness before, but if he were asked to pick one part of himself that he prefers, he’d most likely say his arms, because of how it feels to hold you in them. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Obi-Wan’s respect for you is of the utmost importance—he’s not going to ejaculate anywhere on your body or inside of you unless he’s been given explicit permission beforehand. Reassurance and conversation about your comfortability are a necessity and he’ll want your expressed consent each time.

The most respectful way he can think of to spend himself is to cum inside you and, if you’re alright with it, he’ll bury himself in deep before he releases, filling you to the brim as his hips rock smoothly into you, pushing his cum deeper within you. However, he won’t do any of this unless you’re on some form of birth control. If not, he’s wearing a condom. 

If your preference is for him to pull out, he’ll gladly reach his peak on your thighs or stomach. 

He will never cum on your face. He finds it distasteful, and any form of degradation is unappealing to him—he will not get any excitement out of it. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

 He loves tasting himself inside you, licking you clean and lapping up his cum as it dribbles down your sensitive inner thighs and trickles into his beard every time he goes in for another exquisite taste. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Obi-Wan has a fair share of experience. Shame and guilt swirled within him as a young Padawan, but his Master had encouraged him to experiment as all young men do, so at the behest of Qui-Gon Jinn, he’d done his best. 

He was much more sexually repressed as a new Padawan but was far more eager and easier to arouse than in his more mature years; he struggled with premature ejaculation, especially when he was really turned on and had not yet learnt proper restraint and discipline through his training.  In these early years, he loved to be praised and guided through his encounters, seeking reassurance that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing and wasn’t forsaking the Jedi Code, etc. 

He had a complicated relationship with sex, because he once believed that adherence to the Code and avoidance of attachment, in any form whatsoever, was most important to pursuing the life of a Jedi and his path to Knighthood. However, as most young men are at least somewhat sexually curious and experimentative, Obi-Wan was no exception. He has had several attachment-free sexual encounters throughout his lifetime, and at least one that developed beyond what could be defined as a hookup. 

He knows how to please you, having learnt that it excites him far more to give sexual pleasure than to receive it himself. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary is his favorite, because he can look into your eyes while he thrusts into you, appreciating the nuances of your emotions through your expressions. He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy relating to the position and how he can hold you close and have you wrap your thighs around his hips to force him in deeper. 

He also likes leveraging his weight and the angle of his body to his advantage, like if he sits on the edge of the mattress and bucks up into you while you sit on his lap with your back pressed to his chest, preferably in front of a mirror so that he can watch your breasts bounce. He can wrap his arms around you and hug you against him, because physical closeness is important to him especially if he can’t directly see your face. 

Alternately, he likes slow, languid sex and any positions that cater to those desires, like lying on your sides, one of your legs hitched up to your chest while his hips thrust shallowly against you. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Obi-Wan is very serious in the moment, but he’s not above letting out a chuckle or cracking a smile if your rhythm falters or if his cock slips out of you at an inopportune time. The important thing is that you’re both comfortable and feel safe enough to laugh with each other at a time that might otherwise be embarrassing or awkward. 

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The older he gets, the more concerned he becomes with making sure he’s trimmed, but he has chosen to leave his happy trail the way it is, since you are so fond of it. His pubic hair is a shade darker than the coppery hair on his head, and its thickness is nearly the same, although there is slightly more curl to it. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Obi-Wan expresses his love for you through both romantic and sexual intimacy. 

Foreplay is perhaps more rewarding than the act of intercourse itself, and not every element is sexual in nature. Sometimes he likes to simply pamper you, run you a nice, warm bath complete with a tray of snacks, scented oils and moisturizers to apply afterwards, and cozy clothes to slip into before retiring to bed. He enjoys massaging you, lighting candles for a relaxing ambience and pleasant aroma, and lying skin to skin with you while you talk for hours. 

Some of these are a gateway to sex, but Obi-Wan doesn’t manipulate the interactions—he prefers to let things progress naturally and if it happens to lead to sex, then that’s just an added bonus. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Obi-Wan rarely masturbates. It’s not something he’s had to rely on heavily since he was a Padawan, because then, he’d done it quite often, despite the guilt which consumed him afterwards. Now, he’s only interested in sexual release if it involves you as an active party. If you’re not in the mood, he’ll ignore his needs or suppress them through meditation, sparring, training or some other activity to take his mind off it. Wearing himself out physically will minimize his arousal, so he likes to keep busy. 

It’s not the healthiest method, but Obi-Wan has difficulty managing his own needs and will put them off for the sake of taking care of others. He is always going to put you first, even to the detriment of himself. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink—giving. He’s not as needy for praise as he was when he was young, but he loves to tell you how well you’re doing, how satisfying your touches are and your body is, how gorgeous your parted lips and flushed cheeks look, how perfectly tight your little pussy is wrapped around his cock. When it comes to praising you, Obi-Wan’s mouth is an endless flow of compliments. 

Dom/Sub dynamics—gentle Dom. He’s not going to do anything to hurt or frighten you, but directing you how he wants you, manhandling you into submission, grabbing your wrists, pinning you to the bed with his hips, forcing you to make eye contact with him, he’s doing it all. 

Brat Taming—Obi-Wan adores his subby little brat and he’s most definitely going to put you in your place if you step out of line. He’s not above spanking you, if you’ve teased him one too many times, or just because he wants to hear your soft moans and watch you flinch each time he brings the palm of his hand down on your exposed flesh. 

Honorable mentions for both sensory deprivation (blindfolding you) and watching you masturbate for him.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His or your bed, no exceptions. Obi-Wan is staunchly against anyone finding out about your relationship, not just because he would then have to choose between being a Jedi or leaving the Order to remain with you, but also because he’s a very private man and likes to keep his intimate affairs between the two of you. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Simplistic domesticity, craving a life with you that is just for the two of you, pretending that nothing outside the walls of your little apartment is as important as what’s cradled between them. Obi-Wan doesn’t regret his decision to become a Jedi, but he would leave the Order for you and there’s catharsis in that revelation. Watching you devote your time and energy to your shared life fills him with warmth, when you let him bring you breakfast in bed, folding laundry together, conversing over a mug of hot tea, allowing him to help you with daily tasks and errands, those are the things that turn him on because, it’s a Jedi’s natural purpose to be welcoming and open to others as well as to the Force, but for you to let him in is a choice and he is honored to have been chosen by you. 

On a different note, he’d also love to see you wear something sexy for him, preferably with lots of lace, soft colors and a flattering design that accentuates your curves. 

Flaunting a pretty set of lingerie for him would definitely make him squirm. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that causes you significant pain, discomfort or harm (the closest to this he’ll get is spanking, but only if you are comfortable with it.) 

He isn’t interested in any kind of degradation either, or truly, anything that you don’t consent to or don’t enjoy. Obi-Wan is never going to ask anything of you that you aren’t a hundred percent committed to. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Obi-Wan is a giver and going down on you is one of his favorite forms of sexual foreplay. It is a time when he really gets to worship you, drawing a multitude of needy moans, soft gasps and pleasured cries from you. It makes him giddy to know he can get you to make those sounds for his ears only and he won’t be able to pull himself away from between your legs until he’s thoroughly pussy-drunk, your juices glistening on his lips and beard. He’s gifted at eating pussy. 

Going down on him requires much conversation and gentle reassurance that it’s something you want to do, not something you feel like you must do. Once he’s convinced you’re not doing it solely for his benefit, he’ll tug out his cock for you and you’ll find him surprisingly hard, though you’ve not done anything to him yet. He doesn’t make a lot of noise, except for several groans and a few sharp gasps. He always alerts you before he cums, letting you know he’s getting close so you can pull off if you want to, but the time when you grabbed his hips and refused to let him pull out, he was left with no choice but to spill into your warm, waiting mouth and his lips parted in shock as he watched you eagerly swallow. 

If you’ve got a cock instead of a pussy, he’s going to be tentative at first, a subtle blush rising on his cheeks at the idea of taking a penis into his mouth, not because he is averse to the idea, but because he hasn’t had any prior experience with that genitalia other than his own. So, he just applies what he knows from his own pleasure, what feels good to him and what he likes from his partner, and he catches on fast. He doesn’t have much of a difficult time suppressing his gag reflex and can take you down his throat quite easily, which is a pleasant surprise. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You and Obi-Wan do not often get to spend as much time together as you would like, your busy schedules keeping you apart most nights when you’d rather be in each other’s arms, so when you finally fall into bed together, Obi-Wan wants to take things slow and steady, building a rhythmic, sensual pace that gradually becomes rougher and more frantic the closer you both get to orgasm. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Obi-Wan doesn’t like quickies because you deserve far better treatment than that, but if it’s all the time you have, then he won’t deny you if you want him that badly. If you’re crunched on time, then he’ll bend you over and take you from behind, so that neither of you have to get completely undressed. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Obi-Wan is not a risk-taker, in any situation—your relationship is the biggest risk he’s taken in many years. He’s a rule follower and functions best with having clear set-in-stone boundaries. He doesn’t like unprotected sex, nor anything that he thinks could harm you or cause you to lose trust in him. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Obi-Wan has Jedi Master level stamina, so he can last a long time or go for multiple rounds, but he is getting older and therefore he not only has far more control over himself than he did when he was young, but it’s also somewhat difficult for him to get hard again after he cums, or that it just takes longer for him to recover, so he’ll usually just try to last as long as he can before he lets himself have an orgasm. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Obi-Wan doesn’t usually accept toys into your sex life, but there was one time he asked you to show him how you would pleasure yourself when he was gone and he’s never gotten harder in his life. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Obi-Wan is such a tease, but with words and his voice, rather than through touch (but that doesn’t mean he won’t graze his fingertips across your skin, just to make you shiver and whine for him.) 

He’ll take you by the arm or lean in close as he brushes past you, just a hair’s breadth away from you and use his honeyed accent to his advantage as he whispers hotly in your ear, “do you have any idea, dearest, what I have planned for you this evening? I’m going to absolutely worship you, darling, lay you down across our bed, and make you mine, in every sense of the word.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Obi-Wan makes a good effort to suppress his sounds at first, and you have to coax him for quite a while to get him to give in. He’ll give you little groans and the occasional low, sweet moan, but he’s never very loud.

He makes up for this with significant dirty talk: “I’m going to fill you up, dear one. Oh, yes, you’ll be so full, you’ll be babbling incoherently, like you’ve never received cock like this before. Think you can take all of me tonight, dearest? I’m certain you can…you’re such a good girl.”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s a big fan of casual nudity, which is not a preference he gets to indulge often. When he has some time off, he’ll take you away to a distant planet where you can interact with some freedom, choosing a sparsely populated city to visit, using his credits to purchase a stay at a quaint little inn or to rent a few nights inside a cottage amongst the trees so that he can observe you naked as much as he wants. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Obi-Wan’s cock is about 6-6.5 inches long and is of average thickness. His shaft tapers slightly near the head and has an upward curve when he’s hard. His tip is sensitive. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Obi-Wan’s sex drive is average, but a lot of different things can affect it, such as his energy level, whether he had an argument with Anakin earlier in the day, what he’s eaten (if he has a heavy meal on his stomach, he’s just going to want to snuggle and relax) or if he’s got a lot on his mind. He tries to give his thoughts to the Force, but meditation has never come naturally to him and when he needs to blow off steam, he’d much rather vent his frustrations. 

He won’t want your relationship to revolve around sex, but you can expect that he’ll experience typical arousal for a man his age. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aftercare is an important ritual and he’s not skipping any of it—he won’t settle down for the night until he’s satisfied that you’re cared for to the best of his ability. 

Obi-Wan is a very light sleeper and intuitively shifts his position based on your movements. 

He likes to sleep skin to skin, lightly draping his arm across your stomach while you lay on your sides as his thumb tenderly caresses your exposed skin. 

TAGS: @gracielikegrapes @mjsthrillernp @groovy-lady @livvymd @stars-n-spirals @mark-renton-luvr

The lake was completely frozen over. Snow pillowed every inch of the surrounding woods. Trapped beautifully up in the high Colorado mountains.

You took this job for the few weeks you were home for Christmas this year. Your office was closed for the holidays, and Alpine Lake was close to home for you. And it was not like you wanted to see your parents. Things had never been good with them. Magic in the air surrounding the season would not change that. All it meant was your mom was drunk on eggnog instead of her usual wine, and your dad was a little meaner when the sun went down sooner.

It was going to be fun. Make some friends, teach kids things they would take with them through life, cook some incredible meals, enjoy the nights around the campfire. Atleast that’s what you thought. The blizzard raging on had other plans. Accompanied by the Lake’s reputation proceeding it. An omen for outsiders to stay away. The incident back in the fifties. The three boys. Anyone with a head on their shoulders would stay far away from somewhere with this much darkness surrounding it. But there was no darkness like that in the belly of your childhood home.

It was only you and the three other counselors that showed up. Three men around your age. All other women your age having the common sense to avoid this hellhole. Or having people in their lives to warn them.

The owner had commented on how surprised he was that anyone showed up. The blizzard had postponed the children’s arrival indefinitely. He would advise you to go home, but there was no world where a vehicle was getting through this. Not safely. Deciding it was his responsibility to keep you all safe for now. The men all acting above the idea, yet here you all still were. Sat at long, camp like tables in the mess hall. Bowls of soup grasped between gloved hands. The fireplace hit against your backs as you ate. Your makeshift coworkers droning on about all the things they could be at home doing instead of being stuck here. Annoyingly humble bragging about their achievements and accolades.

Lucky for you, you finished your bowl. Standing and heading towards the back of the kitchen where the sinks were located. Not before one of the men, Jared, made an offhanded comment. Snarking, “Woah! That girl can eat!”

You scoffed when they all erupted in laughter. Ignoring the way they all high-fived and acted like that was the peak of comedy. Dustin and Landon, the other men, cackled and made noises to push his point further. Oinking like pigs. All entirely childish. Continuing to rinse out your bowl and lay it in the sink before walking back out to join them. Walking in on a conversation that you had no interest in joining.

“Yep. And she was screaming all night. Every fucking thrust, ‘Fuck yes, Jared!’ So hot,” the young man smirked, making eye contact with you as he reenacted the girl’s moans. Some sick attempt at flirting. Your lip arched in disgust. Walking back around to grab your thick puffer jacket.

“Awe, what’s wrong, honey? Too much for you to handle?” Jared smirked watching you round the table.

You chuckled, “If I wanted to hear sleezebags lie to their friends, I would’ve went to a bar.”

The two other men agged your comment along. Acting like you had burned Jared. Face flushing with embarrassment. Typically, girls fell for his charm. If you could call it that. Yet here you were, not giving him a second thought. And it made him angry.

Jared stood quickly to his feet. Tall and lanky, he loomed over you. Placing his palm on the table in front of your chair. The soft slam of it caught you off guard. “Running off so soon?”

“I’m going to the girl’s cabin,” you said putting your arms through the sleeves of your secondary jacket.

“All alone? Hah! You’re a prime target!” Landon laughed.

You scowled, “What?”

“Don’t you know what happens to snacks like you?” Dustin chimed.

Another scoff, “Grow the fuck up, Dustin.”

“You really don’t get it, huh? Back in the fifties some kids went missing here. One second they’re with the group, then next — POOF! Gone. The only things the could find were bloody clothes. No bodies were ever found. They say, the killer still roams the woods now. Looking for his next victim,” Jared’s tone fell down to campfire levels of story telling. Wiggling his fingers to creep you out further.

You rolled your eyes so hard you swore they could’ve fallen from your head. Jared attempted to tickle your sides with an evil laugh. You shoved him off of you, “You’re so full of shit!”

But you knew he was not. You knew all about the missing kids and even the rumors about burned clothes. It made you sick if you thought about it too long. The place was under new management, it’s not like anything like this had happened since.

Chills danced down your body from his touch. Violated and grossed out by his actions. Quickly zipping up your puffer while stepping back away from him. Glaring at Jared as he turned back and smiled at his friends.

“You’re all assholes,” you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah? Well, don’t come crawling to our cabin tonight when you freeze. Not interested in bitches like you,” Jared crossed his arms over his chest.

You laughed, “I’d rather fall in the lake than share a cabin with any of you.”

The three mocked you. One last childish antic to put the nail in the coffin. You grabbed your gloves from your pocket and slipped them on. Opening the door and refusing to look back.

“You can come snuggle with me, Y/N. I can keep you warm all night long,” Dustin called.

You hurried out the door. Angry that you let their childish comments get under your skin. Face hot to the touch causing the wind to burn harder. Almost like getting lashed at by the blizzard’s hand. You squinted, trying to keep the giant flakes of snow from your eyes. There was no short of four feet of snow on the ground now. Even for Alpine Lake, this was heavy.

The moon above was full. Shining as a secondary sun. Blinding you as it caught every cold flake. Reflecting into your eyes like a flashlight. Wind howling with each strong gust. Urging you to turn back now. Spend the night in the mess hall. Curl up next to the fire and wait until morning. But that would also mean admitting defeat. Letting the boys win, and risking them overstaying their welcome with you.

So you continued on. Lifting your legs higher with every stride. Steadying your heavy breathing. The cold air burned the back of your throat. Subzero temperature cutting into your body through the layers of clothing.

It was only a few more yards away.

Passing by a clearing that allowed you to look across the entire lake. Snow piled across the hundreds of feet of ice. Dancing along itself when a particularly rough breeze would blow. You thought about the depths of the water. Wondering just how deep it went. How easy it would be to get lost under it.

Then you noticed the old phone booth at the edge of the lake. No lights on, most likely meaning it was out of service. Stating at it for moment. Contemplating why they would place it there. Of all places, the edge of the lake. Odd.

Continuing to face the cold, you eventually arrived at the girl’s cabin. Ascending the stairs, you nearly slipped. Catching yourself on the railing before you busted your face. Laughing at your own clumsiness.

Finally at the landing, you jimmied the handle open. The large wood door hauntingly creaking open. It was dark. Only the soft glow of heaters on the walls and a fireplace at the end. Compact enough that you could always easily access the door, but spacious enough that if you had to be sharing it would not be uncomfortable. The owner had brought your bags over to the cabin while you were in the mess hall. A kind and considerate man. You wished the other boys would take after him.

You walked over to the mattress with your bag on it. Fresh linens made to look like home. A precaution so the kids did not freak out, you imagined. The squeaking of the boards and the howling of the wind would already be a bit much for them. Recalling how when you were a child, your mother would have to accompany you to the bathroom. Scared of the dark as many children were. The unrecognizable is easily misinterpreted in a child’s mind.

Shedding your mass of layers, you rummaged through your bag for your long-johns. Soft enough to sleep, but thick enough to keep you warm. The stress of the day was engulfing you. Dragging you down to bed.

You laid flat on your back. Hands folded neatly over your stomach. Staring blankly into the ceiling. The old wood not keeping the cold as far away as you would have liked. Crackling of the fire took your mind off of it all.

Had one of them happened here?

It made your stomach drop. Rolling onto your side so you could watch the flames in their recessed hideaway. Reds and oranges swirling together. Your only source of warmth for the nights ahead.

Three campers. All boys. They never found their bodies. Maybe they were out in the woods. Hidden in their unwanted graves. Lives taken too soon; and, from the rumors, brutally so. What kind of psycho would even keep this place open? A gateway to heartbreak and pain. Their souls had to be suffering. Begging for a rest they could never find. Stuck in the dark limbo of lost souls. While nothing else had happened, that did not mean something could not happen. What if it was one of your campers eventually arriving?

What if it was you?

It would do you no good to loathe on it. You were here now. Stuck here. There was no surviving a storm like this. Record setting temperatures. No one could. So you rolled to have your back to the fire. Letting its soothing warmth guide you to sleep…

… A harsh shiver woke you up. Blinking so you could focus. The flames were dying. And your door was wide open. Allowing the moonlight to dance across the wooden floor. Letting anything to crawl its way inside. Or anyone.

Your heart sank.

Rushing to force the large wooden door closed. The cold knocked your breath out of your lungs. Snow reflecting light and blinding you momentarily. Taking you aback. It was so beautiful. Calm and tranquil. No one to disturb the peace of nature. Your breathing steadied, allowing a wave of relief to wash over you. This would be okay.

Closing the thick wooden door, you turned on your heel. You froze. All the air trapping itself inside you. A man. Kneeled down in front of your fire. Hands extended to help thaw them. Mask sitting over his face, and was that… horns on top?

There was no way he was here before.

Tears welled behind your eyes. Preparing for the worst when you saw his axe resting on the floor beside him. A shaky exhale rolled through you. Tears burning against your frozen cheeks. Lip quivering as you begged your body to move. You could run. Run fast and scream loud. Praying that some of the others would hear you.

But you could not.

Your legs weighed a million pounds. Being swallowed by the floorboards below your bare feet. The frosty earth preparing for your arrival. Icy underneath readying your new home.

It was like that horror movie that came out a few years ago. The woman slaughtering unsuspecting camp counselors on the lake in Jersey. Counselors dumb enough to work at a place with a history of death and evil. A place that had closed many years ago because of all the tragedy surrounding it. Just like this place. Just like you.

The boy’s cabin was within running distance. The door was right behind you. You could make it. Scream loud enough to wake everyone up. You had to. This could not be how you went out. With a peep instead of a raging shout.

“Sorry about the draft,” was all he said. Voice low and husky. Muffled by the mask resting on his muzzle. Face still forward. Flipping his hands forward and backward to revive the frozen skin. More nonchalant than you would like.

A soft shake rippled through every inch of you. Fear making its home in your ribs. A hum of noise resembling a response was all you could muster. Closer to the squeak of a mouse. Timid and meek.

You tried to take in details about him in the darkness. His hair was long and ratty. Icicles forced the pieces together. His snowsuit was old and worn down. A large belt buckle caught the spark of flames that tried to breathe back to life before him.

There was something unrecognizable in the air. Putting a pressure on your chest that made it hard to breathe. Vision blurring as tears waterfalled from your tear ducts. Something in the moon.

“It’s a cold one,” he began as if any of this situation was normal, “I was out in the woods. I saw the glow through your window. And when I found out your door wasn’t locked, it’s like you were practically inviting me in.”

Why would you be out in the woods during a blizzard?

You nodded. Lashes fluttering to try and better focus on him.

It was locked.

Nostrils flexing as you tried your damndest to stop the tears streaming down. You needed to seem strong. You needed to stand your ground. You were raised better than this. To allow someone to overpower you so easily.

Maybe he worked here. Maybe he was just someone that lived near by that got caught in the storm. Maybe none of it was a lie and his intention was to simply warm up. The girl’s cabin is closer to the woods, he would have seen it first.

No. Not even that would give you solace now. You knew. Knew that he did not work here. Knew that he had been stalking and preying. Waiting for the perfect moment to creep his way inside. Most likely familiar with how things went here. There was no lying to yourself now. The only truth you could hold onto was the fear that seeped into your guts. Warning you of your fate.

“Why is there no one else in your cabin?” he finally turned to meet you. Eyes sparkling with the soft glow of the night pouring in from your window. Not with infatuation. No. With hunger. Like he was a starved animal and you were the runt abandoned by the pack. Perfect for feasting.

Your teeth chittered together. Tears prickling at the corners of your eyes again. Swallowing to stop them from breaking the crest. Nostrils flaring as panic set in.

“There’s usually five or six of you counselors per cabin,” your masked guest looked around the large room. Empty beds. Heaters on some of the walls. Their coils a bright orange indicating just how hot they were. Then his eyes locked back to yours, “So why are you alone?”

The heel of your foot bounced rapidly. All your fear manifesting in the fast movement. You fiddled with your fingers as they interlocked in front of you. Unable to speak.

The man sighed. Over exaggerating an eye roll and shaking his head in disdain. His head fell to the side as he looked up at you, clicking his tongue. One of his hands reached for the axe, noticing how your body tensed immediately. Tears silently falling down your cheeks once more.

The stranger picked up his weapon. Holding it loosely in his grasp, “Is this scaring you?”

You blinked. Lip quivering as you tried your hardest to respond. Nodding in agreement.

He scoffed. Sliding the heavy metal across the floor and under one of the beds. Completely out of either of your reaches. His arms extended to show that it was gone, “Better?”

Not a single motion. Feet glued to the floor and eyes focused entirely ahead. He could still easily overpower you. Thick torso and arms bulging against his clothing. Not watching his soft, almost condescending tone.

“Am I scaring you?” he asked slowly, pressing his fingers into his chest.

A blink.

His shoulders bounced with a laugh. Shaking his head in disagreement and stretching his neck. A huff fell from him, “I guess we haven’t introduced ourselves properly.”

You shook your head.

The man stared blankly for a moment. Gesturing towards you with his hand. Encouraging you to go on. His patience dwindling away. Typically, you would not tell a stranger your name. However, fear had its hooks in you. And maybe if you played along, he would spare you.

“I-I’m Y/N,” your voice cracked and shook.

His head tilted to the side as he looked up to the ceiling. Like he was rolling it around his mind. Testing it out in different situations. A hum vibrated through his chest.

“Y/N…”

You nodded. Chewing the inside of your cheek as you waited for something more from him. The depth of his tone when saying your name made your stomach tighten. Flexing your toes to try and make the blood flow through them. The cold was beginning to get to you. The backs of your legs completely numb. Tingling as a reminder of the temperature.

“And yours?” You finally asked.

Catching him ever slightly off guard. Not expecting a blunt question from the girl who only spoken two words to him since his arrival. Stuttering through them at that. Air blew through his nose, “They called me Wild Bill.”

A nickname. Better than nothing.

“Now we know each other. So why don’t you come over here with me and warm up?” he motioned you over. Acting like being on the simplest introductions made you less of strangers.

You shook your head no.

Which he did not take well. Growling under his breath and looking back into the fire for a moment. Fingers flexing into fists at his sides.

“You’re freezing,” he gestured up and down your body. The shivers that made you look like a newborn deer were obvious. Arms crossed tightly across your chest, hands tucked under your armpits. His head tilted a little, “You can’t stay by the door all night. You’ll get pneumonia.”

The irritation lacing his words made your stomach slosh. Your instincts were failing you. Toes and fingers numb. Tip of your nose similar. Able to just barely see your breath as it fell from your lips. Chapped certainly to be raw by the morning. Even with the lack of words you were speaking.

Suddenly, he stood to his full height. Heavy boot stomping into the floor as he commanded, “Come here. NOW.”

Almost without thinking, your legs began to move. Stepping with a wobble across the icy floor. Nearing your warm sanctuary. The newly risen flames calling to you like a siren. Able to ignore your unwanted guest for only a moment. His stout body stood before you. Breathing loudly behind the thick mask. Your eyes stared down to the floor. Too embarrassed to meet his harsh gaze.

A hand extended out towards you. Your body flinching before you could realize it was. His fingers pinched your chin. Slowly guiding you up to meet his eyes. Shining their blue hue behind the old, cracked mask. Capturing you in them. His lashes jumped for a moment when your eyes finally held his. Having only seen as much of you as you had him. Shadowed by the dark of the cabin. Leaving the finer details to his imagination. But no more.

His hand ghosted across your cheek. Tucking your hair behind your ear, traveling to frame your jaw. Thick fingers splayed nicely against your skin. Borderline frostbitten. Still somehow cold despite his close proximity to the fire.

The wicked grin carved into his mask a stark contrast to the look in his eyes. Hooded and pupils wide. He was older. Crows scratching their claws beside his eyes. Bags heavy under his waterline. No pure thoughts behind his glistening orbs.

A sudden wave of courage came through you. Slowly reaching up to his own face. Preparing to remove the mask from him. Wishing to see the face of your guest. Needing to put a face to the stranger. Until his own hand grabbed your wrist, paralyzing it before you could even touch him. It hurt. He was strong, no doubt about it. Turning his head, he looked at your hand. Eyes jumping back to your face and shaking his head no. Your lip quivered under his stern glare. Blue eyes focused on you entirely.

You swallowed, “Why… do you wear that..?”

“It keeps me safe,” he said like the answer was obvious. Gently, he dropped your hand from his own. Running his fingers through your hair for a moment, eyes taking up and down your body. It was a struggle to look up from the floor. Your own eyes scanning what bit of him you could see while keeping your view down. The large belt buckle around his waist. The thick snow boots that cuffed around his pants. And oddly enough his smell. Woodsy and musky. Catching your nose with a similar frost to outside. Manly, like he worked day in and day out.

“You’re very beautiful, Y/N,” his tone darkened. Hand cupping the side of your face once more. Guiding your eyes back to his.

There was something alluring about him. Maybe it was the way he looked at you. Maybe it was the fact you had not been laid since your senior prom. Something about this whole situation had moths fluttering in your chest. Captivated by his presence entirely. Older, mysterious. Clearly holding the power over you. It was a perfect storm of a taboo night together.

“You’re… cold,” you whispered.

His thumb dragged down your lip, “That’s why I’m here.”

Your lashes fluttered. The implication lingered in the air. Hard to read if that was truly what he meant. Uncovered eyes only giving you so much of a window into his mind.

“Think you can help me?” he lowly asked.

Your eyes widened. A lump forming in your throat. Your lips catching on themself as they tried to mumbled out his name. Babbling over the first syllable.

His palms gripped your hips. Pulling your body closer to his. Allowing him to take in your scent, his breath ragged under the mask. Your arms curled into your body. Fingers nearly touching his chest. Your instincts begging you not to give into your desires. But that small voice in the back of your mind made a compelling argument otherwise. It was one night.

Fingertips danced along the tough material of the snowsuit. Cascading until they met the freezing metal atop his waist. You pulled your lip between your teeth, eyes jumping down for a moment. Able to catch a glimpse of the material tightening against his groin. His want for you making myself known.

You grinned to yourself at the thought. Lacing your fingers around the large buckle and spinning around him. Tugging him waist first as you stepped slowly backward. His heavy boots echoed through the cabin. Leading him to the bed you had claimed as your own for the night. Nearly frost bitten legs bumped the wooden frame, telling you to stop. Your eyes looked to his, almost asking permission. Making sure what you were doing was okay. His eyes were squinted up with the smile hidden behind the false one of his mask.

“We can… share the bed,” shaky words betrayed you. Tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips. Your fingers traced along his belt, almost teasingly. Waiting patiently for him to make the next move. Wanting him to lead in this game you were playing.

“I’ve got an idea how to keep up both nice and warm,” his hands danced along your sides. Faux nose bumping yours. And you could not deny how badly you wanted his lips on yours. Longing to feel a deeper connection to the stranger allegedly named ‘Bill’.

“Lay down,” he commanded.

You obeyed. Sitting on the mattress and taking your normal sleeping position. Legs spread preparing to accommodate him. He exhaled in approval. Joining you on the mattress. Dipping with your combined weight. Some shimmying and he was positioned above you. Propped back on his legs. Thighs bulging against his suit. His thick fingers rested along his belt.

The heavy belt buckle clanked against the wooden floor beside the bed. Sensually, he took the zipper down his chest. Stopping right below his groin. Beginning to shove the sleeves off his body. Leaving the thick snowsuit to pool around his waist. Torso bare. Muscular shoulders and arms with a soft tummy. Scarred and bruised. Veins decorating his forearms.

You could not help but admire his body above yours. His chest rose and fell harshly. Breathing in the same cold air that had woken you from your slumber. His collar bone softly defined as his muscles flexed. Strong shoulders rolling as he leaned forward and caged you between his arms. Nose to nose with the old mask. His oceanic eyes watched your face. Anticipation clouding your vision.

Hesitant hands reached out for him. Fingertips meeting his bare chest. Dancing along the cold skin. Cascading over his pecks, all the way down to the white elastic band of his underwear. Barely exposed from how his snowsuit hugged his waist, zipper not revealing the part of him you were to receive. Your fingers splayed along the band, dipping only the tips underneath. Feeling the soft hair of his pubic area. His steady breath caught in his throat at your touch. Making you fear for a moment you had made a mistake.

“Eager girl,” he cooed.

You tucked your head against your pillow in embarrassment. Heating up from his simple statement. Shyly nodding. It made him grin behind his mask.

“Come on. No need to be shy with me,” he encouraged. Brushing his knuckles down your cheek. Dewy eyes looked up at him. His eyebrows laid flat against his eyes, hooding them. The bright blue of his iris being drowned out by the width of his pupils.

There was a beat of silence. His labored breaths the only sound echoing off the walls. Caught in his mask. One of his hands ghosted down your body. Fingers catching the elastic of the thick pajama pants you wore. He leaned back on his legs, looking down at your clothed bottom half. Letting both hands frame your hips. Massaging and squeezing the meat.

“Have you done this before, Y/N?” the slight tinge of condensation made your body tingle.

You coyly nodded, “Not in a long time.”

“Good,” his smirk was palpable. He began to pull your long-jons off your legs. The cold stung against your bare flesh. He sighed when his eyes met the soft cotton of your panties. Tilting his head before flattening two fingers along your mound. Dragging them down until they met your soaked lips. Making you squeak.

Discarding your bottoms into the floor, he arched his hips so that he could shimmy the snowsuit further. Allowing his erection free from its confines. Curving towards his soft stomach. Heavy looking with a vein curling around it. Blushed red with need. You unabashedly stared.

It made him chuckle. His palms expanding against your bare thighs. Hooking around the curve of your leg. Placing it around his waist before scooting closer to you. He wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. Absentmindedly pumping himself as he stared at your cotton panties. Your knee pressed into his side out of pure animalistic need. Mindlessly trying to press your knees together for relief. Almost like your body was unaware of the position it was in.

Swiftly, he grabbed the front of your panties. Ripping them clean off your body. The sound of fabric I aggressively cracking had your heart skipping a beat. The pure strength he was showcasing. It made your loins flutter.

“Better,” he purred. Discarding the now ruined panties, his fingers returned to your core. Flattening along your mound and dipping them into you. Swirling two of them methodically around your far too sensitive clit. Whining in response to his touch.

“So warm,” he cooed, “This outta keep me warm all night. What do you think, Y/N?”

You were losing it. The firm pressure on your nub, the fingers that barely dipped into where you needed him most. The goddamn teasing. It seemed to be his favorite part of it all. A game.

You nodded, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He laughed at your pathetic request. Your voice breaking and needy. Thinking how lovely you were like this. Practically clawing into him to make him stay. Get him as close as possible. Your need nearly surpassed his own, and he could sense it.

“Pretty voice,” he mocked, stroking his hand along your hair. It sent goosebumps down every inch of you. Culminating in your core where his fingers pulled away slowly. Framing his member to line up with your entrance. Slapping the head against your needy clit a few times. Sound lewdly echoing through the cabin.

Taking position, he was ready to enter you. His hips barely inched forward when you yelped. Body still in flight or fight. His own stopping. Blue eyes widening at how your face contorted in uncertainty.

“I’ll go slow, okay? That’ll help,” he said more as a command than a request.

Mindlessly, you nodded. Accepting his word like gospel.

His hips began to gently thrust into you. Only allowing the head to dip between your folds. Letting you adjust to his girth at your own pace. Putting the primal urge inside him into submission if only to let you enjoy this more. Edging himself inch by inch further until he felt your walls give. Letting himself fully sheathe between them with a low groan.

“Oh… there you go,” he purred, “It’s good, isn’t it?”

Your head was thrown back. Mouth gaping open as you tried to breathe. Eyes forced shut. Voice captured in your throat. You hugged your arms around him. Nails scratching down his bare back as you arched into him. Your torso pressing into his, finally letting the moan stuck in your throat escape.

He rolled into you steadily. Gradually building speed when you got louder. His heavy breaths fanned out the bottom of his mask, hitting your neck. Heating the two of you up. Nearly forgetting about the harsh blizzard that raged on outside.

One of his hands traveled down to your core. Planting a soft pressure against your clit. Matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Longing for the feeling of your walls clamping around his thick cock. And he could tell it would not be long before he had you cumming. Far too inexperienced and sensitive to last.

“Tight pussy,” he groaned when your walls fluttered. The head of his cock brushing the spongy spot that would coax you to an end. You fought to keep air in your lungs. Rapidly inhaling and exhaling. It was like music to his ears.

“B-Bill—“ you called out, feeling the knot inside you tying itself tightly. Earning a growl from him. Perhaps not the biggest fan of his name, or just not used to hearing someone say it this way. It made him thrust harder. Growing aggressive and animalistic. Grunting with every motion. The sound of skin smacking together heightened.

“Cum,” he demanded, “I need you to cum.”

You threw your head back once more. Eyes flying shut as you attempted to focus long enough to let it all flow through you. Never wanting this to end, but your walls were fluttering and it would not be long now.

With a few more circles of his fingers, your nails were digging into his muscular skin. Screaming his name with a moan. He wrapped an arm around you so that your hips were arched higher. Letting him stay deep between your folds through your orgasm. Fucking into you as you milked him. Edging him along to his own high. Leaning his head against yours, he moaned loudly. Coating your insides with his thick seed. Cock twitching and hips jerking with each spurt. Voice jumping an octave when he tried to catch his breath. Sounded utterly wrecked trying to hide how good it felt.

The familiar silence took over the room. His arm still hooked around your middle. His plastic forehead rested against yours. Neither of you saying anything. Letting your groins stay connected.

Then he shifted. Flipping so that you were lying atop him. His cock never leaving your insides, even as it softened. You nuzzled your head into his chest. Listening for a heartbeat that you could not fully place. Probably just from the way your ears were burning and your own heartbeat strummed in your ears.

The sandman must have visited. Your eyes grew heavy. Engulfed by the shared warmth between you. Letting the stranger remain here with you. He was the one keeping you warm after all.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! I haven’t wrote for the Grabber in years, so it was nice to explore his character again. He’s diabolical, but damn is Ethan Hawke so hot. If you want to see more of him, feel free to shoot me a request! My inbox is always open. Comments and Reblogs are appreciated! Love ya! //

{tags}

after the serum, after the nightmares, after years of clawing his way back to something like a person… that instinct never left. it just changed.

now it curled low and hungry in his gut whenever you were involved.

it started small.

he’d come home from a mission at 3 a.m., exhausted and wired, and find you asleep in their bed wearing nothing but one of his old henleys. the hem had ridden up just enough to bare the soft curve of your ass and the shadowed line between your thighs. one leg kicked out from under the sheet, your pussy peeking out slightly, still a little puffy from the night before. he’d stand in the doorway for long minutes, barely breathing, cock thickening in his sweats as he memorized every inch—the faint red marks his stubble had left on your inner thigh, the way your folds glistened faintly even in sleep, the way your lips parted on a sleepy sigh.

he never woke you. not at first. just watched, hand pressing against the hard line of his dick while he imagined sliding his tongue through that slick heat again.

then one night you weren’t asleep.

you were on your back in the middle of their bed, legs splayed wide, two fingers buried knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt while you whispered his name like a prayer. the bedside lamp cast warm gold over your skin, highlighting the shiny mess coating your fingers and the inside of your thighs. bucky had slipped in silent as death, still dressed in his tac gear, and stopped dead just outside the bedroom door.

you hadn’t noticed him.

he stayed hidden, jaw tight, and watched you fuck yourself—slow at first, fingers curling lazily against that spongy spot inside you, then faster, hips rolling up to meet every thrust. your free hand pinched and rolled your nipple, tugging hard enough to make you gasp. little breathy moans spilled out every time your thumb brushed your swollen clit. your pussy made wet, obscene sounds around your fingers, slick dripping down to soak the sheets beneath your ass.

when you came, back arching clean off the mattress, thighs shaking violently, his name broke on your lips in a high, desperate cry. your cunt clenched visibly around your fingers, a fresh gush of wetness coating your hand.

bucky had to bite his knuckle bloody to keep from groaning out loud, his own cock leaking steadily into his underwear.

he waited until your breathing evened out, until you curled up satisfied and sleepy with your fingers still tucked loosely between your thighs, before he finally stepped inside. he stripped down in seconds, slid into bed behind you, and woke you with his mouth on your neck and his metal fingers sliding through all that warm, sticky mess to replace yours. you’d moaned sleepily and spread your legs wider without even opening your eyes.

after that, the game changed.

he started leaving the bedroom door cracked on purpose when he knew you were in the mood. he’d come home early from the gym or a briefing and hear the faint buzz of your vibrator or the slick, rhythmic sounds of your fingers working your pussy and instead of announcing himself, he’d lean against the wall just out of sight and listen. sometimes he’d pull his cock out and stroke himself slow and tight, matching your rhythm, thumb smearing the precum over the head while you fell apart with his name on your tongue.

he never let himself come. not until later—when he was buried balls-deep inside your still-fluttering cunt, fucking you slow and deep while you were oversensitive and dazed, growling filthy praise in your ear about how pretty you sounded when you thought you were alone, how your pussy clenched so greedily even after you’d already come.

one evening you caught him.

you’d been in the shower, glass door wide open because the steam made everything useless anyway. bucky had been on the couch pretending to read a mission report. the second he heard the water turn on he gave it five minutes, then padded silently down the hall.

you were facing the tiled wall, one hand braced, water cascading over the arch of your back and the round swell of your ass. your other hand was between your legs—two fingers pumping steadily into your soaked hole while your thumb rubbed tight circles over your clit. soft, breathy gasps echoed off the tiles with every thrust. your pussy lips were flushed dark and swollen, slick mixing with the shower water and dripping down your thighs.

bucky stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on every detail.

he didn’t hide this time.

when you turned your head and saw him there—fully dressed, dark eyes burning, the obvious bulge straining against his jeans—you startled, then smirked, slow and wicked.

“enjoying the show, sergeant?”

bucky’s voice came out rough and low. “always do, doll. keep going. don’t stop on my account.”

you didn’t. instead you leaned back against the cool tile, planted one foot on the built-in bench to spread yourself wider, and kept fucking your fingers deeper—eyes locked on his the whole time. he watched every second: the way your tits bounced lightly with each thrust, nipples tight and begging, the flush creeping down your chest and belly, the exact moment your thighs started to tremble and your pussy started making those wet, squelching sounds around your fingers.

when you came, you kept your gaze on his face, moaning his name loud and broken as your cunt pulsed and gushed, a visible spurt of your release mixing with the shower spray.

bucky was on you before the aftershocks even faded—clothes still on, water soaking through his shirt instantly as he dropped to his knees right there on the wet tile. he yanked your fingers out and replaced them with his tongue, licking broad and filthy through your folds, sucking your swollen clit hard while two metal fingers shoved back inside you, curling ruthlessly against your g-spot. he ate you through a second orgasm, then a third, until you were crying, legs buckling, slapping weakly at his shoulders because your clit was too sensitive and your pussy wouldn’t stop fluttering.

later, tangled in damp sheets with your body still twitching, you traced the line of his jaw with your fingertip.

“you like watching me,” you said softly. not a question.

he didn’t deny it. his metal hand slid down to cup your still-throbbing pussy possessively. “yeah. i do.”

“why?”

bucky stayed quiet for a long moment, fingers idly stroking through your slick folds, occasionally dipping just inside to feel you clench.

“spent a long time not feeling anything real. everything was orders, targets, pain. when i’m watching you… i feel it all. every gasp, every twitch of your hips, every time your pretty cunt drips because you’re thinking about me—it’s mine. i get to keep it. even when i’m not touching you, i’m still part of it.”

you kissed him slow and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“so watch me whenever you want,” you whispered against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip. “but sometimes… i want you to let me watch you too.”

that was how the new rule started.

sometimes he’d come home and find you waiting on the bed wearing nothing but his dog tags, legs spread obscenely wide, three fingers buried in your soaked pussy while you told him exactly what filthy things you’d been thinking about—how you’d imagined his tongue, his cock, his metal hand choking you while he fucked you raw. he’d sit in the chair across the room, fully clothed, legs spread, and just watch—cock straining painfully against his zipper, hands gripping the armrests white-knuckled so he wouldn’t touch himself until you were begging, tears in your eyes, pussy visibly clenching around nothing.

other times he’d make you sit on the edge of the bed, knees wide, while he stood in front of you and stroked his thick cock slowly—fist tight, thumb swiping over the leaking head, veins standing out along the shaft. his eyes never left yours as he worked himself, low groans rumbling in his chest, until you were squirming and dripping onto the sheets just from watching, your own hand sneaking between your thighs until he growled at you to keep them still.

he loved both sides of it. loved the power of seeing you fall apart under his gaze alone. loved the raw vulnerability of letting your eyes devour him while he jerked off thinking about burying himself in your tight, greedy heat.

but his favorite moments were still the stolen ones—when you didn’t know he was there yet, when he could stand in the shadows and watch you chase your pleasure with his name on your lips, cock throbbing, already planning exactly how he was going to wreck you the second he stepped into the light.

because no matter how many times he watched you come, it was never enough.

you were his favorite thing to look at.

and he was never going to stop.

Twigs and dark leaves crunched beneath the heavy stomp of your boots, each step forcing you to draw a ragged, tired breath from your overworked lungs.

Your hands gripped the straps of your backpack; the fishing gear inside clinking inside as the weight pressed into your aching spine.

You had set out with friends, a group of self-proclaimed ‘natural adventurers.’ In hindsight, that confidence was your downfall. You had done the one thing every horror movie and survival guide warns against—and that was splitting up.

From there, the trip spiraled.

You lost signal, then your footing, and somewhere in the frantic scramble through the bushes and trees, you had lost your phone.

Now, deep within the woods under a sky of oppressive gray clouds, your legs were beginning to give out. But as you shoved past a dense thicket of damp leaves, the greenery finally parted.

There, nestled in the distance, sat a small cabin. A thin ghost of smoke drifted from its chimney, dissipating into the moist air.

Finally. A small, breathless prayer to whatever deity was watching over you. You weren’t alone out here after all.

The cabin looked small from a distance, but up close, it was plenty big enough to house a whole family.

Your body surged with a newfound spark of motivation at the possibility of finally finding salvation. Maybe they had a functioning phone you could use to call for help—or better yet, a truck to drive you back to the closest town, even if it was miles and miles away.

That hopeful feeling made the gear digging into your spine feel a little lighter as you trudged uphill past the rocks and bushes, closing the gap between you and the house.

As you got closer, you took in the land.

Chopped logs were piled messily at the side of the building. There was a long, wooden table with a large cutting knife sitting on top—presumably where the family cut and prepped their meat.

Drawing in a deep breath of encouragement, you carefully climbed the first few steps of the entry stairway. You reached the porch and raised a hand to knock on the heavy wooden door.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?”

You spun around.

A man was stomping toward the porch, a fresh pile of logs tucked under one massive arm and a grime streaked axe slung over his shoulder. He was intimidating, to say the least. His features were hard and unwelcoming, framed by matted, dark hair and an unkempt beard that shadowed a sharp jawline. A sweat stained red henley clung to his broad chest and muscular forearms, which were mapped with the scars of years of manual labor.

His cold blue eyes pinned you to the spot, glaring at you with pure, unadulterated hostility.

“U-um,” you stammered, taking a quick step away from the door. “I mean no harm, sir. I’m just here to—”

“Get the fuck off my property,” he growled.

He dropped the logs—but kept a firm grip on the axe—as he marched toward you, his heavy boots grating against the dirt.

Jesus Christ. What did you get yourself into?

Just when you thought you’d finally found help, it was just your luck to stumble across an axe-murderer instead.

You quickly scrambled down the steps, raising your hands to show you came in peace.

“Sir, please!” you winced, trying to stand your ground. “I’m lost. I… I promise you. I was out on a fishing trip and I—”

“I don’t believe you,” he hissed. He approached just enough to get a good look at you, yet staying just out of arm’s reach. He nodded toward the heavy pack on your back. “Take it off.”

“… Excuse me?”

“Remove your backpack,” the man clarified harshly. “If you mean what you say, then you should have no problem with me goin’ through your stuff.”

With a hard swallow, you slowly removed your backpack as instructed. It was far too heavy to carry with just two arms, but as you strained to pass it to him, he snatched it out of your hands in one quick motion. You couldn’t help but wince at both his strength and rudeness.

He set the axe on the ground, and you finally let out a small breath of relief. He began to rummage through your pack, taking note of the fishing rods and reels, and digging through the fishing lines and tackle boxes filled with various lures. He sifted through the other emergency supplies—a flashlight, a couple of granola bars, and some first aid stuff— a bottle of rubbing alcohol and bandaids.

“See?” you huffed, a little spark of pride returning to your voice. “I told you. I was out on a fishing trip and I got lost—”

“Hands up,” he instructed, stepping toward you. “I’m goin’ to pat you down.”

You blinked. “Pat me down?” you repeated in disbelief. “For what—!”

Before you could even finish the sentence, and long before you gave him permission, two large, rough hands gripped your arms and started patting down your sleeves. You squirmed a little under his touch, but that didn’t stop him. His hands then moved to your waist, patting firmly through the fabric of your clothes.

To save yourself from the awkwardness of the inspection, you cleared your throat and gave him your name.

“…What’s yours?” you then asked.

He ignored you.

Your breath hitched and your face grew warm as his hands continued further down—to your hips, and then between your legs.

Once the man was satisfied that you weren’t a threat, he pushed himself up with a groan and finally looked you in the eye.

“Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeated softly. “Great. Well, now that we’ve got all this…” you motioned to yourself and your bag that he left on the ground, “sorted out, do you have a telephone I can use to call my friends?”

Bucky’s dull expression didn’t change. “No phone.”

He didn’t bother to elaborate, either.

He reached down, snatched his axe off the ground, and headed back toward his pile of wood. Thunder started to crackle in the heavy clouds above you as you hurried to grab your pack, stumbling slightly as you tried to keep up with him.

“W-wait, okay—no phone. Fine. But do you have a vehicle or something? A ride to take me back to the nearest town, perhaps?”

“No ride,” was all he said, his voice flat as he started tossing the logs into the existing pile.

What?

No ride?

You couldn’t tell if this man was telling the truth—or if he was using these clipped, short answers just to fuck with you. But as you watched him lift his axe and deliver a swing to a log with perfect precision, you realized maybe this guy didn’t have time nor energy to play around.

That conclusion was almost worse than him joking.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have a functioning phone and you don’t own a vehicle?” you questioned in disbelief. “Then how do you get around?”

You could see the irritation building in his already grumpy features.

“Everythin’ I need is right here,” he grumbled. “Catch my own food. Build my own house. Don’t need to rely on anybody else.”

Your heart started to race as panic settled in.

“Do you know where the nearest town is?” you asked, your hands tightening around the straps of your pack. “Maybe I can get there before sundown—”

Bucky looked up at the sky, taking in the thick clouds and the moisture building in the air, before he looked back down at his logs. He delivered another hard chop before answering.

“Not a good idea,” he mumbled. “Looks like a storm is comin’.”

The forecast before you left this morning had promised a sunny day—but with the clouds thickening, the possibility of rain wasn’t low.

Still, a storm sounded like an exaggeration. A light trickle, at most.

“Can you please just tell me where the closest town is? The sooner you tell me, the faster I’ll get out of your hair.” You pressed.

He set the axe down and wiped the sweat streaking his forehead with his dirty forearm. He looked at you, letting out a slow, impatient breath.

“To the south,” he pointed behind you. “Go straight until you hit the road, then make a left. Though if you leave now, you’ll get caught up in the storm ‘fore you even make it to the street.”

You looked in the direction he was pointing—all you could see was a thick density of bushes and trees. You glanced back at him and gave him a short nod.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, though you hardly meant it because he had hardly been helpful.

As you began to turn and tread through the brush toward the south, Bucky called out, making you pause for just a second.

“I’m tellin’ you, lady, s’not a good idea to leave now,” he warned. “There are some dangerous animals out there—and the storm ain’t goin’ to do you any favors.”

You didn’t listen. You had to get back home. Adjusting your heavy pack and pushing through the dense treeline, you left both the man and his warnings behind you.

For the first twenty minutes, you felt pretty confident.

The woods were quiet, and though your legs were on fire and your back was aching, you felt like you were making good progress.

Then, the first cold drop hit the back of your neck.

A light trickle followed, tapping against the leaves above you. Within minutes, the sky seemed to open up entirely. The ‘light trickle’ you had predicted transformed into a heavy downpour, turning the forest floor into a messy slurry of mud that made your boots slip with every step.

The wind began to pick up, howling through the branches and making the trees groan around you. You squinted through the fog and the heavy curtain of rain, realizing you couldn’t see more than ten feet in any direction.

You were shivering, your hair was completely drenched, and your clothes were soaked through to the bone.

Just keep going straight, you told yourself. As long as you keep going straight, you'll be fine.

Then, a low snarl crept up behind you—and that sure as hell didn’t come from the wind.

Your whole body froze. To your right, partially obscured by dense ferns, a lean, gray shape shifted. It wasn’t a coyote—no, it was far too large. It was a gray wolf, its fur matted and dark with rain, stepped into the small clearing.

“Oh… my god,” you breathed to yourself.

Your heart was beating so fast you couldn’t hear anything else. Every survival tip you had ever read vanished from your mind; the only thing you could think to do was run.

And that’s exactly what you did.

The moment your heels spun, the forest became a blurry nightmare. Your heavy pack bounced violently against your spine as you bolted, not even daring to look back. You just ran and ran, your lungs burning with every inhale.

Then, like an idiot, your boot hit a mud covered root.

Your heart leaped into your throat as your feet slipped out from under you. You let out a sharp gasp, tumbling forward until your shoulder collided hard with the trunk of a thick oak tree. The impact knocked the wind clean out of you, leaving you gasping and dazed in the mud.

A hungry growl vibrated through the air, cutting through the roar of the pouring rain. You looked up just in time to see the gray mass of the wolf taking eager steps toward you, its jaws snapping for your throat.

In a blind, frantic panic, your hand slapped against the side pocket of your backpack. Your fingers curled around the cold canister of bear spray you packed but never actually used.

You ripped it out clumsily, shoved it forward, and squeezed the trigger.

A cloud of stinging orange mist exploded into the air. The wolf’s head snapped back as it landed a few feet away, pawing at its face and whining as the chemicals hit its sensitive nose and eyes.

You scrambled to find your footing, your hands shaking so hard you could barely push yourself up. Just as you were about to make another break for it, a massive shadow blurred past you.

“You idiot!” he hissed angrily, his voice a ragged pant. “What did I tell you!?”

Bucky.

Anger clouded his face, his chest heaving as he gripped a knife in one large hand. Without hesitation, he launched himself at the disoriented animal. As he pounced, the wolf lashed out, its claws swiping across Bucky’s leg.

He let out a pained yell. “Ah, fuck!”

It seemed like he had done this a dozen times before, adjusting his heavy weight until he finally pinned the weakened animal into the mud. The wolf snarled, snapping its jaws blindly, but Bucky’s grip was like metal. His large, scarred hand clamped down on the back of the wolf’s neck, the veins in his forearms tensing as he forced its head into the dirt.

With a loud groan of effort, he drove the blade deep into the side of the wolf’s neck, right behind the jaw.

The animal threw out one violent kick that nearly knocked him off before Bucky adjusted his weight again, twisting the knife to sever the artery.

The wolf let out a weak wheeze before it finally stilled. Bucky remained over the carcass for a moment, his clothes soaked with rain and blood dripping down his leg. He let out a slow, steadying breath before he stood up, wiping the blade on his already dirty jeans.

He turned his cold, blue gaze toward you, and for a second, his eyes resembled the wolf’s—angry and grim.

“I told you, stupid girl,” he growled, his voice barely audible over the storm. “I fuckin’ told you.”

All of it happened in a blur.

One second, you were tumbling through the woods, just a moment away from losing your life. The next, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s cabin. Your body felt frozen, your pulse still thrumming wildly as your drenched clothes clung to your skin like a layer of ice. You only snapped out of the haze when you felt Bucky’s hands peeling the pack off your shoulders.

When he reached for the zipper of your jacket, you flinched.

“Hey!” you gasped, your voice cracking. “What are you doing—?”

“I’m helpin’ you,” Bucky grunted, sounding offended.

“I don’t need you to remove my jacket for me,” you snapped, though your hands were shaking too hard to even find the zipper.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, and you watched his jaw tick. He looked terrifying in the dim light of the cabin—water dripped from his matted hair, his chest heaved with the earlier adrenaline of the kill, and fresh blood stained the denim of his jeans where the wolf had lashed out.

He took a step forward, closing the distance between you until he looked down at you.

“Listen, girl,” he hissed impatiently. “I just saved your goddamn life. Now here I am, lettin’ you into my home, about to offer you my damn shower—and this is what you say to me?”

You let out a shaky breath, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. He was right. He had saved you.

Your eyes trailed down to the jagged cut on his thigh. “You’re bleeding,” you pointed out. “You need to take care of that wound, or it’ll get infected.”

Bucky only scoffed, stepping away and shaking his head at you as if you were the most frustrating thing he had ever encountered.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, make a left,” he gruffed, already turning his back on you. “And don’t take too long—I need to use it after you.”

Not wanting to risk upsetting him further, you took it upon yourself to head toward the bathroom.

The cabin was certainly large enough to house a small family, which only made you wonder more if he really lived here all alone. The walls were stripped of anything personal—no photos, no decor—aside from a few scattered post-its and scraps of paper covered in messy handwriting, tacked up with rusted nails.

As you neared the bathroom, you noticed the bedroom right next to it. The door was cracked open just barely and curiosity got the better of you.

Leaning back slightly, you caught a glimpse of his private space. It was sparse, but in the center sat what looks to be a queen sized bed. It looked massive in the small room—certainly big enough to fit another person.

“You found it?” Bucky shouted from across the cabin, snapping you back.

“Yeah—I did. Thanks!” you called back, your heart giving a small, startled jump.

After settling into the hot shower, the steam finally began to sedate the bone chilling cold from your limbs. You scrubbed the mud and gunk from your skin with the harsh lye soap. Stepping out, you quickly reached for one of the rough, oversized towels.

You had just managed to tuck the fabric securely around your chest, shivering as the cool air hit your damp skin, when the door suddenly creaked open.

“Jesus!” you yelped, clutching the towel tighter and stumbling against the counter. “Knock much?”

Bucky didn’t enter the room. He just stood stiffly in the gap of the doorway.

In his hand, he held out a bundle of folded fabric— a worn, massive white T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts that looked like they could fit two of you.

“Not used to company,” he mumbled. He reached out and set the pile of clothes on the edge of the sink without a single glance in your direction. “‘Sides, I’m not interestin’ in lookin’.”

He didn’t wait for a ‘thank you’ or for you to yell at him to get out. He simply pulled the door shut.

Eventually, you changed into the clothes he provided.

With every step you took out of the bathroom, the shorts threatened to slip past your hips, forcing you to yank the drawstrings tighter. The clothes didn’t smell like fabric softener, but it carried a scent that was distinctly him and the rest of the cabin— pine, and woodsmoke.

Returning to the living room, you found Bucky sitting in one of the wooden chairs, his leg propped up as he examined the angry red gashes on his thigh. He hissed, his jaw tightening as he accidentally grazed the wound with his thumb.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower,” you spoke up, catching his attention.

Your eyes caught the deep gashes on his leg.

“Do you need help?” you offered again. “I can help you clean that up. I have some antiseptics and bandages in my pack.”

Bucky didn’t look up, his fingers hovering stiffly over the torn skin.

“No need,” he said roughly, his voice strained.

It was clear to you that the adrenaline was finally wearing off and the real pain was setting in. He gripped the edges of the wooden chair, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to stand. He took a single step, his breath hitching as he leaned heavily on his good leg, and began to limp toward the bathroom.

You frowned. “Are you sure—”

“I told you and I’ll keep tellin’ you,” he grunted through the pain, “I don’t need your help, girl.”

Then, he disappeared down the hall and shoved the door shut.

You tried to make yourself comfortable in the dim cabin, but a sudden, strangled shout of pain echoed through the walls. The sound made you jump—an involuntary yell painfully tore straight from Bucky’s throat. Something heavy hit the floor, maybe a stool? Or a basin? Then it was followed by the sound of ragged breathing and more muffled grunts.

“Bucky?” you called out, taking a careful step toward the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

There was no answer.

You stood outside the door, trying to respect his privacy, until another pained groan reached your ears. Your stomach twisted. Despite his prickly attitude, he was obviously struggling with a wound far worse than he wanted to admit—and standing here, not doing anything to help him after he saved your life, only made you feel worse.

“Bucky, I’m coming in,” you warned, your hand reaching for the doorknob.

You waited one more second, expecting him to curse at you to stay out, but the only sound was his labored breathing.

So, you took it upon yourself to push the door open.

Inside, Bucky was laid out in the tub—naked, of course.

His head lolled back against the porcelain as he fought to steady his breath. His dirty, blood stained clothes were piled in a heap on the floor, leaving trails of mud and grime everywhere. The tub was filled with soapy water, and while he was bare beneath the surface, your eyes didn’t wander—you didn’t care to look.

Your entire focus was pinned to his leg, which he had propped up on the edge of the tub.

Stripped of the dark denim, the damage was more visible. The wolf’s claws had dug deep, leaving uneven, angry furrows that were weeping blood into the water. The skin around the punctures was already beginning to puff and redden, and with the grime from the forest floor mashed into the open wounds, it looked even worse.

“Jesus,” you gasped, kneeling beside him to examine the damage. “Bucky, this looks like it’s already getting infected.”

Without giving him the chance to pull away, you reached out and pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. He was burning up—the heat radiating off his skin was alarming, a telltale sign his body was already struggling to fight the bacteria from the wolf’s claws.

“You’re overheating!”

Bucky’s eyes remained shut, his thick lashes casting long shadows against his pale, sweaty cheeks. A low, delirious mumble escaped him as his head rolled further to the side.

“...Tired,” he croaked.

Your frown deepened. “Stay right there. Don’t move,” you commanded, though it was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere.

Before he could argue, you scrambled out of the bathroom. Bucky’s vision was disoriented and blurry, his mind racing through a fog of fever.

Just my luck, huh?

He had been minding his own business until you showed up on his doorstep. His only excuse for following you was a half baked thought about picking berries to go with his meat before the storm broke—and he just happened to grab a knife, and he just happened to head south in the exact direction you walked off to.

Damn. He was a fucking idiot.

You hurried back into the bathroom, clutching the antiseptic, a roll of sterile gauze, and a small bottle of ibuprofen tightly in your hands.

You knelt by the edge of the tub again, popping the cap off the antiseptic. “This is going to sting. Just try to breathe.”

As the cool, medicinal liquid hit his cuts, Bucky’s body jerked causing the water to slosh. A sharp hiss whistled through his teeth, his fingers gripping the wet ledge of the tub. He stared at you warily through heavy, lidded eyes.

Just like the wolf he had saved you from, he looked as if he were ready to pounce.

He wasn’t used to this. For as long as he could remember, pain was something to be swallowed with a bottle of whiskey and a needle and thread. He had built his own house, caught his own food, and bled his own blood without a soul nearby to witness it.

That was the whole point of being out here.

But as you meticulously cleaned the wounds, your touch was... different.

It was soft, steady, and gentle. He hadn’t felt anything like it in years. He had forgotten what it was even like to be tended to.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he watched you focus, your bottom lip caught between your teeth in concentration as you began to wrap the clean white gauze around his thigh.

“There,” you said softly, setting the tools down and offering him a weary smile.

You looked at him as if you were expecting a thank you, but the words didn’t come.

He let out a slow, shaky breath and let his head thud back against the tub. He was a fool for letting a stranger in, a bigger fool for letting her see him like this—but as the pain started to dull into a throb, he found he didn’t really care.

Sensing his need for space, you got up slowly. “I’ll let you be. When the storm clears up, I’ll be out of your hair—for real this time.”

Just as you turned for the door, Bucky’s hand shot out of the tub, catching your wrist and splattering water across the floor.

“Take the bed tonight,” he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You blinked at him. The couch? That tiny thing?

“Sorry, but your couch is far too small for someone like you,” you said, half-insulting his choice in furniture. “Besides, you need proper rest to heal up. I’ll take the couch.”

Bucky’s hand lingered around your wrist for a moment. You expected him to protest further, but it seemed his energy was finally spent.

With a tired sigh, he dropped his hand, letting it hang limply over the side of the tub.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

He had a dreadful feeling it was going to be a long night.

By the time Bucky woke up, the storm had retreated, leaving behind a world that smelled of damp earth and pine needles. Sunlight pierced through the bedroom window, cutting a sharp line across the bed where he lay alone.

He groaned, his eyes snapping open as he braced himself for the throbbing pain in his leg. He reached down, his fingers brushing against the white gauze you had wrapped around his thigh.

To his surprise, the skin wasn’t burning anymore. The fever had also broken. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, testing his strength.

There was a dull ache, sure, but he was steady enough to stand on his own.

He pulled on a clean pair of jeans and limped out into the living room, expecting to find you still curled up on that cramped, uncomfortable couch. A stray thought crossed his mind… that maybe he should’ve invited you to share the bed, but even he knew that would have been going too far for a stranger.

When he reached the living room, he found the couch empty. The rough wool blanket he had given you was folded neatly at one end, and when his eyes shifted to the corner where your heavy pack had been sitting, he found nothing but the bare floor.

His jaw tightened.

A strange, lonely feeling settled in his chest. A feeling he hadn’t felt in years and didn’t care to name. Of course you were gone. You had hiked out the moment the rain stopped, just like you said you would.

All he could do now was hope you made it to town safely.

He grabbed his boots and stepped out onto the porch, intending to finish the woodpile he abandoned yesterday. The air was crisp, and the forest was alive with the sound of dripping eaves and morning birds. He took a deep breath, turning his gaze toward the lake to check the water levels after the storm.

He froze.

Down by the lake, silhouetted against the sparkling reflection of the morning sun, was a figure. You were crouching by the water’s edge, his oversized white T-shirt tucked into those ridiculous drawstring shorts with a fishing line in your hands.

As he watched, you reached down and hoisted a small wicker basket— likely something he kept in the shed for gathering berries—and he could see the shimmer of scales thrashing inside.

By the looks of it, you had already caught three or four good-sized trout.

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He began to descend the porch steps, his limp much less pronounced than it had been the night before. The damp grass flattened under his boots as he made his way toward the bank, the sound of his approach masked by the gentle lapping of the lake against the stones.

“Thought you said you were leavin’,” he called out, his voice gravelly with sleep.

You jumped, nearly dropping the basket back into the water as you spun around. Your hair was a mess of tangled waves and there were smears of mud on your shins, but your eyes were bright—clear of the panic from the night before.

“Oh!” you smiled at the sight of him. “You’re still alive!” You hoisted the basket up with straining arms, making your way toward him. “I caught you some fish—you eat fish, right?”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “More of a red meat kind of guy.”

“Well... fish is good for you,” you informed him, trekking past him barefoot with the heavy basket. “And I’m going to fix you up some breakfast.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as you reached him. “Don’t waste your effort,” he huffed, still looking as grumpy as ever. “I like my breakfast done a certain way.”

You ignored him, walking right past and back toward the cabin. “You should lay back down and take it easy. Consider this a thank you for saving my life yesterday.”

“I don’t need you playing house,” Bucky mumbled grumpily, following you through the cabin and into the kitchen. “I’ve been feedin’ myself since before you were born. Put those down, I’ll do it.”

You didn’t even look back as you set the wicker basket on the wooden counter. “Sit. Down. Bucky.”

He opened his mouth to snap back—to tell you exactly whose house this was and who was in charge—but the stubborn confidence in your voice caught him off guard. Up until this moment, he pinned you as a naive, helpless girl who couldn’t survive a night without his intervention.

He huffed, sounding like a disgruntled bear, and finally lowered himself into the sturdy wooden chair at the head of the table. A low groan escaped his throat as he eased his shoulders, his injured leg pulsing— a none too friendly reminder of why he shouldn’t have been standing anyway.

From his seat, he watched you move.

“Not only can I catch fish,” you said, getting to work, “but I can also cook it well.”

The cabin, which usually felt cold and cavernous, suddenly felt smaller and more… domestic.

You moved around his kitchen, your bare feet moving across his rough floorboards. You looked ridiculous in his clothes; the hem of his white T-shirt tucked into the oversized shorts, and the sleeves rolled up in thick bundles just so you could use your hands.

He watched the sunlight catch the dampness of your hair as you began to prep the fish. The sight of a woman in his space—wearing his shirt, smelling like his soap, and ignoring his bad attitude just to make sure he was fed—hit him harder than he expected.

“Christ,” he cursed under his breath.

For most of his years, he believed isolation was his only sanctuary. But watching you, he realized things he never thought he would feel.

He liked seeing this—a beautiful woman, clean and comfortable, cooking just for him. He could already picture it, coming home from a long day of chopping wood or hunting, only to find you like this. Safe and sound.

He liked the idea of having someone to protect.

Bucky was suddenly feeling very hungry now, and it wasn’t just for the fish.

“You’re gonna burn ‘em,” he muttered, though his eyes were soft as he watched your back. “Pan needs more grease.”

“I’ve got it, Bucky,” you replied, glancing playfully over your shoulder. “Stop worrying that old head of yours.”

“Old?” Bucky grumbled, though a faint, reluctant twitch of a smile played on his lips.

You turned back to the counter as you began to slice the trout into neat fillets.

“You know,” you began, tone light and teasing, “in my friend group, they called me the Fish Whisperer. Or the Fish Butcher. One of those. It depended on how much wine was involved in the cooking process.”

You let out a small, self deprecating chuckle, turning your head to see if you could pull another reaction out of him. But as you looked back down to finish a particularly tricky cut near the bone, your damp finger slipped on the smooth handle.

The blade skidded across the scales, coming dangerously close to your thumb. You let out a sharp, panicked gasp, pulling your hand back just as the tip of the knife bit into the wooden cutting board.

“Crap—!”

Despite his injured leg, Bucky moved with that same quick, almost predatory speed you had seen in the forest.

In a heartbeat, he was already hovering over you, his large hand reaching out to steady your wrist while his other instinctively moved to your lower back to stabilize you.

“Careful, sweets,” he rumbled into a protective growl.

You swallowed hard at his sudden closeness, his chest pressing against your shoulder. His grip on your wrist was firm but careful—the touch of a man who knew exactly how much damage his hands could do and was choosing, with every ounce of his will, to be gentle.

“Bucky…” you breathed, trying to still your heartbeat. “Are… are you okay?”

You stayed frozen, feeling his warm breath against the side of your neck. He let out a shaky breath, as if trying to stabilize his own heart, his thumb tracing a slow, distracting line over where your blood rushed in your wrist.

“I… just don’t want you hurtin’ yourself,” he said slowly, his voice thick and low. “That’s all.”

Since that little mishap with the knife, the tension in the cabin was suffocatingly thick—and you weren’t entirely sure if Bucky felt it, though he was certainly the cause of it.

By the time you finished preparing breakfast, you laid everything out on the table. Even with your back turned, you could feel his shameless stare burning through the thin fabric of the white T-shirt you wore.

“Where’s the cutlery?” you asked, turning to him.

He simply shrugged, his gaze glued on you before he looked down at the food.

“Your hands are the cutlery,” he said flatly.

You didn’t think it was possible, but eating with your hands only increased the tension tenfold.

You picked carefully at the fish, trying to maintain some level of decency, but Bucky was another story entirely. He went after the meal like a ravenous animal, picking the trout apart with his bare hands. You didn’t even need to ask if he liked the food; the way he was scarfing it down told you everything you needed to know.

You swore he didn’t look away from you once.

Leaning forward with his elbows heavy on the wooden table, he used his blunt, calloused fingers to strip the flaky white meat from the bone. Every time he finished a piece, he licked his thumb and forefinger clean with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue. His eyes remained glued to yours, dark and unreadable, as he licked his lips.

All of this made a strange heat crawl up your neck, and with no napkins in sight, you eventually had no choice but to follow suit.

You hesitantly lifted your hand, licking the salty grease from your own fingertips. The moment you did, Bucky stopped chewing. He went completely still, his gaze dropping to your mouth, his dark blue eyes tracking the movement with a sudden, sharp hunger. He watched every motion, his jaw clenching as he seemed hypnotized by the way your tongue moved.

Small, was all he thought as he felt his body warm. But it’ll do.

“I suppose I should take my leave after this,” you announced mid chew. “Thank you for everything—”

“You shouldn’t,” Bucky interrupted suddenly, a piece of fish still caught between his fingers. “There might be another storm tonight.”

Your brows furrowed. Another storm? While the mountain weather was notoriously unpredictable, the sky outside was currently a clear, piercing blue.

Although he proved himself right yesterday, another storm seemed today entirely unlikely.

Pushing out of your chair and grabbing your plate, you made your way to the sink.

“Well, in that case, I should leave now. The sooner the better—”

“Good luck with that,” he huffed, his tone sharpening with what seems like restless impatience. “The mud and the terrain from yesterday’s mess will only slow you down. You’ll be lucky to make it a mile before you’re stuck again.”

He took a quick sip of his water, letting out a satisfied exhale as his gaze settled on you. “Best you wait ‘til tomorrow.”

You stood by the sink, staring out the window as you weighed your options. Your friends and family were likely worried sick, perhaps already calling for a search party, and the thought of them panicking made your chest hurt with guilt.

But then, you remembered everything that had happened yesterday.

The storm, the wolf, the bone chilling rain, and the way the world had turned into a sliding, muddy trap. Bucky was right about the terrain—if you went out there and twisted an ankle or got lost in the washouts, there wouldn’t be anyone to save you a second time.

You were completely oblivious to the way Bucky’s eyes traced your body. You didn’t notice how he was manipulating the trauma of yesterday to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

In his kitchen, in his shirt, and under his roof—permanently in his sights.

“I… I guess you’re right,” you admitted softly, finally turning back to face him. “I don’t think I have another fight in me today. If the mud is really that bad, I’d just be a liability.”

Bucky didn’t smile—that would have been too obvious—but the tension in his shoulders eased instantly.

“Smart girl,” he rumbled, picking up another piece of fish before tossing it in his mouth. “No sense in chancing it. The woods don’t give second chances twice in a row.”

“I’ll just… stay out of your way, then,” you murmured, feeling a strange mix of relief and unease. “I can help with the chores? Or the woodpile?”

Bucky hummed, pretending to ponder the offer, though he already knew exactly what he wanted out of you.

“I’ll take care of the heavy liftin’,” he explained. “You can help me clean the place a bit—or catch some more fish for dinner.”

“You liked my fish?” you asked, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky pushed himself out of the chair with a grunt and met you at the sink, handing you his plate. “Guess you were right,” he gruffed. “You can cook, sugar.”

Your face warmed at the nickname. It seemed so at odds with a man as burly and grumpy as Bucky, yet it fell from his lips so naturally.

“Okay,” you agreed, setting the plates in the basin and turning on the tap. “Anything to help lighten your load. Thank you for letting me stay another night, Bucky. I really don’t know how to repay you.”

A swell of satisfaction and pride settled in his gut.

He liked this.

No—he loved this.

“Look at you, doin’ the dishes,” he noted with a nod toward the sink. “That’s already doin’ more than enough.”

He raised his hand to give you a gentle pat on the back, though his body yearned for something more—to press a kiss to your forehead, the way a husband might for a wife.

“I’ll go fetch some firewood to keep the place warm for when that storm hits,” he said, already turning toward the door. “Just stay here. Clean up, catch the fish. Don’t want you gettin’ hurt or lost again, little doll.”

The storm might not have been coming, but as far as he was concerned, you weren’t going anywhere.

For the rest of the day, you did exactly as instructed.

Despite your insistence that he stay off his leg, Bucky spent the entire afternoon outside. While you cleaned the cabin, the thud of his axe echoed against the trees.

Eventually, you headed back down to the water, but the moment you began fishing, you felt the pierce of a gaze tracking your every move. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, you found Bucky only a few feet away, wiping sweat from his forehead, his chest heaving from the labor— but his eyes never left you.

When you moved down the shoreline, or stumbled over a slick rock, or struggled with a particularly strong fish fight, Bucky was at your side in an instant.

“Careful, sweets.”

“Mind your step. Can’t concentrate on my own work if you’re stumblin’ all over the place, little doll.”

“I saw you fall just a moment ago. Sit down—let me check your leg.”

You kept promising you were fine, but nothing seemed to soothe his protective instincts.

You didn’t want to call him suffocating—he was certainly kinder than when you came across him yesterday—but the unwarranted attention he kept giving you felt restless.

As the day bled into evening, you noticed there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky.

You waited, even as you cooked dinner and set the table while Bucky washed up, but by the time the sun had completely fell below the horizon, the air remained still, dark, and clear.

There was no storm.

And it was too late to start the trek to town now.

You and Bucky were sitting at the dinner table yet again, but since the sun went down, neither of you had spoken a single word to each other.

“Hey, Bucky?” you called out.

He didn’t look up. His eyes were glued to the plate as he scarfed down the meal you made the same way he had earlier this morning. When he didn’t answer, you tried again, firmer this time.

“Bucky. There’s no storm like you said there would be.”

Bucky swiped a hand across his mouth, clearing the grease. “I guess not.”

A slow, impatient exhale left your nose. Bucky sensed your tension, and he narrowed his eyes at you, displeased. He rested both heavy forearms on the table and leaned in.

“It’s good that you stayed,” he pointed out, his voice low like a warning. “It’s better bein’ safe than sorry. You should know that by now—’specially after yesterday, sugar.”

Your frown only deepened, and Bucky’s jaw tightened. He clearly wasn’t pleased by how eager you were to leave him.

“I know,” you sighed, looking toward the dark window. “It’s just... my friends and family must be worried sick. If I had left earlier, I could have been home by now.”

“If you had left earlier, you wouldn’t have made me that delicious breakfast for savin’ your life,” Bucky reminded you, his tone sharp with impatience. He shoved his empty plate aside and leaned back in his chair, making it groan. “You should sleep in the bed tonight.”

“What?” You blinked, not quite comprehending his words. “No. Your leg still needs to heal, and that couch is far too small for you—”

“No one takes the couch,” he cut you off like a command. “We both share the bed tonight. There’s plenty of space.”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the dark hallway that led to the bedroom.

The thought of sharing a bed with him—this hulking, unpredictable man, made your pulse race. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you pointed out softly. “I’m perfectly fine on the couch, really.”

“If you’re gonna trek tomorrow morning, you’ll need all the sleep you can get.”

He pushed his chair back, the heavy wood scraping harshly against the floorboards as he stood and began to limp toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” he grunted, not even checking to see if you were following. “I’ve got a set of clothes you can change into.”

With a defeated sigh, you followed him. By the time you reached the bedroom, Bucky was already rummaging through a heavy dresser in the corner. He pulled out another oversized white T-shirt and held it out to you.

“Here.”

“And the pants?” you asked, taking the soft fabric from his hand.

“All I’ve got are sweatpants that’d be way too damn big for you,” he said, shoving the drawer shut. “Unless you want to sleep in jeans?”

You swallowed hard. Sleeping without pants? You looked down at the drawstring shorts you had been wearing all day—stained with mud and smelling of the lake from your fishing trip.

“I’ll just wear these again,” you decided.

Bucky looked at you, his expression darkening with displeasure.

“No. Those are dirty,” he gruffed. “The shirt’s big enough to be a night dress. You’ll be fine.”

His tone left no room for nos or further objections. It wasn’t a request but rather an arrangement he had already finalized in his head.

After retreating to the washroom to change into the fresh shirt, you returned to find Bucky already stretched out on the mattress, his large frame covered by the sheets, taking up half the bed as he waited for you.

The sight of you standing in the doorframe wearing nothing but his shirt made the fabric of his pajama pants feel suddenly, painfully tight. He wasn’t sure he would even survive the night with you lying right next to him.

He scooted over, clearing a space for you while trying to discreetly adjust himself beneath the quilts.

You made your way to your side of the bed, sliding under the covers and lying stiffly beside him.

You stared up at the ceiling, feeling completely out of place in the quiet, suffocating cabin. Beside you, Bucky lay perfectly comfortable.

To him, this was exactly where you belonged.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t leave today,” he said, though the apology rang a little hollow. “I was just lookin’ out for you.”

You turned your head toward him, your hair fanning out across his pillowcase. Bucky’s heart strummed in his chest at the sight of you.

He could get used to waking up to this every morning.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him with a soft, tired smile, though he could still sense the disappointment behind it. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Exactly right, sugar.”

From your short time knowing Bucky, it hadn’t taken long to notice just how… blatant he was with his staring. Even now, lying together shoulder to shoulder, his blue eyes were piercing right through yours.

Unreadable and unwavering.

You swallowed hard, trying to break the tension. “How’s your leg?”

“Still hurts,” he mumbled lowly. “But I’m feelin’ a lot better lyin’ next to a pretty girl.”

So much for breaking the tension.

His words, intimate and entirely unexpected, filled you with embarassment. Staring back at him, you had known from the very start how handsome he was beneath all that grumpiness, the tired eyes, and the dark shadow of stubble.

You hadn’t pegged someone like him as the flirtatious type. But as you searched his expression, you couldn’t tell if he even realized he was doing it, or if he was simply saying the first thing that came to his mind.

Averting your gaze, you stared into the dark corner of the room.

“Y-you’re ridiculous,” you stammered, breathless.

Bucky’s large, calloused hand reached out, his fingers hooking gently under your chin. He tilted your face back to him, forcing you to meet his eyes yet again.

“For tellin’ the truth?” he rumbled, his voice filling the tense air between you.

You couldn’t move, held captive by his touch and the intensity of his stare.

You watched as his eyes began a slow and hungry journey. He traced the line of your forehead, the curve of your cheek, and then dropped to your mouth, lingering there until your lips parted involuntarily to suck in a breath.

“Pretty,” he mumbled so quiet, it was like he was speaking to himself.

His gaze continued downward, looking at the delicate column of your throat, then further still, taking in the way his oversized shirt draped over your body, shifting with every shallow breath you took.

When his eyes finally snapped back to yours, they were darker than before—pupils blown wide.

“So goddamn pretty.”

“I…” you started, not quite sure what to say, “t-thank you.”

There was a moment of silence between you two, and throughout the quiet, Bucky’s hands began to be more bold in its movements. He caressed your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before trailing his thumb slowly over your bottom lip. He watched with a dark, satisfied grin when your breath hitched.

“You know, bein’ out here alone all these years... it makes a man yearn for things,” Bucky started to explain in a low, gravelly whisper. “Things a man like me thought he’d never have.”

“Like what?” you breathed.

“A family,” he answered with what sounded like a dreamy sigh. “I’ve seen it everywhere in these woods. Bears protectin’ their cubs, birds tendin’ to their nests. It’s the most natural, beautiful thing there is—that kind of connection. I just know havin’ somethin’ special like that... it’d finally bring me peace.”

You weren’t entirely sure where he was going with the confession, but all you felt you could do was nod and offer him sympathy.

“I hope you find that peace one day, Bucky.”

Then, his hand suddenly trailed from your cheek down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around the delicate skin of your neck in a gentle yet possessive squeeze that made you gasp.

“Feels like I already have, little doll.”

Bucky didn’t give you the chance to breathe, let alone retract the invitation he saw in your eyes.

He closed the space between you two, his mouth crashing against yours with a hunger only a man like him—starved and isolated for decades—could possess.

It wasn’t gentle at all. It was more like a claim.

His lips were rough, and his tongue swept against yours messily and hungrily. He moved like a man who hadn’t shared a kiss with a woman in his lifetime—like a man who was dying for the touch of another person.

You melted into the mattress as he moved more eagerly against you, the sheets ruffling as he hovered over you. One of his hands held you still by side of your neck while the other wandered your body through the thin fabric of his own shirt. His rough hand, warm and calloused, groped and fondled you through the flimsy white cotton, making you gasp into his mouth.

Bucky growled low in his throat as your fingers tangled into the thick, messy dark hair at the nape of his neck. His stubble tickled your skin, and the needy noises leaving his lips only made you squeeze your legs together, a deep ache beginning to build.

“Bucky,” you gasped, turning your head sharply to break the contact. You were panting, your lips swollen and tingling. “We... we shouldn’t. This is... I’m supposed to be leaving tomorrow.”

Bucky took this as an opportunity to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath searing your sensitive skin. He trailed a line of wet kisses toward your ear, his stubble grazing your jawline.

“Tomorrow’s a long way off, sugar,” he buzzed against your skin.

“Bucky, please—”

You were cut off with a sharp gasp as you felt Bucky grind his hips firmly against your leg.

Against the soft fabric of his pajama pants, he was hard, throbbing... and leaking. In the short time you two had been making out, he had already made a mess of himself in his own pants.

A shaky groan left his lips as he gripped your hip tight, making you wince slightly. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed, resting his forehead against your collarbone. “M’so hard. It hurts.”

Bucky began to rock himself—slow and shallow—against the soft heat of your leg. You couldn’t help but look down, watching the heavy outline of him throb against the fabric as he pressed into you.

“Just... we can fuck tonight—and you can forget all ‘bout me tomorrow,” he pleaded, his voice wrecked. “You can leave as early as you want—but please, darlin’. I need this.” He rocked his hips against yours again, drawing another gasp out of you. “It’s been so long.”

He drew the long hem of the shirt up and past your hip, and his breath hitched at what he saw.

“… No panties?”

Your face burned with embarrassment. “I… didn’t want to re-wear the ones I had on,” you explained, your voice small. “They’re dirty.”

You said that, but what Bucky was seeing right now felt far filthier. Your pussy, exposed and puffy and glistening, was laid out bare right in front of him—ripe and ready for the taking.

You knew exactly how this looked, and the way Bucky’s eyes darkened as they locked onto your cunt only confirmed it. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaz heavy as he took in every inch of you.

Bucky quickly slid down the bed until his broad chest was wedged between your knees. You tried to pull back—mostly out of shyness—but his large hands clamped around your thighs like iron shackles, pinning you wide for him.

“Bucky, wait—!”

But you cut yourself off with an involuntary cry as his tongue flicked out and lapped at your cunt. He was relentless and wasted no time. He buried his face against you, his dark stubble grazing your sensitive inner thighs as he began to feast like a starving animal.

He was messy and loud. The wet, slapping sounds of his tongue working against you filled your ears—vulgar and completely shameless.

You had never been touched or licked like this before. You had never felt the unabashed hunger of a man’s mouth on your skin, and your body was loving every second of it.

“Oh god,” you gasped, your fingers knotting the bedsheets.

Your hips bucked up against his face, seeking more, but Bucky held you perfectly still, his thumbs digging into your skin to keep you exposed.

He let out a low, muffled growl against your clit, his tongue flickering faster and faster against the sensitive peak until you were sobbing for breath. Every time you instinctively tried to close your legs or hide from the overwhelming sensation, he only snarled, forcing you back open for him.

He was devouring you.

He was treating you like the prey he had spent all day stalking.

Bucky finally pulled away, letting you catch your breath. His eyes were dark and his chin was coated with your sweetness mixed with his own saliva and drool.

“Taste s’fucking good,” he groaned so deep, sounding almost frustrated. “Only makin’ it harder for me to let you go.”

He sat back on his heels, still wedged firmly between your thighs, as he pulled his shirt over his head. You watched, enamored, as his broad chest moved— every muscle flexing under the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Dark hair traced the center of his chest, trailing down to where his hands found the waistband of his pants.

He pulled them down and kicked them to the side of the bed. Lying there between your legs was a man of pure masculinity. Thick hair decorated his body, and his hand—which you already thought was massive—could barely wrap around his cock as he stroked himself to his full length.

Bucky’s jaw went slack as he fucked his hand, his eyes shamelessly taking in the way you were spread out for him in nothing but his cotton tee.

Dark, curly hair sat at the base of his cock, and from where you laid, you could smell him—the salty scent of his precum, the masculine musk of pinewood, everything that was uniquely him. It made you ache, your pussy clenching around nothing as you watched.

“You’re drippin’ all over my sheets, sugar,” Bucky grunted. “Makin’ a reaaal mess.”

“Bucky,” you breathed, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “I don’t think you… I don’t think it’ll fit—”

“No?” he cut you off.

He didn’t let you finish—he didn’t need to—but he already seemed darkened by whatever doubt you were about to voice.

“I don’t care,” he grunted, his large hands grabbing your legs and hauling you flush against him. “M’gonna make it fit.”

Your body tensed as you felt the head of Bucky’s cock poke against your entrance. He groaned at the contact, his eyes fluttering shut in relief. You were already so wet, so warm, and so inviting. And judging by how easily his tip began to slide in, it wouldn’t be long before he was buried deep in your cunt.

Bucky held himself there for a moment, bracing his weight on his forearms as he let you adjust to the stretching pressure of his tip alone.

He looked down, a dark, fond smirk pulling at his lips as he watched you squeezing your eyes shut with the effort of taking him.

“Open ‘em up, sugar,” he rumbled the command. “I want you lookin’ at me for this.”

As your eyes fluttered open, meeting his blown out blue gaze, he began to push.

“Oh—fuck, Bucky!” you gasped as he slid deeper, your tight cunt stretching painfully and perfectly around his length.

A broken groan tore from his throat, his chest heaving as he fought every urge in his nervous system to just slam himself deep inside you. He was trying so hard to hold back that his face contorted into a snarl, his muscles locking with the strain.

You mewled and whimpered as he forced his way in, each movement of his hips more strained than the last. He was struggling with the tightness of you, the stretch a dizzying mix of burn and pleasure. By the time he was halfway in, it already felt like too much.

You began to squirm, your hips shifting and doing nothing to soothe the ache in Bucky’s balls. If anything, your movements only made him groan in pleasure.

When he realized you were trying to escape his length, his hands snapped down to your hips. His fingers dug into your skin, pinning you flat against the mattress and making you yelp.

“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?” he growled, hovering over you with a snarl that made him look terrifying under the warm lamplight. “You aren’t goin’ anywhere. I told you, darlin’—I’m makin’ it fit.”

With that, his grip tightened on your waist and he hauled you flush against his body in a ruthless motion.

Your legs shook and your eyes rolled back as his cock buried itself completely, sinking to the hilt deep inside your cunt. Your head spun with the overwhelming bliss of being filled so thoroughly.

“Haaah—!” you hissed sharply, your back arching off the bed. “B-Buck—”

Bucky’s entire body was shaking, overstimulated with a desire he hadn’t felt in years.

He hovered over you, dark strands of hair shadowing his eyes as he watched your soft legs shake and squirm beneath him. His cock—the one you claimed was too large to fit—was sunk completely inside you, twitching as it savored every desperate ripple and clench of your tight walls around his shaft.

He watched himself grind his hips against yours, slow and steady at first, letting you adjust to every inch.

“Christ,” he groaned, the sound torn from the back of his throat. “You’re takin’ me so well, little doll…”

When your whimpers finally began to break into soft, needy moans, he took it as his cue to pick up the pace.

He started drawing his hips back and thrusting faster, making your body jolt and shake against the mattress with every thrust. The sight of his cock disappearing entirely into your cunt, leaving only his dark curls pressed against your glistening slit, made him throb and leak deep inside you.

“God… feels s’much better than my hand,” he grumbled to himself.

“Bucky…” you whined softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Feels good, don’t stop.”

Bucky was hypnotized.

He looked down, his vision tunneling as he watched the way you moved helplessly beneath him. Your body was rolling with every thrust against his mattress. Your hands came up to his shoulders, soft fingers digging into his hard muscles for stability.

And when you looked at him with those soft, trusting eyes, something in his chest snapped.

“Fuck. Fuckin’ hell—you… fuckin’… goddammit—fuck!”

His hips began drawing back further before slamming all the way in, drawing a loud, sharp cry from you that only made him want to fuck you harder—right through the bedframe and against the floorboards.

Bucky felt like an animal in heat, his mind clouding with a singular, primal thought that went far beyond just getting off.

He wanted to fill you. He wanted to plant himself so deep that it would take.

“Bucky—it’s too much, ah!” you moaned, clinging to him and wrapping your legs around his waist for support, inadvertently drawing him even deeper.

That didn’t help him at all.

“Oh—fuck, sweets!” he roared, pinning his weight onto you as your legs strapped him down. “Fuck—you’re askin’ for it now.”

The thought of breeding you, of keeping you right here in the cabin he built with his very own two hands, made his blood sing. He could see it so clearly—you, rounded and heavy with his child, tits full of milk, never having to leave the safety of these woods or the protection of his arms.

Every filthy thought of a future together was met with another hard thrust inside you.

“Mine,” he growled. He was so lost in the haze of lust that his mind was a jumbled mess. The only thing he could process was the need to fuck and breed.

Fuck and breed. Fuck and breed.

To breed.

Breed. Breed…

“You’re stayin’ right here, sugar. M’gonna fill you up so full, you won’t even remember how to walk out that door.”

His words were purely possessive. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was just dirty talk—and god, did it work. Your pussy spasmed tight around his cock as you felt yourself getting close.

“Fuuck, Bucky,” you whined, “d-don’t stop…! I’m gonna cum—”

Every gasp that left your lips fueled the dark fire in his gut and the building ache in his balls. He didn’t just want tonight; he wanted years.

He wanted the connection he had seen the animals share in the woods—he wanted a son running around this cabin and you there to be called Mama.

Your cunt clenched as you tossed your head back, letting out a loud cry that rang through the cabin as you came undone all over Bucky’s cock. The feeling was exquisite, your pussy was milking Bucky with every pulse—and at this point, your body was practically begging for Bucky to cum inside.

“I’m gonna breed you,” he rasped, the words sounding like both a warning and a promise.

His eyes were crazed and wild as he looked down at the friction where your bodies joined. “Gonna give you everythin’ you need. Just stay... stay for me, little doll. Let me put a baby in you.”

Your head was rolling back against the pillow, your face drenched in sweat as your vision swam. You were still coming undone, your mind a hazy blur.

“H-huh…?” you managed to whimper with a tired slur of your words. “W-what was that—?”

One of his hands drew up from your hip to your neck, pinning you in place, while the other found your thigh, spreading you wider and bending it back so he could pound into you deeper—making the mattress and wooden bedframe shake and bolt against the cabin wall.

“Oh my god—!”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head ‘bout it,” he grunted, his breath hot and uneven against your ear. “M’just tellin’ you how it’s gonna be. I’m gonna keep this pussy pumped so full of me, you won’t ever remember what it’s like to be without it.”

He pulled back almost all the way, dragging out the pleasure until you cried out, before slamming back in until the hairs on his pelvis hit your slit.

“You’re gonna stay right here,” he reminded you darkly. “Nothin’ but my shirts on your back so I don’t have to waste time undressin’ you. Just easy access... every time I walk through that door, I’m gonna bend you over the table, the bed, the porch... and I’m gonna remind you who you belong to.”

The filth of his words and the overstimulated stretch of your walls was nearly enough to make you pass out.

“I’m gonna fill you up every single night, little doll,” he hissed, his pace becoming uneven and desperate as he felt his own climax nearing. “Until you’re waddlin’ around this cabin carryin’ my name... carryin’ my blood. You’re never leavin’, understand? You’re mine to breed.”

When you didn’t answer right away, he lightly squeezed your throat, making you gasp.

“Understand, sweets?”

“Y-yes,” was all you could muster weakly and tiredly, not understanding enitrely as all you felt was overwhelming pleasure. “Never leaving… fill me…”

You repeated the last few words you remembered him saying, and that was your downfall.

“Yeah?” he huffed a prideful laugh, like he finally had everything he wanted right here—right beneath him. “You gonna make me a daddy?”

His heart leapt in his throat, balls drawing tight as he felt himself finally reaching the edge. This was perfect—a pretty pussy to fuck whenever he pleased, and an even prettier woman to take care of.

Bucky’s entire body buckled, and he let out a loud roar that made you flinch—it sounded more like an animal than a man. His back arched as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself so deep it made you cry out again, his pelvis bottoming out against you.

A thick, hot rush of cum flooded into you, a heavy and pulsing warmth that seemed to go on and on.

His eyes rolled back and his teeth bared in a primal snarl as his entire frame shuddered with his release. He was pumping you full, emptying every bit of himself deep into your womb.

“Fuck—baby—!” he choked out, voice strained and cracking.

He didn’t pull out, even when his cock was completely spent and overworked inside you. Even as his body stilled and his length throbbed tiredly against your used, overstimulated walls, he stayed buried to the hilt.

He panted, his heavy chest heaving against yours as he kept you pinned firmly into the mattress. He was soaking you, making a complete mess of your insides just like he promised.

“There… fuck,” he rasped, his sweaty forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Puttin’ a baby in there right now—you feel it, don’t you? You feel how much I'm givin’ you?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You had absolutely no energy left in your spent body.

All you could smell was the thick scent of sex and sweat, and the only light in the room came from the bedside lamp, which was now flickering weakly.

Then came the thunder. Rain began to pour, hitting against the cabin roof and the surrounding forest floor harshly. Bucky shifted his body, pulling you into his arms and dragging your limp body against his chest, pressing soft, and sweet kisses against your sweaty skin.

“There’s the storm, baby,” he cooed gently, his voice prideful as he proved himself right yet again.

“I told you. You aren’t goin’ anywhere.”

sitting in the drafts since new years oh nah someone save me 🥀 once again, this is my contribution for art's moodboard event hosted here! please be sure to check out the incredible writers who put out their work so far!

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many bodies of younglings, the little bodies that you've trained and taught so many times, are scattered across the polished floor with their small forms still clutching training sabers. your eyes are widened, terrified and tired after the amount of clones you had to take down in order to get here.

all of their little lifeless bodies are in pools of crimson, the scent of ozone and death lightsaber hums echoing off the high walls as a figure stands ten feet ahead with his back to you, and his cape billowing slightly from the ventilation systems struggling against the chaos outside.

distant explosions rumble through the structure signaling the clones relentless advance. you had no clue about the order which lead you here.

in here in this sacred room, the horror is personal when the figure turns around, and all you see is the face of anakin.

anakin, the man you love, the one who shared stolen moments under the moonlight in hidden alcoves, the one who said promises to you about a life beyond the jedi code.

right now your mind reels, refusing to connect the dots as the relationship that once burned bright with forbidden passion now crumbles into dust as you stare at his figure just seven feet ahead.

the same figure that once held you close in secret embraces during late night training sessions where his touch ignited sparks far beyond the force. now it seems an evil presence has overtaken him swallowing the light that defined him.

the pillars of the council room stand cracked and scorched from stray blaster shots. the grand windows overlooking the city now are shattered with shards filling the place, some covering the small bodies.

you step forward, seeing him as he pokes his head up. in his sith eyes, he is seeing your own heartbroken face through your own dark hood.

“anakin…? anakin? what are you doing?”

the words escape your lips heavy with betrayal, but he does not respond immediately.

instead, the force around him pulses dark and oppressive, like a storm cloud swallowing the room. you feel it invade your senses as if cold tendrils started wrapping around your heart, squeezing the warmth from your memories of his laughter, his gentle kisses, and his vows that the war would end and you could be together openly.

now all of that fades, replaced by this suffocating shadow from the sith.

anakin turns slowly, with his body rigid as if fighting an internal battle. when his face fully catches the light from the outside, your breath catches in the middle of your throat.

the once vibrant blue eyes now glow with a sickly yellow hue. anakin's skin is pale and has lines of rage and corruption. plus, he has scars from some unseen battle, or perhaps the dark side’s own mark.

anakin's expression is twisted into something inhuman. no longer the charming padawan or the heroic knight but a vessel for pure evil. the dark force radiates from him in waves, crashing against your own light, causing your knees to weaken slightly yet you stand tall.

with your lightsaber igniting in your grasp, its light grey blade casting eerie glows across the chamber, illuminating the terror inside of the room... or maybe just in your heart.

“anakin please… justify this!”

the relationship that bound you two in secret now feels like a distant memory. you search for any trace of the man you knew in those darkened features but find none... only void where love once resided.

he speaks at last, with his voice low and laced with urgency yet devoid of the tenderness you cherished.

“leave now.... you can't stay.... go through the back entrance, since the clones will not find you if you go immediately... take the next flight to mustafar, and i'll explain everything there.”

anakin's words hang in the air, with a desperate command but also a plea hidden beneath the layers of darkness. you sense the conflict within him, or the light struggling against the sith darkness that has consumed his soul.

you cannot obey him, with some duty and love war within your chest. the jedi code demands you protect the innocent, even if it means facing the one who completed you.

a few of the children who are still alive, yet badly injured, whimper behind anakin, with their small hands reaching out trustingly for something. you know walking away would betray everything you stand for, and everything you fought for.

“no anakin. i won’t leave.... this isn’t right.”

you reply, stepping closer.

the distance between you is closing to mere feet with your blade humming in defense, not attack yet, but ready. the dark force swirls stronger now, brushing against your skin like icy fingers promising power if you yield.... but you resist, drawing on the light that has always guided you.

memories flood back inside of your mind of lazy afternoons in the temple gardens where he would steal glances and later kisses hidden from masters, of battles won side by side, with his hand in yours through the force linking souls in perfect harmony.

now those moments poison your resolve, turning love into anguish as you confront the monster wearing his face.

anakin advances slightly, saber lowering for a moment with his eyes flickering with what might be regret, but the yellow glow intensifies.

“master y/n,” he warns again, “go now before it’s too late.. the clones are coming. they will kill you if they find you here.”

yet your feet remain planted. you cannot abandon the young ones nor the remnants of your heart, even as it breaks seeing him like this.

the confrontation escalates as one of the children cries out and anakin raises his blade once more, intent on finishing what he started. you move without thinking, leaping between him and the injured child.

your saber clashes against his in a brilliant shower of sparks. the impact sends vibrations up your arms but you hold steady, and there you can feel the heat from his body, and smell the familiar scent of him mixed with sulfurous dark energy.

anakin's face inches from yours during the lock, with his blades grinding yours. you see flashes of the past in that gaze... the man who promised forever now gone, replaced by vader now.

you push back with all your strength, “anakin stop this!”

the force is trying to amplify your plea, but he overpowers, twisting his wrist in a move you taught him... ironically... sending your saber flying across the room, clattering uselessly against the wall.

now defenseless, you stand before him, chest heaving as tears streaming down your face, yet no fear... only determination to do what is right even if it costs everything.

anakin hesitates with his lightsaber trembling in his grip when he sees that you could be taken, here and right now. the dark side fights with the love buried deep, and the corruption in it wins.

soon, the red blade pierces through your defenses, with the burn searing your side then chest. agony explodes white-hot as the energy cuts through flesh and bone as you gasp, collapsing forward into his arms.

instinctively he catches you, with the saber deactivating as if shocked by his own action.

your body slumps against his chest, blood staining his dark robes warm and sticky. the room spins with your vision blurring.

“anakin…”

your voice is weak and fading, but you must speak to him, “this is right… even if you cannot see it... i love you still, but the light must prevail.”

he holds you close, cradling your head with one hand, the other pressing futilely against the wound as if he could undo the fatal blow. warm tears mix with the sweat on his face, since the man beneath the darkness surfaces briefly in anguish.

“why didn’t you listen,” he murmurs with his voice breaking for the first time since turning, “why…”

it’s too late, your eyes dim with the force leaving your form in a gentle sigh. the last thought... your love for him eternal despite the betrayal.

anakin remains kneeling with your lifeless body in his embrace. the temple crumbling around him, clones storming in soon, but he rises slowly, laying you down gently with a final caress across your cheek.

there was nothing holding him back now, and the dark side fully envelopes him, molding him into darth vader for good. yet deep within the armored shell to come he will mourn you forever.

throughout the next decades, the dark lord vader will find moments alone in his chamber, removing the mask of his to let the tears fall as he remembers your face, your voice, and your sacrifice.

he will not forget the way you stood for what was right even when it meant your end. no matter how many planets he conquers or enemies he defeats, the loss of you will remain the deepest scar.

The afternoon dragged on mercilessly.

Sunlight spilled through the window in soft, warm lines, stretching across the floor, the walls, the sheets. Dust floated in the air like tiny sparks. You’d been lying on the bed for… you weren’t even sure how long. The book rested open on your stomach. The same page for a good twenty minutes now. Your eyes kept moving over the lines, again and again, but nothing stayed. Not a single sentence. Not a single thought.

Your hand reached blindly for the phone beside your pillow.

Dark screen. You unlocked it.

Notifications — zero.

You let out a quiet sigh and sank deeper into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. The house felt unnaturally silent today. There was nothing to distract your thoughts. No TV humming in the background, no distant conversations, even the birds outside seemed to be more quiet.

And that was exactly why everything came rushing back.

His laugh.

Low, a little raspy, always arriving a second after he’d told a joke that amused him more than anyone else. His accent when he said your name — the rounded vowels, the soft “r” he could never pronounce the way you did. The way he’d lean against the doorframe like he owned the space without even trying.

You set the book aside.

His jacket hung over the chair beside your bed.

He’d left it here a month ago, saying, “I’ll be back soon,” as if he were just stepping out to the corner store and not… wherever it was life had pulled him this time. For the first few days, you barely touched it. Then once — just once — you slipped it on for a moment, and from that point on you knew it had been a mistake.

Ewan had asked you to go with him.

But you don’t like long trips. You feel off being so far from home for so long.

You inhaled deeply instead of blaming yourself for staying.

It still smelled like him. Leather and that distinct cologne of his.

Without getting up, you tugged the jacket closer with your fingers and pressed the fabric to your face. You closed your eyes for just a second. That was the worst part. Because in your mind, he wasn’t far away at all. He was right there, leaning against the wall, watching you with that half-smile, like he was about to say something completely insignificant and at the same time exactly what you needed.

The sun sank lower. The light turned more orange, heavier. Shadows stretched across the room, reaching all the way to the bed. Hours passed and you barely moved. Only once did you shift positions, only once did you get up for a glass of water, and then you fell back onto the mattress again.

Maybe this is it, you thought.

Maybe it was just one of those stories that only exist for a while. One stop between his next departures.

You closed your eyes.

And then —

HONK!

The sound tore through the silence of the house so suddenly that you jolted upright. Your heart instantly started racing. That wasn’t an ordinary horn.

You knew that sound.

Before you could even think, your body was already moving. You slid off the bed, nearly tripping over the blanket, and rushed to the window. Your fingers tightened around the frame as you leaned out slightly.

He was there.

An old, rusty Volkswagen truck stood crookedly along the curb, like it had only stopped for a moment. The paint was faded, and one headlight glowed dimmer than the other.

Ewan sat behind the wheel.

One arm rested against the open window, the other on the steering wheel. He was looking straight at your window as if he knew exactly you’d appear there.

And then he smiled. Not wide or theatrical — just that small, familiar smile that suddenly made the entire month of silence disappear. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Everything happened too fast. You pulled on the first things you could find, a light top and shorts, not even bothering with your hair, which still fell messily around your shoulders. You practically took the stairs two at a time, your heartbeat thudding high beneath your collarbones.

In your rush you didn’t even remember if you’d closed the door behind you. 

He was still there. He hadn’t vanished, hadn’t driven away, hadn’t turned out to be something you imagined half-asleep. The Volkswagen idled softly, and the warm late-afternoon air shimmered above the hood. The driver’s door was open. Ewan leaned his elbow against the frame like he’d been waiting a while, completely calm, as if this were the most natural place in the world to be.

You stopped for a moment on the sidewalk.

You looked at each other for several seconds without a word, without a gesture. Just the short distance between you, which suddenly felt strangely heavy after an entire month. He smiled first.

“Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you finally coming over?”

That finally pulled you forward. You hurried to the truck and immediately grabbed the doorframe to pull yourself inside. The cabin was cramped, smelling of warmed metal, old upholstery, and that same familiar scent you’d just breathed in from his jacket.

“God…” you murmured.

You hadn’t planned it. Not at all. But instead of sitting properly, you simply moved closer and almost instinctively settled sideways onto his lap, as if your body already knew where it belonged. His hands found your waist, steadying you as the truck rocked faintly on its suspension.

“Hey,” he said calmly, like he’d seen you yesterday.

That was what broke something in you. You leaned in and kissed him first. It wasn’t a perfect, cinematic kiss. It was a little messy, a little too quick, more reassuring than seductive. Your fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt near the collar, like you were making sure he was really here, that he wouldn’t disappear again. For a second he didn’t move, surprised, and then he answered slowly, warmly, pulling you closer with a hand at your back.

You pulled away first, your breathing shallow.

“Where have you been?” you asked, quieter than you intended.

His gaze moved across your face as if he were checking something. As if memorizing.

“Here and there.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

For a moment he said nothing, just brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. The gesture was so ordinary it tightened your throat. The engine hummed softly beneath you.

“Ewan…” you began, but he interrupted gently.

“Come with me.”

“What?” You frowned.

He smiled faintly, that half-smile that always meant trouble.

“Let’s go somewhere.”

“Now?” You glanced at the street, at your house, then back at him. “You just showed up.”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet.”

It should have sounded like a bad idea. You should’ve asked for details, for when you’d be back, for anything remotely reasonable. Instead, you just looked at him for one more second.

And nodded.

“Okay.”

This time he looked slightly surprised.

“That was fast.”

“If I’d thought about it any longer, I probably would’ve said no.”

He laughed quietly, the same low laugh you’d missed so much over the past month.

You slipped smoothly into the seat beside him. The truck pulled away from the curb slowly.

For the first few seconds neither of you spoke. All you could hear was the soft, uneven rumble of the engine and the rush of air slipping through the cracked window. The street drifted past outside, familiar houses passing one by one like someone flipping through old memories.

You weren’t looking at the road.

You were looking at him.

He drove with one hand, the other resting loosely on the gearshift. He wore the same slightly faded T-shirt you remembered, the sleeves carelessly rolled halfway up his arms. Sunlight streamed through the windshield and cut across his face in warm light. His lashes cast shadows over his cheeks, and his eyes, focused on the road, seemed lighter than you remembered.

He noticed. The corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

His gaze flicked toward you, lingering with a soft smile and a brightness in his eyes that made you feel, suddenly and completely, at home. No words could’ve explained how much you’d missed him. And now he was here. Right beside you.

“You’re supposed to watch the road,” you murmured.

He chuckled under his breath.

“I missed you… a lot,” he said instead, changing the subject. He did glance back at the road but only for a moment before looking at you again.

“Me too,” you murmured more quietly, your heart trembling.

For a moment he didn’t answer. He just shook his head faintly, like something amused him more than he wanted to admit. His hand left the gearshift and, very naturally — like he did it every day — came to rest on your knee. You didn’t move away.

The road began to lead out of town. Buildings gradually disappeared, replaced by fields and scattered trees. The sun dipped lower and everything took on a golden tint — the asphalt, the grass at the roadside, even the inside of the truck. You leaned your head back against the seat.

“Where were you this time?”

He was silent for a moment.

“Scotland. Then Norway.”

“And you just… came back?” You looked at him.

“Just like that,” he repeated, but more quietly this time. “I missed you.”

The word hung between you for several seconds. Your fingers traced the worn edge of the seat.

“You didn’t text once. I was worried,” you said. Your chin trembled for a fraction of a second; you knew you were close to crying.

“I know,” he answered.

You passed a small lake. The surface of the water was perfectly still, reflecting the orange sky. He slowed instinctively, as if the sight itself calmed him.

“I thought if I texted… I’d want to come back right away.”

You turned your head toward him.

“I wanted to come back. Too much.” He glanced at you — brief, honest.

You didn’t reply. You just slid your hand across the seat and, very shyly, rested it on his forearm. He didn’t pull away. If anything, his thumb moved lightly, almost imperceptibly, across your hand.

The sun began to disappear behind the line of trees. The sky turned pink, then orange, and the air coming through the window grew cooler. You drove in silence for a while, but it wasn’t the same silence as before.

This one was peaceful.

“Are you hungry?” he asked suddenly.

You nodded.

“Dinner?”

You glanced sideways at him.

“Do ice cream count as a meal?”

He smiled immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact answer.

“Absolutely.”

A few minutes later, when the opportunity came, he turned into a small roadside gas station.

It looked almost too quiet. Nearly abandoned, if not for the lights glowing inside the building. No one was lingering around. Only one car stood by a pump. Ewan parked beside it so he could fill up as well. He turned off the engine and stepped out.

Before you followed, you reached into the small compartment near the gearshift and grabbed some change. The coins were cool from the ventilation. You closed your fingers around them tightly.

You’d been sitting for a while — stretching your legs felt good.

When you stepped out of the truck, you notice the large banner hanging above the station. The neon sign over the entrance was already lit, attracting moths and tiny insects. The sun had fully disappeared now, so the artificial light picked out only certain details, but it was still bright enough to see clearly.

The air had turned cooler after the heat of the day. The asphalt still radiated warmth, but the breeze was unmistakably evening.

“I’ll go get ice cream. What flavour do you want?” you asked as Ewan came around from the other side of the truck.

“Vanilla.”

You smiled to yourself. You knew that would be his answer. You’d only asked to confirm how well you knew him.

You turned on your heel and headed toward the building. The automatic doors slid open and you stepped inside. You glanced around before walking deeper into the small shop. At the very back were the refrigerators and… the ice cream machine.

Perfect.

You grabbed two cones. Just as planned. You slipped the coins into the machine and it whirred to life, dispensing pale, soft swirls. You rotated the cone carefully to make it come out even and perfect. Then you repeated the process for your own.

Stepping back, you walked between the aisles, picking up a few napkins from a small stand near the coffee station. One of the refrigerators hummed quietly, and somewhere in the back a device beeped in a steady rhythm.

The automatic doors slid open again with a soft hiss, cool air brushing your face. Outside, it was noticeably darker now. The sky had turned deep blue, with only a faint trace of sunset lingering along the horizon.

Ewan stood by the pump, leaning his hip against the truck. The nozzle had already been returned; he was just waiting. His arms were crossed over his chest, gaze drifting somewhere off to the side like he’d gotten lost in thought.

As you approached, you extended one of the cones toward him — deliberately handing him the nicer, more perfectly shaped one.

“Here.”

“Thanks,” he said.

You both sat down on the curb. He spread his knees just enough that one brushed against yours. A small smile curved your lips before you took a lick of your ice cream.

Your eyes lifted to the sky. The sun was gone, but a pale glow still painted the horizon. In the opposite direction, the sky was already navy. When you focused a little more, you began to notice stars. First one. Then another. Then an entire scattering of them forming shapes you couldn’t quite name. You didn’t know much about constellations, so you couldn’t tell which was which.

“How much longer are we driving?” you asked suddenly.

“I don’t think long,” he replied, biting into the edge of his cone.

“So you don’t even know where we’re going,” you sighed softly but in an amused way, not accusing.

Ewan laughed and nudged you lightly with his shoulder before looking at you properly. His eyes settled on you, warm and steady. And there it was again, that flutter in your stomach. The same one that always appeared when you looked at each other for just a second too long. In moments like that, you knew what real love felt like.

Without thinking much about it, you shifted a little closer and your lips met his.

It was sweet. Soft. Gentle.

Ewan followed the movement of your mouth easily, falling into your rhythm. Your breaths mingled. You could still taste the vanilla, and it made you smile against his lips.

When you finally pulled away, you laughed quietly.

“Your lips are freezing.”

“Oh really? No way,” he teased, gesturing toward the melting ice cream in his hand.

You nodded, smiling, then shifted again. This time resting your head against his shoulder. You closed your eyes for just a second.

The night sounds seemed louder now. Crickets. The faint hum of distant traffic. Ewan’s steady breathing. In that moment, you felt like you weren’t missing anything at all. Because you felt safe. Whole.

Ewan was your home.

A few minutes later, once you’d finished your ice cream, you climbed back into the truck and continued down the road. Ewan turned the radio on quietly, and you curled comfortably into the passenger seat, your legs pulled up slightly, gaze still fixed on the sky.

There were more stars now. So many it almost didn’t feel real. Your smile appeared without you even noticing.

The drive passed far more pleasantly than you’d expected. Probably because you kept your eyes closed most of the time, just listening to Ewan talk about his travels. He shifted topics easily, and you had no intention of stopping him. You loved when he talked like that, when he just kept going. Even if you hadn’t been there beside him, even if the distance had hurt, you loved how alive those trips made him feel.

He told you about mountains. About animals he’d seen. About people who had welcomed him warmly into a small house near the hills. It was funny — even though Ewan was wealthy, he preferred ordinary things. Simple, warm, homely places. Instead of a luxury hotel, he’d stayed with an older couple in a cottage not far from the mountains.

For a moment, you almost felt like you’d been there too. In all those places he described.

“Are we close?” you asked.

Not out of impatience — well, maybe just a little. Mostly out of curiosity. You’d been driving for quite a while now. Night had fully settled in, and the sky was crowded with stars. Like grains of sand scattered across dark velvet.

“I think I found the perfect spot,” Ewan said.

You suddenly felt the truck turn, shifting slightly in your seat. The entire time you’d been positioned so you could only see the sky — not the road, not the houses, not even where you were anymore.

You had no idea where he had taken you.

You lifted yourself slightly in the seat, and your eyes widened when you saw what Ewan had found.

A small clearing stretched out before you, surrounded by old pines and oaks whose dark silhouettes rose like quiet guardians from the earth. The moon — still low, still young in the sky — reflected in the delicate drops of dew clinging to the grass, making it look like millions of tiny diamonds scattered across the ground.

The air smelled of damp earth and pine needles. A light breeze stirred the branches overhead, creating a soft rustling that almost sounded like whispering. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint murmur of a stream. The whole scene felt surreal. Like you were suddenly completely alone in the world, as if time itself had paused just for you.

Ewan stepped out first, his footsteps soft against the wet grass. When he turned toward you, the moonlight caught in his eyes, giving them a strange, almost hypnotic glow.

“Come on. You have to see this up close,” he said, and there was unmistakable excitement in his voice.

You climbed out of the truck and felt the cool grass beneath your feet. After a brief thought, you decided to leave your shoes in the car. With every step, small leaves and flowers brushed gently against your ankles. The clearing was perfectly round, encircled by trees, and at its center lay a shallow dip in the earth.

You tilted your head up toward the sky and realized the stars were even brighter here than before. Millions of points of light reflected in your eyes, and with every blink it felt as though the entire universe was smiling down at you. Ewan moved closer, and his presence made your heart beat faster. You weren’t sure whether it was from the chill in the air or the strange, electric tension that seemed to hang between you.

At the far edge of the clearing was a small pond, its surface dark and glass-like, as if someone had poured a sheet of mirror onto the earth. Tree branches shimmered in its reflection, and the moon on the water looked as though it were melting into silver streaks you almost wanted to reach out and touch. The scent of moisture blended with faint wildflowers, and the silence was so deep that your breathing sounded louder, more deliberate.

Ewan reached out his hand. His fingers brushed yours gently, unhurried.

“Do you like it?” he asked softly.

“Very much.”

You stepped closer to him. Rising onto your toes, you closed the distance and pressed your lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss.

“I love you, Ewan,” you whispered against his breath.

“I love you too,” he replied, holding you firmly in his arms.

He just hums, dragging his free hand over your ass. “Need me, huh?”

You nod desperately. His mouth curves, and he finally puts his book down.

“You can need me, doll.” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Just take what I give, alright?”

You can do that. Bucky doesn’t like to torture you, so at least it will be something.

Something close to torture, but also pure heaven.

Being pinned to Bucky’s chest and made to warm his cock.

He’s so hard inside of you. Pressing on every single right spot without any friction, lazily drawing patterns on your hips and thighs while still reading his damn book.

You toss your head back on his shoulder, your eyes going unfocused. The pleasure is almost too much to bear. You’re being made into a live wire that’s not allowed to spark. Approaching the best part of the most beautiful song in the world, but never allowed to hear tit

Begging does nothing. You know that.

It doesn’t stop you from shamelessly doing so, as your body becomes slick with sweat, your heartbeat pounding desperately in your ears.

“More.” You breathe out, twisting to kiss back over his neck. “More, Bucky, please-“

You’re rewarded—or punished—with Bucky’s thumb grazing over your clit. You moan, clenching around him, and get a soft slap on your thigh.

“Keep still.” He mutters, soothing over the hurt, and you nod a little stupidly.

You don’t know how long he expects you to last like this, but you know it’s far too long. All you can do is feel him in your throat, feel the slightly pressure whenever he takes a long breath, drive yourself insane trying not to flutter around him or grind down,

Your thoughts run wild. Fantasies brought on by your predicament, how easy it is to imagine Bucky’s thick cock driving in and out of you, how deep he can it, the drag of him inside you while his metal thumb would play with your clit.

The tight circles he’d draw, as he hit that spot inside of you and moaned in your ear. Hot, sticky skin slapped against yours, the wet sound filling the room, his cum leaking down your thigh as he kept going into round twod. The fever behind every kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed. Wandering hands leaving bruises, small love bites all over your neck, sensitive skin teased as he’d fill you up, over and over and over-

“You’re leaking, doll.” Bucky mutters, and you flush.

You are. You’re gushing around his cock, staining on his pants and he’s still just holding you to his chest.

You whimper, risking one wiggle for anything, but you’re too over stimulated. You almost scream, back arching, and Bucky yanks you back against his chest.

“Dirty girl.” He drags his thumb over your lower lip, and you moan. “All this and I’m not even fuckin’ you.”

Tears are pricking at your eyes, and you try to say something—even to just beg, until he spanks your clit and you get to scream again—but only babbling, hopeless sounds come out.

Bucky chuckles, and the sound vibrates in your abused, split open cunt.

You moan, eyes fluttering, and Bucky slips his thumb between your lips. You take it quickly, sucking like you know he likes, moaning every few seconds in an invitation.

He almost takes it. You feel his cock twitch inside you, when you flick your tongue against the pad of the finger. You moan again, and his hips shift, a low grunt leaving his chest.

But you won’t win this. Not against Bucky.

He presses his thumb deeper, and goes back to reading his book. You’re flushed and cock-drunk, ready for him to have however he wants, but this is how he likes you.

Blissed out and ready to snap, if he so much as flicks your clit. Sucking his thumb and moaning around him whenever he so much a whispers a low praise, putty in his arms and happier for it.

Later, when he takes mercy, you’re going to end up below him while he drills into you from behind, under him with hooded and adoring eyes while he paints your thighs white, over him as he fucks up into you, your hands shaking as you struggle to stay upright.

Right now, he just wants you right here.

“Just a little longer,” he murmurs, but you both know that’s a lie.

He’s going to keep you here all night. Even after he cums, you’ll just stayed pinned to his cock, his release mixing with your arousal, maybe being fed to you as you whine and wait for round two.

You’re going to let him.

Losing your mind is a small price to pay, when you’re trapped in paradise.