Best Bucky Fic Ive Read Period
best bucky fic ive read period
•°∘∗ treacherous ∗∘°•
summary: you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.
pairing: outlaw!bucky barnes x female reader
warnings: SMUT (18+, minors DNI), swearing, fluff, angst, mention of: alcohol, blood, injuries, guns, death, murder, violence, and non-con (it’s alluded to in regards to an unnamed character).
length: 16.8k
a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. i know nothing of the old west but this is fiction so. title inspired by this song and one part of this fic is inspired by a scene in butch cassidy & the sundance kid (if u know which part ur cool). second time writing smut ✌😬.
You never could quite handle the sight of blood, nor could you ever hide your instinctual response to it. Your father used to terrorise you with the cuts he’d sometimes earn from a hard day’s work, always finding your reactions humorous.
Each time he would smile and say, “You’ll get used to it one day, kid.”
That day didn’t come while he was alive and it hadn’t come now.
Opening your front door to the man you’d spied knocking on it from the kitchen window, you almost shut it again.
The stranger towers above you, his frame taking up the entire doorway, but your focus is drawn down to where his hands - covered in dirt and blood, press above his left hip.
“Ma’am,” He greets in a gruff tone. “I hate to bother you, but I find myself in need of some assistance…” The man nods to his injury, as if it had gone unnoticed by you.
It takes a moment for you to respond and when you do it’s with a jerky bob of your head as you step out of the doorway.
One blood stained hand raises to tip his hat at you as he enters.
Your eyes follow him as he wanders into the kitchen to his left, a slight sway in his steps.
How long has he been bleeding out?
Shutting the front door, you finally find your voice. “What do you need?”
Grunting as he lowers himself into a chair at your small, rectangular table, he answers “Rag, needle, thread, and alcohol - whiskey preferably.”
Removing his hat, he places it on the tabletop.
Okay, he’s done this before.
Focusing on the task he’s provided, you move around the kitchen and sitting room across from it, gathering each item.
The stranger is in luck. Your father had loved whiskey and there’s still plenty of bottles stashed away in the cupboard.
When you come to stand in front of him with everything in hand, you find that he’s lifted his shirt, providing an unobstructed view of his injury.
There’s so much…
“Bullet just grazed me.” The man observes quietly to himself. “Still made one hell of a mess though.” He grumbles, finally lifting his head.
Blood. There’s so much blood and the skin has -
A deep, rough laugh pulls you from your spiralling, making you swallow thickly.
“It’s alright darlin’.” There’s a lighter edge to his tone. “Just put the stuff on the table, I’ve got it.”
You do as he directs but remain where you are.
The man opens the bottle of whiskey first and takes three healthy swigs before pouring the liquid over his wound, hissing.
Quickly averting your gaze with a wince, you focus on his face instead.
What skin you can see is dirty, like his clothes. It’s clearly been some time since he last bathed or even tidied his appearance. His hair is long and tangled. You think it’s naturally a dark brown but it’s hard to be certain. A thick, wild beard hides most of his mouth and half his face, while a sharp nose -
Oh god.
You’ve seen the wanted posters hanging around town. Heard the stories that accompanied them.
Bucky Barnes.
The famed outlaw, responsible for some of the decade’s most daring robberies and revered as the fastest gunslinger in the west, is sitting in your kitchen. Tending a gunshot wound.
For the briefest moment you wonder who it was that shot him and what their fate had been.
Then you realise that’s something you really don’t want to know.
“Ma always said I could never be a tailor.” The man - Bucky mutters, eyeing his truthfully pitiful stitching. “But it’ll do.”
Placing the blood soaked rag on the table, along with the needle and leftover thread, Bucky’s eyes meet yours as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey.
You feel the shift in the air as he sets the bottle back down.
Somehow he knows.
“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble ma’am.”
“Says the man famous for trouble.” You can’t help but retort.
Did I seriously just smart mouth him?
To your shock Bucky merely grins, his teeth surprisingly white and clean. “That’s fair, but a pretty girl’s house isn’t exactly where I make my trouble.” Morphing his grin into a smirk, he amends “Unless I’m asked.”
Your skin heats at the insinuation.
“I won’t be asking.” You state firmly.
“Then you’ve got nothin’ to fear.” Bucky assures, his mouth returning to its serious line underneath his beard.
He regards you carefully and it’s only then that you notice his eyes are the most electrifying blue.
“I best be on my way.”
The sudden declaration should fill you with relief, but as you watch Bucky rise from the chair with an unsteady step, you hear yourself saying “You can stay.”
Something tells you the last time he bathed was also the last time he had a decent meal or rest. He wouldn’t be finding any of those things nearby, especially in his condition.
It’s a miracle he even found you.
The downward tilt of Bucky’s eyebrows is the only indication of his confusion as he looks up from the hat in his hands. “Are you -”
“Just for the night and no funny business.”
Bucky’s eyes study you again and you swear no one has ever looked at you with such intensity.
Then he blinks, focusing on the front door over your shoulder. “I left my guns with my horse. You can keep ‘em with you if it’ll make you feel better.” Meeting your gaze once more, his deep voice rumbles “But I promise you won’t need ‘em.”
How much was an outlaw’s promise worth?
Eyeing him in the same observing manner, you begin to understand what Bucky had been searching for.
Slowly shaking your head, you tell him “It’s alright.”
You had your father’s shotgun should it come to that and you were familiar with the weapon.
“I’ll show you the bathroom.” You declare, striding out of the kitchen. “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna be clean.”
Behind you, Bucky responds with a - dare you say, amused “Yes ma’am.”
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Your eyes fall shut as you lean back against the front door, sucking in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air.
There’s an outlaw in my bathroom.
Re-opening your eyes at that insane truth, you realise you’re not alone.
Bucky’s horse watches you curiously from where she stands in front of the porch steps, her gorgeous white coat shining under the setting sun.
Descending the steps cautiously, you extend a hand to the mare, letting her sniff you. When she makes a soft whinny and nudges at your hand, you move it to stroke her neck.
Her calm temperament surprises you, as she gladly allows you to lead her over to the barn not far from the house.
You settle her in a stall opposite your own horse, Chester. A gelding you aptly named after his chestnut complexion.
When you relieve her of Bucky’s saddle, you spot two guns amongst his belongings, just like he said you would. You leave them there in the barn.
Back in the kitchen, you clear everything except the quarter filled whiskey bottle from the table.
He might as well finish it off.
Wiping down the wooden tabletop to erase any trace of blood, you lift the bottle to clean under it and get a large whiff of the alcohol, making you pause.
It’s been years since you smelt the once common scent and it has memories flickering behind your eyes as you realise you’ve missed it.
Shaking your head, you put the bottle back down.
An hour passes, Bucky yet to emerge from the bathroom.
You stir dinner distractedly, staring out the window in front of you that overlooks the barn and the great nothingness beyond it as the sky slowly darkens.
“Smells good.”
Christ.
Heart thumping sturdily at the small fright, you let the wooden spoon rest against the side of the pot and turn to face Bucky.
Oh.
It’s no wonder he took so long. Bucky had found good use in a pair of scissors and your father’s razor.
His wild, untamed beard has been reduced to stubble, highlighting a handsome jawline. Bucky’s hair - which is a dark brown and currently damp, curls under his ears instead of brushing against his shoulders.
Definitely trouble.
However, dressed in your father’s old clothes, it’s hard to find him as intimidating.
Your father had been a stout man, so you knew the clothes wouldn’t be a perfect fit.
The pants are a bit baggy and come up short, ending above the ankles of his bare feet, while the shirt tucked into them is an even looser fit. Bucky has rolled up the long sleeves to keep them out of his way, revealing just how thick and muscular his arms are.
“I can wash your clothes if you like.” You offer, realising you’ve been staring.
“No need darlin’,” Bucky responds smoothly “Washed them with me and hung ‘em over the porch.”
You hadn’t even heard the front door open or close.
“Kid, that wanderin’ mind a’yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.”
Nodding, you gesture to the table. “Well take a seat, dinner’s ready.”
Dishing out two bowls of stew, you place one in front of him, along with a basket of bread rolls.
“Can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” Bucky divulges, taking the spoon you offer him.
Sitting in the chair opposite him, you say “There’s plenty more if you want it.”
The two of you eat in silence, Bucky at a much faster pace. You’re only finishing your first serving when he begins his third.
Guess it has been a while since he last ate.
Or maybe this is just his usual appetite.
“Is it just you here?” Bucky asks after polishing off another bread roll, ending the quiet stretch.
In any other circumstance you’d think twice before giving an honest answer, but it’s pointless to lie to him now.
“Yes, it used to be my father and I, but he died two years ago.”
The pain his loss caused wasn’t something you could describe.
Your mother passed away when you were only four, taken by illness. If it weren’t for the two photographs your father had of her, you wouldn’t even know what she looked like.
After she died it was just you and him.
When his health began failing him some years ago, you both knew it was only a matter of time. You had just hoped for more.
Adjusting to life without your father had been challenging, but you were fortunate. You’d been left with a home - having no one else to come claim it, and the money that came from loaning out the land to cattle ranchers. It kept you fed, warm, and content.
Bucky lifts his eyes to look at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
You nod, your throat tight with emotion.
Pushing up from the table, you take your empty bowl to the sink as Bucky continues eating.
The subject of your father’s passing stopped affecting you heavily some time ago, but it seems the turmoil of today’s events has brought your pain back to the surface.
“I’ll get your bed ready.” You announce, leaving the kitchen.
He’ll stay in the spare room - your father’s old room. It’s bigger than yours, but you could never find the will to claim it as your own. You were happy in your childhood room.
Grabbing sheets from the bedroom’s wardrobe, you start making the bed.
The room is sparse, containing only the bed with a small table either side of it, the wardrobe, and a chair. On one bedside table sits the two photographs of your mother.
You’re slipping a cover over the pillow when Bucky’s figure appears in the doorway.
“Have enough to eat?”
You doubt there’s any leftovers.
“More than, your cookin’s somethin’ else.” He declares.
A smile escapes before you can stop it.
You’ve always loved cooking and it’s been years since you’ve had someone to feed or receive compliments from.
Dropping the pillow, you look over at Bucky and find his gaze fixated on the bed.
“I’ll leave you be.” You state, moving towards the door.
Still staring at the bed, Bucky steps further into the room and out of your way.
Glancing at him one last time, you utter out a soft “Goodnight Bucky.”
You’re startled by how quickly his dark blue eyes jump to you. Then you realise it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name.
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
A pause.
Softly, you tell him your name.
Bucky’s deep voice repeats it, adding “Thank you, for everything.”
His tone is lighter again, like it had been earlier after he laughed, allowing you to hear the emotion in it - sincerity, in this instance.
You’re not sure why it pleases you so much.
⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷
When you wake you’re not as well rested as you’d like, eyelids heavy and unwilling to open.
You spent most of the night tossing and turning, all too aware of the outlaw just two doors down.
Forcing your eyes open, you sluggishly get out of bed, taking your time getting dressed and fixing your hair.
Emerging from your bedroom, you peer down the hall to your right. The bathroom resides next to your room, the spare room next to it. Both rooms have their doors wide open, unoccupied.
Taking a few steps down the hall until you reach the opening on your left that leads into the sitting room, you walk in and find Bucky to your right, in the kitchen... making breakfast?
“Mornin’,” Bucky greets as you approach. Cracking two eggs into a pan, he answers your unspoken question. “Figured I at least owed ya breakfast.”
You weren’t going to argue that.
Taking a seat at the table, you ask “How did you sleep?”
Peering at you over his shoulder, Bucky replies “Like a rock.”
“And your wound?”
“Healin’ just fine.”
Bucky’s still wearing the clothes you gave him, but judging by the heat you can already feel in the air, you know his will be dry before you even finish breakfast.
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You walk back to the house with Bucky on your right and his horse - Alpine, as he’d introduced, on his other side.
He doesn’t mount the mare until you’ve reached the steps that lead up to your front porch. When he does you’re stunned by the ease and swiftness his large body executes the movement with.
“Thanks again darlin’.” Bucky nods, touching the brim of his weathered black hat. “For your cookin’ especially.”
Back in his own clothes with a gun belt around his hips, Bucky looks every bit like the outlaw he is.
For the second time since you’ve met, your mouth takes on a mind of its own. “Well, if you ever find yourself this way again maybe I’ll cook you something else.”
The edges of his lips turn up in a smirk at your offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With a light press of his leg into Alpine’s side, the white beauty starts moving forward. You watch as she builds her momentum until she’s galloping, her and her rider becoming nothing more than a dot on the horizon.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 7 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Truthfully, you never expected to see Bucky Barnes again.
The memory of his visit had been stored away at the back of your mind and some days you wondered if it ever even happened - if it had simply been a daydream you’d gotten too lost in.
However, the knocking you hear on your front door one afternoon weeks later is very much real. As real as the man you see standing on your porch through the window above your kitchen sink.
Once you’ve opened the door, Bucky smiles in a way you can only describe as mischievous.
“Hi darlin’.”
You’re relieved to find not one speck of blood on him, just dirt.
Bucky’s maintained his shorter hairstyle but his beard has thickened, though not to the wild state it’d been in when you first met.
You realise your memory had failed to capture the precise blue of his eyes, as well as the depth of his voice.
Quirking an eyebrow - but giving a small smile nonetheless, your only response is “Bathroom.”
Chuckling, Bucky tips his hat at you, stepping out of his muddy boots before entering the house. You assume the bag in his hand contains clothes since he doesn’t ask for any as he disappears into the hallway.
Walking out onto the porch, you meet Alpine at the bottom of the steps and stroke her neck in greeting, leading her over to the barn.
Bucky’s left his guns on his saddle once again and you place all his belongings on one of the workbenches before settling Alpine in the same stall she’d occupied last time.
After stopping by Chester’s stall to dote on the horse, you head back to the house and start making dinner.
It’s not too long after when you hear heavy footsteps cross through the sitting room, followed by the front door opening.
Glancing to your left, to the window above the sink that looks out onto the porch, you watch as Bucky hangs his wet clothes over the railing.
He disappears from view and you hear the front door shut before his voice fills the room “How ya been darlin’?”
Shrugging your shoulders, you answer with a simple “Good.”
You’re caught off guard when Bucky appears on your right, the smell of the soap he just used invading your senses.
Standing side by side, it’s impossible to ignore his imposing height.
The top of your head barely reaches his broad shoulders and you feel like you have to look up and up to see his face.
You lower your gaze as your heartbeat accelerates, unnerved by Bucky’s sudden closeness. However, it slows as you spy him inhaling the contents of the pot simmering on the stove in front of you.
“‘M starvin’.” He quietly groans.
Smiling, you roll your eyes and tell him “It’ll be done soon.” Pointing to a cupboard at the end of the kitchen you add “There’s whiskey in there if you want some.”
When Bucky doesn’t move or say anything in response you look up at him again, startled to find him staring at you intently.
“You a saint or somethin’ darlin’?”
He speaks gruffly, but you hear a trace of humour in his tone.
Scoffing, your gaze drops again as you take a step towards him, so you can stand in front of the counter. Bucky takes a step backwards to accommodate you.
“What’s saintlike about offering someone whiskey? And to an outlaw no less.”
As the last part slips from your mouth, you tense.
“You’re always talkin’ first and thinkin’ later, kid.”
Bucky merely hums in response, turning around to lean against the counter as his arms fold. The action pulls his shirt tight across his chest.
Not that you’re paying attention to that sort of thing.
“Isn’t that what saints do? Help lost souls?” He drawls.
“You’re lost?” You retort sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.
That earns a chuckle from him as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m always right where I wanna be.”
Bucky’s midnight blue gaze hasn’t left you once, while yours constantly shifts away, like it does now. “And that’s here instead of somewhere nice?”
“Nice costs money.”
Your eyes dart up to his for no less than a second before flitting away.
This time you’re smart enough to not say the first thing that comes to mind.
Concentrating instead on the corn in your hands, you jump when you feel the rough pad of Bucky’s index finger under your chin, nudging your head up until you meet his gaze.
“Don’t start holdin’ your tongue now darlin’.” Bucky states in a low tone, dropping his hand.
Your heart is racing again, but you’re not sure if it’s from fear or... something else.
Swallowing thickly, you manage to voice “I thought you’d have plenty of money.”
“Sometimes I do.”
“Sometimes?”
Really can’t help myself, can I?
The left side of Bucky’s mouth twitches. “It’s not always about the money,” He answers vaguely.
You frown, “Then what’s it about?”
At last, Bucky smirks. “Curious thing, ain’t ya?”
The comment flusters you.
“Why do you wanna know?” Bucky deflects, leaning in until his face is only inches from yours. “Thinkin’ about joinin’ the life darlin’?”
“No thank you.” The bite of your words is lost in your breathless tone, the result of his close proximity.
Bucky just huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling your face. Then he’s gone, strolling across the kitchen for the whiskey you offered hours ago - or so it feels, and that’s the end of that.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Waking with a deep inhale, your eyes blink repeatedly against the bright sunlight your curtains do little to block.
You stretch with a satisfied hum, having found sleep much easier than the last time Bucky stayed the night.
It’s well into the morning so you dress quickly, curious to see if Bucky’s still here, maybe even making breakfast again, or if he’s already taken off.
When you venture down the hall into the sitting room, you find the answer to your question lounging in an armchair, one of your favourite books in his big hands.
“Not an early riser, are you darlin’?” Bucky drawls conversationally, not looking up from the page he’s reading.
You frown, crossing your arms. “It’s morning, isn’t it?”
He’s right though, you’re not one to rise with the sun - never have been. The few times you have are few and far between, the most recent being on his last visit.
Regardless, it’s not that observation that has you feeling defensive.
“Ten o’clock is hardly mornin’, you’ve missed half the day.” There’s nothing in his tone to suggest it, but you know he’s teasing.
It goes straight over your head however, as you’re too focused on what’s in his hands.
“Enjoying the book?” You snark at him.
Bucky smirks.
Oh yeah, he’s definitely winding me up on purpose.
“Tell me, are all your books so -” Bucky breaks off in a chuckle as you pluck the worn book out of his hands and press it to your chest. “So... romantic?”
You grasp the book a little tighter, having half a mind to hit him over the head with it for the gleam in his eyes.
An urge you think he senses.
“I like their humour.” Is your only answer.
Bucky hums lazily, clearly finding your answer lacking as he raises out of the chair.
The visual reminder of his towering height briefly shortens your breath.
Gazing down at you, Bucky lightly brushes against your side as he heads towards the kitchen. “I’ll go warm up breakfast.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 5 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You’re not sure what shocks you more when you open the front door. The fact that Bucky is clean, or the fact that he’s holding flowers.
Flowers.
It’s definitely the flowers.
You recognise the handiwork too. Clara, an elderly woman who was as kind as they come, grew all sorts of flowers and sold them from a stall in town.
They’re a little wilted from the long ride here, but still vibrant and pretty.
Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, inadvertently bringing him closer, Bucky’s deep voice teases “What’s the matter darlin’? No man ever bring you flowers before?”
Dragging your gaze up from the bouquet and narrowing it, you jab “I’m just wondering if they’re stolen.”
Bucky only chuckles at your bite, like you expect him to.
You’re not sure what to make of that realisation - that you expect things from him.
Holding the flowers out to you, he states “They’re paid for darlin’, I promise.”
There he goes again, making another promise.
Kept his last one, didn’t he?
Your facade doesn’t last long either way, the corners of your mouth turning upwards as you accept the flowers, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand in the process.
Raising the flowers to your nose - and ignoring the tingle in your fingertips, you breathe in their scent, the stems of lavender standing out the most.
Before you can thank him, Bucky’s bending forward and ducking his head until his dark blue eyes are level with yours. “Was the money technically mine...”
Your mouth drops open as he trails off, his implication hanging clear in the air.
Bucky gives a genuine laugh at your reaction, the warm sound almost eliciting one from you as he pushes away from the door.
You watch him saunter down the porch steps to take Alpine to the barn, completely and utterly bewildered by this outlaw.
He looked dangerous with his imposing height, broad shoulders, and wide chest that peeked through the unbuttoned top of his long sleeve shirts. The same shirts that his muscled arms bulged beneath.
Not to mention his roguish features - the dark hair, thick beard, and piercing blue eyes.
He sounded dangerous, his voice deep and coarse in a way you’d never heard before, every word he spoke seeming to rumble out of him.
He just didn’t act dangerous.
Outlaws weren’t giving, they didn’t tease, or smile, or laugh, and they certainly didn’t let some girl smart mouth them.
However, you weren’t a complete fool.
You knew there was another, more prominent side of him that you were yet to truly witness. You saw glimpses of it sometimes - of the outlaw.
A man who was used to being respected or feared, or both. A man who had the strength and skill to take whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, and without asking.
Then Bucky would blink or turn away, and that momentary glimpse you were afforded passed.
It shouldn’t drive you mad, it shouldn’t make you want to see that side of him, yet... it did.
If you thought about it too long - the image of him being rough and commanding like his lifestyle demands, well...
You jump when Bucky’s hand waves in front of your face.
Looking up from the spot on the porch you’d been staring at but not actually seeing as you lost yourself in your thoughts, you meet Bucky’s blue eyes below his furrowed brow.
“You really get lost in there, don’t ya darlin’?”
Thoughts still scattered, you absentmindedly respond “I don’t mean to.”
Bucky just hums.
Shaking your head to finally clear it, you walk back into the house, listening as Bucky shuts the front door behind him.
Grabbing the old, empty vase that sits on the small glass table in the sitting room, you bring it to the kitchen sink and fill it with water before arranging the flowers in it.
You can feel Bucky’s gaze following you as he takes his usual seat at the dining table, but it doesn’t unsettle you.
Returning the vase to its place in the sitting room, you admire the flowers once more with a soft smile before treading back to the kitchen.
When you pass Bucky you let out a small, confused sound as you come to a sudden stop.
Spinning to face him, you feel the skirt of your light green prairie dress tighten around your legs, and you discover the cause when you spot Bucky’s hand holding onto the bottom of your dress.
“What are you -” You start, flabbergasted until you actually focus on the section Bucky has grabbed.
“What happened?” He asks, not even having to look up from where he sits to meet your gaze.
The fabric is ripped, splitting the skirt upwards about four inches. There’s a scratch to match it along the back of your right leg, which you assume Bucky must have seen.
You can’t read any emotion on his face, but you sense that he’s not pleased.
Strange.
“I was trying to fix the curtain rod in your - the spare room, but the wooden crate I was using broke and I fell.”
Fell seems like an exaggeration.
There wasn’t much distance between you and the ground, but you had landed awkwardly, the wood catching on your dress and scratching your leg - thankfully not deep enough to draw blood.
Currently, you’re more concerned about how you almost referred to the spare room as Bucky’s.
When did it become his room?
Bucky frowns at you but doesn’t speak, making you frown back.
A moment passes before he finally releases your dress, standing up. Still silent, Bucky turns and strides towards the hallway.
By the time you catch up he’s already in the spare room, assessing the window.
You’d been replacing the curtains when the curtain rod bracket came off the wall on one side. It just needed to be screwed back in but the bracket was out of your reach.
The screwdriver sits on the windowsill, where you left it while you tossed the broken crate outside with some unfriendly words as your leg throbbed.
Grabbing the tool, Bucky reaches up to screw the bracket back in, the height not even a stretch for him.
Picking the curtain rod off the bed, you sit down in the same spot and bunch the curtains in your lap, keeping them off the floor as you watch Bucky quickly complete the task.
Turning around, he takes the curtain rod from you and hangs it up.
“What else?”
You stare at him for a second before pointing to the wardrobe behind you. “The right door’s a little loose.”
Diligently, he rounds the bed to the wardrobe and opens the right door, tightening the screws in the top hinge.
“I thought it was you the first time I saw it.” Bucky says abruptly, nodding to the bedside table closest to him where two photographs sit.
Both are of your mother.
In one she’s holding you as a child - you’re no more than two years old, on her lap with a smile. In the other she’s by herself and younger, about the age you are now.
“I once told my dad that I wished I could remember what she looked like, he told me to look in the mirror.”
He hadn’t been exaggerating, the resemblance between you and her was clear as day. Something that always made you wonder if it was hard for him at times - being constantly reminded of her when he looked at you.
You might not have been old enough to remember it, but the love your father had for your mother shone brightly, never once fading over the years that followed her death.
“He said that was the only thing we had in common,” Grinning, you drop your voice to a faux whisper as you repeat your father’s loving words “She was a horrid cook and complete trouble maker.”
Bucky grins at that, giving a slight shake of his head as he swings the mended wardrobe door shut. “I dunno darlin’, I think you’re plenty of trouble.”
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After dinner is eaten and the dishes are cleaned, you always move into the sitting room for a bit while Bucky heads straight to bed.
Tonight however, he’s joined you.
Each sitting in an armchair across from one another, he nurses a glass of whiskey while you stitch the ripped fabric of your dress back together.
You use the light provided by the oil lamp and candles on the glass table between you and Bucky, placed around your vase.
As you glance at the flowers you realise you never actually thanked him for them.
Drawing your eyes higher, you’re not alarmed when you meet Bucky’s gaze.
He’s always watching you.
“Thank you for the flowers.”
Bucky was right of course, no man has ever given you flowers before.
“My pleasure darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles.
You’re not sure why you suddenly feel so warm.
“And for fixing those things for me.”
It’s not like you don’t do anything for him in return, but you still want him to know you appreciate the help.
“I’ll fix anythin’ you need,” Bucky states a little rougher “Just don’t go hurtin’ yourself again.”
I didn’t do it on purpose, you almost huff out.
Bucky must anticipate the retort or something similar to it, because he stands, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful.
He takes his glass to the kitchen sink before returning, clearly on his way to bed.
“See you in the morning.” You say as he passes you.
“You mean afternoon?” Bucky calls back, his tone lighter.
This time you do huff, letting out a quiet “Shut up.”
His chuckle echoing down the hall lets you know you were heard.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 4 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
The fourth time you open your front door to Bucky Barnes is... different from the others.
Nothing’s wrong per se, but it’s not right either.
Bucky’s the dirtiest you’ve ever seen him. In fact, you’re struggling to find a visible patch of skin on him.
His large hands rest on the top of the doorframe and his dark blue eyes bore into you the moment the door is open.
“Darlin’.” The word is spoken bluntly and you instantly know he’s not in the mood to talk.
You have a short-lived thought of turning him away.
Instead, you step to your left, silently inviting him inside.
For the first time since you’ve met, Bucky feels dangerous.
Especially when you eye the guns still on his hips.
If this had been the Bucky who knocked on your door while bleeding out, you’re certain you never would have let him stay the night - let alone return.
Bucky trudges off to the bathroom, your eyes trailing after him.
When you hear the bathroom door shut you release a short breath, looking outside to find another irregularity.
Your feet carry you out onto the porch and down the three steps without a thought, drawn to where Alpine patiently waits.
She greets you cheerfully, nuzzling into your hands and covering them with dirt. She’s filthy.
Every other visit her white coat has gleamed, leaving you no doubt that Bucky cared for her deeply. Yet, like her owner, it’s hard to find a clean spot on her.
Alpine makes a noise and seems to nod towards the barn, as if to tell you that she needs food, water, rest, a bath.
The irritation you felt at Bucky’s stiff demeanour is replaced with concern.
You were in town only yesterday and hadn’t heard of any new incidents involving Bucky.
Not that you were keeping an ear out.
“What happened, huh?” You ask Alpine, leading her to the barn.
She simply whinnies in response.
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You’ve just started drying Alpine when you hear heavy footsteps enter the barn.
Her white coat shines once more, the familiar sight easing you, unlike the man approaching.
Bucky’s body radiates warmth as he comes to stand behind you, the scent of soap filling the air.
Daring to glance at him over your shoulder, you find him clean but worn out, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by.
Wordlessly, you let him take over the task.
You prepare Alpine’s stall, stocking it with fresh food and water while Bucky dries her. He’s quietly murmuring to the horse, but you can’t hear his words over the sound of Alpine chewing hay.
When Bucky’s finished he leads Alpine into the stall, closing and locking the gate behind her.
It’s almost humorous. Alpine and Bucky are clean but now you’re not. Your dress is soaked and covered in mud.
The walk back to the house is taken in silence.
“I’ll start dinner after I clean up.” You tell Bucky once you’re inside.
He gives no response.
After your bath you change into a simple white dress, the fabric light and less likely to make you sweat until you switch into your nightgown later on.
Stepping into the kitchen, you find Bucky leaning back in his usual seat, a bottle of whiskey opened on the table in front of him and almost finished.
You decide to make one of your specialties for dinner, hoping it will... well, you’re not really sure what you’re hoping it will do.
As you move around the kitchen you feel Bucky’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement as you keep your back to him more often than not.
That is until you have nothing left to do but let dinner simmer on the stove.
Turning around, you rest your back against the kitchen counter and meet Bucky’s stare.
He doesn’t shift his gaze and neither do you.
“What happened?” You ask quietly.
You don’t expect an answer and Bucky’s continued silence tells you there won’t be one.
Probably for the best.
Instead, Bucky lifts the whiskey bottle and swallows another mouthful, emptying it.
Pushing off the counter, you tread over to him.
“You should have some water.” You state, reaching for the bottle.
Before your hand can wrap around it, it’s grabbed by one of Bucky’s, the quick manoeuvre drawing your gaze.
He doesn’t look at you as he turns your hand over in his, focusing instead on your palm as he runs his thumb over the lines of your smoother skin.
You watch in a dazed state, letting him do as he pleases.
Bucky slowly brings your hand towards him, closer and closer until he’s pressing his forehead into your open palm.
The action stuns you and for a moment you don’t know what to do.
So, you go with what feels right.
Pushing your fingers back and forth timidly, you weave them between the strands of his damp hair.
The droop of Bucky’s shoulders boosts your confidence and you take a step forward, raising your right hand to join your left.
Bucky’s head remains bowed, his face hidden from you.
Taking another step forward to stand more comfortably, you release a small noise of surprise when Bucky’s hands grab at your waist, tugging you even closer until his forehead presses into your stomach instead.
Your heart stutters in your throat and your hands falter, but with a shaky breath you start stroking Bucky’s hair again, just as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against him.
Being held in such a way makes you feel...
No, don’t dare think it.
Growing bolder, your fingertips start drawing shapes on the back of his neck while you play with the ends of his hair. The longer you do this, the more relaxed Bucky becomes.
Eventually however, the sound of dinner bubbling concerningly cuts through the peace.
You look over worriedly, not wanting the meal to ruin.
Bucky seems to realise, his arms tightening around you before dropping completely. Without looking at him, you dart over to the stove and turn it off.
Dinner is eaten in silence.
“‘M going to bed.” Bucky states once he’s finished.
His first sentence since arriving.
“Okay,” You reply softly.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You don’t expect to find Bucky making breakfast.
Walking into the kitchen, you had been prepared to discover that Bucky had left long before you woke. You’re glad he hasn’t.
He doesn’t appear as worn down either, and the brief upwards tug of his mouth when he turns to see you is more than enough to have you smiling back.
While Bucky’s still clearly dealing with whatever, his mood has at least improved.
Predictably, it’s quiet throughout the meal.
You wait at the bottom of the porch steps while Bucky retrieves Alpine from the barn, admiring the flat plains that appear to stretch on forever all around you.
The sound of Alpine’s hooves reaches your ears and you watch as Bucky leads the white beauty to you, stopping her by your side.
“You gonna be okay?”
You’re not sure why you ask, but you do.
Bucky looks at you over his shoulder, his hands on the saddle he was about to mount.
He studies you, his eyes dark under his hat, before doing something that muddles your brain.
In a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, Bucky drops his hands and turns from Alpine, covering the distance between you in a short step before pressing his mouth to your forehead, his beard scratching at your skin.
“Just fine darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles as he pulls back.
Looking at you one more time, Bucky spins back to Alpine and mounts her in one fluid movement. Then they’re gone.
You can still feel the touch of his lips as you watch their figures fade.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Town was a good hour’s ride from your home, and it was for that reason you only ever made the journey once a week, every Thursday.
Your main stop was the general store where you bought food and other necessities. The store’s owner - Billy, would talk to you from his spot behind the counter, giving you a weekly rundown of town affairs.
Most of the time it was just mundane gossip you didn’t really care for, but not today.
According to Billy, there was a new gang causing havoc around the plains, trying to make a name for themselves.
“They’ve been robbin’ properties all over, startin’ fires and roughin’ up any fella in their way, they even -”
Billy never finished that sentence, but his averted gaze told you how it ended.
“Dunno why I’m worrin’ ya with this girl, God himself couldn’t find ya all the way out there.”
The declaration wasn’t that farfetched. Unless someone knew where you lived they needed to be lost to find it.
However, if someone was intentionally on the prowl...
You check over your father’s shotgun the minute you return home.
Some days it’s hard to forget that you’re a woman living on her own, with no help nearby. Tonight that fact looms over you like a dark cloud.
In fact, it keeps you wide awake, sitting at the dining table with the shotgun in reach until the sun rises again.
You’re sluggish the whole day, tired and on edge.
When afternoon rolls around you’ve cleaned the entire house in an attempt to distract yourself and for the most part, it’s worked.
That is until you hear the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance.
Fear strikes your heart in a way you’ve never experienced and you instantly wish to never experience it again.
Racing to the window above the kitchen sink with the shotgun in hand, you almost cry in relief at what you see.
A white horse and her dark rider.
Sucking in deep breaths, you close your eyes and focus on the fast thump of your heartbeat until it returns to a calmer rhythm.
You’re putting the shotgun back in its place under your bed when you hear his heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by three loud knocks.
There’s no denying the way you immediately feel... safe.
“Bucky,” You greet a little breathlessly as you open the front door.
“Hi darlin’.” He grins, eyes softening just slightly.
It’s hard to picture the sombre man you invited inside only two weeks ago.
“Back so soon?” You attempt to tease, though you feel it falls flat in your drained state.
You wonder if Bucky can tell.
Ducking his head and pinning you under his stare that’s regained its usual intensity, he responds “You don’t mind, do ya?”
No, never.
Smiling, you answer “Luckily for you, I’m in a gracious mood.”
The tease lands better this time.
Humming, Bucky agrees “Lucky me.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
After dinner it wasn’t Bucky who retired to bed first, but you.
The moment your head hit the pillow you were out cold.
Maybe it should concern you how easily you let your guard down just because Bucky was close by, but you don’t ruminate on it long enough to let it.
It’s late morning, maybe even afternoon when you eventually wake. The heat in your room makes that much obvious.
Bucky doesn’t say a word once you walk out into the sitting room where he waits, reading one of your books again. However, the smirk he occupies as he gets up and goes into the kitchen says it all.
While you eat the breakfast - lunch, Bucky has made, you feel fear start to leach back in.
You don’t want him to leave you.
Unable to voice your plea, you take your time eating, dragging out the inevitable until you’re standing and taking your plate to the sink.
When you don’t hear the familiar sounds of Bucky collecting his things, you peek over your shoulder and see he’s still seated at the dining table.
Your gaze meets his.
Bucky answers the question in your eyes. “I’m supposed to meet my - some friends east of here in a couple of days.” You don’t miss his slip of tongue. “If I wouldn’t be overstayin’ -”
“No.” You interject much too quickly. “No, you wouldn’t be.”
He nods and stands up from the table, gesturing to the front of the house. “Your porch needs fixin’.”
While you kept the inside of the house to a spotless standard, the exterior was starting to show its age. The porch in particular, the boards old and beginning to rot.
“I know, I’ve got new wood to replace it with.”
You had it delivered out a couple of weeks ago. You just hadn’t gotten around to actually starting the task yet.
The sun beams down on you both as you walk side by side to the barn, past the horse stalls where you give Chester’s outstretched neck a fond pat, to the back where the tools and wood are stored.
Bucky hauls a bundle of wooden planks over his shoulder while you carry a crateful of tools behind him.
That’s all he lets you do, refusing your help when you go to walk back with him to collect the rest of the planks.
Standing on the bottom porch step, you watch him go back and forth from the barn until he’s brought out the last plank, creating a large pile.
“I can help.” You insist, feeling guilty about having him do all the work, even though he was the one who offered.
Bucky just shakes his head with a huff.
“Darlin’, go inside and relax.” He instructs, bending down to pick up a hammer from the crate. “Or,” He adds, straightening and strolling over to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Sit out here and give me somethin’ pretty to look at.”
Your stomach drops as heat floods your face.
Managing a weak scoff, you avert your eyes and spin around, quickly retreating into the house.
Bucky’s hearty laugh follows you inside.
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Taking Bucky up on his first suggestion, you spend the rest of the day in the sitting room, reading.
When late afternoon creeps around and Bucky’s been outside for around three hours, you mark the page you’re on and get up to make him a snack.
Using the door at your end of the hallway that leads outside to where you do the laundry, you balance a sandwich and glass of lemonade on a tray as you walk down the side of the house.
The sight that greets you when you round the corner almost has the tray slipping out of your hands.
Bucky’s shirtless.
His tanned skin glistens with sweat, the muscles in his back and arms prominent as he saws a wooden plank in half.
The longer you stare the more scars you begin to see, most small, others not, marking his body in a pattern unique to him.
You want to ask for the story behind each and every one.
Blinking out of your stupor, you step closer to where Bucky stands in front of the porch steps, sawing through the few remaining planks.
Swallowing thickly, you call out his name.
Bucky’s head lifts, looking over his shoulder at you before the rest of his body turns.
For a second time, you fight to keep the tray steady in your hands.
You’ve only seen peeks of the hair that covers his chest, but now it’s on full display and you can’t help but sweep your gaze down, over his firm stomach, to another patch of hair that leads to -
“Made you something to eat.” You declare, lifting the tray.
It only shakes a little.
Striding over to you, Bucky grins “Thank you darlin’.”
His large, rough hands brush over yours as he takes the tray and warmth pools in your stomach.
“You’ve done a lot.” You observe, desperate to look at anything except him.
All of the old boards have been ripped up and Bucky’s already laid down new ones on the entire left side of the porch, as well as on the steps, where he now takes a seat.
“Should be done by sundown.”
It’s... nice, you realise. So utterly nice to have a man around to help you - to help look after you.
Though not just any man.
Bucky.
You’ll admit that. To yourself at least.
The sound of Bucky’s glass hitting the tray draws your attention. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s already finished.
“You keep eating that fast and your stomach will end you before anyone else gets the chance.” You comment with a raised eyebrow as you wander over to him.
Bucky smirks as he stands, handing you the tray. “Darlin’, if your cookin’ is what takes me out, I’ll die a happy man.”
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As the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, the front door opens.
You look up from where you’re curled into one of the armchairs with a book in your hands.
Bucky’s dark blue eyes roam over you for a prolonged moment before he husks out “Come take a look darlin’.”
He disappears back outside as you stand and make your way over.
Opening the front door fully, you take in the restored porch with a wide smile, stepping out onto it.
“Wow,” You gush “It looks amazing Bucky, thank you.”
You glance over to where he stands in front of the porch steps and meet his gaze briefly before he breaks it, pointing to a pile of the old wooden planks a few yards away.
“That wood’s no good for your fireplace so I’ll burn it tonight, that way it’s not takin’ up any space.” Bucky explains, moving to pick up the tools he left on the ground, dropping them into the crate.
You watch him quietly, leaning against the railing just down from where his shirt and gun belt hang.
It hadn’t escaped your notice that Bucky was wearing it when he arrived yesterday, like he had on his last visit.
You hadn’t thought much about it at the time and you don’t now, too mesmerised by him.
There’s a sense of delight in watching him while his attention is focused elsewhere.
Suddenly you think you understand why he watches you.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that darlin’.”
Bucky’s abrupt words startle you as he turns and captures your gaze.
Like what?
You can’t find the courage to ask him.
Shifting your eyes, you act as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of name is Bucky?”
His chuckle makes you brave enough to look at him once more.
“It’s a nickname.” Bucky answers.
Watching him as he slowly wanders towards you, you press “What’s your real name then?”
Bucky comes to a stop in front of you and for the first time you’re the one that has to look down - if only just.
He runs a hand through his sweat dampened hair, pushing it back from his face as he studies you.
“James Buchannan Barnes.”
The confession is gentle, meaningful.
“James,” You repeat softly, giving a small smile. “Now that’s a name.”
Vivid blue eyes - dark and electric, gaze upon you with something you can’t name as you unexpectedly feel Bucky’s knuckles brushing against your cheek.
“Say it again,” He murmurs.
Your breathing grows heavier as your heart begins a wild rhythm in your chest, his touch so... addictive on your skin.
When your mouth parts to speak, his thumb catches on your bottom lip and it’s a miracle you remain upright, clutching at the porch railing.
Before you can utter his name again, you hear it.
It’s faint, but it still manages to draw your attention.
There’s horses in the distance, kicking up a large dust cloud behind them as they race towards you, the sound of their hooves echoing across the flat landscape.
You can’t tell how many there are yet.
The rough sound of your name returns your focus to Bucky, who is already marching up the porch steps. He breezes past you, reaching for his shirt and gun belt.
“Get inside and stay there.” Bucky orders sharply.
Just like that, the side of himself he’d just been presenting to you disappears, replaced by -
“Now.” He grits out, his eyes shifting to you.
That finally sends you rushing inside, leaving him as he buttons up his shirt.
Darting into the kitchen, you draw the curtain across the window that overlooks the porch.
Bending over the sink, you pinch the bottom right corner of the curtain between your thumb and forefinger, lifting it until you can just peek out.
Redressed, Bucky takes a seat on one of the two porch chairs and places his black hat on his head, tilting it down until his features are obscured and leans back.
He looks like he’s about to fall asleep.
You pick up on a faint noise and realise that Bucky’s whistling, as if truly unbothered.
A man like him would be.
Somewhere between a minute and an eternity passes before the horses - four of them, come galloping up to the house with their male riders.
Bucky keeps whistling.
The horses come to a stop beside each other in front of the porch, forming a line. The man to the far right urges his horse forward a step.
He eyes Bucky before glancing back at his comrades, pulling out a shotgun from behind him and placing it across his lap.
“Oi!”
Bucky’s whistling fades out, the sudden silence unsettling as he straightens in the chair, hat still tilted.
“Can I help you?” Bucky drawls.
His reaction has clearly thrown the men into confusion as they all look to one another before three of them focus on the man who yelled - their leader you assume.
“You’re not too bright, are ya fella?”
The insult makes you wince.
Bucky laughs.
It’s a sound you should find familiar for all the times you’ve managed to raise one out of him, but there’s nothing familiar about it - it’s dark and without humour.
Maybe it should scare you.
It doesn’t.
The men dumbly laugh with him, the one on the far left announcing “We’re here to rob you fool!”
Laughter rings out louder from them, the gang appearing to relax in this odd situation they’ve found themselves in.
“Yeah,” Another one echoes “Everythin’ ya got.”
Not to be left out, the only one yet to speak adds “That means any ladies too.”
Bucky’s laughter abruptly ceases and the leader notices immediately, unlike his three cackling morons.
“Ya gonna give us trouble fella?” He asks warily, the others falling silent at the sound of his voice.
There’s a pause before Bucky answers “Depends.”
“On what?” A moron sneers, clearly unimpressed.
“On whether or not you leave.” Bucky states, voice low and menacing. “‘Cos you make one move towards this house and the last thing any of you will see is the bullet I put between your eyes.”
He draws their attention to the guns on either side of his hips.
The leader hovers his hand above the shotgun on his lap.
Another moron lets out a guffaw, “They’re not even out!”
God they’re dumb.
“No,” Bucky agrees, his tone clearly revealing his dwindling patience. “But I’ve been told I got pretty fast hands.”
Knocking his hat back from his face, Bucky’s hands drop to rest on the handles of his guns.
“Bucky Barnes.” A moron gapes, looking like he just wet himself.
The atmosphere completely shifts amongst the gang, their leader’s eyes widening as he moves his hand away from his shotgun, raising it in the air instead.
“Mister Barnes, we ain’t mean no disrespect sir.” He quickly appeases.
Heads bounce up and down as the others hurriedly agree, watching Bucky fearfully.
You can’t stop the smile that pulls at your lips.
“Well boys, I’m not too bright,”
Oh, he’s good.
“So remind me what it was I just told y’all to do.”
Instead of actually doing it, one of the morons stutters out “Uh, well, you told us to leave sir.”
There’s a lull, Bucky’s frustration palpable, and a part of you believes he’s going to shoot them. In fact, you’re about to turn from the window to avoid the sight.
Before you can however, Bucky speaks again, his voice harsh. “So?”
Finally they gain an ounce of sense and urge their horses to move.
“Thank you sir.” The leader gasps gratefully, turning his horse around.
He’s smart enough to know he’s escaped a bullet, but not smart enough to see how his words irk Bucky further.
It doesn’t matter now. He and his morons are already racing away like the devil himself is behind them.
Maybe he is.
Bucky doesn’t move from the chair. Instead he watches as the gang disappears into the horizon.
When the sky grows dark, the sun all but gone, you pull back the curtain and move away from the window.
You’re lighting the candles and lamp on the sitting room table when the front door opens and Bucky steps inside.
Looking up at him, you straighten and say “That was...”
Trailing off, you frown as you realise you don’t really know how to describe what that was.
Watching Bucky handle the situation, making the four men appear stupid and harmless had been amazing, even though -
Even though they weren’t.
The realisation hits you then.
If you had been alone like you should’ve been, those men, those four men would have -
“Hey,” Bucky’s deep voice cuts through the terror settling in your chest - the terror he must see on your face. “You’re okay darlin’.”
But...
You’re vaguely aware of Bucky striding over to you.
“If you weren’t here -”
“I was.” Bucky cuts in, his voice leaving no room for argument. Grasping your chin, he tilts your head up until you meet his gaze. “I was here and that’s all that matters.”
The declaration is spoken gruffly, but the tender stroke of his thumb over your chin is comforting - the action belonging to your Bucky.
Your?
“Okay.” You reply quietly, after a few minutes have passed and his words have sunk in.
“You’re safe,” Bucky assures. “You’re safe with me.”
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It’s late at night, the moon high in the sky when you find yourself standing on the porch.
You can’t sleep, your mind refusing to be quiet.
Too much happened today. Too many emotions were brought to the surface, bringing with them revelations you’d been trying hard to ignore.
Ignoring them now seemed impossible.
You’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone. You knew long ago that your future would be a lonely one, and you had made peace with it.
Then he came along.
Instead of finding your usual place of contentment in the loneliness each time he left, you found yourself counting the days between his visits, eagerly listening for his knock on your front door.
Then came the feelings.
At what point did your heart choose to swell and thunder in your chest at the mere sight of him? At what point did you find yourself missing his watchful gaze when it wasn’t on you? At what point did you decide to trust him with your life?
In your relatively short time together, Bucky has somehow managed to carve out a space for himself within you, and you don’t know how to get him out.
You don’t know if you want to get him out.
“Everythin’ alright darlin’?”
For a second you think you’ve imagined Bucky’s voice during your ruminating, but his presence beside you is real.
“Yeah,” You answer softly. “Was just looking at the stars.”
It was one of the reasons you came out here.
Humming, Bucky leans against the railing to your right, peering up. “There’s no better sight to fall asleep to.”
You remember him once mentioning that most of his nights were spent on the ground in the great nothingness.
“I’m sure,” You reply. “But I think I’d miss my bed every once in a while.”
Bucky lets out a faint chuckle.
There’s a comfortable silence as you both admire the stars twinkling above, but soon a prickling at the back of your neck has your head turning to find Bucky openly watching you.
“You drive me crazy like this.” He murmurs, almost to himself. “You drive me crazy all the time,” He amends “But especially like this.”
Like what?
You don’t have to find the courage to ask this time.
“Standin’ in your nightgown, smellin’ like lavender,” Bucky admits freely, repeating “Drives me crazy.”
Your body comes to life at his confession.
Goosebumps erupt over your skin and your heart pounds faster as a warmth settles low in your stomach.
“James...” You respond softly, not sure what to say.
“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since we met. Every day, you’re my first and last thought. Always wonderin’ if you’re havin’ a good day, if you’re safe, if you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me.” He shifts closer to you, ducking his head until you’re eye level. “Wonderin’ what your mouth tastes like, how your skin would feel under my hands, what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”
Your breathing grows short and heavy as he leans in so his mouth is only an inch away.
“Gonna let me find out darlin’?” Bucky whispers against your lips.
“Yes.” Breathless and desperate, you add “Please.”
Desperate to be touched - loved, by him.
A thought you’ll come back to another day.
Bucky’s mouth claims yours gently, his lips softer than you imagined as they press against yours, his beard grazing your skin.
You’re tentative in your inexperience, but soon you’re pressing back with an eagerness Bucky happily returns. His tongue glides along your bottom lip, encouraging your mouth to open and when it does he consumes you.
Your arms anchor around his neck to steady yourself as his hands run down your sides to find purchase on your hips.
When you pull back for a desperate gulp of air, Bucky’s hands slip behind your body to grasp your bottom, making you gasp as he lifts you against him.
Securing your legs around Bucky’s waist, you cling to him as he carries you back into the house.
You use the time it takes to get to your room to feel him.
His beard scratches against the palms of your hands before you slip them into his smooth hair, all while you press light, shy kisses to the bare skin of his neck. The soft sigh Bucky releases enchants you.
Then you’re feeling the floor of your bedroom under your feet as he gently sets you down.
Bucky lowers to his knees in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands close around the hem of your white nightgown, his knuckles brushing against your calves.
The only lighting is the candle you left burning on your bedside table and the moon beaming through your thin curtains, but it’s enough to see the desire in his eyes - which is surely reflected in your own, as you nod to his unspoken question.
In one swift motion Bucky stands, slipping the nightgown up and off of you.
Your legs press together instinctively and your hands twitch with the urge to cover yourself once more as you’re hit with the vulnerability of being completely bared to Bucky.
“No darlin’,” He husks out roughly, grasping your wrists and holding your arms still as his heated gaze peruses your body. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
The fervour Bucky speaks with has you weak.
Pulling you to him, Bucky’s clothes rub against your skin and for some reason make you burn even hotter as his mouth swallows yours in a passionate kiss.
Walking you backwards until your legs hit the bed, Bucky breaks the kiss to lay you down, crawling over you still clothed. His lips seek out your neck this time, sucking and nibbling at the skin.
The sensations of his mouth are soon drowned out by the sudden feel of his rough hands on your lower stomach and you gasp as he slides them up your body to cup your pebbled breasts.
For the first time, you moan.
Bucky’s head jerks up from your neck to look down at you, his expression ravenous as he massages your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples as you feel the wetness pooling between your legs.
He lowers to kiss your mouth, this time slow and intimate as his hands continue their sinful touch, his right hand straying away from your chest to trail down and down and...
Gasping against his lips, your body shudders as you feel Bucky’s fingers push through the curls covering your sex, just millimetres from -
You reach for his wrist.
Bucky stops instantly, his hand stilling as he pulls back from your lips to meet your gaze.
There’s no way he doesn’t already know, yet you still find yourself needing to say “I... I’ve never...”
“I know darlin’,” Bucky soothes. “I’m gonna go nice and slow. Make you feel so good, I promise.”
You release his wrist.
Bucky’s left hand cups and rubs one of your breasts while his right continues its way down to where no man has ever touched you.
The whole time, you watch one another.
You gasp sharply when his fingers graze along your folds, feeling the wetness and warmth flowing from your centre.
It pulls a deep grunt from Bucky who dips down for a hot kiss.
“Gonna treat you s’good, sweet girl.” He whispers as he breaks away, moving down your body.
He’s never called you that before.
Say it again.
You’re torn from your thoughts when his mouth wraps around your left nipple while his right hand keeps caressing your sex.
Bucky switches his attention between each breast until you’re a wriggling, panting mess. With a smirk he moves even further down, planting kisses over your stomach as he goes.
Kneeling between your spread legs, Bucky wraps his large hands around your ankles before skimming them up your legs to grasp your thighs. He rests them on his broad shoulders, his warm breath fanning over your core.
Confused, you’re frowning down at him when he does the unexpected. Staring at you, Bucky lowers his head and licks along your slit.
Your hips buck up but don’t go far in his hold, your stomach tightening at the strange sensation as you let out a strangled noise.
Bucky makes a sound of satisfaction as he glides his tongue over your sex, his hands clutching your inner thighs tightly to keep you open for him.
This...
You’ve talked about sex in hushed whispers with some women in town but they never, ever mentioned anything like this.
When Bucky closes his mouth around your sensitive bud your legs jerk while your hands seek him out, gripping his hair firmly as you moan so vulgarly you don’t recognise your own voice.
“That’s it,” Bucky praises, licking your clit. “Keep makin’ those noises for me sweet girl.”
Your brain is nothing but a puddle of mush as one of his fingers pushes into you experimentally.
How long Bucky spends working you over, you have no idea, but eventually he’s pushing three of his fingers in and out of you.
You’re loud, making noises foreign to you as he licks, pushes, and sucks. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s...
“I’ve got you darlin’, come on, come for me.”
With one final suck on your clit, your body tenses and then snaps.
You shout out in your pleasure, tugging on the strands of Bucky’s hair as he keeps licking, watching you explode.
It’s not until your sounds turn into something small and pitiful at the overstimulation that he stands from the bed, his beard shining with you in the moonlight as he finally undresses.
You eye him hungrily in your dazed state, watching as his shirt flutters to the floor, followed by his trousers. Your stuttered breath fills the otherwise quiet room.
He’s...
Subconsciously, you press your legs together again.
Bucky tsk’s, his hands sliding under your knees and pulling them apart. “Sweet girl, what did I tell you?”
Settling between your legs once more, he hovers above you.
You can only hold his dark gaze for a moment before your eyes drift downwards.
His cock is hard, and leaking, and big. You don’t think they’re supposed to be that big. Your hand wouldn’t even be able to fit around it, so how was it supposed to fit in you?
“Like whatcha see darlin’?” You hear the smirk in his rough tone before you look up and see it.
Flustered, you mumble out a breathless “It’s big.”
Bucky groans deeply, like he’s in pain, and swoops down to kiss you, dominating your mouth.
“Don’t worry sweet girl,” He whispers against your lips. “It’ll fit in your little pussy.”
Shivering at his wicked tongue, your eyes dart down to look at it again.
“Can I touch it?”
Bucky grunts, watching you from underneath his lashes. “S’all yours darlin’.”
Timidly, you reach down between your bodies until you can wrap your hand around the base of his cock.
You were right, your hand doesn’t fit around it.
It’s hot and heavy in your palm as you give it a soft stroke before returning to the base. You repeat the action but this time you trail your thumb along the vein you had felt on the underside of his cock.
Bucky’s forehead drops onto yours, his breathing heavy.
A flick of your eyes upwards shows you that Bucky’s are closed, his jaw clenched tight.
The sight sends tingles through you and with a burst of confidence you tighten your grip around his cock and stroke him again, thumbing at his leaking head when you reach the top.
Hissing, one of Bucky’s hands shoots down to grab your wrist.
You look up and meet his open eyes.
Pulling your hand off his cock, Bucky husks “Won’t last if you keep doin’ that sweet girl.”
The statement thrills you.
Bucky’s hands wrap around your thighs, placing them over the top of his and spreading you beneath him.
Grasping himself in one hand, Bucky keeps his eyes on you as he slowly pushes into you. The stretch burns, making you bite down on your lip as you try to take all of him.
Stopping, Bucky lowers to capture your mouth while his other hand sneaks down to gently circle your bud, relaxing and distracting you as he continues to push in bit by bit until he finally bottoms out.
“You tell me when darlin’.” Bucky pants above you, unmoving.
A few minutes pass and when you feel like you’ve adjusted as much as you can, you say “Okay, just...”
“I’ll go slow sweet girl.” Bucky promises again, reading your mind.
True to his word, Bucky gradually pulls his length out of you before pushing it back in at the same pace. Your teeth snag your bottom lip again as he moves in and out of you, the feeling just shy of painful.
Bucky never looks away from your face, catching every emotion that flashes across it. You’re warm and tight - so tight, around his cock and it has him on the brink of madness. However, your pleasure is what he cares about most and when your face remains pinched on his fourth push into you, his eyebrows draw in concern.
As he pushes himself in on his fifth stroke, Bucky says “Darlin’, do you -”
You moan loud and short, the sound a mixture of bliss and surprise as the pain suddenly gives way to pleasure.
Bucky grunts above you, the look on your face seeming to make him even harder as he puts a little more power behind his next thrust, watching as it makes you moan again.
“There you go sweet girl,” He husks. “That feel good darlin’?”
“Yes.” Your hands wind in his hair, bringing his face down to yours for a desperate kiss as Bucky continues his slow thrusts.
Something’s clawing at your stomach, wanton. You need more.
Your right hand untangles from Bucky’s hair to slide down his muscled back, brushing over the bumps of scars as you hold onto him.
Breaking apart, you pant against his lips “Faster.” You don’t know how you know that’s what you need, but you do. “Harder, please.” You plead in a lustful tone.
You haven’t been oblivious to the wild look in his dark blue eyes, to the barely restrained control he exhibits.
However, your words, your tone, they undo Bucky’s control for a moment and in an almost uncontrollable action his hips slam up into yours as he grunts “Fuck darlin’.”
The powerful thrust claws a breathy whine of shock out of you.
“Gonna kill me, aren’t ya sweet girl?” Bucky murmurs thickly, reining his control back slightly as he does what you asked and pushes into you at a faster pace, his thrusts harder.
Your head pushes back into the bed beneath you as you moan out, the nails of your right hand digging into their hold on Bucky’s back while your left grips his hair tighter.
“Look at me.” Bucky commands in a tone so low you feel the rumble of it against you.
You tilt your head down to meet his heady gaze.
“James,” You whimper, the sensations building within you.
“Fuck.” He thrusts a bit deeper, pushes a bit harder, making you mewl. “I know, I know darlin’, gonna come for me again, aren’t ya?”
He gives another deep thrust, the force pushing you slightly up the bed.
It feels so good. You’re so close, you’re right there...
“Say my name sweet girl,” Bucky groans, rubbing at your clit. “Say my name when I make you come.”
A pleasure so intense it has your eyes rolling back erupts in you, making your whole body tighten and relax repeatedly as you moan, whine, and pant for James as you swim in ecstasy.
The sight of you coming so undone for him - because of him, sends Bucky hurtling.
Pulling out of your pulsing heat, his right hand wraps around his painfully hard cock and squeezes as he tugs it roughly, consumed by lust. On the third harsh stroke he spills over your stomach with a wrecked moan of your name.
Bucky’s forehead drops to yours, your heaving breaths mingling together as you both come back to yourselves.
Pressing forward, Bucky claims your mouth in a brief, sweet kiss.
“You okay darlin’?” He whispers.
A drowsy, satisfied nod is all you can manage.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You’re surrounded by warmth when you blink awake and it takes you a moment to realise the source isn’t the sunlight streaming into your room, but Bucky’s body underneath yours.
If heaven was a feeling this had to be close.
“Mornin’ darlin’.” Bucky’s voice is raspier, a clear sign he’s not long woken.
Tilting your head up from where it rests on his bare chest, you meet Bucky’s gentle gaze and give a small smile, quietly returning “Morning.”
In a movement too fast for your sleepy mind to comprehend, Bucky grabs your hips and effortlessly rolls you onto your back so he can hover above you.
Nudging your nose with his own, he captures your mouth in a tender kiss.
“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling back.
Images of last night rush back to you, flooding your body with heat as you answer honestly. “A little sore, but good.”
Humming, Bucky runs his left hand up and down your side. “Just good?”
You duck away from his burning gaze, making him laugh.
“Still shy after last night darlin’?” He questions, though it comes across more like a statement.
Regardless, Bucky doesn’t wait for a response, instead he leans down and kisses you again.
This one is deeper, his lips pressing against yours harder as you willingly open your mouth to him.
You feel the air in the room thicken as Bucky’s left hand continues to roam and grasp while both of yours stroke through his hair.
Despite the soreness between your legs, that desire from last night begins pooling in your stomach.
Breaking apart, you both breathe heavily as Bucky utters “Already need you again sweet girl.”
Pressing soft kisses all over your face before moving down to your neck where he scratches his beard against you, Bucky speaks against your ear. “But I gotta let you recover first before I ruin you all over again, don’t I darlin’?”
You shudder at his words as he places a final kiss below your ear before moving away and getting up.
He pulls on his trousers, his blue eyes swimming with desire as he peruses your naked body while doing them up.
Licking his lips, Bucky husks “I’ll get breakfast started.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷
“When do you have to meet your friends?” You ask Bucky as he takes your plate and sets it with his own in the sink.
“Whatcha mean darlin’?”
“You said you were waiting to meet them.” You remind him, recalling the conversation you had yesterday.
Yesterday?
It felt like a lifetime ago now.
Bucky’s back is still to you and his silence makes you frown. “You’re... not meeting them?” You guess hesitantly.
Why would he lie?
If he wanted to stay longer, he just had to ask.
Turning around to lean against the kitchen counter, Bucky’s arms bulge as they cross over his still bare chest.
Despite the current circumstance, the sight makes your stomach flip.
Bucky observes you for a moment before admitting “I heard there was a new gang causin’ problems ‘round these parts.”
That’s all he says, leaving you to fill in the blanks.
Your heartbeat quickens at the possible implication of his words.
“So...” You prompt softly, daring to hope.
Pushing from the counter, Bucky steps over to you, his gaze holding yours as he rests a hand on the table beside you before ducking until your eyes are level.
“So I needed to make sure my sweet girl was safe,” He whispers, raising his other hand “And that she stayed that way.” Brushing a gentle finger over your cheek, Bucky finishes “I’ve got nowhere else to be darlin’.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 6 DAYS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
For six days you’re in a world of your own, where only you and Bucky exist.
You knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment you feel when life finally crashes in.
Waking up to an empty bed for the first time since you surrendered yourself to Bucky, you don’t think too much about it as you slip on your nightgown.
Venturing out into the hallway, you freeze when you hear voices.
Fear begins to take hold until you push it back.
Bucky would never put you in danger. Of that, you’re certain.
“You sure? The law’s been gettin’ closer than I like.” An unfamiliar male voice states.
“We’ve been plannin’ this for too damn long to back out now.” Is Bucky’s reply.
Sucking in a breath, you know you really shouldn’t be listening to this.
Continuing towards the sitting room, you step louder than you normally would, alerting them of your presence.
Two men sit in your kitchen, their hulking figures making the small table between them appear child-sized. Their heads turn and two sets of blue eyes - one light, the other dark - land on you as you loiter awkwardly in the sitting room.
Glancing as long as you dare at the stranger, you note his dark blond hair which brushes against his dirty collar and wild beard that reminds you of Bucky’s the first time he knocked on your door.
You know you’ve seen his wanted posters, but his name eludes you.
“Darlin’,” Bucky crooks a finger at you, urging you over to him. “This is Steve, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”
Steve.
You could recall the name at the bottom of the posters now - Steve Rogers.
“Hello,” You greet shyly, offering your name as Bucky’s hands settle on your hips and pull you onto his lap.
Not meaning to interrupt them, you look up at Bucky in question. He squeezes your hips, telling you it’s okay.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve declares with a secretive smile. “I’m sorry for barging in.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you?” Bucky grumbles at the same time, making Steve chuckle.
This one laughs too.
“I’ll give you two a moment.” Steve appeases, standing up and settling a worn brown hat on his head.
You realise he’s only wearing socks and find it oddly thoughtful that he took his boots off before coming in.
“We’ll have to get acquainted some other time.” Steve remarks, and by the way Bucky’s grip tightens you gather he’s only saying it to be a menace, especially when he adds “Maybe you can cook me somethin’ too.”
“Fuck off.” Bucky growls, but Steve’s already slipping out the front door with a grin.
Grumbling, Bucky lifts you off his lap and onto the table, fusing his mouth to yours.
Once he’s thoroughly reduced your mind to empty space, Bucky pulls back and orders “Don’t you dare cook him or any other man anything, ever.”
“James.” You sigh, smiling.
“You won’t like what happens if you do darlin’.” He promises in a darker tone.
The thrill that shoots up your spine suggests that maybe you would.
Regardless, you playfully huff “If you insist.”
“I do.” Bucky grunts before kissing you again.
When you break apart, the mood turns solemn.
“You have to go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah darlin’, I gotta go.”
Forcing a smile, you whisper “Okay,” as if you have any say in the matter.
Rubbing his nose against yours, Bucky soothes “I’ll be back darlin’, like always.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 3 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Sighing, you dry the plate in your hands and eye the dishes you still have left. You probably would’ve finished the mundane task by now if you didn’t move so slow while daydreaming.
You spent most of today in the barn, completing chores. It wasn’t until the sun had almost set that you wandered back into the house and began making dinner.
Once these dishes were away you planned on taking a long bath.
Stacking the last plate, you pick up one of the candles on the dining table and blow out the rest, blanketing the house in darkness.
Using the light source in your hand, you check over the windows and lock the front door before trudging down to your bedroom.
Stepping into the dark room you can’t help but miss the moon and the light it provides as you place the candle on your bedside table.
Clutching the bottom of your pale yellow dress you lift it up and off, leaving you in nothing but a thin slip when you hear the unmistakable sound of a match striking.
Gasping, you whirl around as your heart hammers in your chest.
“Don’t stop on my account darlin’.” Bucky drawls, seated in the chair at the opposite corner of your room.
Waving out the match he just used to light the candle on the dressing table beside him, his dark eyes watch you like a hawk. “Go on.”
A shiver races down your spine.
This isn’t your sweet Bucky.
In an almost nervous manner you reach for the straps of your slip, hesitating for just a second before pushing them off your shoulders.
You hear Bucky’s deep inhale as the fabric pools at your feet.
“Come here.”
Your feet are quick to obey the order.
The candlelight flickers over his face, allowing you to take in his appearance.
He looks much the same as he left, beard full but tamed and brown hair reaching his shoulders. He’s a little dirty, but you can’t complain since you are too.
Bucky grabs your waist as soon as you’re within reach and pulls you down onto his lap, your legs either side of his as your naked breasts press into his shirt.
His hands move to grip your bottom roughly, drawing another gasp from you.
Grazing your lips with his own, Bucky whispers “I’ve missed you.”
You’re not given a chance to return the sentiment as his mouth captures yours.
The kiss is ravenous as Bucky takes everything he wants - everything he needs, from you. All you can do is hold onto him, your hands wrapped around his thick biceps as you let him take.
Both of you are panting for air when he eventually pulls away, his right hand gliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck and urge your head backwards, exposing your throat to him.
Running his nose under your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone, Bucky groans in satisfaction against your skin. “Smell s’good.”
It was merely coincidence that you had been using your lavender oil more often since his comment on the porch.
You feel him bite the place where your neck and shoulder meet - as if in claim, before licking over the spot, making you moan.
Bucky nips and sucks along your collarbone, dipping lower until he tugs one of your nipples between his teeth.
You don’t even realise you’ve started rocking against his hard length under you until both his hands seize your hips, halting your movements.
Raising his head, Bucky taunts “Desperate for me darlin’? Where’d my sweet, shy girl go?”
Why those words make you whine at him you have no idea, but Bucky loves it.
Smirking, he slowly rocks you up and down on his length and hums “Maybe my girl’s not so good, huh?”
You moan as he moves you faster, pressing you down to rub harder against his erect cock straining beneath his trousers. Your hands tighten around his biceps as your head drops to his shoulder.
“That’s alright darlin’, ‘cos I plan on doin’ bad, bad things to you.” Bucky murmurs in your ear, beard scratching as your sensitive skin.
His words added with the light press of his thumb on your clit undoes you, making you cry out his name.
If it didn’t feel so good, you’d be embarrassed at your quick climax.
Growling, Bucky stands while you’re still reeling in pleasure and carries you to the bed, manoeuvring your compliant body until you’re on your knees, face down.
He’s never had you like this before.
The sound of Bucky removing his belt has your hands gripping the sheets.
“Can’t wait any longer darlin’.” He grunts, shoving his trousers to the floor before grabbing your hips. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this little pussy every day, dyin’ to feel it wrapped ‘round me again.”
That’s all the warning you get before Bucky pushes in, the intrusion tearing a shout from you, followed by a drawn out moan.
You feel so full. You didn’t realise how much you missed this.
How badly you’ve been craving it.
“That’s it.” He purrs, your walls clenching around him. “Fuck.”
Pulling out until just the tip remains, Bucky surges back in.
You whine again, clawing at the sheets beneath you.
“Oh, you are a good girl, aren’t ya darlin’?” Bucky thrusts into you, pitching your whole body forward as he bends down and husks in your ear, “‘Cos you’re gonna take everythin’ I give ya.”
The way he’s talking is hurtling you towards the edge again.
You don’t respond - you can’t, but Bucky’s not looking for a response.
Straightening, he begins pounding into you relentlessly. You swear the bed is going to give out with how it creaks as the frame bangs into the wall, competing with the sounds coming from you.
When Bucky’s large, rough hand trails under your body to cup your sex, his fingers sliding up until they reach your bud, you almost scream.
Chuckling out a groan, he states “You’re squeezin’ the life outta me sweet girl.”
Bucky’s fingers are as unforgiving as his cock as they rub tight circles on your clit, bringing you to that point.
“Come.” He growls, leaning over you to wrap his large body around yours as his fingers bully your bud. “Now.”
You’re helpless to his demand.
“James!” You squeal, falling limp as your release slams into you.
Moaning deeply, Bucky pulls out of your spasming centre and flips you onto your back. Tugging his cock, he spills onto your stomach, cursing your name.
Collapsing forward, Bucky catches himself on his left elbow, hovering above you.
You’re breathless, eyes fluttering as he lowers to kiss your lips.
It starts out tender but soon turns into something lustful as you feel Bucky growing hard against your stomach. Your resulting whimper breaks the kiss.
“Keep those eyes open sweet girl,” He whispers. “I’m not done with you yet.”
⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷
You wake wrapped in Bucky’s arms and a smile instantly spreads across your face. Lifting your head from where it rests on his shoulder, your smile widens when you realise his eyes are still closed.
Bucky always woke before you, yet here he is, fast asleep.
He looks different. Peaceful.
For a while you just watch him, listening to his steady breathing as you feel his chest rise and fall under your right palm.
Eventually you can’t resist the urge to brush his hair back from his face, which leads your fingertips to dance over his beard, down his nose, and over his mouth.
Your forefinger traces across his bottom lip before it’s suddenly snagged between his teeth, making you gasp then laugh.
Bucky’s eyes blink open and lock onto yours as he releases your finger.
“Morning,” You smile softly.
“Mornin’ darlin’.” His raspy voice after waking up is a sound you’ll never tire of. “What you doin’ up so early?”
Huffing at his teasing words, you sit up and move until you’re straddling his firm stomach, both your hands pressed against his chest.
“It’s not that early,” You glare playfully.
Cupping your hips, Bucky smirks “I just know how much my girl likes her sleep.”
My girl.
Lowering until your nose bumps his, you respond “I like spending time with you more.”
Bucky gives a quiet groan, his hands gliding up to cup your face and pull you down further until your mouths connect. It’s a slow kiss, every stroke of his tongue deliberate as he savours the taste of you.
He doesn’t let you go far when you break away for air, his nose prodding yours as he whispers “I have to go.”
“You just got back.” You can’t help but protest, eyebrows furrowing.
Bucky sighs, “I know darlin’.”
Rolling the two of you over so he can hover above you instead, Bucky’s forearms settle on either side of your head as he rests his forehead against yours.
“I got a... job to do,” Bucky explains vaguely. “But, when I come back it’ll be for a good while.”
You mull his words over for a moment before whispering “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He angles his face lower to place light kisses over your cheeks and down your neck where he then rubs his beard, well aware of how much it tickles your sensitive skin.
Once you have tears in your eyes and are stuttering for him to stop between giggles he finally relents, raising his head to meet your gaze.
The grin on his lips is much too boyish to belong to the man who spoke such sordid things to you last night.
“How ‘bout I get breakfast started?” Bucky suggests.
It’s at that moment, in the warmth and safety of your bed - of Bucky, in the little world you’ve started to create together that you realise you love him.
That you have for quite some time.
It’s in that moment, with his dark blue eyes shining down at you, his rough hands tenderly caressing your skin, and the lingering ache in your body from last night that you almost tell him.
Fortunately, common sense rears its head, snatching the words from you before they can tumble out and ruin everything.
You know he cares for you - maybe even adores you, but you don’t think men like Bucky Barnes can do love.
So instead you say “That sounds great.”
You’ll take everything you can from him before he leaves, knowing his absence will be even more palpable this time around with your realisation, and you’ll wait patiently until he comes back and gives you more.
⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷
Securing Chester’s reins around a post outside the general store, you give his chest a loving rub as he drinks from the water trough.
Moving around him to retrieve some money from the satchel on your saddle, the sound of running feet grabs your attention.
You turn in time to see a group of young boys race past, rushing towards the town centre.
“Hurry up or we’ll miss it!” One of the boys shouts back to his slower friends.
Frowning, you look around and notice that quite a few people are heading in the same direction.
Closing your satchel with the money still inside, you walk up the two steps leading to the general store’s small porch, intent on asking Billy what all the fuss is about.
A piece of paper stuck to the front door informs you he’s not inside. The messily written ‘be back soon’ only fuels your curiosity.
Striding back down the steps, you join the people making their way to the town centre.
It’s an underwhelming reveal.
Your eyes roll when you round the final corner and see that the gallows have been erected.
A hanging, of course.
What else drew such a crowd?
Certainly not one to enjoy such a gruesome sight, you turn around and head back the way you came. You’ll simply wait with Chester until Billy gets back.
You take four steps before stopping.
The whole town seems to be gathering - if not more. Only someone with a name important enough to know would be worth so much attention.
Don’t be stupid.
Fear turns your blood cold.
It can’t be him.
You’re thinking foolishly, you know that.
In what world did law enforcement ever actually catch a man like Bucky Barnes?
The notion was comical.
However, your need for reassurance has you spinning back around and trekking closer. You weave your way through the growing crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the criminal yet to be led up to the high platform of the gallows.
After a few minutes you’ve only managed to make it halfway through the throng of spectators, the rough shoves of uncaring men hindering your progress.
Standing on the tips of your toes, you peer around the figures in front of you, looking to the left corner of the gallows where you know the stairs that lead up to the platform start.
You’re not sure if it’s just a trick of your overactive imagination, but for a split second you swear you catch sight of familiar brown hair and your breath lodges in your throat.
No. It can’t be. It can’t.
The next few moments seem to occur in slow motion.
A brief gap in the crowd gives you a perfect, straight line of vision to the brown haired man. The reveal of his face almost brings you to your knees.
No. No, no, no -
You’re frozen in denial at who you see.
James.
His hands are tied behind his back and two deputies flank him, ready to escort him up the stairs.
Your direct line of sight is broken by the crowd, causing everything to speed up as you finally kick into motion.
Like a desperate woman - because you are, you push through the crowd, ignoring the protests and elbows you receive. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the front.
Ducking around the unsuspecting deputy stationed to keep the mob at bay, you bolt to Bucky, sliding to a standstill in front of him, your shoes touching his boots.
“Darlin’,” Bucky speaks like the wind’s just been knocked out of him, his blue eyes wide.
“James what are you - they’re -”
You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.
This was Bucky Barnes, the famous outlaw. He didn’t get caught and he certainly didn’t die.
“You promised.” You gasp out, eyes itching with tears “You -”
“I’m so sorry baby.” Bucky’s voice strains in his effort to speak softly and you hate it.
As much as you hate that you can’t give a second thought to his sweetest term of endearment for you yet.
“Don’t -”
Regaining their wits, the deputies around you spring into action, one of them grabbing your arms from behind and pulling you backwards.
“Hey!”
“Don’t touch her!” Bucky spits vehemently, rearing forward only to be tugged back by the deputies either side of him.
Throwing your right heel back, you catch the deputy in his shin, forcing him to let go. You lunge at Bucky, clinging to the front of his shirt like it’s your only lifeline.
“Please James,” You plead, as if he has any say in this. “I love you, please.”
You should’ve told him. You should’ve told him that morning.
“Listen to me baby,” Bucky implores, his deep voice gentle like you know it can be with you - not soft. “I want you to know how much I love you, that you’ve given a meanin’ to my life that I had no right to expect, that no one can ever take from me.”
“James.” You choke out, throat tight with the tears that stream down your face.
He loves me. He loves me.
The beautiful declaration should fill you with happiness, not anguish.
“You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky declares, lips curling as his blue eyes admire you.
When the deputy grabs hold of you this time there’s no chance of you breaking out of his tight hold even if you had the strength to try - which you don’t.
Your body is limp, weak, and shattered as you’re dragged away from the only man you’ve ever loved. The only man you’ll ever love.
“It’s alright darlin’,” Bucky insists over his shoulder as he’s pushed up the stairs, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”
You’re shoved into the crowd - which parts from you in disgust, while you watch Bucky ascend to the top of the platform, feeling anything but okay.
They stand him beside the noose and your legs tremble as you subconsciously start walking backwards through the horde of onlookers - as if you can escape what’s about to happen next.
“Bucky Barnes...” A big, well dressed man addresses him before reading out his sentence.
They’re going to kill him.
Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth as the reality sinks in.
He’s going to die.
Only watching you - always watching you, Bucky’s mouth opens.
You can’t hear what he says, but you make out the words.
“Don’t watch.”
“Please.”
The pain suddenly burns you and your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.
Gasping in a deep, shuddering breath, you look at him one last time before closing your eyes, forcing yourself to honour his final request.
Why? Why does death have to take him from me too?
You’re barely aware of anything other than the affliction raging inside you, so you don’t know how you even hear it over the jeering crowd, but you do - a low whistle.
It shouldn’t mean anything to you, but something urges you to open your eyes.
Blinking through your tears, you turn your head to the right - where the sound had been loudest, and zero in on a man who towers over most of the spectators.
A black bandana covers the lower half of his face, but he’s looking at you, his bright blue eyes visible as he winks.
Steve.
Shifting his gaze from you to Bucky, he whistles again, this time a two tone note that’s loud and piercing.
All around you, people scattered within the crowd fling back ponchos to reveal guns that they fire up at the sky or towards the gallows, sending the crowd screaming and running as all hell breaks loose.
More Posts from Bakersbucky and Others
i have so many drabble or requests i could come up with for the witness omg haha bucky proposing? meeting the families? first christmas together? :)
The Witness MasterList
“I don’t know about this, doll,” Bucky swallowed nervously, adjusting his tie for the third time in as many minutes as he looked himself over in the mirror. Slicking a hand back through his hair, his left hand was gripping the counter top so tightly his knuckles were ghosted white.
“He’s going to love you because I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist as you came up behind him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade through the thin fabric of his dress shirt.
“I’m a cop, Y/n,” Bucky reminded you, as if you had forgotten. He still wore that nervous little wrinkle on his forehead. You tugged him around to face you, cupped the sides of his cheeks and brought his lips to yours, kissing him sweetly.
“A cop who gave up nearly everything to keep his daughter safe,” you countered, kissing him chastely again before you pulled away.
Bucky nodded. “Right, yeah. Okay. Okay, I can do this. Let’s go.”
Keep reading
this is the realest thing ive seen on tumblr gn
That one fic that’s so out of character that it makes you hate your favorite character
UGHHHH. LOVE THIS
simon telling the guys he's got a girl to go home to post op and johnny's gobsmacked because him??
his simon? with a sweet thing?? that isn't repelled by his very existence??? he's gotta meet you! (he's also mildly upset that the rest of them are single. or is it jealousy that the man he's gotten himself off to is finally taken?)
it takes a little (a lot) of cajoling to at least show johnny a picture and when simon hands him his cracked phone, johnny whistles low and murmurs out a pretty lass.
and you do look pretty. you look pretty from the side as you're washing dishes, even with the gaudy yellow gloves covering up to your elbows. you're so pretty from the back as you're bent over, carefully basting the chicken you're baking. you even look pretty fuzzy, the camera blurring your features while zoomed in.
there's even a video of you but johnny doesn't overstep. he knows better. he waits for simon's go ahead, and once he gives the almost imperceptible nod, johnny quickly presses play.
the room is dim, the television casting a soft glow upon your face. your legs are folded beneath you, your gaze fixed on whatever it is you're watching, your hand reaching for the bowl of popcorn on the nightstand.
"ken wha' she's watchin'?"
"i dunno, but she's been into nature documentaries as of late."
johnny hums softly and the video comes to an end.
"yer a lucky man, LT."
simon doesn't say anything.
(and neither does johnny. not about the grilles of the window in every picture nor the quiet chirping of crickets and even quieter crunching of leaves in the video.)
REALLLL they amt of times ive gotten the ick js bc authors dk how to fucking tag their fics
Hey just a friendly reminder to all the new and old fanfic writers for Avatar Way Of The Water, that "x oc" is NOT "x reader". I know the movie only came out a bit ago but I am seeing some writers tagging their work as "x reader" but its an oc. I'm tired of seeing "x oc" when I'm specifically searching for a "x reader". As soon as a author adds a name to the reader that sets it apart from the "x reader" tag. It is now an oc and a character. It doesnt matter if u dont like writing (y/n), y/n, (reader), (name) or even (___), these are what we use in place for the readers name or even their own oc. If u dont like using these don't write "x reader" content, This is so there is inclusion for everyone in the "x reader" tag as soon as an author adds a name it is needed to be tagged as "x oc", and ONLY "x oc"
So pls respect other readers and use the appropriate tags.
damn i need a fic w these mfs THEY ARE DOING SMT TO ME
more rlly quick sketches of my recom ocs, aka vipers only friends. they’re both snipers and the one w the beanie has a british accent. kobras the more talkative one while boa is just happy to be here. jacques is french and kobra is british. bffs for life
Slow Like Honey Masterpost (Complete)
Summary: The gossip that buzzes around in the teacher’s lounge is that sweet, sensitive, divorcé Steve Rogers is hot-for-teacher. His daughter’s first-grade teacher, to be exact. Steve Rogers x Petite Reader –
(*) denotes NSFW
Part I: Teacher Appreciation Week
Part II: Slow Like Honey
Part III: Heavy With Mood
Part IV: The First Taste*
Part V: Twenty Years and a Month*
Part VI: Three Conversations
Part VII: Try Again
Part VIII: Never is a Promise*
lovely graphic made by @jurassicbarnes
I LOVE THIS SM AJSDHFASJDFG
Of Duty and Desire | Chapter 2 | Neteyam x Metkayina!reader
A/N: Thank you so much for the love I got on the first part 🥰 and thank you for your patience waiting for this one. I hope y’all enjoy it, and while you’re waiting for the next part, allow me to shamelessly plug my other finished fic here.
5.2k words, which in the words of my roommate @britany1997 “you write long ass fics.” (I know, Brit, I know)
Chapter 1 Chapter 3
It had now been over a year since the Sullys' arrival in the reef, and you couldn't imagine your life without them anymore. Tuk was as good at diving as any Metkayina child her age. You and Lo'ak bonded over your ongoing friendly competition over who was the better ilu rider (you were, but he was getting better everyday). Kiri had truly blossomed in the reef, and nobody treated her differently anymore.
But out of the four of them, Neteyam was the one you felt closest to. Even though you enjoyed laughing and joking together, you both understood what it meant to have a responsibility to your clan, a sense of duty to your people. It was a shared experience that was part of the reason you had become friends so quickly. When you would feel overwhelmed or frustrated by the high expectations of your parents or Ronal, he was always there to listen and cheer you up.
On warmer nights, when you felt stressed, you would sneak out to enjoy the peace of the water on the beach alone. You spent so much of your day busy with things to do that you felt as though you rarely had a moment of peace with yourself.
On one such night, you walked along the edge of the beach before settling down in the sand, the waves of the water gently lapping at your feet. The night air was warm, and you lay back on the sand to look up at the stars. You stayed like that for some time before the sound of crunching sand behind you broke the peaceful silence.
You sat up quickly in alarm and found that it was Neteyam walking along the beach. He seemed just as surprised at finding you there on the beach by yourself. "You startled me," you told him as he drew near. "And you startled me," he countered. "I didn't think I would find anyone out so late." You hummed and explained, "I couldn't sleep." He sat down in the sand next to you. "Nor could I," he replied. "Do you often come out at night?"
You shrugged and leaned back on your hands. "Sometimes," you admitted. "I enjoy looking at the stars." Neteyam looked up at the clear night sky. He searched for a while before a slow smile appeared on his face. "Do you see that one there?" He asked, pointing at a star. You looked after him, but you weren't sure which he was referring to. "Which one?" You questioned.
He moved in close next to you, bringing his face right up next to yours. His shoulder leaned against yours as he lifted a hand to point at the sky. "There," he said softly as he pointed at a star flickering above. "The yellowish one." You stared up at where he pointed and noticed the yellow star he was referring to. "I see it," you said quietly with a small smile.
You turned your head to look at him, and you suddenly became aware of how close he was to you. Neteyam seemed to have the same realization because he pulled away gently and looked away self-consciously. "My father came from there," he explained as he looked back at the sky. "That very star."
You looked back up at the flickering light in amazement. "That is incredible," you whispered. "Your father is legendary amongst the Na'vi." He shrugged nonchalantly. "It is hard to see him as such when I have seen him embarrass himself countless times," he told you with a wry grin.
You suppressed a laugh. "I suppose to you, he is just your father," you mused. He smiled down at you. "Everyone sees him as this fearless leader," he explained, and his voice suddenly became very somber. "But I know what really scares him." You watched him expectantly, trying to think of all the great beasts that could inspire fear in such a renowned warrior. Then, with a sly smirk, he leaned in close and whispered, "My mother."
That time, he actually did make you laugh. "Tonowari is the same," you told him, and Neteyam nodded emphatically. "That is understandable. Ronal is very formidable," he said. You shrugged your shoulders casually. "She's not so bad," you defended. Your mother was a lifelong friend of the tsahik, and you had become very familiar with Ronal and developed a better understanding of her strict demeanor during your time as her apprentice.
Neteyam shot you a disbelieving look. You sighed before admitting, "She is formidable, yes, but she is very loyal and fiercely protective." You sifted the sand between your fingers and looked up at him with a smirk. "But I see how she can be scary. Even Tonowari thinks so."
Neteyam chuckled at you. "Something about the role of Olo'eyktan seems to attract fearsome mates," he observed humorously. You hummed in amusement. "I hope I will inspire the same fear in Aonung one day," you joked.
You weren't quite sure what it was, but you sensed a slight shift in Neteyam's demeanor. It was the prolonged silence between your statement and his reply, almost as if you had unwittingly said the wrong thing. You looked over at him, but when he glanced back, he offered a faint smile. "Perhaps you will," he said finally. "But for now, I have to admit, you don't seem very intimidating."
You scoffed lightheartedly and tossed some sand at him. "How dare you," you told him with false offense. "I will be even more fearsome than Ronal and your mother combined." He chuckled at your theatrics and brushed the sand off of his arm. "If that is true, then you will be like a palulukan," he stated.
You tilted your head at him in confusion. "A palulukan?" you echoed questioningly. Neteyam seemed to remember that the fierce, feline creature he spoke of did not live around the reef, and therefore you had no knowledge of it. "Palulukan, the bringer of fear," he explained. "They are large, dangerous predators in the forest. There is nothing they are afraid of, and there is nothing that is not afraid of them."
You smiled thoughtfully at his words. "That does sound fearsome," you conceded. "And I thought the ikran were intimidating." Neteyam huffed in amusement. "They certainly can be," he agreed. "But they are excellent companions when they're bonded." You hummed in consideration and replied, "That doesn't make them any less intimidating."
Neteyam was staring at you with a thoughtful face, a slow smile forming on his face. "Would you like to see them?" He asked mischievously. You looked over at him quizzically. "Right now?" You clarified. He shrugged, his lips still turned up in a grin. "Sure," he replied. "But we don't have to if you'd rather not."
You felt your own lips twist into a smile. You had wanted to see the great beasts the Sullys flew up close since they first arrived, but for some reason, you had felt a little awkward about asking them. Now, you finally had an invitation to go.
"I would love to see them," you told Neteyam sincerely. He stood up eagerly and held his hand out to you. You took it, and the two of you headed over to where they kept their ikran. The great, flying creatures preferred to stay up on the rocky precipices above the water, so the two of you had to walk quite a distance, but neither of you minded when you were in each other's company.
When you made it to the base of the cliff, Neteyam made a strange calling sound that carried up the side of the rock. After a moment, you saw the silhouette of his ikran glide over the edge of the cliff and settle down in front of you. You couldn't help but laugh in amazement as Neteyam stepped forward to greet his ikran.
"Do not look at his eyes," he warned as you approached carefully. You averted your gaze obediently and instead focused on the size of its powerful wings. "He is beautiful," you told him earnestly. "You chose well."
He chuckled as he stroked his ikran's neck. "He chose me," he corrected you. "Ikran are not like ilu or skimwings. They only bond with one rider. It is one of the trials of the Omatikaya." You listened attentively as you wandered around the ikran in admiration. "It must be very difficult," you noted as his ikran rustled its wings a few times. He huffed in amusement and muttered, "Very."
You wanted to touch the ikran, but you hesitated, not wanting to agitate it by accident. As though he could read your mind, Neteyam offered you a reassuring smile. "You can touch him," he told you. Giving him a quick glance, you carefully reached out and brushed your hand along its leathery skin.
His ikran snapped its head to look at you, causing you to jerk your hand back quickly. Neteyam chuckled at your reaction. Coming up behind you, he placed his hand on the back of yours and brought it back up to the body of his ikran, guiding your hand over its smooth, green skin.
You gave a small laugh of amazement. Under your palm, you could feel its tense muscles around its wings. "He is very strong," you observed. Neteyam hummed quietly in response right beside ear.
You turned your head to face him better. Even in the dim light, you could make out every detail of his face, the pattern of the stars on his face and his amber eyes that seemed to glow. In the silence between you, he seemed to be studying your face as well, his eyes flicking back and forth between your own.
Neteyam seemed to pull himself out if his thoughts. He withdrew his hand from yours and stepped back to stroke the head if his ikran. You ran your hand over the leathery wings as you took a moment to shake yourself out of your thoughts as well.
"It was a startling sight when your family first arrived," you said, finally breaking the silence. "Few of us had ever seen Na'vi fly in the sky." He smiled over at you thoughtfully. "Would you like to fly?" He asked, his corners of his lips turned upwards playfully.
You turned to him in surprise. "Are you being serious?" You questioned skeptically. He shrugged. "If you'd like," he replied simply. "We already came all the way out here." You looked back at the powerful creature beneath your palm, and you couldn't deny the excitement you felt at his proposal.
"Are you sure?" You asked nervously. "Is it safe?" Neteyam's face softened as he smiled at you. "I will keep you safe," he assured you. "I promise."
You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and looking up in his face, you knew he would keep his word. "Okay," you said softly, then added playfully, "but you better not let me fall." He laughed at you. "I won't," he promised.
Attaching his queue to his ikran, Neteyam hoisted himself up on its back. He held out his hand to you, and after a brief hesitation, you took it. He pulled you up to sit on the space behind him. Since there was no saddle to sit on, you drew yourself close to Neteyam's back.
"The takeoff will be the worst part," he warned over his shoulder. "Just hold on to me, I won't let you fall." You wrapped your arms around his torso and replied softly, "Okay." The ikran crawled away to the edge of the cliff. "Ready?" Neteyam asked, and you could tell by his voice that he was smiling. Wrapping your arms tighter, you replied, "Ready."
His ikran lurched upwards and quickly began beating its wings. The sudden movement made you gasp and squeeze Neteyam's torso even tighter. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you were almost starting to regret agreeing to this, but almost as quickly as it started, the frantic flapping stopped.
The wind was rushing through your hair as you glided gently through the air. The wings of the ikran moved gently to maintain its height, but it was not as hard or as fast as when it left the ground. After the startling takeoff, you couldn't help but laugh in giddy delight over the thrilling feeling of being in the air.
Neteyam cast a quick look over his shoulder at you and returned your wide smile. He held your thigh securely as his ikran turned right over the water. You could see the reflections of the stars above you in the water below. Neteyam brought his ikran just above the surface of the water, its wings barely skimming the top.
You marveled at the feeling of flying. The warm air felt cool as it rushed around you. The world seemed to be moving slowly around you. You felt your stomach flutter as you swooped upwards, and you began climbing through the air again.
"This is incredible!" You shouted over the sound of the wind. Neteyam laughed in response. "Not like an ilu, right?" he called out. You laughed too before replying, "Not at all."
You continued rising through the air steadily, and when you leveled out, you gasped at the sight below you. Everything was so beautiful. The bioluminescent plants below lit up the village, and the sea was sparkling with the light of the stars.
You leaned your cheek against Neteyam's back as you took in the image of everything under you. It was so incredible that, for a moment, you thought that maybe you were dreaming, but you knew this couldn't be the case. You never could have come up with this feeling in your sleep, and the rushing air around you and the warmth of Neteyam's body against yours was too real to be a dream.
You weren't sure how long you were both in the air, but it didn't feel like long enough. Eventually, Neteyam had his ikran settle down on the beach right at the edge of the village before he leapt down off its back. He took you by the hand and helped you dismount easily.
"That was exhilarating!" You gushed in excitement. He grinned at you and admitted, "I was worried you were going to back out last minute." You pushed him playfully. "Not me," You laughed. "I wasn't going to miss out on being the first of the Metkayina to fly!"
He chuckled at your giddy bravado. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said. "It's easy for me to take flying for granted." You shook your head in amazement and sighed. "Thank you," you told him, staring up at him earnestly. "It was very generous of you to take me." He had a soft smile as he gazed down at you. "It was nothing," he replied gently. "If you ever want to go again, just ask." You grinned and nodded. "I'd like that," you said softly.
A brief silence settled over the two of you as you looked up into his face. In the same way as earlier that night, you found yourself studying his face again. His smile was contagious, and the way his eyes looked down at you so softly made your face grow warm.
After a moment, Neteyam sighed reluctantly. "It is getting late," he mentioned. "I think it would be best for us to go home." You closed your eyes and sighed as well. You knew that he was right and that you should do the same.
He gave his ikran an affectionate pat before disconnecting his queue. His ikran took to the skies, blowing the sand as he flapped away. You both watched for a moment before turning back to the village.
Neteyam walked quietly back with you to your home, careful not to disturb anyone around. When you arrived, you turned back to face him. "I will see you tomorrow," he whispered softly. You couldn't suppress the smile on your face as you responded, "I will see you then."
You watched for a moment as he walked away, still wearing a faint smile on your face. As you settled into bed, you replayed the night in your head. You could still feel the rush of wind on your face, the warmth of his body against your own, and you could hear his laugh ringing through your head.
You stared at the canopy above you for a long time, growing more and more perplexed. Neteyam was a close friend, and you had always thought he was kind and intelligent, but now, your thoughts were wandering back to the feeling of your face resting against his back, his steadying grip on your thigh as you swooped over the water, and the way he looked at you in the silent moments between laughs.
What perplexed you was that you found yourself missing his touch, missing his presence. You wanted to hear more stories about the forest and to see his face light up as he told them. You wanted to hold him close again as you flew into the late night sky.
Worst of all, you felt a faint, dangerous desire growing in you hoping that he felt the same way.
A welcome distraction came the following week after your late-night adventure with Neteyam. With the water growing warmer again, you and your clan were overjoyed to welcome the return of the tulkun. Along with the rest of the Metkayina, the day that they returned, you spent hours in the water with your spirit sister, Tanati. She was a talented storyteller, and she regaled you with her adventures away from the reef.
Every year with the return of the tulkun, the Metkayina held a great feast at night. All along the beach, there were several fires lit. A great supply of food was provided, and the night was to be filled with music and dancing. Everybody dressed in their finest clothing, and you even changed your hairstyle for the occasion.
This was your favorite time of the year. The whole clan was buzzing with excitement as they prepared for the feast. Being reconnected with Tanati brought you so much joy, and the happiness of the rest of the clan made it all the sweeter.
You sat with Tonowari's family as you all began eating. A wide variety of fish and vegetables as well as sweet nectar from the tropical plants on shore were all distributed among the people. You laughed with the Sully children, Tsireya, and other friends as you ate in the diminishing light of the evening.
After a short interlude of time to eat, Tonowari stood up, drawing the attention of the rest of the clan. "Tonight," he called out loudly for everyone to hear, "we celebrate the return of our tulkun brothers and sisters!" Cheers rose up from the masses. As they died away, he continued, "We are reminded of the cycle of life, and we celebrate new life as well as the lives of those who have gone on to be with our Great Mother."
There was a brief silence as everyone reflected on his words. Both the Na'vi and the tulkun had celebrated the births of children as well as mourned the deaths of loved ones in the community that year, but it was important that the balance of life be honored and celebrated, especially on a night like this.
"Now," Tonowari said, "let us sing and dance in celebration to honor our tulkun family." More cheers rose up from the people, and soon after, drums began pounding in the open air.
As the music began, you perked up. The opening song was an easy dance for everyone to join. You grabbed Neteyam's arm in excitement. "You must join us!" You said eagerly, pulling him gently as you stood up. He let out a small laugh and shook his head. "I don't know these dances," he pointed out, resisting your pulling.
You gave an imploring smile. "This is easy!" you explained. "Just watch." He didn't budge, but he looked up at you with a playful grin. "I will watch," he agreed before adding, "from here." People were already lining up to begin the dance, and since you didn't want to miss out, you dropped his arm with an exaggerated sigh and rolled your eyes with a smile.
Before leaving, you held a hand out to Kiri. "Join me," you offered her pleadingly. After a brief hesitation, she grabbed your hand and skipped across the sand to join in the dance. As you all began moving, you demonstrated the fluid motion of the dance to her, your arms moving around you and your body rocking in a motion that imitated the pull of the sea waves.
As you danced, you didn't see the Omatikayan boy staring at you. He had a soft smile on his face as he watched you dancing with his sister, admiring your graceful movements in time with the drums. He almost regretted not following after you to dance, but he enjoyed a better view from where he was sitting. While watching you, he didn't notice his mother's discerning gaze watching him instead.
As the night wore on, the dancing continued. You hardly stopped, only taking the occasional break to catch your breath. Neteyam's eyes always followed you as you dance. You were practically glowing as you moved, and he marveled at how you looked in the flickering light of the fires adorned in your pretty accessories with your new hairstyle.
At one point, Aonung took you to dance. The two of you were facing across from each other in a line. Neteyam stared hard as the two of you mirrored each other's movements in time with the music. You were beaming as you twirled in the sand, and Aonung seemed to reflect your delight. Neteyam watched you dance with him for entire song, unable to tear his eyes away from you, and Neytiri didn't miss it.
Later on, you sat out a song to catch your breath. You wandered over to where the Sullys sat. Tsireya was already seated next to Lo'ak and was explaining the significance of the moves to him. You sat down beside her, breathing heavily from all of your dancing in the sand.
Neteyam moved to sit on the other side of you. "You have not danced once," you scolded him playfully. "Even Lo'ak joined in." It was true. Tsireya had actually managed to convince him to join her in the sand, though he moved awkwardly as he tried imitating the motion of the dance.
"Believe me," he said, "watching that from here was much more enjoyable than joining in." You laughed at his words. "At least he's joining in the celebration," you retorted playfully. Neteyam didn't respond, he just smiled at your joking attitude.
The dance ended, and the participants and onlookers alike laughed and cheered. After a brief respite, the musicians began a new song. You nudged Neteyam's arm gently. "The night is nearly over," you said. "This is your last chance."
He looked at you, and you saw a slow smile spread across his face. Without saying a word, he held his hand out to you. You beamed and took it immediately. Standing up together, you headed over to where the line was forming. "I still don't know the dance," he told you with a grin. You laughed and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go to move across from him. "Just copy what I do," you said.
This particular song was slower, and so it was easier for him to follow along. With every step, every turn, and every move, his eyes stayed intently focused on you. He mirrored your movement almost perfectly, and you smiled as you drew close together. In the dim evening light, his face was illuminated by the fires around you, and his normally yellowish eyes were almost a flame-colored orange
The same flustered feeling you had felt the previous week began fluttering in your chest. Your movements were automatic as you became transfixed on Neteyam. He seemed to be a faster learner than Lo'ak when it came to dancing because his movements were fluid and almost perfectly in time with yours. Watching him perform the Metkayina dances so well made you beam with pride, and you felt as though nobody else was present but the two of you.
The whole time, Neteyam's enchanting smile never wavered, and you hardly realized when the dance had ended. The two of you stood in the sand for a few moments, slightly winded and grinning widely. The sight of the other dancers walking away from the open dancing space pulled you out of your daze finally, and together, you and Neteyam headed back to where his family was sitting and his mother was watching closely.
You sighed happily as you plopped down in the sand besides Tsireya. She nudged you playfully, and you nudged her back with a grin. On your other side, Neteyam sat down with a quiet grunt. "I thought you said it was my last chance," he said cheekily, nodding at the next round of dancers lining up in the sand.
"This dance is for mated couples only," you explained. "It will be over soon. Then, we will sing together before the celebration is finished." He nodded his understanding at you, his eyes fixated on the dancing couples on the sand.
"This is a wonderful tradition," he said earnestly. "I only watched from a distance last year." You followed where his eyes were fixed on the moving figures. "It is one of my favorite nights of the year," you admitted with a sight of contentment. He glanced back at you with a soft smile and said, "I understand why."
The dancing came to an end at that moment, and all of the couples returned to where their groups were seated. Ronal stepped up at the center of the beach with all eyes on her expectantly. After a few moments of quiet, she opened her mouth and sang the opening verse to the Song of Thankfulness.
As her clear, melodic voice rang out, you and the other women joined in the song, repeating the same line. Eventually, the deeper voices of the men joined in the song. There were no instruments used, it was all just a chorus of voices that carried across the beach. You closed your eyes and lifted your face to the stars as you sang, absorbing the moment of peace and happiness with your people.
As the song came to an end, you opened your eyes reluctantly, not wanting the night to end. From the corner of your eye, you could see Neteyam watching you, but when you turned to look at him, his gaze quickly darted away. From your other side, Tsireya moved to stand, and you knew it was time for everyone to retreat back to their homes.
"Good night," you told Neteyam quietly as you began to stand up. He quickly jumped up from his sitting position and offered his hand to you. With a soft smile, you accepted it, and he pulled you up gently from the sand. As you stood up, he held onto your hand for a beat and gazed down at you, the dying fire casting flickering shadows across his face. "Good night," he said finally and let go of your hand.
You missed the feeling of his touch immediately, and you were grateful that it was too dark for him to see your face blushing. You managed to pull your attention away Neteyam and turned to the rest of his family. Lo'ak and Kiri were also standing to their feet to go home. Tuk had fallen asleep long ago and was being carried by her father while Neytiri watched closely as you turned away from Neteyam.
"Good night," you told them with a polite nod. The weariness of dancing was finally affecting you, and you were eager to fall asleep. They all bid you goodnight in return, and you turned and walked back to where your family was waiting.
The Sullys headed back to their own place. After all of their children were tucked away to sleep, Neytiri gave her mate a squeeze on the shoulder and motioned with her head to the entrance of their tent. Understanding her silent request, Jake followed her outside.
Outside of their tent, Neytiri turned to face him. "You need to speak to your son before he does something stupid," she whispered to him in English in case any of the Metkayina were nearby. Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You're gonna have to be more specific," he responded quietly. Neytiri made a disapproving face. "Your eldest," she clarified. "He has grown very fond of the tsakarem girl."
Jake let out a little sigh. He had noticed his son's affection for you as well, but he hadn't really considered it particularly urgent. "What do you want me to do?" He asked. Neytiri stepped closer to him and spoke in a low voice. "He needs to—" she paused to find the right word in English. "He needs to separate from her."
Jake gave her an uncomfortable look. He knew that you had been very kind to all of his children, and he didn't like the idea of pushing you away from his family. Neytiri caught the meaning in his face and turned away from him in mild exasperation. "She is tsakarem," she whispered insistently. "She is spoken for. This can only end badly."
After a moment, Jake's lips pulled upwards in a sly grin. He hummed thoughtfully and walked up behind his mate, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest. "I think I've heard this story before," he whispered teasingly in her ear. "A young warrior from a strange land being welcomed into a new life, learning new customs, meeting a pretty tsakarem who is spoken for."
Despite herself, Neytiri began smiling softly as Jake nuzzled her cheek affectionately. "In fact, I remember falling in love with you on a night like tonight," he said gently. "It didn't turn out so bad for us, did it?"
She sighed reluctantly. "This is different," she insisted quietly. Jake gave a light chuckle. "How?" He questioned. Neytiri opened her mouth to answer, but she found that anything she could say about her son was almost identical to the situation she had lived through herself, and for the first time, she could truly understand the headache she probably gave her parents all those years ago.
"We are here under uturu," she said finally. "If something happens, they can revoke their shelter, and we will all be in danger again." Jake sighed, knowing that she was right. "I will speak to him," he conceded quietly.
Neytiri nodded without reply. After a moment, she muttered, "He gets it from you. You are a bad influence." Jake chuckled again. "Charm and good looks are the Sully curse," he said as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
Neytiri's mouth twisted in a grin at his words. They both stood there for a while with Jake holding her from behind. Even though they didn't say it, they were both reflecting on the beginning of their relationship, him being a strange foreigner and her being betrothed to another man.
Despite the fact that he was going to try to discourage Neteyam from being with you, Jake couldn't help but feel that if his son was anything like him, he wasn't going to listen.
Chapter 3
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Taglist: @mashiromochi @eywas-heir @kafanizdakicokiyi @plzfeedmebread @peachinsomnia
Chaser at Heart | J.P
Paring: James Potter X Fem!Reader
Summary: Without realizing it James Potter has always been a Chaser regardless of his Quidditch position.
Everybody wondered where James Potter got his snitch that he played with. Rumors had been created, but only James and Y/n knew the real truth. The most common story was that James and his Marauders nicked it from a supply closet. The honest question was, why did James play with a snitch when he was a Chaser?
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ミ the mightiest
part 1 | part 2
🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men
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reblogs are always enormously appreciated!
notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!
adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!
The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.
It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.
Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.
It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.
Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.
“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.
You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.
“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.
Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.
“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.
He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”
“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.
“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”
Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.
“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”
Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.
“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”
You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.
“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”
There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.
“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”
God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.
“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”
That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.
You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.
And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.
Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.
“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.
You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.
“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”
Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.
“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.
His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.
Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.
If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.
In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.
Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.
And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.
His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.
“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.
It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.
“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.
A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.
“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.
You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.
You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.
He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.
“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.
“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.
Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.
Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”
Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.
“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.
Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.
For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.
“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”
As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.
Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.
You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”
He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”
And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.
“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.
Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.
“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.
But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.
You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.
Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.
Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.
“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”
He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!
“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.
You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.
But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.
As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.
“Problem?”
His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”
You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.
The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.
In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.
In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.
You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.
You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.
Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.
But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.
He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.
God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.
Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.
You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.
“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.
You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”
There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.
“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”
Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.
“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.
“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.
You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.
You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.
Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.
Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.
You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.
“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.
You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.
“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.
Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.
Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.
You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.
"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.
In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.
"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.
The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.
Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.
Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.
“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”
Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”
You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”
Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.
“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”
Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.
When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.
"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.
"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."
You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”
“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.
You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.
But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.
His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.
It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.
You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.
“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.
“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”
“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”
You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”
Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.
If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.
You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.
“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.
You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.
“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.
“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.
“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.
Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.
“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.
He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.
Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.
The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.
Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.
“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”
You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.
“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”
Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.
“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”
Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.
“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”
And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.
And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.
Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.
Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.
“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”
“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.
Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.
This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.
His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.
It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.
You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.
You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.
“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”
He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”
It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.
“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”
Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.
“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”
Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.
“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”
Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?
“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”
Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”
Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”
You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.
“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”
Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.
“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.
“Hey–”
As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.
Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.
Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.
You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.
“Tawtute?”
You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.
“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.
Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”
You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.
You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.
But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.
You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.
Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.
You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.
Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.
There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.
The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.
When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.
“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”
You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.
“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”
“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.
Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.
“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”
“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”
You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.
Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.
You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.
You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.
“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”
You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.
“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.
His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.
“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.
It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?
Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.
“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”
“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.
It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.
“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”
Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”
“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”
Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.
“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.
You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.
“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”
Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.
You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.
“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.
“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”
You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.
“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”
“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.
When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.
Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.
You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.
“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”
“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”
Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.
“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”
The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.
Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.
You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.
You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.
All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.
But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.
“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”
Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.
Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.
Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.
“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.
There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.
“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.
This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.
Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.
You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.
At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.
“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.
He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.
“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.
“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.
You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.
Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.
“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.
“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.
Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ
You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.
It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.
Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.
Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.
Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.
He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.
You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.
“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.
Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.
You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.
It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.
Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.
Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.
Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.
You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.
You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.
Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.
Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.
Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.
He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.
Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.
It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.
“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.
“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”
“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”
You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.
“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.
“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”
Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.
“Y-yes.” You say.
Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?
“How would you like me to–”
“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.
Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.
The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.
What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.
“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”
“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”
And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.
Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.
“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"
You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.
Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.
“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.
Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.
“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.
You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.
Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.
“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.
You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.
What the fuck?
insecure princess!reader x barbarian!ghost cw: angst, brief sexual mentions, bad writing, confusing ghost insecure princess!reader who has never had any suitors. her sisters overshadow her. her mother pities her, afraid that her daughter will never marry.
fortunately, due to an alliance that her father has made, she finally marries. he's a barbaric prince, shameless and perverted. mean and scary.
princess!reader who tries her best to make love kindle between them, to live the fantasy that she's always had. she rubs lavender oil on her neck, tugs one of her nightgowns straps down her shoulder, to be desirable like the women in paintings. her lady-in-waiting helps her make her hair silky, and her dresses pleasing to the eye. but you can't put lipstick on a pig.
the prince only has her from the back. it's a relief that he wants to make love to her, but at the same time it breaks her heart. she wants to have a face that he wants to look at.
the princess' anxiety only worsens when she notices that the prince's older brother keeps looking at her. she's not used to attention from men, she doesn't know how to interpret it. he might want to hurt her, show everyone just how disgusting she is. or maybe he laughs with his mates about her, just like everyone else. or maybe... he likes the look of her, maybe he'd like to tug her nightgown down and have her chest to chest. it's a stupid thought, she shouldn't entertain them and embarrass herself. and he's her husbands brother!! it's wrong!
then, one night during a feast, her husband's drunk antics drive her to walk away. she wanders the dark hallways of the castle, moonlight and candlelight illuminating the paintings on the walls.
the princess stops to look out of a window, a lone tear running down her cheek. it's an unending weight on her shoulder. she hates the presence of other princess', the prettier princess', they only remind her of what she isn't. knights don't fight for her, artists don't paint her beauty, and princes don't ask her to dance at balls.
a noise makes her jump out of her thoughts, she whips her head around to look down at the hallway. it's him. her husband's brother, ghost. he stands few feet away from the princess, looking her up and down.
"c'mon," he urges, his voice deep and rough. ghost nods, gesturing down the corridor, to the feast. before the princess can even respond, he has already turned around and began to walk back. but she doesn't follow.
the princess stays in place, looking down at the floor as she sniffles. why should she go back there? they don't want her there. the man in armor turns back around when he doesn't hear the princess following after him. ghost lets out a sigh, as he hears her sniffle. with couple of steps, he's standing in front of her.
"why do you cry, princess?" he mutters, reaching up and gently holding her cheek in his scarred hand.
"i hate him..." it's a silent whisper, lost to the silence of the cold castle. her face twists as she fights against more tears.
"walls have ears, and they will twist your words into treason," ghost says firmly, shutting the girl up before she can be her own doom. his thumb run over the bottom of her eye, wiping up the tears that spill. ghost sighs and leans down, pressing a small kiss between her eyebrows.
"sweet princess, you need to return to the feast... i cannot take you away tonight," he whispers huskily.
"take me away...?" she repeats, even quieter, her brows knitted in confusion.
"if i killed him, i could claim you for myself," ghost murmurs. he looks down at her, letting the princess ingest his words.
her eyes are wide in shock. kill? for her? that is the most romantic thing she's ever heard. is this what courting is? if so, then she only wants more of it. she can't tell if he's mocking her, but there's something in his voice that makes her stomach stir with excitement. the wine in his breath makes her consider for a moment that he's messing with her, but she also wants to enjoy the attention.
"h-how would you take his life?" the girl straightens her back, trying to sound more confident.
"i would slit his throat, as easy as slicing a warm pie," ghost says it as if it's nothing, his running along her cheek. "i could take you far away, we would live in a house by the sea and you could wear pretty dresses for only me to see."
her breath hitches, feeling that flutter in her stomach. jesus christ. her hands clutch onto her cute little dress as she squeezes her thighs together. now she regrets giving her virginity to that twig, when a man like this could've had it, a man who truly deserves her purity.
"now be a smart girl and return to the feast." ghost murmurs and turns to walk back to the feast.
what?
she quickly reaches forward, desperately clinging onto the man's arm, to keep him there. if she let's go now, he might just come across a wench or two and change his mind. "b-but you said that-!" she stammers, utterly confused by the change in the air. there's no one there for her. no one who she's welcome to. her heart aches. she thought that this prince wanted her. what did she do wrong? ghost scoffs, gently prying the girls hands off his forearm. "you think it’ll be like a story, a hero slaying the villain and sweeping the princess off her feet. but this is real life," his tone is suddenly colder, more detached. “you’re chasing something that will never be yours.”
her hands stay in the air for a moment when he pulls away from her, reluctant to let go. his words sting, dig in deep and leave a pit for her to collapse in. her hands fall down and settle over her stomach as she fidgets with them.
she opens her mouth to say something, but the words escape her. it all changed so fast. some wench must've bewitched him, taken him from her. why can't she have anything, not even a man who wants her?
he looks at her again, his gaze intense, unflinching. his expression hardens, though there’s still a part of him that almost looks regretful. and then, he just walks away.
the princess can do nothing else than stand in place and hold back tears. she's alone again. the moonlight makes her shaking hands look blue. did she misunderstand? did she wrongly assume the meaning of his words? or was she just so naive?
it hurts to think, and the thoughts themselves hurt even more. it'd better if she just went to bed. ------------------------------------
inspired by the fact that i'm ugly and never had a boyfriend
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