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YOU ARE THE REASON
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@retoast
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Unravelled
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: Tonight was about slow. But momentum takes control. Tags/Warnings: plot what plot, pet names, m!receiving anal, f!receiving oral, ambiguous relationship between the three Word Count: 720
+toast yap ! I am at the beck and call of my girlies ⊠thanks for the idea @rosemint-tea @sassandscribbles, popped my Stucky cherry âŠ
Nothing could be sweeter than the sound of Bucky gasping against your lips.
You kissed him slow, filthy, your tongue tangling with his as he choked on another moan.
âBaby, youâre doing so good,â you purred, stroking his cheek as yet another shudder wracked his body.
Peeking over his shoulder at Steve, you winked. Steveâs smile bloomed, his hand resting at the small of Buckyâs back gently steadying him.
âYou good, Buck?â
There was a sound somewhere between a grunt and a whimper, and you held back your giggle.
Ghosting kisses against his lips, his cheeks, and his damp forehead, you ran your fingers carefully through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp just the way he liked.
His cock hung heavy between you, untouched, bobbing against your stomach with every thrust he took. You ached to press up against himâbut that wasnât what tonight was about.
Shuffling further up the bed from where Bucky knelt on all fours over you, you carefully took his shoulders in your hands and encouraged him to lay his head down in your lap.
Steve took the opportunity to drive deeper, a slow grind that pressed Buckyâs face against the curve of your belly, his guttural moan into your plush soft skin making you bite your lip.
âI know, darling,â you murmured, stroking his hair back from his forehead in time with the tortuously slow strokes of Steveâs cock inside him. âYou needed this, didnât you, hm?â
Bucky huffed a soft yes against your skin, pressing open mouthed kisses into your body.
Above him, Steve breathed out a groan, his dark eyes flicking between where he fucked Bucky deep and where Buckyâs head lay.
âSo pretty,â he grunted. âSo damn pretty, punk.â
Groaning long and deep at the praise, Buckyâs teeth scraped against you, lips closing on a light nip at your skin, and you couldnât control the way you jerked up into him.
The rasp of his stubble against your belly, your thighs, and the sensitive skin between drove you wild. You rocked beneath him again, hand at the back of his head urging him lower, until finally his chin brushed against your mound and you sobbed in near-relief.
Bucky caught on quick. He pushed lower, tongue searching for your clit. Your hand in his hair clenched hard, angling him just so, untilâthere.
Your strangled cry when his tongue pressed and curled matched his low groan at the tangy taste of you.
Bucky ate at you greedily, tongue lapping at your aching folds, drool dripping down his chin to mix with your slick.
âIs heâ?â
âYes,â you hissed, and Steveâs jaw clenched.
His pace never changed, rhythm holding steady, but you felt the shift in power when every driving thrust forward sank him deeper inside Buckyâs body, and Buckyâs face deeper into you. Your hips caught the rhythm, pressing up into his tongue, moaning over the sound of skin on skin.
Your hands stayed woven in Buckyâs hair, keeping him buried deep in your cunt.
He groaned into your flesh when Steve rutted deeper, hummed against you, sending tingling lightening over your skin, but never did he give you his fingers. Your pussy clenched around nothing, aching to be filled, but Bucky knew better.
After all, that wasnât what tonight was about.
He only pulled away once.
âYou gonna cum?â
âYes,â you and Steve groaned in unison.
Steve fell first. He lost all rhythm, rutting into Bucky with singleminded determination, hands gripping his hips and face scrunched in desperate concentration. Until finally, pressing deep, he came hard with a gasp, pulling Buckyâs hips back tight against him.
Slumping forward the weight of Steveâs body pressed that delightful tongue deeper, Buckyâs nose grinding down onto your clit, and you jerked in his grasp as your orgasm flooded over you.
Your keening cry sent Bucky over the edge and with a shuddering groan he finally came, spilling into the sheets.
Bucky lapped greedily at everything you gave, moaning at the taste, prolonging your pleasure with every swipe of his tongue. You were a quivering mess, moaning helplessly beneath him.
When he slowed, pressing a last precious kiss into you, he rolled to the side, taking Steve with him, using your sweat-slicked thigh as a pillow.
Somewhere between the tangle of bodies, Steveâs hand snaked up to capture yours.
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No Good At Movinâ On
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: Some flames still smoulder, no matter how many years pass since they were tended. Youâre just not sure if this one should flare back to life. Tags/Warnings: Songfic. No use of y/n. Ambiguously older Bucky and reader. Ex-relationship. Consumption of alcohol but no drunkenness. Little angst and pining. Word Count: 1.3k Currently Listening: âSwore I Was Leavingâ by Lady A đ” AO3 âą Masterlist
A drink was all you came for.
It wasn't often you stepped through the door of Sam's bar, but after shearing the last of your herd in the morning and arguing with the stock agency all afternoon, you'd needed a moment away from the farm to regroup. Maybe to dull your mind a bit.
You hadn't bargained on the lone figure darkening the corner of the bar.
Too late now.
"Sam," you murmured in greeting to the man behind the bar as you dragged out a stool to take a seat. Sam nodded in your direction, his eyes shooting from you, down the bar, and back.
You didn't need your peripheral to know he'd turned to take you in the moment you stepped inside.
The rest of the room hummed with energy, jukebox playing over folks chatting and sharing a meal to wind down the week. But up here it felt electric, like it was just you and him in the whole place, with Sam the only buffer between you.
The scrape of wood on wood was your warning, your spine stiffening as footsteps approached.
And just like that, his warm voice slid over you, dark and heady like the whisky he cradled in his hand.
"Fancy seein' you here, darlin'.â
With one last fortifying breath you turned to him, and your mouth went dry.
The years had been kind to Bucky Barnes.
Everything you had admired about him back in the day had sharpened. Wisened. The worn leather of his jacket hung from his broad shoulders like a lover, the plaid beneath soft and begging for your hands to touch, then delve beneath where you knew he was all hardened muscle and mouth-watering sinew.
With a dusting of salt through his beard and kind lines etched into his handsome face, he was absolutely devastating.
His eyes dropped, taking you in from head to toe in the same way your gaze had perused him, and you swallowed thickly.
"Jamesâ"
"You used to call me Bucky. When we were friends."
Blue eyes searched yours, that crinkle of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes stirring up things you swore you'd packed away for good.
"We're friends, right?"
A memory rocked you, his words from long ago echoing through your mind.
No, we can't be friends. Don't think I can take seein' you knowin' where we've been.
"We were never good at just bein' friends." You said the words because you needed the reminder as much as he did.Â
He chuckled, a low rumble deep in his chest, and you crossed your legs on the stool.
His eyes tracked the movement.
"I was just thinkin' 'bout closin' my tab. Then you came in here lookin' like that."
You know if you stay this is going to go somewhere you thought you didn't want to go again.
"I could turn back around. I probably should.â
He quirked a brow at you, still standing, his intention clear but still giving you the room to decide.
You sighed. "One drink."
He turned to motion to Sam, but the barkeep only had eyes for you. He hadn't said a word, but still he checked in, making sure whatever this was happening in his bar was on the up-and-up.
You flashed him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded. Only then did he start working on your drinks, and Bucky slid onto the barstool at your side.
His thigh pressed too close and you could feel his presence like a furnace, heat radiating from him and that addictive woody scent he wore weaving its way through your fickle senses.
Conversation flowed slowly, if a little stilted. One drink turned into two, with a bowl of hot chips served between you.
âHowâs Becca?â You asked, plucking a chip to munch on. The distraction was good, something for your hands to do. Something safe.
Bucky smiled fondly, his gaze somewhere off in the distance. âYeah, doinâ real good. Sheâs got a little one now. Iâm an uncle.â
You smiled even as something in your chest twisted. Heâd always wanted little ones underfoot âŠ
âLucky her,â you said, your voice cracking on the words.Â
He took another sip of whisky, eyes still not meeting yours, but the way his smile turned wryâyou know he heard.
Familiar guitar chords struck up from the jukebox, a melody full of memories and times long past winding through the bar.
Buckyâs eyes found yours. His gaze was soft, melancholy, when he murmured, âRemember this?â
Taking a sip of amber for strength, you felt your cheeks flush hot. Of course you remembered those hot summer nights in this very bar, the town festival in full swing around you as the two of you circled on that dance floor like satellites in inevitable orbit.
âYeah. I remember.â Your voice was lower than you meant it to be, a husky sound full of what once was.
His hands fidgeted with his glass for a moment, something tumbling around his mind the same way the glass turned in his hand. You were mesmerised by the movement, watching whisky tilt and shift, and ice clink to and fro.
His hands stilled. Your eyes trailed up to meet his.
âIt'd be a shame if I didn't ask you for a dance.â
Sliding from the stool he offered you his hand, that charming boyish smile of his setting your pulse racing and your heart fluttering in ways you thought youâd grown out of.
âFor old times' sake.â
You couldnât resist. For old timesâ sake.
The chorus started when he drew you close, and the lyrics whispered sweet lies of young love and endless nights. You stood with two hands clasped together and pressed to his chest between you, the other curved up around his shoulder and his wound steady across the small of your back, and fell into an easy sway with the music.
From this close you could feel every shift in his body, every rigid line held taught with restraint, and a soft sigh escaped as you rested your head into his shoulder.
What could have been?
You didnât realise you had uttered the words out loud until you felt him lean down to you, his lips brushing the curve of your ear.
His voice was barely a breath, but his words vibrated through you to the core. âI know it ain't right to drag this along, but I'm no good at movin' on.â
Your breath shuddered and your heart beat so hard you thought your ribs could bruise. He shifted, lips parting against your skin like there was more, but he said nothing else.
Together you swayed in silence, rotating around the floor until the final chords of the song.
Parting, his hand still in yours, the two of you stood still, captured in the moment. Eyes locked and so much unsaid filled the empty space between you.
You pulled away and reached for your glass, downing another mouthful, hand unsteady when you caught his rueful grin.
"Well,â he started, voice rough. âThe bar's nearly closed." His dark eyes met yours and held. "I hate bein' alone and that rock in your glass is half gone."
You swirled the ice in your glass like it was a magic eight ball, hoping to find answers in the amber depths.
All those years ago youâd thought nothing would hurt more than that final touch. Sitting here now, you think leaving with him tonight might do it.
âI have an early start,â you murmured, shrugging, like any farmer here couldnât say the same.
Including him. Buckyâs smile turned down at the corners, and though you saw a flicker in his eyes you knew he wouldnât fight you on this. You were grateful you could trust in him, even if a quiet whisper within wondered how quickly you would fold if he ever stood firm.
You offered him a smile. A real one. It was all you could manage.
âGoodbye, Bucky.â
He nodded, smile blooming once more in return, and leaned in. His lips brushed your cheek, soft and bittersweet.
"Gânight, darlinâ,â he murmured, emphasising the first word. âWith us itâs never goodbye.â
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ăăă #JuneJukeboxScribbles
â 2nd â Garsiv x Tamina (Prince of Persia) âą prompt: No I canât promise that I wont do that
word count: 400 (I swear I tried)
âLeave me be!â Tamina hissed, her robes swishing around her as she stalked through the Persian camp, her ire forever trained on the commander at her back.
âNever.â
Whipping around to confront him, her sudden turn forcing him back, she jabbed a finger into his chest.
His beautiful, broad, strong chest.
âNeed I remind you of who I am bound to? I am your sister in marriage.â
His eyes flashed as he glanced around. This end of the camp was deserted, his soldiers joining the revelry around the royal encampment.
Grasping her arm, Garsiv dragged her into the closest sleeping tent, ignoring her protests and flipping the draped door shut.
The illusion of privacy.
âDonât insult me with your reminder, Princess.â
âYou insult your brother every time you lay hands on me.â
âAnd you insult him every time you reciprocate.â
She drew in a shaky breath and held up her hand in warning. Or surrender. Even Tamina could not tell the difference.
âDonât follow me,â she said firmly. But her gaze dropped along with her voice as she said, âDonât think of me. Promise me, Prince.â
âNo.â Defiant refusal.
A strangled sound of exasperation ripped from her, but he reached for her hand and she hated how soothing his war-calloused touch felt.
âNo, I canât promise that I wonât do that.â His voice, a low rumble, made her tremble at his words. âI will think of you every night, Tamina. You will haunt my days and torture my dreams. I will sweat you out like poison and still you will torment me. Youâre in my veins, in my heart, and even your precious dagger could not cut you from me.â
âGarsiv, pleaseââ
âDo not use that sweet voice on me. Do not plead with honey on your lips.â
His gaze dropped, heavily, deliberately, to her mouth, and she drew a shaky breath.
âOr I will pull words and sounds from you that would shake the very foundations of your beliefs. Until I show you the divinity I can wring from your body. Until you can no longer think.â
She was shattered. Frozen in place, unable to defend against the raw honesty of his words, Tamina simply stared up at him with a hopeless gaze.
A hopelessness echoed in his eyes as he stared at all that was denied him.
âNever again ask me to promise the impossible.â
ăăă #JuneJukeboxScribbles
â 1st â Garsiv x Tamina (Prince of Persia) âą prompt: I never understood a single word he said
word count: 294
Eyeing the heavily scented room with growing disdain, Garsiv didnât bother to mask his expression as the Princess joined him in the centre of the lower temple.
She read him quickly, however, folding her arms with a quirk of her brow.
âYou have no interest in Alamutian customs,â she stated.
Incense mixed with the aroma of perfume oils from her warm skin, and he shook his head to dispel her effect on him.
She took that as an answer.Â
âLike any barbarian you place more faith in the edge of your steel than that held in these sacred halls.â
His gaze traced the delicate embroidery of her robe, then the intricate tile work of the room, finally lifting to the muqarnas of the vaulted ceiling. He shuffled his shoulders in a shrug.
âThe colours inspire feeling.â He faced the Princess, hands clasped behind his back. âMuch like murals of childrenâs tales.â
Her eyes flashed and her expression soured. âYour father never taught you to hold your tongue on othersâ beliefs when within their walls.â
âI never understood a thing he said about faith. Man was quicker with his tongue than a blade.â
âA trait you failed to inherit.â
His eyes grew calculated, then narrowed, and the soft uptick of his lips should have warned her.
âI found better use of my tongue, and where to stick my sword effectively.â
Flushing with agitation, keeping a sharp hold on her wits lest she imagine the bawdy acts he alluded to, the Princess whirled away.
âSince you have no business here I shanât keep you a moment longer. Feel free to leave the temple grounds.â
She looked back over her shoulder briefly, gaze catching his.
âImmediately.â
âBut, Princess,â he murmured, watching Tamina storm off. âIâm feeling inspired.â

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Help me why is this farmer Bucky FaceTiming his girl??? (750 words)
Your country boy was true to his word.
First thing morning his time, knowing the time difference, he video called you from his porch, mug of coffee in hand and his bleary eyes taking you in.
âDarlinâ,â he grunted in greeting, the crackle of his voice filling the hotel room.
And youâre happy to see his face, you really are. With just one word he can settle your skittering nerves and centre you again. But since you flew out days ago for this awards night youâve felt fried and wired and didnât know what to do with yourself. Not without the reassurance of him by your side.
âBucky, Iâm nervous.â
He straightened in his chair, coffee lowering as a deeply etched frown settled over him.Â
âWhat for?â
âI tried on the dress again last nightââ
âAnd you looked beautiful.â
The dress was tighter than your last fitting, quite snug where it hadnât been before. âIââ
âYou looked beautiful,â he insisted, his stern voice gruff with sleep. âSay it.â
âAnd I looked beautiful,â you echoed with a small smile, your voice even smaller.
âAnd yâshowed me the design. I bet that waistline hangs perfect. You probably look like a faerie floating over the floor.â
You melt at his pretty words, tears gathering quickly, and he clucked his tongue at you.
âCome on, darlinâ, ainât nothinâ to cry over.â
His gaze slid away with interest at the background of your room, and you tilted your camera to show him your makeup artists and stylist teams rushing about the suite, Natasha Romanoff in the centre of it all like she was directing troops.
âYer each nominated fâtwo awards and when yer namesâ called theyâre gonna be cheerinâ from the rafters.â
You smiled at his endless support, but worried your lip between your teeth. âBut what if they sayââ
Buckyâs long sigh cut you off and you dropped your gaze from your phone.
This was ridiculous. You felt ridiculous, fretting so much. You had attended the BRIT Awards before. Many awards shows before. They made a million observations about your attire and your figure for as long as you could remember. Nothing about this was new.
Except that this time it was. Brand new.
âLook at me.â
You looked up shyly. Bright blue eyes held yours, his steady and sure gaze already doing wonders for your racing heart. âThey say things. Yâknow they do. Youâve worn it all before, taken it on the chin. Yer an old hand at this game, honey.â
Natashaâs sharp voice cut across the room.
âWhy arenât you here, Barnes?â
Gone were the days when Bucky was starry-eyed over the Queen of country musicânow he scowled at Natashaâs voice, having no time for her ribbing.
âShe just hoped youâd bring Sam with you.â
You heard her aghast noises of denial but you ignored them all, quietly laughing with Bucky.
She finally strolled forward and clapped back with, âYou leave me to look after your wife and I donât get no thanks for it.â Natasha jabbed a finger at the phone camera. âWith all this expectinâ goinâ on Iâll be doinâ some expectinâ of my own. Like an apology, farm boy.â
âI got it, Romanoff.â
âSheâs out here glowing, looking absolutely radiant, and she ainât got no husband to lean on so she can shine.â
âI said I got it,â he snapped.
With a huff, Natasha gave you a pointed look and stalked off.
Buckyâs rigid jaw and tense shoulders told you more about his real mood than his feigned casualness earlier. âSheâs not been helpinâ yer mood I take it.â
âShe doesnât know how else to deal with the news.â
That made him pause, a dawning understanding lighting his eyes. âSheâs happy fâus at least.â
âWithout a doubt. Sheâs started the countdown already.â
The rumble of his laughter eased through you.
âFutureâs bright. Dazzlinâ.â He pinned you with those beautiful blue eyes again. âAnd so will you be out there.â
Bucky cleared his throat, and for the first time this call he looked bashful.
âAnd when yer done galavantinâ around you can come home tâme and Iâll look after you. You andâŠâ he trailed off, cheeks flushing, and your beaming smile felt like the sun released from dark clouds.
âYes, baby,â you said quietly, and his lips twitched with a proud smile of his own.
âAâight, darlinâ. You go get ready now and Iâll be watching you on the TV later. You text me if you need anythinâ, you hear?â
a/n ! Was I too subtle? đ
Exposure
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: When you send some inspiring photos to your super soldier boyfriend while heâs away on a mission, you donât expect such an enthusiastic response. Tags/Warnings: established relationship, male masturbation, phone sex in a public place, sending nudes Word Count: 840 AO3
My wife @buckysdecaflove said BET and who am I to deny her?
Youâd sent them before you fell asleep last night.
It was late, but that didnât mean a thing when you didnât know what time zone your super soldier superhero boyfriend was currently in. Youâd switched off all but the bedside lamp as you undressed for the evening. Catching sight of your body in the mirror, glowing in the soft amber light, coupled with the ache of missing him, lended you some confidence.
You posed for him. A cheeky hand placement here, a little drool dripping from your open mouth to your chest there, and texted the photos through with a simple kiss emoji.
The photos already forgotten about the next morning, you were delightfully surprised to see your boyfriend calling as you rushed down the station stairs to catch your train.
âHey, baby,â you breathed as you slipped through the double door of the train, clutching your bag closer to your body and making your way into the carriage.
âThere she is.â
His voice crackled, but the heartbeat delay of the international call did nothing to hide the roughness of his tone or the way his voice wound through you like wine, warming you and settling hot and deep within.
âBucky, where are you?â
A pause. âCanât say.â
Thereâs soft sounds in the background. Cloth rustling, the creaky ping of tired old bedsprings, and Buckyâs breath huffing in the receiver.
âAre you okay?â You ask, the seed of worry beginning to grow in your mind.
But Bucky has his own unique way of setting you at ease and sending your heart soaring in the same breath.
âOkay? Iâm about to combust from those pics you sent, doll.â
Oh.
Oh.
âYou liked that, did you?â You murmur, trying to keep your voice low.
His ragged groan in response had you biting your lip, your eyes darting to your feet to hide your pleasure at the sound.
âGot me hard as a nail thinkinâ about you all naked and pretty alone in our bed. You touch yourself thinkinâ oâ me, babe?â
You hadnât, not last night, but what was a little lie to help his situation? âYes,â you breathed, a fluttering hand rising to your chest as your heartbeat spiked.
He groaned again and you heard more popping of bedsprings, and suddenly you realised exactly what your super soldier was doing out there all alone.
âBet you sounded so fuckinâ pretty whimpering and aching fâme,â he rasped, his voice breaking with stuttered breaths. âWanna bite that gorgeous skin of yours, doll. Wanna feel you under me and fuâfuck those tits while you drool all over my cock.â
Biting back the whimper that threatened to spill out of you, you pressed your hand firm against your mouth, eyes darting around at the passengers crowded close.
âBucky,â you murmured in warning, âIâm on the train to work right now.â
âFunny, âcause I wanna fucking rail you right now.â
Squeezing your eyes shut and your thighs together, you breathed heavily out your nose as you listened to the unmistakeable sound of skin on skin and Buckyâs ragged breath as he jerked off at the thought of you.
âWanna⊠wanna fuck that sweet pussy of yours,â he grunted, and you imagined the way his hand was fisting the head of his cock, how heâd spit into his palm and fuck up into his hand pretending it was you riding him. âWanna get so deep you feel me fâdays. Get you so wet and cockdrunk you just take it all and beg for more.â
The tangy taste of metal flooded your mouth as you bit your lip so hard to not utter a sound.
Your stop was coming soon.
It sounded like Bucky was too.
âWhen youâre home,â you promise him, your voice thready and soft, and just the sound alone makes him groan louder, move faster. You try to rub your thighs together to soothe the ache heâs built within you.
ââM gonna ⊠gonna cum, doll. Need to. Need you.â
His voice stuttered, his words barely a low moan of sound, and you nodded even though he couldnât see. âDo it,â you told him on a whisper. âDo it now.â
The ding! of the arriving station couldnât cover up his groan as he came, the sound setting your skin on fire and making you swallow hard as you unsteadily stepped off the train.
âBaby, I miss you,â you told him, voice more confident now you were moving.
âHome tomorrow,â he grunted. âMiss you too.â
You had to leave. You said your heartfelt goodbye and dashed away a small tear as you hung up on him, walking the few blocks to your workplace.
Until a notification sound had you looking at your phone again.
A message from Bucky.
You opened your phone to the glorious sight of your boyfriend splayed out on a rickety old mattress on the floor, his shirt hiked up and cock hard, with the telltale streaks of hot cum splattered across his stomach.
And the text.
Thinking of you x
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Like That Rush
Pairing: Nick Fowler x reader Summary: Nick had a bad day. You take him to the edge and drag him over. Tags / Warnings: established relationship, this is fun so MDNI, hair pulling, use of force (but reader is into it), unsafe blood play, degradation, dacryphilia, reader likes pushing Nickâs buttons, smut (blow job, unprotected p in v) Word Count: 1.6k Currently Listening: âSavageâ by Bahari đ” (bitmastr remix for extra oomph) AO3
You heard the key in the door just before it swung open and slammed against the wall.
Hm. It was one of those days.
âHi, honey,â you called in a sing-song voice. you could practically hear the way his teeth ground together from here. âIâm in the living room.â
âGet a kit,â was the grumbled response, a closed door and some heavy thuds of a briefcase and shoes following.
Smiling to yourself you set aside your laptop and the report you were working on and met him in the hallway.
He looked like heâd been in a fight. The kind of fight where the other guy comes off second best.
His dishevelled shirt and coat. Blood on his knuckles. The blooming bruise hidden in the stubble of his jaw.
âArenât you a sight for sore eyes,â you said, stalking toward him slowly to wind your hands into the lapels of his coat.
âWhy do I put up with you?â He muttered.
Head tilted to the side, you took in his demeanour. He was strung as tight as a bow. âWhatâs that thing they say about the sunshine characters who end up with the grumpy ones?â
âI donât know,â he said, eyes calculating as he looked you over. âWho are you calling grumpy?â
Your smile cracked and your eyes narrowed on him. âI called myself the sun, too. You want me to burn you, honey?â
His lip twisted and he grabbed your arm, his grip so tight you winced.
âYou should shut your mouth,â he said, voice clipped and jaw tight.
Smirking, you pecked a kiss at the air before him, and something dark flashed in his eyes.
Got him.
With his hold alone he forced you down to your knees, but you stubbornly met his gaze, eyes never leaving his as he grit his teeth and glared at you.
âNot so bright now, huh, sunshine?â
His eyes flickered to the full length mirror down the hall and a decision was made.
He dragged you across the floor, your knees burning as you scrambled to keep up. Bringing you to a stop before the mirror he dropped your arm to grab your hair and pull it back, forcing you to look at yourself.
And at him standing tall behind you.
You smiled, all teeth and flashing eyes.
âTough day at work?â
Your voice was sickly sweet. His eye twitched.
âYou have no idea.â
You stretched in his grasp, lengthening your throat, and you watched as the apple of his bobbed as he swallowed thickly.
âTell me about it, baby,â you crooned, hands lifting to clasp around where he clutched your hair, fingers stroking at his ripped and bloodied skin, finding the spots still sticky and pumping sluggishly and pressing in.
With a scowl he leaned in quick and grabbed at your cheeks with his other hand, squeezing your face. âYouâd like that wouldnât you,â he growled. âTo hear all the nasty shit I got up to while you were here all day.â
He released your face with a flick of his wrist, smearing red in his wake.
Catching his eye in the mirror you made sure he watched as your tongue flicked out to try to lick at the swipe of rust on your skin.
âCanât tell if thatâs blood or blush.â With a sneer his voice came out in a deep rumble, his eyes dark.
He reached for you again, thumb smearing the stain further across your skin until he touched your mouth. Thumb and forefinger pinched at your lower lip, drawing it down.
âLet me clean you up,â you slur around his fingers, and let your tongue loll out.
With a grunt of approval, Nick pushed his thumb in, the taste of metal flooding your senses and making you moan. Your eyes fluttered shut as your mouth closed around him, tongue swirling, and you hear the hitch in his breathing.
Your eyes snap open, taking in his slack-jawed expression and dazed eyes as you suck off his thumb like itâs everything you ever wanted.
Itâs not though.
You started unbuckling his belt. He tore his hand from your mouth to slap your hands away but you reached for him again anyway.
He tightened his grip on your hair and your gaze clashed with his, but with his belt unbuckled and button popped all you had to do was unzip him.
The zrrp of his zipper rang out loudly over the silence.
âGive me your cock.â The sweetest demand.
Huffing out a growl of frustration he dragged your face into his crotch, pressing your cheek hard against the line of his zipper, the metal teeth biting into your skin.
âSay please.â
Rolling your eyes, you jut out your bottom lip for him. âPlease do as I ask.â
He doesnât even let you do it yourself. He shoved his other hand down his briefs and dragged out his thick length.
Warm velvety skin hits your forehead then nose and you breath in deep, audibly, letting out a soft sound at the feel and smell of him.
Hand on his thigh for support, you lap at his cock, tongue stroking, tasting, until with a twist of his wrist, Nick forced you back again.
âGive it to me already,â you huff, hand clenching tighter and nails digging into his thigh when he tries to smirk down at you.
With a curse, he palmed the base and slowly, deliberately, inch by inch, fed you his dick.
Moaning around the heavy weight on your tongue, you take it all.
âYouâre so good with my dick down your throat,â he groaned, and you swallow around him just to shut him up.Â
You want to score his flesh. You want to make him cry and whimper. Instead, you breathe in deep through your nose and take him all the way, head nudging the back of your throat.
His fist in your hair tightens and he forces himself impossibly deeper, your nose crushed against his pelvis, gagging and tears leaking from the fullness of him. You could only hold on.
He fucked your mouth like it was your cunt, relentlessly burying himself in until you were choking, desperate for air, and you shoved hard to force yourself off him.
He grabbed at the base of his cock hard and you felt a rush of grim satisfaction at stopping when he was so close.
âFucking asshole,â you rasped, voice hoarse and cracking. Coughing, you spat saliva and precum at his feet.
âDonât waste it, baby,â he chuckled meanly.
âThatâs not all youâve got for me,â you said, rising to your feet and grabbing the back of his neck, dragging him down to your lips.
It wasnât a kiss, more a battle of who was hungrier, teeth clashing and tongues dueling in a sensual contest of taste and motion.
Locked together, you staggered down the hall, remapping the walls and floor, a flurry of hands and clothes flying. A picture frame knocked, dropped, and shattered, but neither of you cared.
Nick turned you in his grasp, shoving you down onto the bed, making you scramble to get your knees under you. Heâs on you in seconds.
âIâm addicted to you,â he murmured, hand on your waist, nudging the head of his cock against your core. You were already so slick with wanting he slipped easily between your wet lips, sinking one inch before holding back.
âThen youâll be in trouble when I leave, wonât you?â You rocked your hips against his, forcing him in deeper.
A sound like a snarl tore from his lips and he drew away. âYouâre not leaving me.â
His grip tightened and with one brutal thrust he slid home, burying himself so deep your desperate cry fades into a sigh of relief.
âYou make me so fucking mad,â he grunted, driving into you, setting a pace so dizzying you tear at the sheets and hang on.
âCrazy mad?â You pant out, arching into his thrusts. âAngry mad?â
âMad withâfuckâ!â he cuts off into a strangled groan as you clench around him.
âMad with fuck, baby? You crazy for this pussy?â
He grabs your throat tight enough to make you gasp, dragging your body up toward his by your neck, and thereâs no more talking. No more goading him on. Just Nick rutting into you endlessly, his cock punishing you for every word youâve uttered since he arrived home, and you press your hips back into him, wanting it, taking it, desperate for everything he can give you.
When you cum it feels like the whole world might cave in. And you dragged him down with you.
Collapsing into the bed, throat and cunt feeling raw inside and out, you could only whimper into the sheets as he emptied himself inside you.
Thereâs a pause, a silence only marred by staggered breaths and the creaking of the bed frame.
Nick slid down next to you, hands gently guiding you to curl into him.
He admired your tear-stained face, mascara a smudged shadow of war paint around your eyes, lips swollen and cheeks flushed, and you revel in the way his gaze softens, his hand gentle as he cups your cheek.
âYouâre the most beautiful thing Iâve ever seen,â he whispered, and you reached out to brush light fingertips against the cut hidden beneath his hairline. His jaw is as black and bruised as your neck will be come morning, and you want to giggle at how perfectly he matches you.
âGod, I love you baby.â
a/n ! My first Nick fic. heh. I donât know what this is but that song Savage got me in a chokehold and this came out..
Bucky disappeared early in the day. You didnât say a word when he crossed to the kitchen for a plum before heading out, long before the others woke.
Later, when Walker asked where his grumpy ass was, you gave a noncommittal shrug and left the common area of the tower.
But later that night, after the sun set and the fireworks began to light up the city, you grabbed a couple beers from the fridge and headed out to the landing.
Bucky sat far too close to the edge, closer than you were comfortable being, but you dropped onto the cold metal beside him and offered him a drink.
Red, white, and blue coloured the city below you both. Happy fourth, indeed.
But next to you was a man struggling with more independence than he could handle. Today, of all days.
âYou miss him,â you said, taking a long swig from the bottle.
You felt him tense, saw his shadow change as he turned away from you for a moment.
He grunted once, affirmative.
You let the silence hang a little longer, both watching the fireworks displays below.
âDo you ever get mad he left?â
This time, tension left his body in a whoosh. Sneaking a glance to the side, you could only say he looked tired. Face drawn, eyes shining a little too brightly.
âHe had a life to go back to,â he said simply.
âAnd you didnât?â
Bucky shook his head slowly. âI was a dead man. Nothing left for me back there.â
You bit your lip, the words on the tip of your tongue. A long sideways glance and a nudge, like he was saying out with it, made the words tumble forward.
âBut now heâs back there.â
His lips drew into a grim line.
âHe more than paid his dues. He earned it.â
You let your gaze linger this time, from his long hair to the grey in his beard, and the way his shoulders slumped.
When would he ever stop paying for his past?
You held out your beer.
After a moment, Bucky lifted his too.
Knocking them together with a loud chime, you murmured, âHappy birthday, Cap,â and took a swig.
After a pause, Bucky did too.
You donât know how long you sat out there with him. But when your head rested on his shoulder, he didnât hesitate to lean into you too.
even if he accepted it, some days would be too hard to handle
Iâll Take the Sticks, Iâll Take the Stones
Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x wife!reader
Summary: You dislike the false glamour of politics, but your husband Bucky is there to shield and steer you through.
Tags/Warnings: songfic, established marriage, fluffy fluff FLUFF, no use of y/n, some pet names for reader, mentions of reader performing charity
Word count: 900
Listening: You Wonât Feel A Thing by The Script đ”
Masterlist âą AO3
Your pre-gala pep talk is the most ridiculous thing in your life, and yet even as you shook from nerves you lapped it up like a cat with fine cream.
âItâs a battlefield out there,â he was saying, voice easily carrying from the living room where he adjusted his tie for the twentieth time. âAnd the war is raging, sweetheart.â
You hum in response, still in the bathroom, necklace finally behaving and sitting flat against your skin.
âIâll be on your six the whole time.â Bucky was still talking, cufflinks secured and pocket square perfectly plumped. âAn undivided front. Weâre gonna be ruthless.â
âYou are not helping my nerves,â you call back, losing the fight with the delicate clasp of your earring.
âThen Iâll tell you this. I got you. Youâll be on my arm, right beside me, all night. My beautiful wife.â
You step out from your quarters into the living room, anxiously smoothing the silk of your gown, eyes seeking his for approval.
The way his gaze raked down your body felt like heâd touched you with fire.
He stepped forward to take your hand, delighting you with a small spin as he took in the gown that glittered like fine jewels against your skin.
âLook at my girl. My best girl. You think Iâm letting you out of my sight dressed like that?â
In the limo to the event you had to smack away his wandering hands a few times, and you found you were almost thankful marrying Bucky had given you plenty of practice at reapplying your kiss-smudged lipstick in the dark. A swipe of your thumb across his lips cleaned up most of what transferred, but the gentle touch of his tongue and that wicked glint in his eyes left you wondering why you bothered.
You had to fix yourself once more before arriving.
Inside, under the glittering lights of the gala and all the eyes on you, Bucky felt the way your hand grew clammy held in his. So he took your hand, wound it around his jacketed vibranium arm, naturally pulling you closer. He covered your hand with his and smiled reassuringly when you glanced up. âIâve got you,â he murmured, and swept you into the battlefield of politics and fake smiles.
On Buckyâs arm as he circulated correctly, speaking to all the right people, you felt your fears slip away. He introduced you to every single person, talked openly of your work, warm pride colouring his voice as he gave you space to describe the grassroots efforts you fought for every day. And though they all smiled indulgently at your embarrassment and nodded politely as you spoke, he only had eyes for you.
âYou do good work, baby. Let me show yâoff a bit.â
You slap your hand against his chest, feigning indignation, but a photographer captures the moment you melt back into a smile and Bucky raised your hand to brush his lips across your knuckles. A beautiful, quiet shot for tomorrowâs news.
Later, when heâs at the podium giving a brief speech, your eyes mist over and you giggle with the crowd at his honest words. Youâre so, so very proud of your Congressman too.
âIâve been shot full of holes. Iâve been laughed at, been the butt of a joke or two,â heâs saying with a bashful half-smile. âTried to keep my head up for all Iâm worth. But taking the hard knocks of life is what it takes to make a difference.â
Back to it amongst the people and mingling, you break away from Bucky with a kiss to his cheek to visit the bathroom.
Leaving him with some snot-headed man who didnât have the minimum required brain cells for congress.
âFine piece of candy you have on your arm tonight, Barnes. Whereâd you dig her up from?â
Bucky took a sip, his smug smile flashing even as the tic in his jaw jumped with irritation.
âLike Iâd share such a find with you, Ralph.â
He spied you reenter the room, gaze scanning briefly before meeting his eyes with a smile and making your way back to his side.
Meanwhile Ralphâs guffaw showed he clearly didnât catch the warning in Buckyâs tone.
âShare her? Imagine that little thing pinned betweenââ
âSpeak of my wife with the respect and dignity she deserves.â
The stupid manâs face scrunched up. âTheyâre cute with their little charities and fundraisers, right? Riding the coattails of our successes with some pretty, empty words and no effort.â
You reached them. The sweet oh your lips formed had his heart drop to his stomach. Your perfect smile faltered. Youâd heard.Â
âMy wife,â Bucky bit out, voice like steel, âdoes the legwork. The hours. Sheâs the one hands-on in the womenâs shelters your bill canât seem to find the funding for.â
âNow, see here, Barnesââ
He forcibly took the other manâs hand in both of his, vibranium and flesh grip crushing so hard Ralph wouldnât wank straight for a month. Bucky was all smiles over the handshake, picture perfect from the outside, but his deadly tone could not be mistaken. âSpeak ill of my wife again and itâs the last thing youâll do.â
You wait until he took your arm and guided you away before chiding him.
âBucky,â you murmur, smile plastered in place but your eyes pools of worry. âYou shouldnât have done that. Thatâs going to cost you.â
âIâll take it on the chin,â he mumbled, brushing his lips against your temple, âfor you.â
a/n ! this was the first piece of writing I had posted in 13 years ⊠madness

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Thatâs All I Really Know
Pairing: Farmer!Bucky x Popstar!Reader Summary: When life keeps you apart from your rugged farmer boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, you start imagining the worst. Especially with how secretive Bucky has been acting lately ... Small sequel to Donât Wait For The Sky To Clear Tags/Warnings: return of Bucky in a Stetson, yer, talk of processing farm animals, implied mutual masturbation and phone sex, no use of y/n, some miscommunication (Bucky being deliberately obtuse, Sam not helping) Word Count: 4.6k
You didnât recognise the silver car parked out front. The silver car parked in your spot. The silver car youâd never seen before parked outside the farmhouse in your spot.
You cut the engine and closed your eyes, taking a long, deep breath.
Yes, coming to the farm was your escape. Yes, that Bucky rarely entertained visitors meant you were alone in a way you could never be back in the city.
You briskly told yourself that your immediate ire over seeing someone at Buckyâs farm was purely disappointment at delaying the peace and freedom you hoped to find here in his arms, but it was only a temporary setback and you would find that perfect bliss soon enough.
Those calming thoughts froze like ice in your veins and tasted like ash on your tongue when you mounted the three wooden steps of the verandah only to find Sarah Wilson stepping out the screen door. The smile on her face was wide, satisfied, like a cat who got the best cream, as her eyes took you in.
âHey there, darlinâ,â came that familiar drawl from somewhere behind her. âWasnât expectinâ you?â
Bucky stepped out, the shadow of his Stetson failing to hide the colour high on his cheeks or his eyes darting between you and Sarah like he didnât know how to handle the situation before him.
Deep breath. âI thought Iâd surprise you,â you said, struggling to keep your voice even. You turned to the other woman with a tight smile. âHey, Sarah. Fancy seeing you here.â
âHey, Princess,â she returned with a happy grin, and suddenly the sweet nickname the Wilsons had for you felt less like an endearment and more a cruel jibe. Sarah waved the papers in her hands. âI was just sortinâ some business with your beau, but I think weâre done for the day. Right, Barnes?â
Bucky stood, hands on hips, eyes taking in the two of you with his mouth pulled into a grim line.
He cleared his throat. âRight.â
Sarahâs smile was bright as she made for her car. âSee you around!â
Bucky took two steps to stand even with you, his arm curving around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple as Sarah waved out the window of her car and turned for the property drive.
As the dust settled and her car disappeared from view, Bucky turned your body toward his and tucked you against his chest. You breathed deep, taking in his scent, the farm, and the quiet air.
âNot that Iâm complaininâ,â he started, cocking his head to peer down at you. âBut I kinda enjoy yer usual way of tacklinâ me to the floor the moment you step foot up here.â
He crooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes squarely.
âDidnât you miss me?â
His blue eyes were warm, soft and crinkled in the way he only ever looked at you, but you saw the flicker in the depths. The way his jaw still pinched tight.
He was worried. And not about your weak welcome.
You closed your eyes against his gaze and pressed your nose to his flannel shirt.
This was Bucky. Your Bucky. Your quiet man from the country who braved ruthless paparazzi and the overwhelm of the red carpet just to stand at your side.
âI wanted to surprise you,â you said again slowly, fingers curling into his shirt. âI didnât expect you to have company.â
âHm.â
The two of you stood together for a while longer, soaking in the feeling of holding each other after so long apart, the quiet of the late afternoon cloaking you both in its pull.
There was nothing to fear out here. Just the steadiness of the old farmhouse. The gentle calm of the land. The surety of the man in your arms.
Right?
âCome on,â he murmured, parting finally to swing open the screen door and lead you inside. âHad the butcher do up one of the steers. Just picked him up at noon.â
You nodded, feeling the farmhouse welcome you like an old friend in its warm embrace. Faded gingham curtains fluttered with a soft breeze. The kitchen counter was covered in styrofoam boxes, and stacked haphazardly on the dining table were some papers and Buckyâs meticulously detailed ledgers. He had digital copies, of course, but he always maintained that paper made more sense to him. Itâs what Ma taught me, and it sticks, heâd said, and it had made you smile.
You didnât feel much like smiling when he hurriedly cleared the pile away to the writing desk in the corner, locking them up like ⊠like âŠ
Well, like he was afraid youâd see them.
He quirked a brow at you when you very visibly shook your head, trying to dispel the thoughts seeping in like poison. You rubbed at your temple and Bucky rounded the table again, concern etched all over his face.
âDid yâwant a bath?â He asked, eyes searching for a sign that would tell him exactly what was wrong so he could fix it for you. âA drink?â
But still you caught the way his eyes darted back to the writing table, double checking it was closed up.
âIâm fine,â you murmured, and that caught his attention.
Eyes zeroed in on you, unwavering, and he crossed his arms over his broad chest. âNah. Try again. Whatâs going on in that pretty head âf yers?â
You had always been honest with Bucky. It was never an agreement the two of you came to, never a conversation had about it, just a fact of nature. Youâd never felt the need to be anything less than transparent with him, and you appreciated beyond measure that he was the same with you. It was a precious thing to you, a rare commodity in a world where lies and hidden agendas lurked behind every conversation Hollywood had. Bucky was the one beacon of truth in your life.
You worried your lip between your teeth before replying. âYou looked a tad guilty when I found Sarah here.â
And there it was again. You saw the flash across his eyes before he avoided your gaze, saw the colour highlight his cheeks as he rubbed at the back of his neck.
âYou surprised me, is all. Not often you appear unannounced at my door. Not anymore.â
Not since the week you met two years ago. You were too wary of your limited time and of interrupting his work and routine to be a nuisance like that.
But youâd missed him, dearly. Award nominations and the PR maelstrom that came with them had kept you busy, and then calving season had kept him completely occupied with his herd. This year alone you felt like youâd spent more time without him than with him, and it burned an ache in your soul so deep youâd taken the first opportunity you could to drive out.
But that ugly voice in your head, that one that was getting louder by the second, whispered a particular piece of poison that settled cold in your stomach.
It said, maybe he didnât miss you that much.
You couldnât let the lie take root. You couldnât let it twist your mind against him. You only had to ask him for the truth, and heâd set you straight. You know he would.
âWhy was Sarah here?â
The words were barely a whisper, so quiet you wonder if he heard them at all. But he did. You could see the gravity of your question weave through his mind, could see the wave of expressions across his face as your meaning and his reality played out before you.
âDarlinâ, you ainât got nothing to fear from Sarah Wilson.â
Tears slipped free before you could stop them.
A small wounded noise escaped Bucky as he pulled you into his arms again, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapping tight around you.
âHoney,â he murmured against your temple, kissing your skin and your hair, and pressing his cheek against your head. âSarah was here fâ business, just like she said. Farm business. You got me?â
You sniffed and nodded against his chest, but the sick feeling didnât yet let you out of its hold.
Buckyâs metal hand swept soothingly up and down your back and he slowly rocked you in his arms.
âFarm business. Thatâs all. Couple changes I was thinkinâ of makinâ and needed a carpenterâs eye on things.â
He drew back only far enough to look you in the eye so you could not mistake his words. âI love you, you hear me? You. My popstar. My sweet darlinâ girl. Ainât no one in the world competinâ with you.â
You drew in one shaky breath, then another. Your lip wobbled with a smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. âOkay,â you whispered, and he nodded once, sure his words got through to you, and pressed a brief kiss to your cheek.
âNow how about that beef? Whatâre you feelinâ? Havenât put any cuts away yet. Yâ got yer choice of âŠâ
His voice slid over you like a wave as he stepped into the kitchen and begin sorting through the styrofoam boxes of meat, telling you in his gruff manner about the young steer heâd picked out and how the herd was looking as the calves grew stronger.
His Stetson sat beside him on the counter, a thin layer of dust paling the dark leather. You scooped it up by the brim and settled the hat over your head.
Bucky immediately stopped talking. Watching him watch you, you saw his jaw tighten as he looked you over, beautiful blue eyes flashing with something dark. Possessive.
âNo one fâme but you.â It was barely a murmur, but it was there, plain as day in his stance and his gaze.
Finally the truth sank in, and you nodded, smiling up at him, your fears abated.
Mostly.
Later, lounging on the couch together, a thought occurred to you and you poked at his arm.
âHm?â He shifted the notepad he was scribbling in to look at you.
âWhat changes were you going to make around the farm?â
Buckyâs brow furrowed. âWhat?â
You shuffled, lowering your book and turning to face him. âEarlier, you said you were working on farm business. You wanted to make some changes.â
He looked back down at the notepad and started scribbling again, and even without the warmth from the fire you swore you could see his cheeks darken. âJust some ideas I had. Donât feel like gettinâ into it now.â
âOh, sure.â
You looked back down at your book, but the words swum before your eyes and that cold feeling started to take root in your stomach again.
Weeks had passed. Months. Some days you could catch Bucky during normal hours, but here you were late on a Friday night at the recording studio, trying him one last time. Youâd begged your manager to step away for just a moment, claiming an urgent call, but he only rolled his eyes and waved you off.
He knew urgent didnât mean work related.
The dial tone taunted you, untilâ
âBuckyâs phone.â
That was not the voice you expected to hear. âSam?â
âHey there, Princess.â
âWhereâs Bucky?â
âHeâs cutting struts for the, uh, the ⊠barn.â
You blinked. All those words made sense together, but the delivery gave you pause. âThe barn?â
âYup. Barn.â
âWhatâs he doing to the barn, Sam?â
âI-I donât know, Princess, you know Iâm no good with this cattle nonsense. Iâm just a barman.â
âDonât give me that tripe, Wilson. Are you telling me Sarahâs husband is the only man running your folksâ farm and you know nothing about its workings?â
âDonât you go questioning my manhood now, missy, or weâll be having some words.â
âIâd like to have some words with Bucky.â
He spluttered something that didnât quite sound like words, and you werenât even sure they were directed at you, before grumbling, âNot with that attitude youâre not.â
And he hung up.
You gaped down at your phone but had no time to react or process, your manager already reappearing at your side to usher you back into the studio. Just one more sound bite and you could all leave for the evening.
Miles away, Bucky winced as Sam passed his phone back to him.
âYer gonna put me in the doghouse with that attitude, punk,â he grumbled, hoisting the planks of hardwood theyâd been working on up over his shoulder. âHelp me with this, would you?â
â⊠and then he hung up on me!â You finished your story, gesturing widely in a bewildered manner, and across from you Natasha rolled her eyes.
âThat Sam has a wild streak,â she said, taking another bite of the meal before her.
âYou havenât even met him,â you say, shaking your head and looking down at your plate.
Natashaâs eyes widened. âYouâre always talking about what those boys get up to out there,â she said around a mouthful of food. âAinât hard to figure him out.â
You were glad the restaurant had a more private area available tonight so you and Natasha could eat and talk in peace. Being able to freely talk about what was on your mind without it landing in the tabloids the next morning was a blessing.
You could see it now. âCity Girl whines to Country Queen about her Bumpkin Beau.â
Poking idly at your meal, you sighed. âThis is the first time in two years weâve been so out of sync. I canât catch even a moment with him.â
Natasha shrugged. âYou know heâs got a lot on his hands with those calves and getting them ready for auction.â
âI know, itâs onlyâ wait. I told you about that?â
Natasha shrugged again, eyes on her food. âTime of year for it anyhow.â
âSure.â
Pushing food around your plate, you bit your lip and put down your fork. It was now or never. You had to speak the fear that was plaguing your mind. âI worry heâs had enough of me.â
A heavy snort and peeling laughter had you looking up at your friend, her obvious mirth pulling a smile from you even as your stomach turned in knots.
âHoney,â Natasha said, reaching across the table to rub your hand. âThat man is smitten. Has been since the moment he laid eyes on you. You ainât got nothinâ to worry about.â
She turned back to her meal, shaking her head and chuckling softly again. âAnd heâll prove it to you, Iâm sure. Just you wait.â
Waiting. That was the hardest part, the insufferable waiting.
You hadnât been to the farm in months, and with all the seasonal work left to do, Bucky couldnât afford to be away at the moment either.
Sighing, you started on your food again. âYeah,â you said, smiling wanly at Natasha. âIâm sure youâre right.â
âFuck, darlinâ you sound so damn sweet.â
His voice crackled over the phone but you couldnât mistake that low gravelly tone. He was so close.
âWish I was there to ⊠toâŠâ
He trailed off in a groan, and your answering gasp had him doubling down, his grunts and your moans building to a crescendo as you chased that high together.
You peaked first.
Your phone, forgotten, tumbled from your shoulder as your back arched, and from the muffled response on the other end of the call you knew Bucky fell apart right after you.
Panting, body flooding with warmth, you curled onto your side. A soft sound escaped you, one still full of longing. A little mutual play helped soothe the ache heâd started in you, but it didnât quite fill the void in your heart where you missed him.
âHmm, needed that,â Bucky drawled, back on the line, and you smiled at the satisfaction in his voice. âNeed more though.â
âYeah?â You asked, your voice small. âNeed the real thing?â
His needy groan was nothing like the sounds heâd been making just moments before. âFuckinâ right I do.â
âMaybe ⊠next week?â
A pause. That was all it took for your stomach to swoop in fear all over again.
âNext week. Yeah ⊠yeah, letâs do next week.â
âYou sure, Sarge?â He didnât sound sure.
He huffed out a chuckle. âYeah,â he said, âBeen a long time coming.â His voice was quiet, almost like the words werenât meant for you, and suddenly next week couldnât come soon enough.
You know youâd been gone a long time, longer than normal, but even you couldnât mistake the sight that greeted you as you pulled up to the turn into the farm.
There was something unfamiliar on the horizon. You parked just outside the gates to Buckyâs main drive, and frowned.
Out there in one of the fields, a gentle hill that used to hold crops through spring and fed the cattle through the fallow years, sat a newly constructed building.
You stepped out of the car to swing the gate wide, checking the letterbox automatically as you did, and returned to slowly drive your car through, all the while taking in this strange new building on your boyfriendâs land.
Even at this distance you could tell it wasnât another barn or pen. It was too domestic, with its beautiful large front window, small porch, and various satellite dishes and poles on the roof, all obvious signs pointing to a human dwelling.
Months of conversations, of cryptic words and misunderstandings came to a head, and you felt laughter bubble up out of you.
Heâd been building. Thatâs what this was all about?
You ambled down the dirt drive, replaying every word that had twisted you up in knots. Buckyâs âfarm businessâ with Sarahâthe owner of the hardware and supply store in town. Samâs faux pax and cutting you off the call. Buckyâs late hours, later than normal even for a farmer, obviously spent working on this new project.
You passed the final post of the fence line and pulled into your spot in front of the farmhouse, and frowned.
Why the secrecy?
And what was the building even for, so separate from the main house?
You saw the kitchen light flicker on inside and found yourself smiling despite the questions circling your mind. Climbing out the car, you left everything behind as you ran across the yard and up those three steps to see him.
He met you at the screen door, pulling you in for a devastatingly thorough kiss.
âHello,â you whispered, a little breathless. âWhatâs with the building out there?â
Bucky groaned, shaking his head. âYou couldnât wait five minutes?â
He kissed you again.
And again.
Moaning softly into his mouth, his hands crowding you against his body, you pressed a hand to his chest to try and stall the onslaught of attention.
âMissed you,â he mumbled against your mouth, barely letting his hold loosen, and you wanted to melt.
âDonât keep me away so long again,â you said, your voice mock stern, and he shook his head, deep blue eyes searching yours.
âNever.â
Something in his eyes caught you. You looked closely, and found uncertainty clouding his gaze, a frisson of doubt through the love he held for you, and your breath caught.
âBucky?â
He cleared his throat, kissing you thoroughly one last time before drawing back.
âYou, uh, wanna see what Iâve been workinâ on, darlinâ?â
You simply nodded.
You needed answers.
The four-wheeler stood nearby and Bucky took your hand, leading you over to the vehicle and hoisting you up on the rear. Firing the motor he ambled off.
You noticed now the main drive began to continue on, a new track leading straight up the hill to the little building perched there.
The noise of the motor meant you couldnât pester him with questions, and so every bump in the track and the rumble of the vehicle had your nerves and your curiosity building like wildfire.
Finally parked out front, you hopped off the four-wheeler before Bucky even cut the engine and stared up in awe.
It was a miniature farmhouse. The little porch youâd seen from the drive in had two small chairs sat side by side, and next to you in the yard was a new firepit dug deep. You could just imagine being out here late autumn, sitting with Bucky, admiring the perfect view of the sunset and the farmhouse below by a roaring fire.
The walls were a faint yellow, just like the faded wallpaper inside the farmhouse proper, and it warmed your heart.
âItâs beautiful,â you murmured as Bucky stepped forward.
âMhmm. Little surprise for you.â
Your eyes darted back to him. âBucky ⊠what is this?â
Youâd never seen your strong, rugged farmer look so small. His shoulders hunched, Stetson as crooked as his tiny smile, and he jutted his chin out toward the building, urging you forward.
âGet inside and look.â
You climbed the three stairs up to the porch, delighting in the similarity with his family home, and swung open the screen door.
It was small, and quaint, the smell of fresh paint and inherent newness washing over you.
Immediately inside sat a tiny kitchenette and dining table with bench seats. A door disappeared ahead off into a room you could already spy a bed in, and another lead to a small bathroom. It was modest and comfortable.
But what caught your attention was the wide sliding doors that led to something from your wildest dreams.
A complete studio.
Your feet dragged you forward as you stared wide eyed at the room around you. Floor to ceiling foam and soft covers, a desk with monitors and two brand new PCs whirring softly beneath it. An empty guitar stand stood off in one corner, next toâ
Your keyboard. The one heâd bought as a gift in the first year of your relationship, something for you to use and work from when you were staying on the farm. Heâd moved it and set it up perfectly to the side.
Microphone stands and brand new headphones sat nearby, and you realised the walls were littered with power outlets all ready for strenuous use.
âThis hill had the best signal around.â His voice was barely a rumble from behind you. âSatellite and mobile reception. Laying the lines for internet took longer than the whole damn construction.â He muttered something under his breath about fuckinâ telecomm companies, and you giggled despite yourself.
You touched a hand to the soft foam wall at your side, like feeling it would make your mind accept the reality before you.
âItâs soundproofed,â he said. âHad Nat check it all out.â
You whirled on him. âNat? Natasha?â
His cheeks, if possible, burned brighter. âNeeded to know it was good enough fâ you.â
You couldnât close your mouth. You turned and turned, taking it all in again and again, agape.
âSo⊠you can work from here. Take yer calls and meetings, record, play and sing as loud as you want.â
Your heart stuttered.
âItâs all quality gear, I made sure of it,â he said, taking your silence for hesitation.
âSo, what youâre saying isââ stepping toward him, you picked up first his metal hand then flesh one, clutching tight to his fingers and gazing up at him, ââI could stay here. With you. I wouldnât have to leave.â
He cleared his throat once, twice, scowling when the words still caught, but you waited with bated breath, wanting to know exactly what heâd planned.
âYeah. You can stay here ânâ work. I know youâd still have to head to the city. Thereâs things there yer needed for. Butââ he broke off, and for his sake you would swear against it until the day you died, but nothing could ever make you forget the way your strong, stoic farmerâs eyes misted over as he said the words, âBut I want you to live with me. Be with me. On my familyâs farm.â
He drew his metal hand away for a moment, keeping your left hand held tightly in his, and you closed your eyes as happiness overwhelmed you.
âBucky, I would love to live with you,â you gushed. âItâs all Iââ
You felt him shift and you opened your eyes to the sight of James Buchanan Barnes dropping to his knee in the middle of the studio he built for you.
âDarlinâ, I donât just want you to live with me,â he murmured, and your free hand rose to cover your racing breaths as he dug into his pocket and produced a beautifully fine piece of jewellery.Â
âMy darlinâ. My little popstar.â
You hiccoughed on a wild giggle.
Bucky swallowed hard, and you felt the tremor in the hand that held yours tight. âEver since that storm blew you onto my property I knew you were somethinâ special. Didnât even know then all the fanciness that went along with it, but you know thatâs not what matters to me.â
His gaze on you softened, eyes warm and crinkling in that way you loved so much, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek.
âYouâre brilliant. Kind. Goddamn sexy. And I donât wanna spend another minute of my life wonderinâ when I can see you again.â
He took a deep breath, posture straightening below you, and his grip on the delicate little ring tightened.
âThe whole world wants a piece oâ you, but I wondered if you might wanna do me the honour of beinâ just mine.â
You held your breath.
âWill you marry me?â
There was no hesitation on your part. No question, no thought in the world that was anything other thanâ
âYes!â
Bucky Barnes rarely smiled. Heâd perfected the art of communicating with his eyes alone, though sometimes you coaxed a crooked grin or two from him.
But this man before you, grasping your left hand with care and sliding his engagement ring onto your finger, was beaming. His rosy cheeks and mile-wide smile were brighter than youâve ever seen, and he surged to his feet to pick you up and spin you around. Your laughter rang out, clutching at his shoulders and letting him twirl you about with glee, until he placed you back on your feet.
You stared up at him, then down at the ring on your finger glinting in the light from where it rested on his shoulder.
âWhat if Iâd said no?â
He groaned. âDonât. I drove myself buck wild debatinâ this whole thing.â He dropped his forehead to yours, murmuring, âHated hidinâ it from you. Hated beinâ so busy doinâ somethinâ fâyou I couldnât even talk to you.â His accent was thick with emotion, and you pulled him down into your embrace, arms strong around his shoulders and your face pressed to his neck.
Home.
âI knew something was off,â you whispered, the months of fears completely drained away. All that was left was the truth. âI just didnât know you would ⊠that all this was âŠâ
Choking up on your own emotions, you huffed out a breath as Bucky pulled you impossibly closer, crushing you to him like he never wanted to let you go.
âAll fâyou,â he mumbled, and you felt the hot sting of his tears against your face. âAll yours.â
There were no cameras, no crowds, no witnesses to this singular perfect moment.
As if reading your mind, Bucky shifted in your arms. âI figure the wedding has to be a big affair,â he said gruffly, swiping at his face like he could hide the evidence. âWhat with you needing to invite half of New York and all. So I wanted this to be just ⊠us.â
Just something simple and meaningful. Just Bucky.
Home. Your home, and Buckyâs, together.
Finally.
âWhat do you say we test out just how good the soundproofing is?â
His answering chuckle was wicked and low. âThought youâd never ask.â
Donât Wait For The Sky To Clear
Pairing:Â Farmer!Bucky x Popstar!reader
Summary: A storm blew you off course and into his bed leaving an invisible string tying you to rugged farmer Bucky Barnes. Can he rodeo the red carpet while you write melodies in meadows?
Tags/Warnings: strangers to lovers, smut (unprotected p in v, oral (m and f receiving), one spank, egregious use of a wooden fence), Bucky in a Stetson, no use of y/n, petnames (darlinâ and honey, Sarge and cowboy), alcohol consumption but no drunkenness, maybe vague implied animal farming, shifting POVs, yer
Note: Written for my darling @buckysdecaflove for the Dear My Darling Reader Valentine Fic Exchange hosted by the delightful @salty-tang. As promised because of our little matchmaking trio, the barest hint of a TSwift reference lolol
Word Count:Â 17k
Currently Listening:Â âCome In With the Rainâ by Taylor Swift & âGood Directionsâ by Billy Currington đ”
Iâll leave my window open âCause Iâm too tired tonight to call your name Just know Iâm right here hoping That youâll come in with the rain âŠ
Event Masterlist | AO3 | Read the sequel
His harmonica wailed out a lonely tune into the stormy night.
Heâd watched the dark clouds blow in early afternoon, his small herd already crowding against the outer barn wall, bawling and mooing, making their agitation known. Heâd pushed open the doors, letting his best girls amble into the barn for their safety while he cleared up for the day. Even Alpine, the fiercest prissy barn cat heâd ever met, had disappeared into the top rafters of the hay loft. Her bunker for the night ahead.
He stored the four-wheeler in the shed, the tractor already put away that morning, stowed his tools, and shut up for the night.
And he did it all alone.
When the sun disappeared, he didnât know, the sky already painted black and blue with clouds.
Now, sitting out on the sheltered verandah, Stetson tilted low and bending notes on the blues harp as fast wind and heavy rain tore through his property, he didnât bother to lament the devastation the storm was causing to his crops. Couldnât think now about the old northern fence line that might not hold up in this weather. Instead Bucky found his mind wandering, craving the kind of company a cold, wet night like this always demanded.
What he wouldnât give to have a warm body in his bed tonight. Someone desperate beneath him, their cries and warmth chasing off the chill of the storm. Someone to fall asleep to, to hold tight as the night cooled, and to pull closer as the morning filtered in.
A flash of lightening to the east broke his reverie and drew his gaze, and in the distance he saw it.
Two beams of light recklessly arcing over his field as some tiny car made its way down his property drive.Â
His hands dropped to his lap with the harmonica and he cursed, grumbling about idiots getting lost on country roads, taking the wrong turn-offs, disturbing his peace.
He hauled himself to his feet when the car ambled into his yard, a tiny thing not suited to long country drives, and watched until the engine cut and the figure inside peered up at him.
He walked back into the house.
You bit your lip as you approached the house slowly. A lone light shone in one window but the rain was crashing so hard against your windscreen you couldnât make out anything else.
With every bump in the road as you rolled over uneven ground, you cursed the weather, the poor cell service, the shoddy country signage, and even your childhood friend who you had driven out to see in your precious spare time.
Your twenty-three-city-sixty-two-show tour of the US was over, most of the major music awards done with just one to go. Youâd agreed to see your darling friend in her third trimester who was, as she said, in dire need of civilised company.
Inching along this wet dirt road in the middle of nowhere, the rain battering your poor car, desperately trying to reach the only buildings you had seen for miles, you were feeling rather un-civilised about the whole endeavour.
And what would you even say when you pulled up? The truth made you feel so foolish. Assuming whoever lived in this house didnât abduct you or worse upon recognising you instantly.
You werenât egotistical, but as the number one pop singer in the country regularly topping the charts, you were thoroughly aware of the cursed enormity of fame that dogged you like this storm chased your tailpipe.
Your headlights ambled hesitantly past the last posts flanking the dirt drive. Passing the final fence line you entered the bare bones yard, open grass to one side and an old rusted wreck to the other. The tracks you followed led further on to a parked beaten truck, but you halted directly in front of the house.
The windscreen wipers ticked frantically and the shadow of a person obscured by the rain stepped forward out of the dark, making you gasp.
At least now you were sure there was life out here.Â
You switched off the car but the roar of the rain was louder, unceasing noise as it battered your car with the wind.
A sign hanging from the verandah roofline swung in the wind and caught your eye. There was some word burned into the wood that you squinted to see in the low lightâŠ
J. B. BARNES
The stranger, whose shrouded figure you could barely see, promptly turned and headed back indoors.Â
Probably to fetch a shotgun to tell you to get off their property.
You hadnât expected a warm welcome, but a door in the face before youâd even stepped a foot out was a bit much.
Gathering your things that had scattered during the drive into your handbag, you pulled yourself together and prepared to run for your life.
You opened the car door, the rain barrelling in immediately. Scrambling, your sandalled foot dropping straight into a muddy puddle, you clutched your handbag close, not even needing to close the door behind youâit slammed shut with the force of the wind. You hurried through grass and mud up to the verandah, hands uselessly trying to shield your face from the rain that soaked through your thin cardigan in seconds.
Climbing the wooden steps to shelter you halted, panting, looking back out at the blustery weather youâd braved, and gulped. The wood farmhouse broke the storm about you, wind and rain held at bay by its warm old bones, and you were grateful for the reprieve.
The farmhouse door opened, and you werenât sure if the man that stepped out was a killer or not.
In that moment you didnât care.
He was the most devastatingly handsome man you had ever seen.
Hollywood was full of models, men groomed and primed to polished perfection, but this rugged man before you drew your attention in the most primal way. His chiseled jaw was shadowed by a few days worth of scruff. His button-down shirt sat taught across his broad chest and arms, the top few buttons undone revealing a hint of chest hair and a chain that disappeared beneath where your hands itched to follow, the fabric hugging down his body to jeans that barely contained his strong thighs.
But when he tilted his head to look at you out from under his dark brimmed hat, it was his eyes, pools of stormy blue boring into you with barely held frustration, that had you swaying closer toward him.
âYou lost.â
You tried to blink away your stupor. âYes. Iâm so sorry, my phone dropped reception andââ
âWasnât a question.â
Taken aback by his abrupt response, the words died in your throat.
Oh he was definitely going to murder you and bury you in a field somewhere. Maybe throw you in a pig pen like those documentaries. No one would ever know, they would never find you, you would beâ
âThereâs bad weather,â he said matter of fact, like you were stupid enough to miss it. âCome inside.â
And he walked back in without another word.
You hesitated by the door, looking down at your muddy sandals and feet. Gingerly you toed them off, swiping your feet on the doormat to try to remove the grime, before stepping inside.
The house smelled earthy, of lingering smoke and wood from the lit fireplace which closely warmed a couch and solid wood coffee table. A bureau sat disused in the corner surrounded by shelves, and the remaining open space was dwarfed with a heavy rustic dining table. The kitchen was surprisingly modern, still country but in a  magazine-chic way, and your hero-slash-murderer rounded the counter, his presence filling the room and leaving a delightfully male scent in his wake.
Finally, in the soft light overhead, you caught the glimmer of a metal prosthetic as he palmed his phone and dialled out a number without saying another word to you
âYeah, Sam. You still open?â Cold blue eyes settled on you. âHad a stray blow in with the storm.â
His face clouded over, eyes flashing, and he cursed to himself.
Obviously Sam didnt provide the answer he was looking for.
You inched forward, clutching your handbag tightly to you, knowing you should say something but not sure what.
He turned his back to you, leaning back against the counter, and you felt your mouth hang slack at the sight. He might as well be naked with how perfectly his shirt hugged every ripple of his back and shoulders.
A long ago conversation about not wanting country boys flew in your face. This man before you broke every rule youâd ever thought to set.Â
His voice dropped to a low murmur, and you tucked your wet hair behind your ear to listen in closer.
â⊠yeah, whole crops gonna be drowned come morninâ. Nothinâ I can do now.â A pause. âYou sittinâ pretty out there?â Another pause. âAnd Sara?â
You found yourself smiling at the way his chuckle turned wickedly cheeky, barely hearing the agitated ear-bashing this Sam was giving him over the din of the rain. âJust being neighbourly is all. Aâight, man. Later.â
He turned back, tossing the phone onto the counter, and stared at you. His face was more relaxed now than it had been before, the laughter having eased the hard lines, but you still found yourself caught under his steady gaze.
âWhatâs yer name?â
You tensed. Eyes narrowing on him you hesitated to answer, looking for some kind of trick or prank. Did he not recognise you after all? Finding no reason in his openly bored expression not to respond, you told him your first name only.
No flash of recognition. No reaction at all really.
So you asked, âWhatâs yours?â
âBucky,â he said instantly. Thenâ âJames.â His faced twisted like he was annoyed at himself. âEveryone calls me Bucky.â
He cleared his throat.
âWant a beer?â
You nod.
âBathroomâs down on the right.â He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway, and you stood still for a moment longer, unsure why he was offering up that information.
But curiosity about your reluctant host spiked, and you decide to investigate the bathroom. If thatâs where he wanted you to go.
Floorboards creaked between flashes of lightening and you lightly traced your path down the hall with your fingertips against the faded yellow wallpaper.
A door at the end of the hall, cracked open, revealed the barest outline of a bed from the light from the hall. Quietly, you turn to the door on your right.
When you stepped foot in the bathroom, you realised exactly why he sent you.
Your hair, soaked from your dash in the rain, was still dripping and plastered to your head. Your makeup, not waterproof, had half dried again in ghostly trails across your cheeks, mascara now smudged in an unintentional smoky eye. Your cardigan was doing more harm than good, soaked as it was and making you colder. With a grimace you made for the sink, grabbing a fluffy towel for your hair, and tried to make yourself presentable again.
All the while you marvelled that for all his gruff behaviour he hadnât said a thing about your messy appearance.
Back in the kitchen, Bucky was still staring off down the hallway, gaze unfocused as he awaited your return.
The sight of your sleek form, clothes rain-plastered around your gorgeous curves, seared like hot iron across his brain.
His streak was as dry as a dusty dirt road and you swanned into his farmhouse like a wet dream, all prim and proper. Just begging to be ridden dirty for a country mile âtil you were stained with it.
He pressed the heel of his palm to his now too-tight jeans, trying to ease the rise you got out of him.
Heâd retreated behind the kitchen counter to not scare away the poor city girl looking for a rescue.Â
And he had no doubt you werenât from around here. No where near. Your doe-eyed expression was one thing, but you were too shiny. Too perfect. From the Big Apple license plate on your fancy car to your clothes and the way you held yourself, you were too good for where you found yourself stranded.
Maybe the devil himself had heard him and delivered temptation right to his door.
Hearing the water shut off, Bucky shook his head to temper his racing thoughts and cracked opened two beer bottles as you walked back into the room.
But he didnât bother to hide the way his eyes raked over you from head to toe when you reemerged.
Fresh faced and drier than before, you looked far too pretty standing in his living room, clutching your bag and soaking wet jumper nervously.
So he pushed a bottle at you and took your jumper without a word, walking around to drag a chair away from the dining table toward the fireplace. He draped your piece of clothing over the chair back, arranging it so it would dry quick as a whip by the firelight, wondering what you thought that scrap of fabric was going to keep at bay in this weather.
Finally he dropped onto the couch, feet kicking up to rest on the solid wood coffee table and arm draping over the back cushions.
âMight as well get comfortable. Storm wonât clear âtil morninâ.â
Only then did you move, placing your bag on the floor.
âIâm so sorry for intruding like this,â you began, rounding the couch and your eyes darting to the open space on the couch next to him. Though you still wouldnât sit down. âI lost reception and my navigation dropped out. I didnât know what else to do.â
Bucky sighed, taking a long drag from the bottle. Didnât anyone keep maps anymore?
âIn clearer weather youâd best have backtracked to somewhere you knew. But out here in thisââ he sucked on his teeth, shaking his head, ââ roads this far out of town might wash away if the rain keeps up. Yer better off here than out there.â
You donât look relieved by his statement and he wanted to laugh. So skittish. Probably never had a bad day in your life before now.
Poor city girl.
âWhere you headed?â
Wrong question. Your expression shuttered and body tensed, same as before when heâd asked your name.
He held up a hand to stay the answer you werenât going to give anyway. âNevermind. Not my business.â
Your eyes softened and he felt strangely elated at having read you so easily.
âWho is Sam?â You inched closer, still no intention to sit, the beer bottle turning in your hands as nervous fingers sought to ease your tension. âThat you called earlier? About me.â
âOwns the bar in town. Has a couple rooms upstairs.â Bucky shrugged, taking another sip. âBut heâd locked up and left already.â
He eyed you over again and you shivered under his gaze. It definitely wasnât from the coldâ you were warm all over every time he looked at you.
Lightening flashed so brightly it illuminated everything outside the wide windows, and seconds later a crack of thunder nearby made you jump.
Bucky cursed under his breath. âSit down already so I donât gotta crane my neck to look at you.â
With another apology you quickly sat down next to him, the warmth in your body ticking up a notch higher as you feel the brush of his fingers against your shoulder where his arm resting on the back of the couch. Directly behind you.
Doing your best to ignore it, you twisted in the seat to better talk with himâand immediately regretted it. Only you didnât, not really.
If you thought he looked delicious before, here before the fire, shadows and dancing light making the angles of his face harder and his eyes glow ocean-blue, he was absolutely sinful.
You bit your lip and desperately told yourself to ignore the way his eyes dropped to your mouth.
âAinât got much by way of lodgings, but you can crash here on the couch for the night.â His mouth pulled to one side in a not-quite smile. âGuest room ainât prepped for guests, and wouldnât be right fâme to let you head back out in this.â Thunder rolled overhead, ominous and low, lending weight to his words.
âIf itâs not too much trouble,â you murmured, the guilt mounting again at appearing on his doorstep like this. âI appreciate the kindness. Yours was the only place I could see around.â
He took another swig of beer instead of replying, and your gaze lingered on his prosthetic, fascinated. The firelight made its inset gold turn molten, the dark metal surrounds inky black as the night sky. It was a work of art.
Much like its wearer.
âSo, what do you do, city girl?â
You shifted, still uncomfortable with his questions, but where was the harm? You were sure by now he either didnât know who you were, or was a skilled liar. Based on his blatant honesty so far, that seemed unlikely. âIâm a singer.â
His brow raised, eyes showing nothing but interest â and not just in your answer. âOh yeah? Have I ever heard yer stuff?â
âWhat do you listen to?â
You watched the way his mouth twisted as he mused on that for a moment. âForties and fifties, mostly.â
âThen probably not.â
âProbably not,â he agreed. He motioned with his beer toward the shelves youâd spied earlier, saying, âGot grandmamaâs old gramophone over there.â
You glanced back, spotting it nestled amongst the books and papers, and though you were fascinated it didnât quite draw your attention the same way Bucky did.
âThatâs neat,â you say politely. âIâve never heard one play before.â
He nodded, his thumb gently gathering the condensation on the side of the bottle he held. Your eyes followed as one rivulet formed and rolled down, down, catching the bottom rung as a droplet before falling to his jeans clothed thigh.
In your mind, it hissed on contact.
âMa used to love playing it on nights like this.â
You hummed a response, forgetting the conversation entirely, your mouth parched in a way that had nothing to do with thirst.
You took a swig of beer anyway.
He watched the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed.
âYou live alone out here?â
He nodded slow, his eyes locking on your mouth. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and you tracked the movement, bottom lip dragging between your teeth as you wondered what his lips taste like.
Thunder cracked directly overhead, the booming sound shaking the old walls of the farmhouse, and a strangled shriek escaped you.
Much to Buckyâs amusement. As his soft chuckle soothed your frayed nerves, you felt his fingertips at your shoulder again, touching burning into your skin, his arm on the back of the couch curving into you.
âYer a flighty filly, hm?â
You realised you had plastered yourself to his side, clutching at his shirt, and yet you didnât want to let go.
He took your beer bottle and his, placing them on the coffee table, and turned back to you.
âCâmere.â The low rumble of his voice tore through your body just like the storm raging outside. Your eyes dragged up to his. âIâve got you.â
The last thing you saw was the blue of his eyes almost completely black, pupils blown wide.
Then his mouth was on yours.
You gasped into the kiss and he immediately swooped in, tongue tangling with yours in a groan.
You were kissing a complete stranger. Maybe possibly your future murderer.
And it was good.
You broke away. âWe shouldnât have done that.â Your eyes met his again and your voice grew small. âI donât even know you.â
His lips slowly curved into the first real smile youâve seen, eyes crinkling and teeth flashing. It transformed his whole face and your lips parted on a small breath.
You forgot why you stopped kissing him.
âWanna know me?â
With a nod you fisted your hands in his shirt and fell into his chest, lips crashing against his and smothering the low groan he let out. His arm snaked around you, drawing you impossibly closer, metal hand sliding up the back of your neck and into your hair.
He tilted you in his grasp, deepening the kiss, and you were lost. Lost in the taste of him, in the way his hands held you steady even as you came apart.
And that was just his kiss.
So when he turned your body, pressing you back into the couch and pulling away, your hands scramble to pull him back, your lips seeking his.
âTrust me.â
You fell back limply against the couch, pouting just a little. âYou canât go kissing a girl like that then leave her.â
But Buckyâs chuckle was wickedly low as he slid from the couch and kneeled on the floor before you. âNot leavinâ you, darlinâ.â
His eyes, hooded and dark, drag from your pouty mouth down your neck, scored red from his stubble, over your heaving chest and to your legs.
âWouldnât dream of leavinâ you hanginâ.â
His hands clasped your knees, slowly, slowly, sliding up your thighs.
âYes,â you whisper, mind finally catching up. With his help you unbuttoned your pants, peeling the slightly rain-damp fabric from your legs, a few giggles and chuckles from each of you slowing the process.
Your panties quickly followed.
You think you should feel cold, but with the fire burning before you and Buckyâs hands swiftly acquainting themselves with your bare skin, your temperature was soaring.
His touch drove you wild. His calloused hand on your bare thigh in stark contrast to the smooth metal of his other hand, both gripping and rubbing your skin as he watched you intently. Your breaths sped up with every inch he climbed higher.
Where he leaned down to press an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee, your stomach clenched and your hips rolled, and there was that low chuckle again, a rumble you felt resonate within you.
âCâmere.â
He encouraged you to hook your legs over his shoulders, opening you wide to his gaze, his stubble grazing against the soft skin of your inner thighs.
âYou said yer a singer?â
You could do nothing else but nod frantically.
âLet me hear you high pitched then, honey.â
You held your breath.
With the fire behind him you couldnât see his face, shadowed between your legs, but even in the contrasting dark you didnât miss the determined glint in his eye when his tongue licked that first achingly slow stripe between your folds.
No warning, no gentling you through it. You couldnât control how your jerked against him, you were so shocked at the molten touch.
He wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you down, holding you apart.
You watched, mouth open, as he licked his lips and leaned in again, tongue flat as he lapped at you real slow.
His groan matched yours.
âTaste like sugar.â
Then he devoured you. Tongue delving deep or swirling with earth-shattering accuracy. One hand left your thigh to plunge one finger in, then two, stretching you wide, curling just right, soothing and building an ache within you all at once.
Thereâs a noise, louder than the rain and the wind, louder than the howling storm outside, and you slowly realise itâs you. Your keening cries as you bucked against his tongue, as your thighs tried to close around his headâ but he ruthlessly held your legs apart with his metal hand, holding you down, making you take his fingers and his tongue until your thighs shook and you couldnât think anymore.
His fingers crooked and you shattered.
Heels of your feet digging into his back, hands clutching desperately at his hair, you arched as you came hard against his tongue and around his fingers, his name a broken prayer on your lips.
Fitting since sin incarnate knelt before you, hair tousled and chin wet with you. He pressed soft kisses to your inner thigh, beard scratching gently and making you shiver.
He shrugged your legs off his shoulders.
âHold on.â
Wrapping your legs around his waist and arms behind his neck, Bucky lifted you easily, metal arm under your ass to keep you steady.
He covered the length of the house in a handful of strides, toeing open the door you had spied earlier into his bedroom.
Shuffling you in his grasp he sat on the edge of the bed with you straddling his lap, mouth seeking yours over and over again as his hands fumbled with the hem of your shirt. Finally he slid off your shirt and bra, baring you completely to his gaze.
He was still fully clothed.
Shivering, not from the cold but the sheer force of desire running through you, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed. He gave way, laying down on the bed, staring up at you with those hypnotising eyes that drank you in as you got to work on his shirt.
Unbuttoning slowly, you marvelled at every perfect inch of skin you revealed. Spreading the halves wide you stared down at him, not knowing your hips rocked a needy rhythm as you took in the sight of his chiselled body, honed from years of hard work, his dog tags and chain bright in the dark.Â
âKeep lookinâ at me like that, darlinâ, and this ainât gonna last long.â
Palm pressed flat he ran his hand from your navel up your stomach and between your breasts before grasping the back of your neck and pulling you down for a searing kiss. You writhed against him, his skin scorching hot under yours.
âI have to have you,â you mumbled into his lips, body arching with the way his palms travelled the planes of your back.
âTop drawer.â His hands dropped to clasp your hips and ground you down on him.
But with a whine you shook your head. âIâm on the pill. And clean. Please?â
A guttural groan tore from him and his head dropped back onto the bed.
âLord, this woman might kill me yet.â
And youâd thought him the murderer.
You couldnât wait any longer. Sitting back you started on his belt and buckle, fingers fumbling in their haste, the straining heat of him making his jeans impossibly tight.
The button popped and he toed off his boots, helping you shove down his jeans and briefs until he finally sprang free.
A sharp breath escaped at the sight of him, thick and full, pearl glistening at the tip.
Bucky swore when he caught your stare.
âCâmere.â
A word had never held so much power over you before, but if you heard him say it one more timeâ
Dragging you forward he slid between your slick folds, tearing a moan from you both as he rutted up into your heat.
With one hand between you he palmed himself, settling you over his thick bulge, and eased himself in.
You sank down slowly, hand braced against his chest, taking him inch by delicious inch. He stretched you, filled you, until finally, fully seated, your name escaped his lips in a guttural groan.
The fullness of him choked you, your hips already rocking with the need to ease the ache and chase more of it.
Lips parting on a breathless moan, you began to ride, his hands like a brand against you, guiding your hips, grasp steady as he showed you how to take him. A sheen of sweat over your thighs made you shine in the dim light.
Bucky watched you, devoured you with his eyes, fucking up into you with a strength that had you gasping and moaning and begging for more.
His hand pressed between you, rubbing against that perfect spot right where you joined that hurtled you quickly to the edge.
Your head rolled back, thighs shaking, grinding down against him.
With a grunt Bucky sat up and flipped you onto your back. Settling between your thighs he entered you again with one devastating slow roll of his hips, sinking so fully inside you saw stars. Legs hooked around his waist, and hands clawing at his shoulders, you took it all as he pounded into you again and again. You could feel every inch, every drag of him against your walls, driving into you, quickly bringing you to the edge and sending you soaring.Â
His name left your lips over and over in a broken sob. Itâs raw, unguarded, so precious itâs holy, and you hear how it affects him, his ragged breaths ripping through the air.
He comes with a sound that starts with your name but devolves into a ragged groan, hips slowing, thrusting shallowly as he rode it out.
Until he slumped over you, weight caught on his arms, face pressed against the hollow of your neck.
You donât know how long you lay there, hands gentle against the planes of his back, feeling every ripple as your breath slowed to match his.
Itâs quiet.
The storm still raged outside, wind and rain and lightening battling it out across the fields, but here in this house all you listen for is the sound of his breath.
Eventually he pushed away, brushing a kiss against your cheek and padding out of the room. His naked silhouette in the dim light of the night burnt into your memory.
Thereâs the sound of running water, then heâs back, wordlessly handing you a damp cloth to clean yourself up.
He fell into bed beside you with a sigh, arm slung up over his head and eyes closing.Â
Clean, you dropped the cloth to the floor, drawing the covers over you.
Quiet descends again.
âI donât normally do this,â you whispered into the room.
Buckyâs voice was thick with sleep, his words slurring when he answered, ââS alright. Can be a dream yâhad once.â
You didnât quite understand what he meant, though it sounded sweet.
âGirl came in with the rain âŠâ
But when you propped yourself up on an elbow to question him further you could see his chest rose and fell slowly, eyelashes pillowed in perfect crescents against his cheek.
And when you laid down again, resting against his open side, he grunted something inaudible and snaked his arm around you, drawing you in closer.
The morning brought aching muscles and an empty space beside you. You sat up, wincing at the way your body protested the movement, and looked around for your discarded clothes.
They were neatly folding in a pile on the end of the bed. Dry.
You stared at the pile for a long time, taking in the kindness of the gesture, before eventually getting up and dressing.
Decent, you peered out into the living area only to find it, too, empty. Your heart sank.
A crumpled scrap of paper sat on the wooden dining table. Glancing around again you walked over to read.
Neighbours fence down with the storm. Wonât be back before youâre gone. -B.
Beneath was a rough drawn map to get you back to the main road.
His words the night before drifted back to you, and your fingers ghosted across your lips as you remembered the way he kissed you. Your body still ached with how heâd had you.
A dream indeed.
With a nod to yourself, you gathered your things and left quietly, the scrawled paper tucked away in your pocket.
And when he got back late that afternoon, the sun sitting low on the horizon and your departing tyre marks the only trace of you, Bucky sighed, staring off down the long dirt road out of this place.
The next time he saw your headlights he was mildly surprised, to say the least. It was only days later. His lips kicked up in a half smile as your boots swung out first.
âYou lost?â
âNope. Maps go both ways.â
Thereâs a familiar scrap of paper held in your hand.
A bark of laughter escaped him, and he turned for the door, shaking his head as he stomped inside.
He left the flyscreen wide open for you.
Bucky had half a mind to offer you another round of beer, but the moment you stepped inside you dropped your bag on the floor and wound your arms around his neck, pressing your sweet little mouth to his in a kiss that sent a bolt of lightening straight to his cock.
âHmm still taste like rain.â
Since you asked so nicely, he laid you down right there on the kitchen counter, pressing your thighs apart and eating at you nice and slow like, then turned and fucked you on the dining table for dessert.
And in the aftermath, with his spent body sweaty and deliciously heavy pressing you down into the wooden surface, you felt laughter bubble up.
You were happy.
âWhat you laughinâ at?â He murmured against your neck, his stubble scratching against your skin with every word.
âI wasnât sure what kind of welcome Iâd get second time around.â
You felt him exhale, then slowly he pushed up and away from you, finally pulling out of your body, and you sucked in a breath at the loss of him.
There was a decidedly smug lilt to his voice when he said, âWe ainât strangers and I donât mind greetinâ you nice and proper.â
Youâd walked in with such bravado, climbing those three steps of his porch under the swinging sign with his name like you knew them by heart, kissing him like you had every right to. But your insecurities and self-doubts crashed back to earth in the soft, emotional aftermath of sleeping with this unknown person. Again.
âIâm sorry for barging inââ
âI let you.â
ââand accosting you like a madwomanââ
âCan you accost me a few more times?â
âBucky, please. Iâm just trying to sayââ
He shut you up the best way he knew how, with a slow, tender kiss that left you dazed and speechless when he pulled away again.
ââS fine. You always this scared oâ yer own actions?â
He pressed his mouth to the valley between your breasts before hauling himself up, dog tags jangling, and he disappeared down the hall. Distantly you heard the sound of water running.
Were you always this scared?
You tried to lower your legs again and hissed at the way your hips protested the movement.
Your body was not used to being snapped in half this often in only so many days.
Bucky returned wearing a new pair of boxer briefs and with a damp towel in his hand.
âHere.â
With a tenderness you found surprising and endearing, he carefully helped clean your body.
There was a strange moment of bashful domesticity as you both hunted for your scattered clothing.
âHungry?â
Dressed, silently musing all the while about whether Hollywood had taught you to never seize what you truly wanted, you perched on a stool at the counter and watched as he collected bread from the tin and fresh eggs from the pantry.
âWere you in the army?â You asked, motioning to his dog tags when he glanced your way.
âYes maâam. Sergeant Barnes.â
âOoh Sarge,â you teased, and laughed at the withering stare he threw you that didnât quite land, not when the smile that tugged at his lips gave him away.
âMe and my buddy, he was a Captain. Until I did this.â Bucky rotated his metal prosthetic. âNow itâs farm life for the rest of my days.â
You rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped on the counter. âAnd you wouldnât have it any other way.â
He nodded firmly. âThatâs the truth of it.â
You looked down as your phone buzzed with a text from your friend, whose house youâd stayed at for the last two nights as planned, asking if you were making it home in good time. You felt your cheeks heat and decided not to answer right away.
Bucky hummed a tune quietly as he cooked, and your eyes flew up to watch him.
You knew that tune.
It was yours.
âThought you didnât know any of my music.â
âI didnât.â
âAnd now?â
He shrugged casually but you caught the way the tips of his ears turned pink. âItâs not all bad.â
âYou looked me up,â you accused him, and the embarrassed flush spread down his cheeks and neck.
You snickered softly, watching for the little glances he shot your way.
âWasnât hard to find you,â he said finally, flipping the egg battered bread in the pan. He pinned you with a stare then, and you hoped you didnât imagine the admiration you spied in it. âTurns out yer quite somethinâ, huh?â
Your last album was recently lauded as the fastest album of the decade to reach five times platinum in the US, barely beating your previous album which had broke that same record. This following the sensational performance of your third tour that just wrapped upâYou dropped your gaze, shrugging at the reality of his question. âI do alright.â
Bucky snorted. âNo, honey, I do alright. Ainât got much but what I earn from the crops and animals. You?â He whistled, impressed.
âOkay,â you began, squaring your shoulders. âYouâre right. Iâve accomplished a lot. But itâs not hard work, not when I love it so much.â
He cocked his head, gesturing with the spatula for you to go on.
âI love to craft my own melodies, my own lyrics. Or have the producers send me a sample of something new and my mind run away with ideas. Iâm just lucky people seem to like what I make.â
Bucky nodded along, his gaze focussed on cooking.
âAll yer songs, they always this boppy?â
âPop.â
âThat.â
You laughed. âYes, Sarge.â
He hummed another melody and with another laugh you half-sung the words, sliding off the stool and running your hand along the kitchen counter as you rounded it to stand with him.Â
Helping him collect plates and toppings he requested from the fridge, you smiled when he presented you with a plate.
âEgg bread.â
âThis is French toast.â
Bucky looked down at the plates, then the sauces and vegetables from the fridge. âBut itâs savoury.â
âStill French toast.â
âEgg bread,â he insisted, with a finality to his tone that had you cocking a brow at him. ââS what my Ma called it.â
âWell, Iâd never argue with Mama Barnes.â
âShe wouldâa liked you,â he said, offhand, and you wondered at the way joy swept your body and curled your toes.
So you ate, talked, stared into his eyes far too long to be polite, and grinned more than once at the way you kept catching him doing the same. But this was a working farm, and this farmer had to get to it.
It was difficult to convince both of you of that when, after clearing up, heâd lifted you into the counter again, stepped between your legs, and kissed you senseless.
âIâd love to stay and âŠâ he trailed off, gaze slowly dropping to where his hands squeezed your thighs, â⊠chat.â
He didnât look like he wanted to chat. He looked like he wanted to devour you whole. Again.
âBut I got some girls in the bottom paddock that need seeinâ to.â
âCan I help?â
âDoubt it.â
No malice, just honesty.
âYer welcome to stay,â donning his hat, his smile turned down at the corners, âBut I imagine you got plenty important places to be.â
He was right. You found yourself wishing he wasnât.
He jerked his head toward the dining table. âLeft a present for you.â
And with one last kiss he was gone.
You lazily watched his figure cross the yard, admiring the way his jeans hugged tight, and his corded, tanned arm and stunningly designed prosthetic looked with his sleeves rolled up just so.
Youâd stumbled on a diamond in the rough. In a storm, no less.
Finally dragging your gaze away you searched for his supposed present.
A scrawled note sat on the sturdy wooden table. Same place as before.
Next time doesnât have to be a surprise - B.
And his phone number.
All you saw in your mindâs eye was blue. That pretty horizon over rolling hills. The colour rain clouds turned before lightening had its way. The covers on the cushions of a rusty swing chair on the porch. The faded paint of a old beat up Ford that saw better days long before he drove it.
And those eyes. Eyes deeper than the ocean and brighter than the sky. Eyes that saw right through you and saw all of you at the same time.
Eyes youâd only seen twice and already you hoped you could keep staring into them for the rest of your life.
You stepped inside the door of your New York townhouse, shutting it quickly behind you, blocking out the sound of camera shutters and probing questions of the paparazzi and fans lurking outside.
With a deep, fortifying breath, you carried your bags through to the living area and dropped them onto your couch with a sigh, breathing in the familiar scents.
It was good to be home.Â
But you grabbed your phone and snapped a quick picture right there in the room, your eyes tired and hair still tousled from the long drive. You sent it without overthinking too much, typing out âHome safe but thinking of rain and dirt roadsâ.
A reply came almost instantly.
âWhen can you get lost again?â
Several visits later, thereâs a tension to your shoulders he realised heâs seen before but hadnât recognised. Your eyes were tired, skin flawless and beautiful as always but lacking the light that usually glowed from within.
You were exhausted.
âWhatâre they doing to you up in the city, huh?â
Your mumbled response was lost against his chest as he enveloped you in his arms. He could feel the way you sagged against him, clinging like only he could give you what you need.
He decides he can.
Hands under your thighs he lifts you easily, ignoring your shrill gasp as he tucked your body against his, and carried you into the farmhouse, kicking the door shut behind him.
Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, you buried your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled of hay, sweat, and something uniquely him.
You pressed closer to breathe in more.
He carried you through the house, old floorboards creaking their telltale tune all the way to the bathroom where he gently set you down until your feet touched the tiles. The huge clawed bathtub, generally unused, became your salvation as he begins to let it fill with piping hot water. You perched on its cold edge while you wait.
When itâs full he wordlessly accepts your clothes, the banked heat in his eyes as they sweep your body a mere promise of whatâs to come.
Later.
First, you step gingerly into the bathtub, hissing at the blissful heat, and you sink in with a long drawn out sigh.
You were exhausted, and you hated that he saw it.
But you couldnât hate this.
Eyes closing, you let yourself drift. Let the smells of the farmhouse envelop you, let the warmth of the water ease everything else away.Â
There had been contract questions. An interview. Some papers about the new project you were working on, and a bunch of people who decided their time with you was more important than everything else.
And you loved it. That was the hardest part; you relished every second of it. Of fitting so much into one day, of the balancing act. Sometimes the games too, because right now you were on a winning streak.
But as you drove and the roads turned rougher, the tiredness overwhelmed you. It was regrettably stronger than your excitement at seeing Bucky again.
So when heâd opened that door and youâd collapsed in his arms, youâd trusted him to catch you.
It was nice.
Even with the window propped open for the steam, itâs quiet. Just the fresh breeze outside, the far off sound of animals, and Bucky quietly moving through the house.
You doze in and out, mindful of slipping beneath the water, tension and worries leaching away as this house, this place, and the care of this farmer lulled you into an ease you had only ever found here.
Your whole body felt languid when you eventually stepped out, steam rising off your skin, colour darker with the heat. Humming, you dried off, dipping into your bag for fresh clothes, and ventured back into the house.
A wailing soulful tune lured you to the verandah.
Bucky sat on the wooden edge, afternoon sun burnishing his hair a deep brown, metal arm gleaming as he riffed a blues melody on his harmonica.
Eyes trailing from him out to gold and green fields specked with cattle, to the old barn and the endless open horizon beyond, you breathed it all in.
Without a word you sat beside him on the verandah, legs dangling off the edge as he bends notes on the harp, playing any kind of tune as it comes to him like he would on any other night.
When you learn his key and catch the beat, you hum along whatever melody comes to you first, and he places his free hand on your knee, thumb rubbing back and forth until the sun sets.
Heâs up before you. When you see him, leaning against the wall by the hallway, arms crossed and staring right at you, you smile. The same one you always have when you set eyes on him.
A smile that grows larger when his face softens and his eyes crinkle just so. What he wears isnât quite a smile, but it warms you like one just the same.
He pushed off and stalked toward you, heavy boots thudding loud in the room. Taking your shoulders in his hands, he drew you in to press a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes.
âI got some friends stopping by for lunch,â he told you, voice a low rumble and his breath fanning over your hair. âSteve and his missus. You gonna be right with that?â
Your heart thumped so loud you were sure he could hear it in the quiet of the day. Wrapping your arms around his waist and spreading your legs to pull him in, you nodded. âIâll be alright.â
His lips brushed your skin. âCan I ask a favour?â
âSure.â Reluctantly drawing away you looked up at him. âWhat kind of favour?â
âI need a couple things in town. Will you drive us in?â He rubbed at the back of his neck, but there was something about his gaze that had yours narrowing, skeptical.
âA couple things? My carâs not built to carry much.â
âNah, thatâs why youâll be in my truck.â
Brow raised you looked at him wide eyed. âIâve never driven one that big.â
The smirk on his face said it all. âSure you have, darlinâ.â
Itâs a challenge to ignore the rush of heat pooling low within you.
âYou want me to drive your truck?â
âMaybe I want you to be seen drivinâ my truck.â
âThis feels like some kind of next step business,â you muse, heart fluttering. He wants you to meet his friends and be seen with him, it was enough giddiness to make you feel like a high schooler.Â
He shrugged, and you kissed the small smile playing across his lips.
The trip was eye opening, and not just because of the truck. The turning circle was wider than youâre used to, but you puttered along the tracks and road just fine.
No, what kept you entertained was discovering a new facet of the man you were still getting to know.Â
Bucky is even more tight-lipped here than in his own home, and no sooner had you jumped out of the truck, Sam Wilson was by the bumper welcoming you to town and slinging his arm around your shoulder like you were the oldest of friends.
The tic in Buckyâs jaw could not jump higher as he ground his teeth.
But when he asks if the stockfeed is open and if Sarah was working today, Sam is immediately stony faced and grumbling, telling him to stay in his lane. You learn quickly that not only can Sam Wilson get under his skin but Bucky lets him; a mutually aggravating camaraderie you donât understand.
Itâs in stark difference to the polite, gentlemanly way he speaks to Sarah at the stockfeed and hardware store, which makes you all the more curious to find out she and Sam are siblings.
Except when Bucky plops his Stetson on your head as you head back out onto the street, and you watch the identical way they cross their arms and watch him with matching eyes sharper than all the paparazzi in the city. You just know heâs gonna hear an earful when they get him alone next.
The meaning of wearing his hat is lost on you, but it gleams in both their eyes and everyone elseâs on the street that day as you lug two bags of fence clips back to his vehicle.
Youâre tempted to record the way he loads feed bags in the back of the truck like they weigh nothing. You imagine youâre one of them, slung over his shoulder until he grabs your waist with two hands and swings you down onto your backâ
âReady to go?â
With a gulp you nod and climb in.
Many eyes fervently follow your dust trail down the road.
You watch through the window as a flatbed truck pulls up the drive, and busy yourself setting out plates on the dining table.
Two doors slam and thereâs a murmur of voices coming closer up the steps.
âWhat happened to the wagon?â
âOn the fritz. Plus Iâm picking up some hay when we leave.â
Wait a minute.
You knew that voice.
A tall blonde swung open the flyscreen, politely removing his hat and nodding hello before freezing in place.
âSteve?â
He paused in the doorway, looking at you slack jawed, whenâ
âDonât block the door, Iâm in dire need of a sit-down.â
âPeggy!â
In waddled your very dear, very pregnant and very surprised friend.
She blinked, mouth forming a delighted oh as you rushed in to hug her.Â
âLong time no see!â She says in a daze, clutching you close before holding you out at arms length, head shaking incredulously. âBut how is it that youâre here?â
You helped her to a seat at the table, her eyes darting between you and Bucky who looked equally bewildered. Steve moved to his side, murmuring something low at his friend you couldnât hear, and Bucky shrugged his response.
âRemember when I was delayed a day coming to see you? With the storm?â
âYes,â Peggy said, hand covering yours on the table. âYou had us worried sick. I had images of you lost in a ditch somewhere.â
Sheâd said as much the next day when you eventually turned up.
Ducking your head you admitted, âI didnât stop at a motel like I said.â Your gaze rose and met hers. âI ended up here.â
âYouâre the girl that blew in with the storm,â Steve said, his voice tinged with laughter. You looked over and Bucky was a delightful shade of pink, the flush high in his cheeks and running all the way down beneath the vee of his shirt.
Peggy regarded you warmly, her eyes gleaming with a new wealth of knowledge that put you on edge.
âIâm sure he took great care of you.â
âAlright, Peg,â Bucky interrupted with a grumble. âSteve? Want to take a look at that gear?âÂ
When the men walked outside to the barn, gesturing animatedly and discussing farming things you had no idea about, Peggy followed you out and sat back into Buckyâs verandah swing chair with a sigh.
âIâve loved every moment of this pregnancy,â she said through gritted teeth. âBut my feet may never recover.â
You laughed, settling on the cushion next to her and helping her twist in the seat until she could lay back with her legs across your lap.
âIâve wanted to set the two of you up for years now, you know.â
âThe two ofââ Something clicked in your brain, several long-ago conversations crowding in all at once of a young feller with a rough exterior but a kind heart. ââThis is James?â
Heâd asked you to call him Bucky, youâd completely forgotten. Your eyes glanced up to the sign swinging gently in the breeze, emblazoned with his initials.
And Steve was a Captain! From the moment he was off active duty he and Peggy had tried for a baby, this pregnancy being the magic one that finally took.
A pregnancy that brought you out of the city for the first time in years to see your dear friend that you hadnât visited in so long, only to end up on this very porch with Bucky Barnes sweeping you off your feet.
There was no way to know this could happen, but the threads were there. Your mind whirled, unable to consider the odds.
âAnd you said youâd never date a country boy.â Her voice was so smug you could do nothing but shrug.
âHeâs no boy,â you whispered, and Peggyâs laughter peeled out across the yard, drawing Steveâs attention who smiled indulgently at his wife and gave you both a little wave.
Bucky was staring, face unreadable at this distance, but you could feel his eyes like a brand.
He watched you sitting there, so comfortable in his home, friends with his friends, looking more relaxed than heâs ever seen you.
Steve made a noise next to him, and he turned to see his best friend smirking and shaking his head.
âYou got something to say, Rogers?â
âSheâll make an honest man outta you.â
Bucky scowled. âHow would you know that?â
âI know youâve never looked this happy since your folks passed and Becca moved away.â
Kicking at a weed tuft in the gravel, Bucky grumbled, âYeah, well, you never mentioned you had a damn famous person as a friend.â
âWhy would I?â Steve laughed. âHad you even heard of her before she fell in your lap?â
Bucky shrugged a non-answer.
âBesides, sheâs not like that with us. And Peggy knew her from before all that anyhow.â As if that settled that matter.
He watched you there with Peggy, giggling like schoolgirls and all the while cradling her legs, making sure she was comfortable. In his house.
His voice was quiet but sure when he told Steve, âI got a good feeling about this one, Cap.â
âYeah, Buck. Yeah, me too.â
It was late at night. The house was still alive with boisterous conversations and delightful reminiscing. Lunch had turned into card games which had turned into dinner and sitting by the fire. Peggy regaled you with the worst kind of stories about the boys, who had the decency to look bashful before sharing a few tales of their own.
Youâd hugged your dear friend close, wishing her well for the last weeks of her pregnancy, Bucky promising over your shoulder heâd live up to his godfathering duties if they ever needed a hand.
The moment theyâd left, disappearing down the dirt drive into the dark of night, Bucky took your hand and drew you back to the fireplace, showing you in the most delicious way possible how happy he was with the day.
âSo.â
Pillowed in his arm amongst blankets and pillows strewn on the floor, you dragged your eyes away from the gentle rise and fall of his chest to meet his steady gaze.
âWhen do I get to return the favour?â
Even after the last hour of pleasure your body clenched at his words, heat sweeping from your cheeks down your neck and chest.
âBucky,â you whispered, scandalised. âI already came three times, you donâtââ
His bark of laughter surprised you.
ââM flattered, darlinâ, but not what I meant.â
He rolled then, body curving into yours and his metal arm snaking around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
âWhen can I come to New York?â
Nothing about him changed, there was no shift in tone, but something in the question appeared so small and earnest, so hopeful, that your heart doubled over.
âYou want to come to the big smoke with me?â
You felt his nod against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin reverently.
âWanna see your world, darlinâ.â
You liked the escapism, that out here youâre just you, no watching over your shoulder or calculating the hidden meaning of every word spoken to you. With Bucky you could be yourself, and not consider the PR implications of an honest reaction.
But even out here in the calm, parts of your soul longed for home.
And one particular part buried in your chest swelled at the thought of showing off your gorgeous farmer to the world.
âWhat about the farm?â
âI got plenty oâ favours to call in.â
The first visit was a blur of motion.
The long miles faded quickly behind him, buildings piling up on the horizon as he drove his old truck steadily down the highway, but Bucky was unfazed.
When Becca left with her new husband heâd been into the cities a few times.
Turns out this was not like those times.
There was a country mile difference between walking the streets of New York and walking the streets of New York on your arm.
âBe there in a song.â
When he arrived it was to the interested looks of people lurking outside your door, all who swiftly drew their cameras and phones when he walked up and knocked.
And there you were, thousand-watt smile and hands grabbing him, dragging him indoors to the sound of fast shutters as the photographers captured the moment. But how could he care about them when the second he was inside behind closed doors you squeaked a happy, âHi Sarge,â and threw your arms around his neck, kissing him like you needed his mouth to draw breath.
âYou got gawkers outside,â he murmured to your lips, nudging his nose against yours.
âNevermind them,â you said dismissively, taking his hand and showing him your expensive town house.
Itâs big. Foot-for-square-foot it was bigger than his family home, but filled to the brim with life. Your life. Awards and photographs and music, so much music everywhere.
âSo, this is where you spin yer tunes,â he said, pressing down the keys of your keyboard and frowning when they emitted no sound.
âItâs an electric keyboard,â you tell him, and his cheeks heat.
âRight. Of course.â
âActually, itâs a workstation. It plays, but I also use it for sampling and recording when Iâm struck by any new ideas.â
He plucks the silent keys a couple more times for good measure and lets you lead him on.
Through the tour he quietly takes note of how much money is invested around your house alone, and feels something within him tighten. No, strengthen.
Youâre really something. He had an idea of it, of course, after searching you up online and learning. But it was a little different seeing the fruits of your labours here in person.
Bucky knew heâd better prove heâs worthy of you. That he could meet you halfway in all this.
âSo, thatâs everything!â
Your smile was brighter than the sun and hadnât dimmed since the moment you set eyes on him.
âReady for lunch?â
The little smile playing around Buckyâs lips, one that had his eyes softening and his head tilting just so, set your heart aflutter. He stared at you, simply taking you in.
âWhat?â You touched your cheek, then your nose. âYou gave me pash rash with that kiss, didnât you?â
He shook his head, slow and measured, and laughed to himself. You didnât know the joke.
âYou said lunch?â He collected his keys from his bag.
âOh, umââ you placed your hand over his, shaking your head, ââmy driver is waiting to take us.â
His brow furrowed. âBut my truckâs just out front.â
âAnd Happy is already waiting.â Embarrassment twisted inside you. What must he be thinking? This man who had seen war and managed a farm all on his own, while you have a driver for something as simple as lunch.
But Bucky gestured for you to lead the way, popping his Stetson back in place and tipping the brim low.
As promised, Happy Hogan and the black sedan sat just outside, beside Buckyâs beaten truck.
You took his hand, knowing yours was clammy as your nerves spiked with the onset of cameras and people calling your name.
You shouldâve warned him.
Too late now.
The crowd pressed in, larger than when he had arrived, likely drawn in by the news of a stranger at your door. They surrounded the car, surround the two of you, and Bucky forcibly placed himself between you and them.
âWhoâs your visitor?â
âSeeing someone new?â
âSir, look this way!â
Keeping Bucky close down the stairs and the sidewalk, you smiled gratefully at Happy who hurried around to get your door.
âWelcome to New York, Mr Barnes,â he said as you both hopped into the car, and he promptly shut you away from prying eyes.
You turned to him immediately, watching the way his gaze lingered out the window at the gathered crowd as the car pulled away. âWas that a lot?â
âDo you have, uhââ Bucky fumbled for words as he faced you, a deeply etched frown on his face. âA bodyguard? Or somethinâ?â
âYes.â You gestured beyond the privacy screen at the passenger side front seat where your bodyguard sat beside Happy. âBruce? Say hello?â
Bruce Banner twisted in the seat and smiled brightly at Bucky, uttering a quiet hello before turning back.
Buckyâs face was all hard lines, a tic in his jaw jumping as he thought. Then his eyes met yours and you saw the concern etched there.
âThey look after me,â you whisper. âI promise.â
He nods once, barely satisfied, and takes your hand in his. âWhere we headed today?â
Twining your fingers in his, relishing the callouses that graze your palm, you tell him, âBurgers first. Then I wanted to take you to the studio.â
You smiled, watching the way his gaze softened when it landed on you. The way his eyes, weather worn, crinkled at the edges and the sun spots dusting his cheeks lifted with the apple of his smile matching yours.
And all the while heâs watching you back, unable to stop the way his lips curve as you stare up at him with those pretty eyes sparkling with something he hasnât seen before.
This time when you step out the car, heâs prepared. Bruce opens the door first, helping you to your feet, and Bucky immediately follows behind. He has a hand around your waist, grasping your side firmly, but his eyes are up and out over the heads of people around them, guiding and shielding you in Bruceâs wake.
Itâs not as pointed at last time, fewer people expecting your arrival, but thereâs no mistaking the piqued interest at the company you brought. At him and the obvious connection between you.
Inside the restaurant in no time, Bucky politely slid off his Stetson. He blinked slowly, banishing the afterglow of camera flashes, his only tell that this wasnât normal. Seeing your concerned face as you waited, he grinned at you, hand outstretched, gesturing to follow the server as they lead you to a table.
Buckyâs eyes flickered around, noting the stares and the phones sneaking photos of the two of you. He took it all in, cataloguing his surroundings. Keeping his expression neutral, ignoring the prickling sensation at the back of his neck at being watched so closely by so many complete strangers, he made sure you were comfortably seated before sitting.
Only once did he ask, âIs it always like this?â and you didnât hesitate, knowing exactly what he meant.
âYes. You get used to it.â
Even he was unsure if his grunted reply was agreement or not.
Frowning down at the menu, he took in his options.
âThese ainât gonna to be those tiny meals I see on TV, are they?â He murmured quietly.
A snort escaped before you could help yourself. âNo!â Buckyâs lips twisted in a wry smile. âNo, Bucky, I promise these burgers will fill up even a strapping lad like you.â
And when his eyes widened as your plates were delivered, you allowed yourself a moment to gloat as he gauged how best to eat the massive meal before him.
He thought heâd fed you hearty meals back on the farm, but there was a primal kind of satisfaction inside him at seeing you dig into a meaty burger that felt a little caveman-like.Â
He liked a woman that could eat, and he especially liked knowing you were taken care of.
Plus these burgers were darn tasty.
He kept his voice low over lunch, not for anyone else to hear, concerned for the other patrons and staff who are clearly listening in for a little celebrity gossip. A small part of him flinched at the idea of you being lumped in with a country hick, a regular olâ redneck, and though heâs never been ashamed of his home he has a vague idea of what that might mean to these city folk.
âI canât believe youâre here,â you say at one point, your expression so openly warm and pleased that he sits a little straighter.
âDarlinâ, Iâd follow you to the end of the earth if you keep smilinâ at me like that,â he told you gruffly.
His shoulders stiffen when he hears a faint collective âawwâ and sigh from the table over, but youâre oblivious, flushed from his compliment, hand snaking over the table to capture his prosthetic one and squeezing tight.
He risked a glance up and sees a table of women, friends hanging out he supposes, looking at the two of you with stars in their eyes. They made themselves look busy when they realised he was looking their way.Â
âBurger was good?â
He cleared his throat. âAinât as good as Samâs brisket, let me tell you. But yeah.â
He looked between both your now-empty plates.
âShould we get goinâ? Didnât you have somewhere to be?â
âHang on,â you said earnestly, waving over the server, âyou have to try their pie.â
He placed a hand on his stomach. âHoney, I donât think I got room.â
âSure you do, cowboy.â
A slice was placed down on the table.
As you carved out a piece for yourself, Buckyâs spoon knocked yours. Deliberately. Giggling, you spared back, crossing his spoon with yours and making him drop the mouthful he had scooped up.
âItâs like that, is it?â He chuckled, holding up his spoon like a fencer before his face.
âOh, Sarge.â You pointed your spoon directly at his chest. âItâs on.â
Your spoons clashed together in a loud twang and your laughter rang out through the restaurant, Buckyâs tenor underscoring it.
It wasnât until you caught a server looking curiously at your spoon fight did you take in your surroundings, noticing the number of eyes and phones pointed toward your table. With a gentle cough you lowered your weaponised spoon.
âI yield. Even though you didnât have room for it.â
Bucky chuckled, digging into the slice of pie, taking a large mouthful and grinning as he chewed.
ââS real good.â
You lowered your gaze to the plate and carved out another piece for yourself, missing the charming smile and small salute Bucky gave the nosy table next to yours who continued to gawk.
Youâre glad timing worked out the way it did, as you checked the text that just came in. You had a tiny surprise lined up for your dear farmer.
âNow we swing by the studio for five minutes,â you tell him in the car, Happy already making his way there. âI hope you donât mind.â
âHoney, Iâm here for you. Whatever you got to do, Iâm a foot behind you.â
Stark Studios was surprisingly busy for midday, people from all walks of life bustling through its doors. But there was one in particular who promised theyâd be there, and as you twined your arm around Buckyâs you felt giddy knowing he would find this fun.
The main lobby run off into a little gallery, pictures, posters, album covers and exemplary statistics showing just what a powerhouse Stark Studios was in the music business.Â
Youâd left Bucky there to talk a little business with your manager and record executive, and when you returned twenty minutes later with someone else on your arm, you found him standing in front of the wall dedicated to you and your work. Your career so far.
There was a blank space still to be filled, with a cheeky sign stating, âFor her future hits.â Tony had thought it was both motivating for you and a challenge declared to the other artists signed to the record label.
Bucky chuckled and nodded when he saw it.
âHey, cowboy? I want to introduce you to someone.â
You indulged him in dragging his feet, wide eyes taking in all the signed memorabilia and photographs.
This would be a treat.
But when you stood in front of the red head and gave their introductions, you smirked knowingly at his slack-jawed expression.
No, he hadnât known of you when you first met, but Natasha Romanoff?
Youâd found not one but three of her albums by the Queen of country music in his home one visit, and some of his favourite tunes to play on the harmonica were harmonies from her songs.
His ears tinged pink as he shook her hand. âNice to meet you, maâam.â
âMaâam? Do I look that old, son?â
His gaze flickered to you, uncertainty clouding his baby blues, and you hip checked Natasha out of her pointed stare.
ââTasha, youâre scaring the poor boy.â
His eyes flashed. You smiled at him sweetly, knowingly.Â
Youâd pay for that comment later.
And the exchange doesnât go unnoticed. Natashaâs eyes were wickedly bright when she said, âIâm waiting for him to stomp around like an unbroken horse.â
He snorted out a breath heavily through his nose and that cracked her. She broke into a genuine smile, clapping him affectionately on the shoulder. âYouâll do.â
You stepped away and he clasped your elbow firm enough to draw your complete attention.
âCall me boy again and Iâll remind you what this man can do.â
He felt the shiver that wracked your whole body.
Stood to one side while he spoke with Natasha, you mouthed a thank you to your friend when she gifted him a signed poster and kissed him on the cheek, lipstick stain lingering and all.
You werenât jealous of the starry eyed expression on his face, nor the way he rambled like a schoolboy all the way back to the car. Honestly, you were pleased heâd liked the surprise so much.
You still felt a little reminder of how much you cared was in order.
Bucky motioned you into the car first, watchful eyes on the street and surrounds, ever vigilante.
But he didnât see you coming.
Pulling him roughly to the backseat, you could barely wait for Happy to shut the door before you got to work on his belt.
âChrist, darlinâ, whatââ
Kissing him firmly, you pulled back only enough to tell him, âLet me.â
His jaw clenched hard but his eyes were already darkening. You felt him twitch beneath your hands.
Buckyâs eyes flickered to the front seat over the privacy partition where Happy climbed in to drive them home.
Biting your lip, you pressed the button for the privacy screen to close.
âBye, Happy.â
You ignored the manâs knowing smile in the rear view mirror as the glass slid in place.
Belt undone and jeans quickly pried open, you delved in, humming happily as your hand closed around his cock, already thick and heavy in your grasp. He bucked up into your touch and his head thunked back against the seatrest.
âYer a madwoman,â he muttered, watching from beneath hooded eyes as you knelt on the seat and lowered your mouth to him.
The first touch of your lips made him jerk again, smearing precum against your mouth. Licking your lips to the sound of his gasp, you twirled your tongue against the swollen head and took him in, inch by inch, all the way until your lips touched your hand at his base.
âDarlinâ, you canât. Youââ he choked on a guttural groan as you swallowed around him.
You pulled away with an audible pop.
âSsh, Bucky.â You didnât recognise your own voice, deep and husky with want for him. âYou donât want someone to hear you.â
His cock twitched in your hand, his fist clenching hard.
âBe a good boy and stay quiet for me, Sarge,â you whispered, and took him in your mouth again.
When he began to rut up into your mouth you hummed your approval, your eyes rolling back as you felt him hot and heavy at the back of your throat.
And when he came for you on a muffled groan as you swallowed everything he gave you, you delighted in how wrecked he looked sprawled out in the car seat, mouth parted with heavy breaths.
He stared at you, your lips swollen and lipstick smeared, and grit his teeth, sending out a silent prayer to whoever listened for dropping you in his path.
Awake long before you, farm hours never gifting him the luxury of a sleep in, Bucky lounged in bed. Arm slung behind his head, nothing better to do with his time, he browsed the internet for something he never thought heâd care for.
Gossip.
He searched your name, searched his, scrolled through social media and news blogs, unable to fathom how quickly the world moved up here.
Day one in New York and he could map it through these posts and stories almost to the minute.
Photos of his arrival at your door, of his guarding you from the onslaught of attention. Where the two of you ate, who you saw at the studio.
Even analysis of where to buy a hat just like his. That got his hackles raised.
He felt you stir next to him, gorgeous limbs flexing and stretching like they ached from hard work.
He knew his grin turned wolfish at the reminder of how thoroughly youâd welcomed him to the city late into the night.
âGood morning.â
And what a good morning it was. Your hair tousled on the pillow, smile languid and warm, hand pressed against his bare stomach.
âMorninâ,â he rasped, his voice the only thing not yet woken from slumber. âWanna know what the world thinks of your farmer debut?â
You huff out a laugh and shuffle closer, pressing your face against his side. âWhat do they say?â
âMostly talk about how good-lookinâ I am.â
You thump him lightly with your fist.
Chuckling, he reads a passage from a particularly kind blog, one that called him rakishly handsome, softly spoken, and only drew on his military history. He chuckled reading it again.
âI gave âem nothing to talk about.â
âYou can do that,â you pout. âIf I donât talk Iâm labelled a snob.â
âThatâs not quite what they say here.â
Interested, you pushed further up the bed, settling into the crook of his arm.
He kept his tone light while he read. ââSo smitten with her new beau, our pop princess barely spoke to anyone else, preferring to keep her attention â and her lips â on him.ââ
He tilted his phone toward you, showing you the last photograph anyone had captured of the two of you yesterday.
A photo of you both stepping out of Happyâs sedan onto the sidewalk outside the townhouse, a close up of the red lipstick stains in his stubble and your perfect lip line all but disappeared, smudged around your swollen lips.
The bedsheets did nothing to hide his bodyâs reaction at the reminder of your gift to him in the car.
âThey missed one thing,â he said, dropping his phone and rolling until he hovered over your body, one arm braced near your shoulder and the other tracing a line from the hollow of your neck down your chest.
You blinked up at him, eyes still sleepy but warming quickly to his line of thinking. âAnd whatâs that?â
âThat I canât keep my hands off you either.â
His fingers found your side, tickling mercilessly.
With a shriek and a giggle you squirmed under his hands until the sounds devolved into moans, your body writhing in a different way as he settled between your legs.
The noise is constant. The texts, emails, calls. But also the voices, the cars, the underlying hum of everything.
He learns quickly that Happy and Bruce see you as a friend, a responsibility, not just a job, and he warms to them immediately.
He especially likes when your bodyguard hangs back because they know in Buckyâs hands youâre safer than youâll ever be.
He doesnât like the photographers and reporters in your face, urgent words and desperate requests jostling you when youâre only trying to get to the car, and he quickly becomes acquainted with how bodily the guarding of you keeps him occupied on every outing.Â
Until the day an arrogant paparazzo tries to get too close between him and your bodyguard.
âGet the fuck outta her way or Iâll bury you in a field where no one will find you.â
But somehow even that is brushed off, twisted into some heroic act, no mention of threats or an investigation.
The world is enamoured by the pop star and her farm boy, and for now you canât go wrong.
He hates that whenever you step outside your home youâre no longer your own person, open to the whims of the paparazzi, fans on the street, demands on your time for stupid reasons like being seen in the right places and with the right people.
But he loves how you handle it all. Your grace and determination, especially when itâs your fans begging for a scrap of your attention, and you give it to them willingly because, as you say, who would you be without them?
He pictures you in his barn, hand gentle on his horseâs flank as he shows you how to whisper sweet words to his girl, and he thinks he has a pretty good idea of who you can be no matter where you are or who your audience is.
What he loves most are the evenings, the quiet hours nearing then passing midnight, when he can take you in his arms and soothe away the trials of the day. When he can make you tense and relax in the best way he knows how. And especially after, when you curl up against him like only he can hold the world at bay.
And for you he would.
There are days on the farm he wished he could say âno moreâ. Long, tiring days when the hard labour pulls too much and he entertains thoughts of throwing in the towel.
But watching you here in your giant plush king bed, the tension slowly leaching from your shoulders as you rest, your eyes still creased with the struggles you endure, he wonders how you push yourself through. No one works as hard as you.
âYer guarded out here.â
His words made the hair on your head ruffle where heâs pressed his cheek to your crown.
You hummed. âIâm on display here.â
ââS why yer so tired allâa time.â His accent thickened as he too felt tiredness set in.
Sighing, you buried your face closer, breathing him in. âIt doesnât help.â
ââN why you question eârythinâ you do.â
You felt for the seem of his prosthetic beneath his shirt, tracing the line over the fabric.
âLucky Iâve got my own slice of paradise to escape to, huh?â
âWhereâs that?â
Tilting your head back, you gave him a small smile. âYour place.â
âHmm.â
He gazed down at you and you let yourself get lost in his big blue eyes.
âCanât really keep chickens here anyhow.â
Scoffing, you pressed your face to his chest again.
âYouâre an idiot.â
âSergeant Idiot. And you picked me. In a storm no less.â
âYeah,â you said, your hand resting over his fast bearing heart. âYeah I did.â
Youâre fussing over him, flitting through the townhouse like a whirlwind to make sure he hasnât left anything behind.
He knew he hadnât, knew everything was inside the duffle bag at his feet, but he didnât mind leaving you distracted as he carefully he noted down the name and make of your keyboard, taking a photo for good measure.
Youâd lamented the missing of it on one visit, dragging the whole thing stand, cords and all on another. He thought to save you the trouble next time.
What he did mind was the pain you tried to hide as you kissed him goodbye. He didnât always have the luxury of seeing your face when the two of you parted, the farm always ensuring he was up at the crack of dawn and leaving you sleeping soundly in his bed until you were ready to drive. It was bittersweet, but in some ways easier.
Then he wouldnât have to feel the tremor in your hand as you held his, walking him to the door and promising youâd see him soon.
And as you watched him leave, watched his old truck peel away from the curb and take the sunshine with him, you felt a pang in your chest that never truly went away until you were in his arms again.
The drive back to the farm was the longest heâd ever driven. Not by miles, but by the road stretching behind him.
The growing distance between him and you.
Heâd never felt it so succinctly, seeing your car amble away down the the dirt track. But this ached in his chest in a way heâd never felt before.
He knew the name of that feeling. Knew those four letters without a doubt. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to only think it once the dust began to kick up behind his truck.
Nevermind. Heâd tell you next time.
When he found not one but three separate photographers slinking around on his property, sticking their noses in places they shouldnât because this was private land, he called the sheriff.
He promptly installed two shining new signs on the outer gate at the property line, warning about private property, trespassing and prosecution.
He chuckled as he surveyed them, snapping a photo to send you because he knew youâd get a kick out of it. And he wondered how different his life would be right now if heâd had those signs up on that fateful stormy day.
Probably no different at all, not back then. Same olâ country boy on his family farm, labouring away day in and day out. This was the different future heâd longed for. You were the difference.
He was glad youâd never been warned away. He was glad you came in with the rain.
Another month, another country drive.
Cutting the engine in what had become your parking spot, you stepped out onto the grass and dirt of Buckyâs front yard and looked around.
His old Ford was parked up, but in one of the distant fields you could see some dust on the horizon.
Looks like you had a wait on your hands.
You glanced at the swing chair on the verandah, but something behind you tugged hard. You turned, your eyes settling on the wood of the fence line, and started forward.
You step first onto the bottom beam, pulling yourself up by the top second beam, then you swung your leg up and over, hauling yourself up to straddle the fence line. You rested your ass on the fence post and surveyed everything around you.
Gently rolling meadows. Fields of greens. A clear sky as blue as the eyes of the man you waited for.
You bit your lip, an idea for lyrics slowly swirling and forming in your mind, and you dug out your phone to capture the moment of inspiration.
And thatâs how Bucky found you, an hour later, humming a tune into the receiver end of your phone as it recorded.
You visibly gulped when you caught sight of him, and didnât miss the unmistakeable way his walk turned swagger as he approached.
He knew what he looked like, shirt plastered against his body, hands, arms and jeans dusty and dirt smeared from hard work, sweat beading deliciously on his forehead under the wide brim of his Stetson that drove you utterly wild.
âHey there, honey.â
There was a dangerous glint in his eye as he helped you down, hands clasping your hips firmly and not letting go when he set you on your feet.
âTurn around.â
A voice of steel, commanding, slicing through you and melting any thought of denying him.
You turned in his grasp.
âHands on the fence.â
You rushed to obey, hands gripping the top wooden beam.
He made a tsk sound and you trembled.
âBottom one.â
Your face flushed hot as his hands encouraged you to slowly hinge at the hips, to bend over and place your hands on the lower beam.
âGood girl.â
He ground himself against you then with a slow roll and you felt exactly how happy he was to see you from the hot, hard length of him pressing against your core.
His hands dipped around, roughly unbuttoning your pants and shoving them down in one swift motion. You gasped when your panties followed suit.
Bucky groaned at the sight.
You squirmed as the cool afternoon air breezed against the most sensitive parts of you, damp flesh tingling cold. A soft whimper escaped, unbidden, and his chuckle stung with a little cruelty.
âYou need somethinâ, honey?â
You felt your body sway back, searching for that press of him against you again, but instead you cried out as his hand came down in a stinging slap against the bare skin of your ass.
âUse your words.â
It hit you then that you hadnât spoken since he appeared from the barn, struck dumb by the sight of him.
Turned even dumber by this.
When you could speak, it came out broken and breathy. âB-Bucky, pleaseââ
âPlease, what?â
You didnât know. You had no clue what to expect let alone what you wanted most. All you knew was you didnât want him to stop.
âPlease, I need more. I needâ n-needâ
âKnow exactly what you be needinâ, darlinâ. And Iâm gonna give it to you.â
A booted foot pressed between yours, nudging your stance wider, and the soft whoosh of him dropping to his knees in the grass behind you had you dragging in a deep breath.
But you lost it again a second later when he buried his mouth against your slit.
A groan escaped him at the first taste, guttural and ragged, his hands clasping each cheek and spreading you apart. You moaned with him as his tongue plunged deep.
He ate at you fiercely, like you were the first meal he had all day and he was a man starved. His tongue lapped and laved, his lips and mouth sucking and sipping at your flesh, drinking you in. You tried hard to contain the sounds desperate to spill out of you, but Bucky would have none of it.
âLet me hear you, darlinâ,â he rasped, hand replacing his tongue as he gathered the slick drooling out of you and used it to circle your entrance. âTell the meadows yer mine.â
He pressed a single finger in, thick and deep inside you, and your strangled cry echoed throughout the yard. Slowly, a second finger joined the first, stretching you wider, curling just so until you clenched hard around him.
And when his mouth fastened around your clit, sucking hard as his fingers pistoned in and out of you, you devolved into a mess of babbled words and broken moans as your orgasm tore through you with lightening speed. Still his mouth stayed on you, fingers deep but gentling, easing you through the waves and keeping you on edge.
Your legs buckled, and he wrapped his metal arm around your thighs.
âGot you.â
But he didnât lower you down, didnât gather you into his arms. No, Bucky pushed forward, easily lifting you inches off the ground and pressing you up and over the wooden beam until you rested on it. Your hands scrambled for purchase, your still-shaking body burning where the hard edge of the wood pressed into your skin, your shirt hardly softening the edge.
âBucky, whaââ
When the sound of his belt unbuckling hit your ears you twisted around.
The sight you beheld would never leave your memory for as long as you lived.
Bucky behind you, jeans shoved down around his thighs, palming his raging erection with the hand still slick from you, the tip of him angry red and leaking. His shirt pushed up out of the way, his lean stomach and abs on display for your needy gaze.
He rested his metal hand against the small of your back, lining himself up with you, and only then did he glance down and catch you watching him.
His eyes were dark, blue swallowed whole by black, arousal flushed high on his cheeks and mouth open in heated admiration. His damn Stetson was as crooked as the smile he gave you as he rasped, âReady fâme?â
He didnât give you time to answer.
His gaze held yours as he pressed in, the thick heat of him stretching you in a delicious burn as he pushed every inch.
Your ragged moan covered his grunt of pleasure when he bottomed out inside you, filling you so completely your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut.
âWelcome back, honey.â
In one long breath he drew out again, then brutally drove home.
Your hips stung with every thrust as he pushed you against the fence beam over and over, and you knew come morning youâd be bruised and sore, but you didnât care. You couldnât, not when he fucked you so deeply, when he heaped praise and desperate grunts upon you in equal measure.
âSo fuckinâ good,â he told you, each word panting out with a snap of his hips. âMissed this. Missed you. Fuck, I missed you.â
His words became lost in a series of groans as you clenched around him, your second orgasm drawing in, and his hips stuttered.
âGot another fâme?â
Your hips pressed back against him now, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing that high only Bucky could give you. Your legs were shaking, your voice hoarse as you whined and moaned for him, your fingers white-knuckled where you clutched the fence.
He bent forward and thrust up into you, the angle driving the length of him against that sweet spot deep inside that had you bucking wildly in his grasp. His hand snaked around your body, finding your clit and rubbing with single minded determination.
You came with a strangled cry.
Bucky swore violently and fucked into you once, twice more, before burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside. You could feel every pulse, every bit of him as you clenched and fluttered around him in the aftermath.
The yard fell quiet, save for the sounds of both your soft panting breaths.Â
Bucky gently eased you back, gathering you into his arms as he lifted you and sat down on the ground against the fence post, folding you across his lap. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat strong and rhythmic against you, and you sighed.
In the distance a cow mooed and you giggled helplessly.
âWho knew it could be like this,â you whispered, uncaring if there was an answer.
Bucky was quiet for a time, his cheek resting against your head and his hand idly tracing shapes against your thigh.
âI was ticked off when I saw headlights that night.â
Another laugh huffed out of you. âI thought you might murder me.â
You felt his chest shake with silent laughter.
âNow I get all melancholy when it rains and yer not here with me.â
âYou mean that?â Your voice was small and you didnât draw back to look at him, didnât know how to handle whatever answer he gave you.
ââM sittinâ bare-ass in the grass right now. Only fâ you.â
âBucky.â
You felt his shrug, his lips pressing gently to your forehead.
âFell in love with you when you ran up those there steps and kissed me. Eârythinâ else fell into place around that.â
Thatâs when you pulled back to look at him.
He met your gaze openly, no holding back, no doubt in his eyes. Only the surety of his feelings.
You didnât say it then.
He didnât need you to, kissing first the tip of your nose then pressing his lips to yours in an achingly soft kiss.
But later, when you winced as you climbed into bed beside him and he touched the line of bruises across your hips reverently, kissing your skin and apologising over and over for being so rough with you, it slipped out like it was the easiest thing in the world.
âYouâre lucky I love you.â
He hummed agreement, his thumb rubbing soft circles against your skin, hoping to soothe the angry marks with touch alone.
âYeah. I am.â
There was always something to do on the farm, and the animals always needed tending, but he felt a tug on his heart and an itch under his skin as the days stretched on.
So he texted you for another trip.
You called back that night, uncertain.
âIâm really busy with work,â you say, and itâs not an excuse to push him away, he knows that. Itâs just your crazy schedule isnât as routine as farm chores and country life.
Heâs sitting in his truck, parked outside Samâs bar, music and voices spilling out with the light from the door, and he knows thereâs a cold beer waiting for him inside.
But heâd miss it all to keep talking with you.
âThereâs an awards things coming up, andââ
âYou gotta get dolled up?â That perked his interest. âWear one of those slinky dresses, your hair all twisted up nice. Struttinâ down that red carpet like you already won?â
He pulls laughter from you, the tinkling sounds better than any song of yours heâs ever heard, and he doesnât even mind when you chide him gently. He just laughs too.
Until your soft confession punches the breath out of him, setting his heart beating so hard his ribs would bruise. âI want to show everyone how in love with you I am.â
âThen Iâll come to the show,â he said gruffly. âYou on my arm, the whole world knows who I belong to.â
âItâs not that simple.â
âSure it is.â So cocky. So confident. Easiest thing in the world, to declare you were his. And he yours.
âCan I buy you a suit?â
âI got a suit.â
âBucky.â
Ah, right. This was a fancy thing. âNot the right suit, hm?â
âI want to get you something tailored.â Thereâs a wistfulness to your voice that sends a bolt of heat straight through him. âSomething that hugs you perfectly, shows off your shoulders and your armsââ
You broke off, letting out a soft sound heâs heard a million times before, and he wants to crawl through the phone to get at you.
âYer gettinâ all wet just thinkinâ âbout me in those clothes. Wait âtil you get âem off.â His accent comes out thick with a growl, and you whimper, actually whimper, making him curse and shift in his seat as his jeans grow too tight.
His voice is low and husky when he promises, âYou can get me whatever youâd like, darlinâ. Just let me be there with you.â
He doesnât have a regular parking spot in New York, not like you do back home. There isnât a growing bare patch in the concrete where his tyres sat while you were out and worked business all day.
Truth be told he kinda liked the way his dull paintwork stood out against the shiny black sedans, the stupid Teslas, and the little electric things. He liked that someone could glance down the street and see something different had arrived.
But he especially liked it when he got the spot right outside your building, those cold looking grey stairs leading from his rusty Ford door to the one that let him enter the one place in the big city that felt a little like entering heavens gates.
âCause they brought him to you.
And despite your hectic schedule, despite people vying for your attention all over town, youâre right there at the doorway every time he knocks to great him nice and proper with a kiss.
Thereâs a fitting at some snazzy building in the middle of the city, a private tailor upstairs from offices who go through more money in one day than he sees in a year.
It makes his head spin a little, but your pleased grin when he stands up on the podium wearing the suit youâd ordered is all he really needs to worry about.
âWhat do you think?â
The tailor is a lanky older gentleman, the type you see in all the old movies, and Bucky turns this way and that as he looks at himself.
If only his folks could see him now. They wouldnât recognise him in all this.
âI donât have a dog in this fight, sir.â He turned to you, sitting on the little couch by the window, looking pretty as a peach in a dress and smiling up at him. âLadyâs call.â
You stand, approaching him slow, your eyes telling him without a doubt exactly how good you think he looks.
âYouâll do,â you say on a sigh, and even the tailor chuckled. âThank you, Jarvis.â
When Jarvis leaves the room, Bucky finds enough confidence to nod at his Stetson you carry in your hands. âReckon theyâll let me wear it on the red carpet?â
You match his cheeky grin with one of your own, reaching up to place the hat on his head and turning him back to the mirror.
âWhy do you think I picked this colour?â
You enjoy every moment of his surprise when he takes in the whole perfectly matching ensemble.
Time moved like an avalanche in New York. One minute he was sharing a light breakfast and early morning kisses with you, and the next youâre both in a hotel suite near Madison Square Garden. Hair and makeup stylists fussed over you in a seat before a mirror while wardrobe people and your management team talked logistics and the possibilities for the night ahead.
You sat in the middle of all the chaos, letting them paint your face and play with your hair, and all Bucky could do was stand to the side and let it all happen around him.
Theyâd already dressed him and messed with his hair and face an hour ago.
âWould you like us to shine yourâ um, your, uhâŠâ
One of the poor wardrobe girls gestured hopelessly at his prosthetic and Bucky arched a brow at her. âWhat you gonna shine with? Shoe polish?â
She looked like the floor couldâve swallowed her whole.
âItâs a well-meaning thought, but not necessary,â you called out, your voice carefully measured. But when Bucky looked your way you seemed conflicted between rage on his behalf and the urge to laugh at the girlâs predicament.
He stepped forward to cool your temper, and put that fire to better use.
âAll this pampering is, uhââ he brushed his knuckles against his stubble and through his hair, peering at himself in the mirror over your shoulder. âItâs a fuss, but nice. Didnât know it could sit like this.â
âHmm a little clean for my liking.â You meet his gaze in the reflection.
âYeah?â
âI like my farmer a little ⊠rougher.â
âYou like me dirty.âÂ
There was a soft gasp from somewhere behind you both, but you didnât care what they overheard. Not with the way Buckyâs eyes darkened and his gaze dropped to the soft robe you were wearing.
The robe with nothing beneath it.
âI have to dress,â you said quietly.
âDonât need the robe to dress,â he said back, voice low enough for only you to hear.
Your eyes burned with the desire to give in, but you couldnât. Not this time.
âIf you let me dress in private now, Iâll let you take it off me later.â
He scoffed, lips curving in an entirely too-smug smile. âLet me?â He said, shaking his head and lifting your hand to brush a kiss against your knuckle. âTry to stop me.â
Because he hadnât seen the dress before, having only arrived in town long enough to have his suit finished, but he knew whatever design they had cooked up for you was going to knock him dead.
Time ticked by as he stood in the other room with your management team, Tony explaining to him exactly how the red carpet and ceremony would run, when the wardrobe team returned to the room.
He felt his hands grew clammy as you called out, âReady?â
This felt like it could be his damn wedding day with how nervous he found himself.
But when you stepped into the room, everything else faded away. You were a vision, glowing in your gown with your hair perfectly pinned and face painted just right. You were always gorgeous in his eyes, but the hours of work they put in now finally seemed justified.
They turned you into a goddess.
âDo you like it?â
He laughed because how could you not know?
âYeah, darlinâ, itâsââ
But then he looked.
Really looked.
And his mouth fell open.
The colour. The colour stopped his heart.
Inky dark and shimmering, the black fabric hugged your figure and swept down around you, the stark colour the perfect background for the spears of brilliant golden arcs crossing and flowing, like lightening slashing across your body
Your dress matched his prosthetic.
For a moment Bucky was speechless,his hand reaching out to hover over the lines of gold reverently, mapping your body like he was learning you all over again.Â
âI asked them to make it look like kintsugi and lightening,â you told him quietly.Â
He said your name on a broken whisper. You could see in his eyes his emotions choked him.
âI told you, Bucky. I want the world to know who my heart belongs to.â
He met your gaze then.
He knew how long it had taken to perfectly apply your foundation and makeup. He knew and he didnât care.
He kissed you. With all the force of the love beating hard in his chest, he took your face in his hands and kissed you like he could infuse every ounce of his being into you in that moment.
He stole your breath but he gave you back so much more.
âAre you ready?â
They asked you, but the question was clearly directed at Bucky.
He flashed his most charming smile, donning his hat and turning to offer you his hand so you could step out the vehicle.
âIâll manage. And if I canât, Iâll just stare at her.â
Like he could drag his eyes away.Â
Honestly the cameras were dazzling. He saw stars. He thought he was handling it well, expression stoic, steady hand at your back, thumb rubbing circles against your bare skin.
He stands where heâs told to stand, helps guide you where youâre told to go, only stepping away when your red carpet handler asked him to leave space for photos.
And when you looked at him, your thousand watt smile banishing any doubts as you murmur, âEyes on me, Sarge,â he knew how much this mattered.
Heâs here for you. Heâll do this right for you.
Later, in the grand open space full of hundreds of your peers, everyone seated according to who was who in the industry, you hold his hand and smile at him like heâs the only one there.
When your name is read from an envelope and you throw your arms around him in elation, he knows the two of you have got this thing right.
Until you steal his hat, hurrying away as you place it on your head to accept your award.
He doesnât see the camera focussed on his face, capturing his wondrous laugh as he claps and beams with pride. He only has eyes for you up on stage, gushing with gratitude and thanking the world that helped you reach this pinnacle.
âAnd to the man that brought me here tonightââ
Your gaze locked with his from beneath his Stetson, eyes misty and smile shining brighter than the award in your hands.
âI do this for you,â you said, pointing through the fancy crowd right at him.
He thinks out of all the people here tonight, and for all these coveted awards, he might actually be the biggest winner of the evening.
a/n: this is officially the first smut Iâve ever written đ«ŁÂ only for you dear Decaf. Have a moodboard for Buckyâs farm to make up for it, and what I vaguely think the dress would look like
Catch the sequel, Thatâs All I Really Know here!
