Same Af

holy fucking shit everything about this was perfect

stick to me, like caramel

Retired!Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Summary: Sergeant Barnes has retired, and moved as far away as possible from the superhero life. He’s still in touch with some of his friends, but he never asks them to visit. Nor does he ever leave the quaint, warm small town he’s found himself in, or the spacious home he has, nestled between mountains and dense pine woods. Bucky lives a quiet life, away from danger, guns and bullets, aliens and wizards, and all the other noises. He likes it here. It’s calm, nice, and quiet. Nothing stresses him out, nothing bothers him. Nothing, except a certain neighbour of his. She torments him, in the best ways. And Bucky’s not sure how long he can resist her. 

Themes: age gap (I mean he’s a century old), smut, mild primal play, FLUFF, mild degrading kink, angst, soft!bucky, mild praise kink, HEA 

Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking. 

He chanted in his head as he walked down the almost empty road, the sun was gonna set soon and most people were all inside their cosy homes, the elder ones at least. The young people hung out mostly in parking lots, or they drove up the mountains. So, not many people about. Which was one of the many reasons he decided to spend his retirement here. The roads were always empty at this time, and Bucky liked silent, long walks during sunset hours. 

It calmed him down. That was it. No other reason. Of course he didn’t go on walks at this specific time just so he would run into you. Of course he didn’t choose this specific road for his daily walks only because this was where your little bookstore was situated. And of course he didn’t pick this exact time to go on his walks only because he knows this is also the time when you close up your store and walk home – completely unbeknownst to the fact that Bucky frequently followed you from a distance, making sure you got home safe. 

Okay, it sounded a little stalker-ish. But he didn’t mean any harm. Plus he lived right next to you. Granted there was a little uphill walk from your house to his, but still. He was bound to take the same path anyway. 

He didn’t even know when exactly this little infatuation stemmed out of nowhere. Perhaps it happened on the very first day, when he woke up in the morning and stepped out on his balcony to take in the breathtaking view of the foggy woods, the rich veridian pine trees, the dark mountains, the rain clouds, when he suddenly spotted a bright red spot moving along the edge of the woods not far from his home. Bucky squinted and a few moments later realised he was staring at a young woman, wearing a red coat, who was frolicking about, picking flowers. 

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the mundane task. It was peaceful to watch, so he kept watching until he noticed the woman was making her way back. He watched as she got closer and closer, until she stopped, looked up right at him, and waved. 

Bucky waved back awkwardly, only then realising that the woman he’d been spying on was his next door neighbour. That was the first time Bucky saw you. And ever since, you’d been basically living in his head. 

His little crush on you only got worse when, by the end of his first week since moving there, you showed up at his door and brought him a basket filled with all sorts of baked goods, muffins and cookies, which smelled divine. Bucky accepted the basket a little clumsily because he was nervous, and made small talk but really, he was freaking out because you were even more beautiful up close. 

“I’m your neighbour!” You announced, smiling up at him. Again, wearing that lovely red coat. Your hood was down this time though. 

Bucky nodded, smiling sheepishly, “Yeah, I saw you the other day.” 

You turned and pointed at one area not far from Bucky’s property, “The edible flowers I love grow around there, and I usually pick them in the morning.” 

Edible flowers. He didn’t care what you were doing there. Picking flowers or worshipping at the altar of some ancient deity. All he cared about was that you were here talking to him. “I see.” 

“I use them in my baking, my customers love them!” 

Well he was thankful that his lack of social and communication skills hadn’t scared you off just yet. But also, customers? “Customers?” He questioned. 

“I own the only bookstore in this little town.” You said proudly. “Not many readers though, I’m afraid.” You chuckled, “So I bribe them with muffins, cookies, and tea.” You explained, “Stop by sometime, I’d love to show you around!” 

Bookstore. Muffins. Cookies. Tea. Pretty girl. Retirement wasn’t so bad afterall. “I’ll… I’ll make sure to visit soon.” 

He never did. 

But he did watch you from a distance ever since that day. It was weird at first, but then it became part of his normal. Knowing what time you were up and about upon noticing the smoke that came out of the chimney of your home – which was a beautiful, old, rustic, wood and stone house. He’d heard from one of the kind old men at the pub that the house belonged to your grandma before she passed. She left it to you in the will. 

Other older folks at the pub told him more about you. How you had no family members around. Some estranged siblings but they were out of the picture, and who knows where in the world. Your parents were not in the picture either. Some even said that your late grandmother had left you all her money, which was why your entire family envied you and shunned you out basically.

His heart broke a little when he heard that. Sweet girl like you deserved nothing less than a loving family. But you had friends. He often saw you out and about, at stores, at the diner or restaurants for brunch, at coffee shops, at the florist, always surrounded by a group of giggling women. 

Other details he found out on his own the more he spied on you. Like how you had your own little walled garden in your seemingly endless backyard, growing your own vegetables and herbs. 

He knew what time you left to go open up your store each morning because he would always hear you yell in a cheery voice, ‘Bye, House!’ whenever you stepped out of your metal gates. 

He knew that you often left out food for wild bunnies to come eat in your backyard. He knew exactly on which days of the week you went into the woods to get those edible flowers. He knew what time you got home, he knew all your favourite songs because you would play them often in your kitchen and his super soldier hearing would pick it up easily. 

He knew so much about you, yet so little. He wanted to know more, but he was always so nervous to step into your bookstore and talk to you. Or, on the rare occasions when he found himself at the grocery store at the same time as you, he’d get out of there so fast it was almost funny. 

He was well above a hundred years old, stronger than the average male on this planet, and yet his cute neighbour made him weaker than anything ever had. There was a time, lifetimes ago, when flirting with a pretty girl came naturally to him. But now… he was a different man. So he decided he’d only watch you from a distance. And yearn. And pine. And long for your attention. 

He thought he’d spend the rest of his days being tormented by the sound, the sight, and the mere thoughts of you. Always watching from far away, never being brave enough to reach out. 

But things changed that one day you reached out. 

Bucky was in his backyard, building himself a new shelf. He needed one for his kitchen. All those years, he’d survived in empty, temporary houses and apartments. But now, this was much more permanent and he wanted it to feel like home. So he needed things. Lots of things. Like furniture. But he hated shopping for them. So since he was surrounded by a seemingly endless forest, containing lots of wood he could use, he decided to make himself useful and build his own stuff. 

So far he’d built himself a couple of chairs, a coffee table, two bedside tables, and now he found himself in need of a nice shelf for his kitchen. So there he was, being a lumberjack for the day, when he heard his doorbell ringing. 

Bucky knew immediately who it must be. 

You. 

He dropped his axe, and tried to get all the sawdust off him while he marched towards his front door. His heart only skipping a beat or two as he opened his door and found you standing on the other side of it, looking as cheerful as ever. 

“Hello, neighbour.” You greeted him. Not wearing your pretty red coat this time he noticed. 

“Hey,” He said, sounding more stoic than he intended. 

You quickly explained why you were at his doorstep so late in the evening. Behind you, the sun was setting and it was getting rather dark. “The heater in my living room isn’t working well. I was wondering if you could come check it out for me.” 

Bucky wasted no time in saying, “Sure.” 

Then he followed you to your house. 

He had always admired your house’s exterior. The slate grey stone, the wooden accents, the large windows and their bright flowers in the window boxes. The low hedge that wrapped around your property, the wrought iron double gates, it was all so… out of a fairytale looking. Compared to his well hidden log home that blended so well with the environment that often you wouldn’t notice it. 

But as much as he liked the exterior, the interior of your home blew his mind. It was so… home-y. He could smell some sort of freshly baked goods. And it was heavenly. Everything inside your home was vintage looking. Every furniture, every trinket, every painting and sculpture that looked like they cost a fortune. 

Then he realised, this was your grandmother’s home. Of course everything in it was old. So he tried to find bits and pieces of you everywhere he looked. And he did. New books on the bookshelf near the entrance that looked like it was older than he was. New vinyls hanging on the wall amongst the old ones. Fresh flowers in old vases in your foyer. And there might be so much more but he couldn’t exactly be a creep and stare for too long. So he followed you as you led him to your living room. 

He would have admired your living room a little longer, but then even he could feel how much colder this room was compared to the rest of the house. So he got to work immediately, kneeling by the heater. He knew how to fix it, it was easy enough with his metal hand. But he also didn’t wanna be too quick. 

“So,” He cleared his throat while pretending to be busy with the old-fashioned heater, “Old man down the street told me you had no family in this town.” 

Yeah, real smooth Bucky. He cursed himself. 

“Yup!” You answered, like he asked you about the weather instead. 

Bucky looked up and found you sitting on your couch, legs crossed, like a spoiled little thing while he knelt on your floor fixing your heater for you. He wanted to know more, so he asked, “And is that by choice or…?” 

You sighed, then told Bucky the truth. “I am the youngest. My siblings and I never got along when we were kids. I spent years thinking surely something will change when we get older, but no.” It was a little sad talking about it, but nothing you couldn’t handle. “Then mom and dad separated and they each went their own way. Last I heard my father was onto his third wife, and my mother was backpacking around the world with some of her friends. All my siblings left home one by one. Then when I left for uni I made the decision to never go back to that empty house.” 

Bucky stopped pretending to work on the heater. He’d fixed it, so now he sat next to it, back against the wall as he watched you. He wanted to gather you in his arms and never let you go. 

“I would’ve figured something out.” You said, with a determined smile. “I always wanted to move to a small town, maybe even a coastal one. But then as I was finishing up my final year, I got a phone call one day. It was my grandma, and she was sick and needed assistance.” Another soft smile, this one sadder. “It felt like a sign. And it was the right thing to do. So I moved here. And lost contact with my family, there was complete radio silence even after grandma passed.” 

Bucky looked away for a moment, the thought of you going through all that alone was heartbreaking. But you were so brave. 

You continued, “So yeah, I’ve been on my own ever since. And I love this place, these people.” You looked right at him and added, “And handy neighbours who fix my heater.” 

Bucky smiled. “All fixed.” He grunted as he got up from the floor. 

“Thank you!” 

You walked Bucky to the front door, then just as he was about to step outside you called out, “Oh Bucky, wait! I almost forgot.” 

Bucky watched how you ran back inside, towards your kitchen and then ran back towards him with a little basket. 

“Here,” You handed him the basket filled with sweet smelling stuff. “I baked them this morning.” 

Bucky peeked and found a bunch of chocolate chip cookies. He looked back at you and found you smiling at him. He smiled back then rolled his eyes as he stepped out of your home, groaning, “Gonna make me fat with all your sweet stuff.” 

You giggled, leaning against your doorframe as Bucky stepped down the steps of your porch. “You can always work out more. You know, chop more wood in the mornings, or run by the lake more.” 

Bucky stopped on the last step and turned to face you. His heart beating a little faster as the realization sunk in. “You stalk me.” He sounded like he was teasing you. 

You smirked, “Don’t you? You think I don't know you follow me home almost everyday?” 

“Alright, fine.” Bucky rolled his eyes again. “But you stalk me too.” 

“You’re loud when you chop wood in the morning. It wakes me up early.” You argued, eyeing him up and down, shamelessly. Gods, he was a handsome man. Even more so with that tight long sleeved shirt and dark jeans. 

“I see.” He mumbled. “You like the early morning view?” He caught himself asking before he could think about it twice. What? He knew he looked good. He wanted to know if you appreciated the view. 

You gave him another sly smirk as you answered, “Very much.” 

He smiled at you. Then nodded and said, “Good night, neighbour. Thanks for the goodies.” 

“Good night, Bucky.” 

— 

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of light rain hitting your bedroom window, and the muffled repeated sound of an axe hitting wood. You smiled before you even opened your eyes. Waking up to the sound of rain was always delightful. But the sound of someone chopping wood had recently become your new favourite. 

Bucky. 

You pulled back the covers and quickly walked over to your bedroom window. You peeled back the curtains and found Bucky in his backyard. 

Shirtless. 

You froze. 

The sight of him there, wearing nothing but his usual jeans and boots, axe in his hands, the metal arm glistening almost as much as his damp, muscular chest. Fuck. He looked divine. His longish hair was damp as well, a few strands falling over his face, and the muscles in his arm and back flexing each time he brought the axe down. 

You were mesmerised by the sight of him there, with the dark woods as background. The light rain falling over him. And the blue of his eyes staring right at you– 

You gasped and quickly shut the curtains again when you realised he’d looked up and caught you staring at him. Your face felt hot as you hid behind the heavy curtains. Your heart raced a little faster and you felt like a little kid who got caught doing something you shouldn’t. Shit. 

Oh well. Whatever. He knew you watched him. 

So you peeled the curtains back again and found him smirking at you. He lifted his right hand, waving at you like any good neighbour would. You smiled and waved back, then forced yourself to look away from his gorgeous face and body, and get away from the window to get ready for your day ahead. 

That image of him chopping wood in the rain didn’t leave your head the entire morning. 

—

Bucky didn’t know what exactly made him do it. Maybe it was the interaction you two had had that morning. The heat in your eyes as you watched him, the way your lips parted just so slightly, and he was certain he could see how you were breathing heavily just looking at him. 

He’d been smiling to himself all morning when he thought about that brief interaction. The way you hid when he caught you was… cute. But you went away so quickly. He wanted to see you again, he wanted more. 

So perhaps that’s why he finally found himself walking into your cosy little bookstore. It was exactly what he was expecting it to be. Dark interior with dimmed lights. Spacious middle area with little reading nooks scattered all over the place. Dark, velvet couches and bright pillows. A tea and a coffee station right next to each other by the large window, and baskets filled with baked goods. Muffins and cookies. He could smell whatever fancy candles you must have burning somewhere.  

“Bucky!”

He turned around and found you smiling at him, a tiny book in your hand. He smiled back, and decided you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his long life. Dressed in a simple black dress and dark red cardigan, you looked… even more delicious than all the things you baked. He was thankful there was no one in the store to witness how he checked you out shamelessly. 

“Hey,” He said, then looked around and commented, “Nice place.” 

“Thanks,” You walked up to him. 

Stopping right in front of him, close enough that he could smell your perfume and it was driving him insane. It was something citrus and feminine, reminding him of blood oranges, pomegranates, and delicate flowers. And it made him want to pull you closer. But he shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket instead. 

“It was my grandma’s.” You explained, and he listened with interest. “She left me quite… a lot in the will so I don't really have to worry about my livelihood. Which I’m very grateful for. And even though it’s not great business, I decided to keep running the store just to keep her memory alive.” 

Bucky smiled again at how kind you truly were. “That’s nice of you.” 

You gave him another pretty smile. “I have some loyal customers, they come to buy books every few weeks. But most of all, people like to come here just to read. Or hang out. So I always have warm drinks and sweet treats ready.” Then you turned to him and asked politely, “What brings you here? I didn’t quite picture you as a guy who reads.” You teased. 

His voice was laced with sarcasm as he said, “And I didn't picture you as a woman who spies on her shirtless neighbours, but here you are.” 

He could tell that caught you off guard. Maybe you’d thought he would never bring it up. But, Bucky decided, it was fun to tease you. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” You replied, giving him that look he loved. The innocent one, with mischief hidden somewhere. 

“Oh yeah?” He stepped closer to you, just a little bit. “Did you forget I saw you this morning? Making eyes at me?” 

You scoffed, “Well, if you’re gonna put on a show…” 

“And how’d you like it? The show?” He asked, stepping closer again. And you took a step back this time, and you two danced this dance until he almost had you cornered between two shelves. 

You gasped dramatically, “Bucky barnes. Are you flirting with me?” Your back hit the shelf behind you. “Aren’t you, like, a hundred years old?” 

Bucky laughed as pinned you to the bookshelf. His metal hand coming up to grab onto the wood, caging you between him and the shelf as he slowly slid his leg in between yours. “Yeah, I am. What about it? It didn’t stop you from spying on me.” He noted the way you spread your legs to make room for his. “I know you want me.” He said, pressing his leg up in between yours. 

You gasped again. Then chuckled and said, “Don’t be inappropriate right in front of grandma’s portrait, you weirdo.” Then you gently hit him on the head with the tiny book you’d been holding. 

Bucky frowned then looked around, searching for the portrait. And it was right behind him. A large portrait of an old woman in a gilded frame, staring down at the two of you sternly. 

Sorry, grandma. 

He grabbed you and easily pulled you away, pinning you to the next closest bookshelf he found. His leg sliding in between yours again. “Now that grandma’s not watching,” He said, making you laugh. Fuck. He’d do anything to keep you laughing and happy like that. “Wanna tell me where I can be inappropriate then? Want me to take you out?” He asked, then couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss your neck, discreetly inhaling your perfume like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. Suddenly he wanted your scent everywhere. On his clothes. In his truck. On his bedsheets and pillows. “Is that what you’d like?” He asked, pulling away to look into your eyes. “A date? Where I spend the entire evening waiting and figuring out if you’d let me kiss you or not?” 

“You won’t have to wait the entire evening.” You smirked at him. “I’d let you kiss me anytime.” 

Fuck. His heart skipped a beat. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

“Yes.” You leaned in, sliding your hands around his neck to pull him closer. Bucky’s brain stopped working for a second or two as you kissed him. 

He melted into your kiss. His hands grabbed you at the waist to pull you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your hands slid into his hair and he held you tightly against him, pressed up against his firm body as his mouth moved perfectly against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan into the kiss as he slowly slipped his metal hand up your dress. 

You gasped at his cold touch. His lips left yours momentarily to kiss along your jaw, and down your neck, nibbling on your skin and inhaling your addicting scent, making you sigh in pleasure as his hand found its way past your underwear. 

“Can I touch you?” He mumbled into your ear, “Please say yes, baby. You’re killing me.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle, then whispered, “Yeah, you can touch me.” 

Bucky groaned as he moved your underwear aside and ran his knuckles along your wet slit, smearing your wetness around. He chuckled when he felt that you were just as wet and ready for him as he hoped you’d be. 

“See? You do want me.” 

You whined at the sound of his cocky voice. You couldn’t help but look down to see his hand moving gently against your body as he teased you, his metal hand sliding in and out from in between your legs, disappearing under your dress each time his fingers dove in to tease your clit. Fuck, just the sight of his hand sent pleasant shivers down your back. You also noticed the growing bulge in his pants. You bit your lip at the sight of it, then looked up at him. He was already staring at you. So you silently pleaded, begging for more. 

Bucky wanted more too. He pushed his two metal fingers inside you with ease and felt your warm walls immediately welcoming him in. He held your stare as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots which made you weak in the knees. You bucked your hips against his hand, still staring into his eyes, and he chuckled. “Does that feel good, baby?” 

You nodded, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Because the store was empty, but anyone could walk in. They wouldn’t see you, but you didn’t want them to hear you either. 

“Yeah? You want more?” Bucky asked, his fingers moving in and out of you perfectly. “Want me to taste you? Can I do that?” He mumbled and kissed down your neck, biting and licking your skin around your collar bones. 

Meanwhile you lazily reached for him, palming him through his jeans and feeling his erection. You smirked to yourself as he grunted the moment you touched him. “All that for me?” You teased him. 

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh into the crook of your neck. “Now who’s being inappropriate?” 

You giggled, “You started this when–,” 

The sound of the tiny bell above the entrance of your store ringing cut you off. You both froze then immediately pulled away from each other. You fixed your clothes quickly and gave Bucky a smirk before you went back to the front and greeted your customer. 

Bucky couldn’t let himself be seen yet. Not until the raging hard on he had would calm down first. So he walked around, hiding behind bookshelves as he perused them. And once he was safe, he walked to the front and found you scanning some books before putting them in a bag for the customer – she was an old lady who lived near the lake. Bucky often saw her when he went for his frequent runs. 

Bucky grabbed a random book and sat down at one of the many reading nooks. It hid him enough that he could stare at you leisurely, without being caught by Old Lake Lady. He could tell you felt his eyes on you, because you’d send quick glances his way even as you engaged in a conversation with the old lady about her cats and dogs. 

Just minutes ago you were moaning in his ear with his fingers inside you, and here you were now, being nice and warm to a customer. 

Bucky had to hide his smirk, at least until the lady was gone. Soon she’d wrapped up her stories, paid for her books, and left, leaving you two alone again. Bucky got up from the couch and approached you. 

“Come over tonight,” He said. “I’ll make you dinner.” 

He watched how you seemed surprised. Then rolled his eyes when you asked, “You can cook?” 

He answered, proudly, “I’m over a hundred years old, you learn a thing or two when you’ve been alive that long.” A pause, then he added, “Plus recipe books help too.” 

You laughed. “Okay, see you tonight then.” 

“See you.” 

Bucky left you with a wink. 

— 

When you got home that evening, you took over an hour to get ready for dinner. You caught yourself smiling a lot just thinking of Bucky and how he touched you earlier… 

You sighed, impatient to see him again. But you didn’t want to seem too eager and show up at his house too early so you found something to keep you busy until it was a reasonable time to knock on his door. Plus, you wanted to bring him something nice so you ended up gathering flowers from your yard and made him a little bouquet. 

It ended up being a pastel coloured bunch of flowers, pinks and lilacs with some white here and there. You decided it was cute enough for a first date. Was it even a date? Or was it just a casual dinner? 

Before you could overthink yourself to death and find a way to get out of this, you grabbed a light cardigan and walked over to Bucky’s house. 

Bucky answered after your very first knock. Almost too quickly. 

You couldn’t help but tease him about it. “You were waiting by the door, weren’t you?” 

“No.” He argued, “I’m just really quick to get the door. Don’t like to keep my guests waiting.” 

“Sure,” You smirked as you walked into his home. Bucky shut the door behind you and turned to face you. “Here,” You handed him the bunch of flowers, “I picked them myself.” 

You expected him to make some sassy comment, but he didn’t. “I’ve never been given flowers before.” He said, looking down at them. And you felt really proud. “Are they edible too?” 

You laughed as you followed him further in. “No, they’re not. But they will bring some life and colour to your home.” 

Bucky chuckled as he grabbed a vase and filled it with water to put the flowers in. “Are you saying my house looks lifeless and dark?” 

“No,” You took a seat at the kitchen island table, and watched him as he placed the flower stems one by one into the vase. “I’m just saying it needs some colour. But I love the sombre and broody vibe you went for. It’s very… retired superhero-esque.” 

And it was indeed. Dark floors, dark furniture. It was spacious and luxurious, with minimal furniture. You didn’t know if the minimalism was intentional or not. But either way, it suited Bucky. The large windows made up for the empty spaces. It allowed a lot of the outside in. Especially the rich, dark woods. 

He gave you a playful glare before he grabbed two wine glasses and asked you, “You like red or white?” 

“Red, please.” 

He handed you a glass of red, clinked your glasses together then went back to the stove. “You’re welcome to snoop if you want.” He said, then heard you get off the stool at the island table and heard your footsteps walking around. 

Bucky’s house was much closer to the woods than yours, and sometimes it felt like his house – much like him – preferred to blend in with the surroundings rather than stand out. 

The kitchen was your favourite part so far. It was like a glass prism. No walls, but the woods hid it well from the other neighbours. And right now, as the sun set and the sky turned pinkish orange, it flooded the entire kitchen with those same colours. 

Bucky let you snoop, and turned to the stove where he was concocting something that smelt divine. He glanced at you now and then, and noted the way you took in his home. The ground floor had an open concept look. So you could see the living room, the foyer, the large staircase – which led to the upper level where all the bedrooms and bathrooms were, the small conservatory, all could be seen from the kitchen. 

He was rather proud of his home. But you weren’t saying anything yet. Did you not like it? Bucky wondered silently as he flipped the veggies he’d been grilling. “You like it?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

“I do!” 

Bucky looked up and found you in the middle of his dimly lit living room. You did a slow, mindless twirl as you took in all the random art he had mounted on his walls. Bucky was mesmerised. You, there, in that pretty dress – it messed with his head in the best way. 

“What made you move here?” 

Your question caught him off guard. He knew why he moved here, but he didn’t know if he could put it into words in a coherent way. But he did his best. Dinner was done, so he spoke as he plated everything. 

“I had been thinking about retiring for years now.” He sighed. “I didn't wanna lose myself. Again. Or have to watch my friends die. Again.” He let out a sad chuckle. “You'd think I would be immune to losing people by now. But it hurts the same every time. Plus going on a mission and not knowing if everyone would make it back… It messes with your head.” He said. “So I decided to leave. I was worried it would make me seem like a coward. But then I realised, I shouldn’t care.” 

He heard you coming back into the kitchen. 

“Plus, it's hard to blend in when you’re me, you know?” He could see you in his periphery, getting closer to where he was. “After years of being who I was, and doing what I did, there’s not many places where I could go that would feel normal.” 

Without saying a word, Bucky watched how you placed your glass down and came over to help him plate everything onto two dinner plates. He gave you a faint smile then continued, while the two of you moved around his kitchen gracefully. As if this was a daily thing. 

“Then one day I decided to leave that life. But I still didn’t have a place to call home so I drove around, traveled and tried to find somewhere that was calm, and welcoming. Somewhere I could just be me, and not… what I was.” He paused, remembering the day he first came to this town. “I happened to be driving through here one day, and the weather got really bad. The rain was horrendous and the people I met at the pub told me it was dangerous to continue driving in a weather like that.” He chuckled at the memory, “And I told them, I’ve been out on missions in worse weather. Rain or sleet was nothing, I’ve been out during hurricanes and snowstorms.” 

Your heart hurt for a moment, thinking about Bucky having to brave all sorts of storms. 

Bucky continued, “Then, one of the old guys at the pub grabbed me by the shoulders and said ‘Well, you don’t have to be out in storms anymore’ and he offered me a place to stay for the night. And when I woke up the next day, I realised that no one cared about who I was or what I had done in the past. They were just kind and welcoming to me like I was a regular guy.” He looked up at you, smiled and said, “So I bought the land and the house here and stayed.” 

You smiled back at him. “And that’s why you’re friends with all the old guys at the pub.” 

“Yeah,” He added, smiling, “Although I am older than all of them.” 

You laughed, and watched him as he placed the plates down. Once his hands were free, you grabbed one of them and squeezed it tight in your grip until he looked at you. His hand was warm in yours. And you decided that you liked holding his hand. You wanted to do it more often.

“You did the right thing by choosing your peace, Bucky.” You said, looking into his pretty eyes. “It's not selfish nor cowardly to want to keep yourself safe. To put yourself first. You helped save this world so many times. You deserve this break. I hope you know that.” 

Bucky smiled and brought your intertwined hands up to his lips. Kissing your knuckles, he whispered, “Thank you.” 

He looked so sincere and adorable, you almost pulled him in for a kiss right there and then. But instead you calmed yourself down and admired the beautiful man in front of you. His longish hair was nice and dry this time, and looked like he’d run his fingers through it many times. And he was wearing a white button up shirt too, something you just now noticed, with the sleeves rolled up till his elbows. The metal arm glistened in the golden light of the sunset. 

Gods, he was beautiful. Who could ever be mean to this man? 

To bring you both back to that playful mood you said, “Well, neighbour. I was promised dinner. And I’m kinda hungry.” 

Bucky laughed and gently let go of your hand. He asked you if you wanted to dine in the conservatory, but you said the island table in the kitchen was fine. Plus, the view of the sky, the woods, and the mountains all at once was to die for. 

“I think I’m in love with your house.” You said at some point during dinner, holding back moans because Bucky’s cooking was amazing. 

He gave you a playful look as he sipped on his wine and replied, “Come visit anytime.” 

“Maybe I will.” 

“Maybe you should.” 

You teased, “You just want me to bring you muffins and cookies, don’t you?” 

Bucky laughed and said, “I’m having to work out twice as much ever since you started feeding me those sugary stuff. Gotta stay fit if I want you to keep looking at me like that.” 

Your face felt hot when he said that. Okay, so maybe you were not being subtle when looking at him. Oh, god forbid a girl checks out her hot neighbour. You quickly changed the topic after that, not wanting him to know just how much his words and deep voice was affecting you. 

You two talked about life in the small town, about the places you’d travelled to before moving here, Bucky made you laugh with his ridiculous stories about how people tend to come knocking on his door whenever they need help with moving stuff. Or how people in the neighbourhood just assumed he liked chopping wood so much they just pulled up in their own trucks to pick up some or they called him and asked him to deliver logs to their houses. 

“Thankfully I have the truck,” He said, chuckling, “Otherwise I think I’d be seen carrying logs around on my shoulders for delivery.” 

You giggled at the thought of him doing that. Then you realised, “I didn’t know you had a truck. I guess I’ve only ever seen you out on walks.” 

He nodded, refilling your wine glass. “Yeah I don’t use it a lot though, I just drive up the mountains sometimes when I want to be alone. Plus the view from up there is insane.” Then he paused, thinking, and said, “I’ll take you up there, on a drive someday. If you want.” 

“I’d love that.” You said, smiling from behind your wine glass. 

–

After dinner you offered to help clean up, but Bucky politely refused. “Carry on snooping,” He said, “I’ll just load the dishwasher and come join you.” He refilled your wine glass one more time and sent you off. 

You didn’t put up a fight, you wanted to see more of his home. So a short walk later, you found yourself in the large, circular conservatory. There were some couches about, a small dining table for four, and some plants and rugs. It was so cosy, it reminded you of your store. Minus the colours, because everything in here was dark green, or grey, or dark brown. But you didn’t mind it. 

You admired Bucky’s backyard, which blended into the woods. You saw the chopping block where he chopped wood almost every morning. And you could see your house from here, part of it at least. Especially your bedroom window. 

“That’s a pretty dress. I’m sorry I didn't say it earlier.” Bucky said as he walked into the conservatory as well, his own wine glass in hand. 

And you were certain it wasn't just the wine that made your blood rush. You gave him a little twirl which made him chuckle. “Thanks,” You said, facing him once again. “I wore it just for you.” It was true. You had chosen the dark blue dress only because the moment you saw it in your closet, it reminded you of Bucky’s eyes. 

“Yeah?” He held your stare as he made his way over to you, placing his glass down on the small dining table on the way. He stopped right in front of you, letting his eyes roam all over you before he said, “Will you take it off for me as well?” 

The wine gave you manic confidence, so you grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into you. “Is that what you want?” 

Bucky’s eyes were intense as he stared at you. You finished your wine and set your glass down. 

“I do.” Bucky said. 

You spoke in a cocky tone, “Then why do I have to do all the work?” 

He chuckled, “Come here then.” He pinned you to the nearest surface, the cold glass door of the conservatory which led to the backyard. He knew it was locked so he didn’t have to worry. “Let’s finish what we started earlier, yeah?” 

He leaned closer, chest pressing against yours leaving no space in between. He waited for a moment, silently asking if this was okay. And upon seeing you wanted this as much as he did, Bucky leaned in for a kiss. A proper one, a hungry one. 

His rough facial hair scratched your skin, his teeth nibbled and bit your lips. His hands roaming all over your body before he slid the straps of your dress down your arms, letting your dress bunch around your waist. Your dress didn’t require a bra so you were half naked in front of him in no time. 

He kissed you ravenously, pulling you closer. Pouring everything he felt into the kiss. Desire, warmth, longing, lust. He couldn’t get enough. 

“Bucky…” You gasped against his lips, you couldn’t wait any longer, “I want you.” Breathing fast, you tried to pull him closer, but this time he wouldn’t budge. 

“Turn around,” He mumbled softly, pulling away a little to give you room to turn. He’d thought he would take his time and maybe get up to his bedroom and make sweet love to you. But fuck, the sight of you in that pretty dress was driving him insane. Again. He couldn’t wait. 

You turned, facing the glass door and waited. The sky above was yet to turn black completely. It was that pretty dark blue colour. And the stars were starting to show. And everything was perfect. You brought your hands up to your chest, not wanting to press your bare body to the cold glass. 

But Bucky didn’t like that. He pressed against your back. Your bare skin against the cool fabric of his shirt. He grabbed your wrists in his metal hand and pinned them above your head, stretching your torso in a way that had you whining already, and he had barely touched you yet. He whispered into your ear, “Keep them there for me.” So gently, his deep voice made you tremble. 

You nodded, then he shoved his warm hand in between your legs and touched you where you desperately wanted him to. Where you needed him since earlier today. You whined and trembled, your bare chest pressing against the cool glass when he slid a finger in, fucking you with it while he whispered into your ear, “You’re so wet for me. Have you been like that all throughout dinner? Hmm?” He cooed. “While you sat across from me, looking all sweet and nice, were you just dripping for me all along?” 

Fuck. Who knew he had such a foul mouth? 

“Bucky,” You whimpered, “Please.” 

He chuckled, his finger moving in and out of you in a way that made you move your hips, demanding more but he wouldn’t give it to you yet. “Aww, baby. Poor you.” His deep voice made his chest rumble against your back. “I should punish you for not telling me about this little situation earlier.” 

Your dress was hanging on to your body around your waist, Being half naked while he was still fully dressed made this even dirtier. You were moaning by now, thanking all the gods that Bucky didn’t have any other neighbours. 

“Tell me.” He demanded, sliding another finger inside you and making your body squirm and grind against him. “How long have you been this wet, baby?” 

“Oh damn you.” You were embarrassingly wet at this point, and the sounds your body made as he finger-fucked you were lewd. But you couldn’t get enough. “Ever since we were interrupted at the store earlier today.” 

His lips brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke. “You’ve been thinking about me all day then? Huh? Have you been thinking about what could’ve happened if we weren’t interrupted earlier? About how I would’ve fucked you nice and hard against that bookshelf? Hmm?” 

“Yes…” You whimpered as he kept fucking you with his fingers even as you came, trembling against him. His fingers slid in and out of you with ease now. “I thought about you, about us, all day.” You whispered quietly, your warm breath fogging up the cold glass in front of you. 

He didn’t care that you came already. He wanted more. So he reached deeper inside you, curling his fingers just enough to make you mutter incoherent things. 

“And what did you do? Did you touch yourself after I left? Or did you rush home and take care of it?” He asked, “Or did you wait till now?” 

“Please…” You begged. “I waited, I promise.” 

“Oh?” He chuckled, slowing down his movements purposely. “You waited, huh?” He playfully bit on your exposed shoulder. 

“Yes…” You whined. “I did. Cause I wanted you to touch me and make me feel good. Please, Bucky, make it feel good.” 

“Oh baby,” He whispered, kissing around your ear, along your jaw. “I’ve got you.

Bucky pulled away for a brief moment. You couldn’t see him, but you could hear him undoing his trousers. And moments later, he was rubbing the tip of his cock against your wet folds. You shivered in pleasure.

“Yes…” You panted. 

“I’m gonna make it feel good, okay?” He mumbled into your ear as he pushed his cock into you, making you cry out loud as he stretched you out. 

It had been a while since you got laid. So Bucky felt huge inside you. You moaned as his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it in sync with his thrusts. His metal hand left your wrists and came down to grab you by the waist, holding you against him as he sped up into you, fucking you just like how you hoped he would. Fast. Deep. Hungrily. 

He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and licked, and bit on your skin as he fucked into you relentlessly, earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls. “You feel so fucking good, you know that? My pretty girl…” 

You moaned quietly, shamelessly, your body slamming into the glass with each one of his thrusts, and fuck if it didn’t turn you on more. 

“Tight little thing, aren’t you? Gripping me like you’re never gonna let go,” He chuckled in that cocky way you loved. “I’m right here, baby. I’ve got you now.” He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. “Whenever you want me to make you feel good, I’ll do it. You hear me? I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.” 

You nodded, your legs starting to shake as he quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. His fingers still teasing your clit and making you lose your mind. 

“Bucky–,” You choked on your words as you came undone, walls clenching around him, and a loud moan erupting from your mouth as he made you come hard. It was almost blinding. 

His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls, moaning out loud when he felt your walls pulsating violently around him. “Fuck, baby,” He came while biting down on your shoulder.

You leaned against the glass door, limp and satiated. You had to blink a couple times to come back from that high. The glass was completely fogged up in front of your face as you pulled away to breathe deeply. 

Bucky held you gently. Wrapping his arms around you, his cock still inside you, throbbing. “You okay?” 

You giggled, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder. “I’m okay.” You replied. “You?” 

“Yeah. Perfect.” A pause, then he said. “I gotta buy some condoms if we’re gonna do this often. I wasn’t exactly planning on–,” He hesitated. “You know…” 

You giggled again. “Yeah I know. Me neither.” 

Then you both laughed and Bucky helped you clean up as best he could before he walked you back to your house. You kissed him goodnight, and he said he hoped to see you soon. You exchanged numbers and then pulled him in for another kiss before he left. 

—

The following day Bucky dropped by the store and saw that it was packed. Of course, you’d told him over text that Fridays tend to get a little busy. Teens come over to get homework done after school. Some people came to get books for the weekend. Others just came to talk to you and ask about your week. The younger kids dropped by after school for snacks because they knew they’d miss it given you didn’t open during weekends. 

So Bucky only had a minute or two to say hi and give you a gentle kiss on the cheek. 

“Can I see you tonight? If you don’t have plans?” He asked. 

You seemed sad when you replied, “I’m pet-sitting for someone tonight. And I’m going over to a friend's house for dinner on Saturday night. Can we meet on Sunday?” 

He grumpily agreed. Because what did you mean he had to wait for two nights to see you again? 

He tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep on Friday night. So he ended up texting you: 

Saturday night was no different. He couldn’t sleep. But he didn’t want to text you again and seem desperate. Even though he was very much desperate. And he was pleasantly surprised when he received a text from you: 

Needless to say, when you showed up at his house in the morning, all other plans went out the window because after breakfast, the two of you spent almost the whole day in Bucky’s bedroom. 

— 

And so, weeks passed. 

You and Bucky got more and more involved in each other’s lives. Taking turns sleeping over at each other’s house. You weren’t putting a label on it. Yet. But it was solid, whatever you two had. And it was comforting and warm. Knowing you had someone else to rely on, a shoulder to lean on after a long day, knowing you could just walk over to the house next door whenever you wanted company was nice. 

Bucky came over to yours a lot. Randomly. Sometimes he’d come over and help you with your garden, or keep you company as you fed the birds and the wild rabbits, or helped you whenever you made dinner for the two of you. It was… peaceful, the budding romance. 

You began joining Bucky on his daily evening walks. Usually, he’d come by your store at around closing time, and he’d wait till you closed and locked the place, then you would both take the long way home. People in the neighbourhood began noticing, and when the older ladies would visit your store they’d tease you about it, singing all sorts of praises about how much of a good guy Bucky was, and how helpful. 

Bucky mentioned that the old guys at the pub would tease him about it too. Telling him how lucky he was that he found such a sweet, kind, and pretty girl. 

“I am, you know?” He said to you one night, over the phone. 

“What?” You asked, holding the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you were tidying up your study room, finally deciding to put it to use. You wanted to turn it into your at home library. Make it nice and cosy like those reading nooks you’d set up at the store. 

“Lucky,” He answered. “To have you.” 

His reply made you pause in the middle of your slightly messy study room. 

Bucky continued, “When I decided to leave everything and move here, I knew the people around here were friendly and kind. But I had given up all hope I had of finding, you know, my person.” 

You smiled to yourself, feeling a little sad thinking about Bucky and how he thought he’d have to spend the rest of his days all alone here. You wanted to tell him you felt the same. You wanted to tell him that you’d given up on dating as well, after uni. You liked the people in this town, and you’d been on a few dates since you moved here. But you were always so busy taking care of your grandmother that you could never quite commit. And then after she passed you were not emotionally stable, especially given your family didn’t even reach out to ask you how you were doing and how you were dealing with everything. So you kind of just… gave up as well. 

And then you met Bucky. 

“And then I met you.” His voice was steady, firm as he repeated your thoughts. 

“Oh Buck,” You sighed. “Why don’t you come over? You’ve got me all emotional now.” 

Bucky chuckled. “You just want me to come over so we can fuck, don’t you?” 

You laughed. “No,” You argued, “I actually need you for something.” You said, looking around trying to find something, an excuse to use to you can get him to come over. You didn’t know what it was, but the vulnerability in his tone made you want to wrap your arms around him and keep him safe from the rest of the world. And now, you just needed to see him. Plus, you didn’t want him to be alone. Not after what he just told you. Besides, you had to tell him you felt the same and you didn’t wanna do that over the phone. “I have a huge bookshelf I need to move. Can you come help?” You lied. The bookshelf was perfect where it was. 

Bucky let out a dramatic sigh, “Fine. I knew it, you just want me around because I’m handy.” 

You laughed as you hung up the phone. 

Less than a minute later, Bucky was up in your study, lugging around your bookshelf as you instructed him where to place it. And after a few more minutes of deciding, you settled on having the bookshelf exactly where it initially was. 

Bucky gave you a confused look that had you giggling as he placed the shelf back down to where it was. “Well this was a waste of time.” He mumbled. 

“Maybe,” You teased, sitting down on the edge of the nearby desk. “Or maybe I just wanted to see you flexing those muscles.” You were only partially lying. Because he did look good in that extra tight black t-shirt. His silver chain caught the light the same way his metal arm did. “Come here.” You extended out your arms for him to walk into. 

And he did, sighing dramatically and mumbling something about how he was right about you only wanting him for his incredibly amazing body. But he did walk into your arms. And smiled down at you as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“You know, I didn’t ask you to come here for the bookshelf.” 

He smirked, “I know.” A pause, then he said, “Did what I said earlier scare you? Did you call me here to dump me?” He asked, raising his eyebrow and glaring at you in that playful manner of his. 

You laughed. “I could never dump you.” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his chest, inhaling his masculine scent and said, “I wanted to tell you that I had given up as well. But, things have changed ever since I met you too.” You finally looked up and met his eyes. Bucky’s ocean blue ones were focused on you as you finally confessed, “And I really like you, Bucky.” 

His face softened as he looked down at you. Then he lowered his face, placing his palms on the surface of the desk till he was face to face with you. And he said, “I really like you too.” He leaned in for a sweet, deep kiss. 

You slid your fingers into his hair and he smiled into the kiss when he felt you tugging on his hair. He grabbed you by the thighs and pulled you closer as he stepped in between your legs. 

Bucky pulled away just a little, keeping his lips pressed against the side of your mouth as he said, “But you know, as much as I like you, I can’t be going around doing manual labour for free.” His hands massaged your thighs in a way that had you whimpering for him already. “So, what will you give me?” 

You smiled, running your hands all over his muscular shoulders and chest. “I made fresh cookies this morning.” 

He chuckled. “Not enough.” He pulled away to look at you, “Nowhere near enough.” 

“Well,” You held his stare and asked, “What do you want then?” You gently reached down, wrapped your fingers around his wrist and guided it in between your legs. “You want that?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky immediately cupped your clothed core. Possessively. 

“You can have that.” You said, breathlessly. 

He groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” He shook his head, “Take all that off then, let me see what you’re offering.” 

You smirked, holding his stare as you lifted your dress up and removed your underwear before sitting on the edge of the desk again, spreading your legs so he could just look at you down there.  

Bucky placed his hands on your thighs again, spread them further apart, and took his time inspecting your wet folds. He mindlessly dragged a metal finger up and down your slit, making you shiver and moan as he touched you but barely. 

His eyes trailed up to your tits, and his other hand reached up to pinch a clothed nipple, making you yelp. “Ow!” You frowned at him. 

“What?” He chuckled, “You’re all mine. I’m allowed to play with you.” 

“That hurt.” 

He smirked. “I know it did.” He held your stare as he got down on his knees so his mouth was mere inches away from your clit. “Now, keep your legs spread for me. Just like this. Open for me. Okay?” 

You nodded, looking down in between your legs as he leaned in and pressed his mouth shamelessly to your wetness. 

His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction of his warm mouth – it was all too much, too good. He moved his head side to side, his coarse stubble brushing against your soft inner thighs. You whined and trembled, trying to keep your voice down as he made you lose your mind by eating you out like a starved man. 

“All mine, yeah?” He whispered, looking up at you with his mouth just barely hovering above your clit. “My girl.” He smiled, then got back to it, the lower half of his face was completely submerged in your wet cunt. 

Your fingers slid into his hair again, gently guiding him as he made it feel so good it almost hurt. 

You came with a yelp and a moan, riding his face and tugging on his hair. 

Bucky smiled as he pulled away and stood back up. “You taste so good, baby. Thank you.” 

You couldn’t take your eyes off his damp lips. “I should be thanking you.” You said quietly. 

“No,” He argued, licking his lips then added, “That was selfishly all for me.” 

You chuckled, then pulled him in for a kiss. 

How did you get so lucky? 

— 

Eventually, Bucky ended up taking you up the mountains in his truck. His large, all black Ford Raptor was nice and clean, it smelled like new leather and it was comfortable too. 

While driving up, Bucky kept his hand on your thigh, and you couldn’t help but feel giddy each time you looked down to see him mindlessly caressing your thigh. Then you’d look up and find him driving with just one hand, and that simple act was so hot for no reason. 

Easy, tiger. 

You managed to keep your hands to yourself the entire drive up. 

Bucky came to a stop at a well-known spot. People often drove here to look at the view. And it was so worth it. You could see everything from here. The woods, the lake, the houses and the lights coming on in the streets given that the sun was starting to set now. You could spot your house and Bucky’s as well. 

The woods up here were extra dense so it was darker than everywhere else, and the sky was quickly changing colours. From pink to orange, to a darker blue right before your eyes. But none of it compared to the man beside you who was rambling about how nice it was that you baked muffins especially for this little date. 

“I’m dying to have some of–,”

You cut him off by grabbing his face and kissing him. Bucky was surprised but quickly went along, kissing you back with almost just as much hunger. “Make some room for me.” You mumbled in between kisses. “I hope you have condoms in your truck. Please say you do.” 

Bucky understood immediately, and pushed his seat back just enough to allow you to move from the passenger side to his lap, straddling him. He smiled into the kiss as he slowly trailed his hands downwards till they rested at the curve of your butt. “I did bring some.” 

“Perfect.” You could feel his warmth on your skin even through the material of the skirt you’d chosen to wear for this date, and it made your heart race even more. “I need you so badly. Can I have you? Please?” You asked, placing your forehead against his. 

Bucky pulled you even closer, kissing down your chin as he said, “You can have whatever you want, baby.” 

You sighed in bliss as he kissed down your neck, playfully biting and nibbling on your skin. 

Bucky pulled away to look at you, “By the way, you’re not subtle. I saw you squirming in your seat the whole way here.” He whispered in that cocky tone of his, one of his hands slipping under your shirt, gently caressing your skin. “You know when you want me you can just ask, right? You don’t have to wait. I will pull over for a quickie anytime.” 

You chuckled, nuzzling his cheek as you said, “I don’t wanna seem like all I think about when I’m with you is how good you fuck me.” 

“Fuck.” He groaned, gripping your thighs tighter. “Who knew such a sweet girl had such a filthy mouth, huh?” 

You leaned in to kiss him again, and both of his hands found their way under your shirt, pulling at the hem. You giggled into the kiss before pulling away to get rid of your top. You threw it somewhere in the backseat before leaning in to kiss Bucky again. Your hands slid into his hair, his hands inched up your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You quickly got rid of that as well, baring your breasts to him. 

He wasted no time before leaning in and taking one of your nipples into his warm mouth. He moaned, mouth wrapped around one of your tits as he sucked gently. Your back arched, giggling and gasping as he teased you. You found your hips moving against his, grinding against him. 

You gasped as he sucked hungrily on your skin, moving up to your collar bones, down to your breasts and back up. Bucky chuckled when you tugged on his hair, getting more and more impatient and needy. Oh, he loved you in moods like these. 

“Stop fucking teasing me.” You whispered, grounding your hips against his jeans. 

He smirked, looking down to where your skirt had inched up your legs, revealing your thighs even more, “Yeah? Well, you’re my girl. I’ll do whatever I want with you.” He leaned in for a proper kiss. “To you. I’ll tease you for hours if I want to.” 

You playfully bit his lip, making him hiss in pain before he chuckled against your mouth. “Stop wasting time please, I want to fuck you.” 

He laughed, pushing his face against your bare chest and kissing the soft skin between your breasts. “You’ve turned into a little monster, you know that? 

You let out a little laugh, “Oh shut up. You made me like this.” 

Bucky raised his eyebrows at you, smirking like the cocky little shit he was. “I know.” 

You grabbed him by the chin and said, “No more teasing.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss your neck again. “You smell so fucking good. I could just eat you up.” He whispered against your skin as his hands slipped under your skirt, his thumbs caressing your inner thighs – making you gasp and whimper quietly as his fingers teased you in between your legs through your underwear. “Too bad we don’t have enough room for me to taste you right now. Later though, okay? When we get home.” 

“Bucky…” You whined as he leaned down to suck on your tits again, more greedy than earlier as he toyed with your wet folds and clit at the same time 

Your impatient hands were at the zipper of his pants in no time. 

He finally looked up and gave you a lazy smile, eyes hooded with lust. “Go on, baby. Take it out, it’s all yours.” His voice was suddenly deeper than earlier. Bucky reached for the condom and handed it to you. He fucking loved how you tore it open and put it on him each time. “Good job, baby.” He said, once you were done. 

His voice made you shiver. And only then did you realise that there was a light drizzle outside, which made the air even colder, making you crave his body heat even more. Making this even hotter. 

You lifted off of his lap at the same time as you both lowered his pants and underwear to free his erected cock. Bucky groaned impatiently as he grabbed your hips, pulled your thin underwear to the side and aligned his cock to your entrance before gently lowering you down on him. 

You moaned as you slid down his thick cock, his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you, all the way in. “Fuck,” He swore, then leaned in to give you a wet, messy kiss. “You okay, baby? You need a moment?” 

You shook your head, no you didn’t need a moment. What you needed was more of him. “Just… move, please, you feel so good.” You whispered, kissing down his rough cheek as he obeyed, and moved, knowing exactly how you liked it. 

You whined as he grabbed your hips and guided you up and down his cock, stretching you out in the process. You held onto his shoulders as you rode his cock, bouncing on it while you moaned for him, bending a little forward so as to not hit the roof of the truck too hard. 

“Fuck…,” You felt him fill you up nicely each time, the pressure in between your legs getting hotter and hotter. “You feel so fucking good.” 

Bucky threw his head back against the headrest, watching you with lust-drunk eyes. He let out a strained moan, as he thrust into you over and over again, while also bringing you down on his cock each time with enough force to make your tits bounce. “You’re fucking beautiful. Can’t believe you’re all mine.” 

“All yours.” You said, unable to hold back your moans when he placed his thumb over your clit and rubbed it gently, in time with his thrusts. You forced yourself to look into his eyes, and the feral look in them only made you clench harder around him. 

You bit your lower lip as he thrust his hips up harder into you, your eyes rolled back and you moaned out his name as you came so close to coming undone for him. “Bucky…” 

“You’re gonna come for me?” He asked, “You’re gonna come all over my cock, huh?” 

You answered after a loud whimper, “Yes… please, can I come?” 

He cupped your cheek and traced your mouth with his thumb, “Go on, baby. Come all over my cock. Come for me…” Your walls clenched violently around his cock. You came hard, whimpering and crying for him and gasping for breath. 

Bucky came right after you, his warm load spilling in the condom as he wrapped his arms around you and held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just fucked you like an animal. 

You caught your breath, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. Your head rested on his shoulder as you tried to calm your racing heart. “You’re right,” You said, while catching your breath, “This feels like a real date.” 

He laughed and kissed you on the forehead. 

And there you stayed, in his arms as you two watched the sun set and watched how the town lit up. 

— 

More time passed. Bucky officially asked you to be his girlfriend by showing up at the store early one morning, after you two had spent the weekend apart yet again. And he came with flowers, a look on his face which stated that he hadn’t slept well. 

“Oh Buck…” You pulled him into your arms the moment you saw those sleepy, tired eyes. “What happened to you?” 

He mumbled, his voice low and tired as well. “Can’t sleep when you’re not there.” 

“Aww, baby.” You kissed his gorgeous face, then noticed the flowers in his hand. “For me?” 

He nodded, handing them to you. “Please let me be your boyfriend. I can’t do this no label thing anymore. I won’t tie you down or anything, but I…” He struggled to find the right words, “I just wanna be able to sleep knowing you’ll come back to me again each time you leave, or spend the weekend away.” 

You felt like tearing up and laughing at the same time. So you accepted the flowers and kissed him instead. “I’ll always come back to you.” You promised. “And yes, you can be my boyfriend.” You kissed him again. “It’s a good thing I’m not close to my parents anymore. How would I explain having a century-old boyfriend?” 

He didn’t find that funny, so he chased you around the store until he finally cornered you against one of the shelves – well away from your grandma’s portrait – and kissed you until you were breathless. 

—

One evening, Bucky got a call. It was you. 

So he answered with a smile. “Hi baby. What is it this time?” He teased. “You need me to move another piece of furniture? Or are you calling again to ask if you can come watch me run shirtless around the lake? If so, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m not planning on going for a run today.” 

He frowned when all he heard was silence on your side. Silence, and a shaky breath. 

“Baby?” 

“Uh, Buck?” That shaky, scared tone of your voice wiped the smile right off his face. 

“What is it?” He asked, already panicking and looking for the keys of his truck, in case he needed to come get you from somewhere. You had told him you’d be out running errands earlier. “Where are you? What is it? Are you okay?” 

His heart raced thinking about all the times he’d hear silence on the comms when he was out on missions. The silence was like all those terrible memories come back, flooding his brain again. And he couldn’t help but imagine the worst possible scenarios. 

His voice was close to cracking as he asked, in a panicked tone, “Baby, please tell me you’re okay.” 

He heard a sniffle, and his heart almost dropped. You were not okay. His blood rushed, his heart beat faster than normal. 

“Bucky,” Your voice sounded broken, “This is so stupid,” You sounded disappointed in yourself. “I, um, I came deeper into the woods to get those purple edible flowers but um, I think I’m lost?” 

His heart sank. His blood froze. Fuck.

Another sniffle. Your voice cracked as you spoke, “I’ve been walking around in circles and I can’t…” Another shaky exhale, “I can’t get out. It’s been hours. It’s starting to get really dark, Bucky. Please–,” The call ended abruptly. 

When he tried calling you back, he couldn’t reach you. Something to do with network issues. 

Bucky felt like his world was crumbling down all over again. Like he was gonna lose another person dear to him. For a moment, he remained frozen in the middle of his house. His mind taking him back to those brutal days of missions and death and darkness he thought he’d walked away from. 

No, no, no. 

This wasn’t a mission. He reminded himself. He would get you back, he would get you back safe and sound. 

“Just please be okay, baby. Please.” He whispered under his breath as he took off running, through his backyard and into the woods. He ran in the direction of where he knew you had the habit of plucking those flowers. He didn’t care that it was starting to drizzle and all he was wearing was a t-shirt. 

It was starting to get dark, and he only had a few hours to get to you before it got completely dark out. Fuck, he didn’t even bring a light with him. 

“I’m coming, baby.” He mumbled under his breath as he ran deeper into the woods. “Don’t you worry.” 

He called out your name multiple times while he ran, stopping every few minutes to listen if you answered his calls. Or if he could hear anything at all. 

Come on, baby. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? 

At one point, he was deep enough that when he stopped to listen, he could hear animals howling, and owls screeching. 

Fuck. This is a fucking horror movie. 

He couldn’t help but think about all those times he ran through woods to find and help his friends and teammates, worried sick during the search and not knowing what state he’d find them in. 

Please, baby. Please, be okay. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. Not like this. Not now. I want more time. Please, please, please. 

He called out your name again. And again. Louder each time, his throat burning. 

Finally, he stopped near a stream just to recalibrate. His panicked brain only showed him disturbing images of you hurt, or attacked by an animal, or worse– 

Then he saw it. A single purple flower floating down the stream. Followed by a lot more. It was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. He frowned, wondering if he was seeing things or if it was truly those damned flowers you liked to pluck for your baking. 

He reached for one and grabbed it, clutching it in his hand he took a deep breath. Okay, if he followed the stream maybe he’d get to where you are, he reasoned. So that’s what he did. He ran up the stream, careful not to slip and fall. 

The woods were getting darker and darker, but he was used to navigating in the dark. It wasn’t easy, but he was better at it than regular humans. 

So Bucky ran, for what felt like forever, until he saw a spot of red on top of a fallen tree trunk. 

He stopped running when he saw you, his chest burning with how fast he’d been running. And for how long. Must be about an hour or two by now. But there you were, sitting on a log, with your red coat around you and your hood on. Fuck, you were probably freezing too.  

As he got closer he noticed your body shaking with quiet sobs, your boots muddy and your basket of fucking flowers on the ground. 

“There you are.” He said, breathlessly. “Baby?” 

Relief and exhaustion. A million thoughts and feelings coursing through him, he felt like he was going to explode. The only thing that felt like it tethered him to earth was the feeling of your body colliding into his chest as you ran into his arms. So hard that it almost knocked him off his balance. 

“Bucky!” You sobbed. 

He was still breathing faster than he’d ever had. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Are you hurt?” He pulled away to look at you, “Look at me! Are you hurt?” 

How many times had he found his friends unconscious? Or with broken limbs? Or with bullet holes all over their bodies? For a moment, he was back in that life. That life filled with tragedy and pain. 

“No,” You spoke, teary eyed and voice shaking with panic and relief all at once. “My phone ran out of battery and–,” You let out a breath. “I was scared you wouldn’t find me.” 

He pulled you into his arms again, hugging you tighter than earlier, “Why wouldn’t I find you? I was worried sick. I thought–,” He stopped talking. Fuck. He needed to get a grip and calm those racing thoughts. 

A strange anger washed over him. Mainly because he was disappointed. Why hadn’t he gone out with you? You would’ve never gotten lost if he was with you. Fuck, what other dangers would you find yourself in due to his carelessness? What if next time– 

He blinked a couple of times and just said, “Come on, let’s go.” 

You noted the change in his tone and demeanor, but you didn’t say anything. You just followed him, wiping your tears and cursing the flowers in your basket. 

“I didn’t even realise I’d gotten this deep.” You spoke, looking ahead at Bucky’s back while he walked ahead and led the way. 

He didn’t say anything. 

“I only realised I went off my regular path when I started hearing all the animals.” You spoke, still staring at Bucky’s back. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” You asked softly. 

You got only silence from him. You could tell his mind was racing. But you didn’t understand the silent treatment. 

“Bucky?” You called out. 

He didn’t reply. 

“Say something.” You demanded. 

He stopped. And you nearly bumped into his back. When Bucky turned around to face you, he seemed different. Still. So still like he wasn’t breathing. It felt like he was a statue. The look in his eyes was blank. He was looking at you, but it felt like he was looking through you. 

It scared you how quiet he was. “Bucky?” 

“I thought I was gonna find you broken and maimed.” He finally said. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to go out and search places. Trying to find my teammates, or friends. Desperate to find them, or even a–,” He swallowed. “Or even a part of them.” 

You were quiet this time. And there was only silence, except for the light rain hitting the leaves around you. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally said. “Look, I was just scared when I called you. There’s nothing around here that could hurt me like that.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He said. His voice was bitter. He finally looked at you, dead in the eyes and said, “Be smart. I ran for hours to get to you. I thought I’d find you dead. Why would you even get this far into the woods?” He finally snapped out of the trance he was in, getting heated with emotions now. “We don’t even know what lives in these woods! Nobody does!” 

You understood where he was coming from. But you didn’t appreciate the tone. “Why are you being mean to me? You’re acting like I chose to get lost. I didn’t mean to, Buck!” You got angry too. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for ruining your fucking evening.” You sassed. “I won’t do it again.” 

“Damn right you won’t!” He raised his voice just as much as you did. “I’m not letting you into these woods alone ever again!” 

“You don’t own me! I’ll go wherever I want!” Your mind couldn’t think properly. You were exhausted and still in panic mode. “I’ll even run away from you if I want to!” 

A second of silence as he processed your angry words. Then, “Fine!” He hissed. “Don't call me crying to come rescue you then next time you get lost doing what you want!” 

As much as you were angry at him, your lips trembled at the sound of his tone. “If I had someone else, literally anyone else I could rely on, I would've never called you in the first place.” You stated. Then, despite not wanting to, you teared up again. Your voice cracking as you said, “But I have no one.” 

“I have no one either!” Bucky said, “Don’t you see that? I was– I was scared I was gonna lose you too.” He sounded tired, and disappointed. “I fucking love you, and it kills me that you could be so easily taken from me! You don’t think that scares me to death every single fucking day?!” 

You couldn’t handle it. The panic and pain in his voice, the way Bucky looked heartbroken, the way he looked like he was reliving painful memories and the way you couldn’t do anything about it, the multitude of emotions running through your head at the sound of his confession… 

You couldn’t bear the shattered look on his face. So you took off running. In the other direction. 

Behind you, you could hear Bucky screaming, “Baby, for fuck’s sake!” 

But you didn’t stop. You kept running, ditching the basket and wiping your tears. 

“Get back here!” 

You could hear Bucky’s calls, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t know what to do. No one had ever made you feel that many emotions all at once ever again. Fuck, even dealing with your emotionally unavailable family was easier than this. Bucky was like an avalanche. Inescapable. Fierce. Passionate. And he destroyed all of your fears and your worries. He was so… colossal. He took over your life completely lately. And it messed with your head. Disorienting, but in the best ways. 

“Go away!” You sobbed. You were completely drenched at this point, the rain getting heavier and heavier, running for your life like a madwoman. Trying to get away from Bucky like he wasn’t the only person you ever wanted to run to for the rest of your life. 

You heard his footsteps, running, chasing and closer to you than earlier. 

You managed to run faster, finally able to put some distance between you two… only to trip on a fallen branch. You cursed before getting up, now with leaves and dirt sticking to you. 

You heard him. He was closer. Closer. “Baby, please.” He begged, his voice getting louder. 

You ran faster. Hoping to be able to somehow lose him and make your way back out of the woods somehow, and hide. Why? You didn’t know. 

But you couldn’t do that because right when you were about to make a sharp turn, Bucky grabbed you by the elbow and tackled you to the ground. Luckily you both fell on a soft, wet patch of moss rather than rocks or something. 

“Don’t run from me. I just found you.” He growled, straddling your squirming body and pinning your hands above your head. “What the hell did I say that made you run, huh? Am I not allowed to care for you?” 

You were still breathless. “You piss me off, Bucky!” You answered, heart racing. 

“Do I now?” He sounded cocky again. Far away from that strange trance he was in earlier, haunted by his past memories. 

Your body was warm because of how fast your heart was pumping blood but the rain falling from above was cold, so cold. The contrast was somehow maddening. Like Bucky. 

“Yes! And you are so mean!” You squirmed, trying to get free. 

“Stop moving!” He hissed. “I’m allowed to care, you hear me?” 

“You’re not allowed to be mad over something I had no control over.” You argued. 

“Yes I fucking am! I’m fucking allowed to be mad where my girl’s safety is concerned.” 

That shut you up. Bucky’s smirk sent a chill down your spine. 

“That’s not why you ran, is it?” He leaned down, his face hovering above yours. The damp strands of his hair tickling your face. “Is it because of what I said? About how I love you? Did you want a more romantic confession? Hmm? A cute little picnic? More flowers?” He taunted, his voice doing things to you that resulted in you feeling your arousal drip out of you. “Well that’s what I had in mind for tonight, you know? I was waiting for you at home, I was gonna make you your favourite dinner, and spout some fucking poetry to let you know how I feel but no.” He tightened his grip on your wrists. “You just had to run into these damn woods and get lost, didn’t you?” 

A tear fell down your face, disappearing into the moss under you. Fuck. You loved Bucky so much it physically hurt. 

“What is it, baby?” His voice was colder than the rain, “Did I scare you with that? Huh?” 

You sniffled. Closing your eyes for a moment, you took in a deep breath, but he was so close that you inhaled his scent as well. His cologne and his sweat was a heady mix, paired with the scent of the rain and your surroundings. You didn’t even know why you were crying. 

Bucky shut you up again with a kiss. A punishing, deep kiss. His hands let go of your wrists, coming down to grab your red coat at the neckline, ripping it open. You heard the buttons go flying around, then he grabbed the dress you were wearing under the coat, again at the neckline, and easily tore it off your body, baring your breasts to him since you hadn’t bothered to wear a bra to come to the woods. 

Bucky pulled away from the kiss, looking down at you. Above him, the sky was a darker shade of blue. His eyes demanded a silent question. He would back off immediately if you asked him to. 

But you didn’t. 

So he held your stare as he leaned down to take one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking and biting and alternating between the two of them.

You gasped and moaned and squirmed under him. The tension from earlier forgotten for now. Drops of water constantly dripped on the two of you, thankfully the pine trees took the brunt of the now heavy rain. But you could hear it, the sound of the rain falling. The grunts and groans coming from Bucky’s mouth, the sound of your moaning, the chill in the air. It was all too much. 

Bucky’s mouth moved from your breasts and kissed down your drenched torso, sucking the rain off your skin until he reached your inner thighs where he parted your legs and settled in between them. He slid your underwear to the side, and you moaned shamelessly when you felt his warm, wet tongue lick down your folds. 

His tongue slipped past your folds and teased your entrance, occasionally flicking your throbbing clit mercilessly until you screamed his name. Your hands immediately gripped his hair and tugged gently at his wet hair. 

Your torn clothes were getting soiled but you didn’t care. Neither did he. 

He licked and sucked relentlessly, “You taste so fucking good…” He whispered as he ate you out until you whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. His warm mouth pressed against your most intimate part, his tongue stroking you. 

He growled when your hips instinctively bucked against his mouth. You whined as the sounds he made reverberated through your entire body, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your body. 

“What is it? You want more?” He taunted. “Thought you were mad at me just now. Don’t I piss you off anymore?” 

You felt tingles shooting through you as he teased you incessantly. Even in the darkness, you could sense that his piercing eyes were wild and fierce, staring up at you from in between your legs. 

“Oh damn you.” You hissed, your heart overflowing with all the love you had for him. 

“You’re all mine…” he whispered, thrusting his tongue deeper into you. You moaned and whimpered, your body getting warmer and warmer with each touch of his tongue. “You hear me? All mine.” He said.

“Please, Buck…” You felt your walls tighten around nothing, and you knew you were close. You could only moan and whimper as he kept licking deeper into you, your back arching off the cold ground. You felt him quicken his pace and you felt the pressure building up in between your hips until you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you came undone all over his lips, moaning and whimpering. Your naked body drenched in the rain. 

Bucky tore your underwear off, he’d never had to use such brute strength before, but he did now. And it only made you throb and want him more. His metal hand found itself around your throat as he parted your legs and pushed his cock into you without wasting a second, stretching you out. 

Condoms be damned. You both needed this, you thought.  

It felt so raw, primal, and dirty, being fucked on the forest floor by a man like Bucky. Broad shoulders, metal arm, hair damp and messy. His t-shirt and jeans sticking to him like a second skin while you were naked under him. 

“Sure you didn’t think you could run and hide from me, baby, did you? Or maybe you secretly did want to be fucked like this? Hmm?” He questioned, knowing you weren’t in a headspace to answer him given his hand was around your throat and his cock buried so deep inside of you – he knew your brain was a foggy mess. “My pretty girl. You’re so easily affected by a raised voice, huh? You couldn’t handle it? I spoil you too much, don’t I? You’re so fucking soft, look at you.” He scoffed, “Crying and throwing a tantrum the moment I raise my voice at you.” 

But you couldn’t argue. All you could so was whine and moan as he began fucking into you hard and fast. There was nothing gentle about it. He was wild like his surroundings, and passionate, animalistic, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. And you enjoyed every bit of it. 

He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, leaning down and growling right in your ear and telling you that you belonged to him. “All mine.” 

The cold didn’t matter now that his warm, though damp and clothed, body was pressing down on you. Something about you being completely naked while he was still dressed made the moment all the more raw and dirty. 

“All yours.” You managed to choke out. 

You were a moaning mess under him, your hands finding their way into his hair as he fucked you nice and hard. It was all overwhelming, his voice, his weight on top of you, his cock thrusting in and out of you repeatedly… 

He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, his metal hand pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He stared into your eyes while he sped up into you again. “There I am. You feel that? That’s me fucking my girl.” He said, thrusting into your extra hard to prove his point. He smirked when your body squirmed under him. “What did you say earlier? That you’d run from me if you wanted to?” He boasted, “Try running now, baby.” 

All you could do was moan, clenching your eyes shut as you felt like you were losing your mind under him. 

“Look at me, hey, hey!” He tapped your cheek gently to get you to open your eyes. “Look at me,” His tone was gentle now. “Are you gonna come frolicking around here alone again? Huh? Are you?” 

You shook your head, unable to speak coherently.  

“Answer me. Use your words, come on.” He insisted. “You were so bratty earlier, what happened, huh? Use your words baby, come on tell me. Are you?” 

“No, please. I won’t. I promise.” 

“Good girl. Now come for me.” 

You cried out, feeling him speed up into you. “Bucky, I–,” 

“Shh, baby.” He sounded much calmer now. “I’ve got you, don’t worry. I’m right here.” He mumbled into your ear. “Your man’s here, I've got you. Just let go and come for me, that’s it. Just come.” 

He pressed his lips to yours as he made you come first, his mouth swallowing your moans as you orgasmed before he pulled out and came all over your inner thighs. 

You both caught your breaths. Bucky pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you.” He whispered. Over and over again. It was pouring now. The rain washing over you both, taking away the tension with it. 

“You’re all I have, Buck.” You confessed, breathlessly. “And I love you. So much. And when you got angry earlier… I’ve never seen that side of you before. It scared me. You’re all I have and you were mad at me. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Bucky sighed, leaning in to press his forehead down against yours. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” He sounded genuine. “You scared me too. I thought– I didn’t mean to be angry at you. I just– that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” 

“I fucking love you.” 

“I love you too.” You sniffled. 

Bucky pulled away to look down at you. You could see it well, but you could’ve sworn his eyes were teary too. “Let’s get you home.” 

—

He took you to his house, and didn’t stop apologising or touching you in that gentle way of his. Not in the shower, not when he tucked you both in and pulled you closer in bed, not when he made sure you’d eaten something and drank plenty of water. 

And especially not when he made love to you again. Slow, and passionate love. Fingers laced together, his body on top of yours, his cock moving in and out of you languidly, his eyes staring into yours in a way that made you tear up again. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, kissing all over your face. 

“Me too.” You whispered, breathlessly. “We could’ve–” You gasped in pleasure, “We could’ve handled that better.” 

Bucky chuckled, kissing you on the mouth. “We’re idiots.” 

You giggled, his beard scratching your skin. “I agree.” 

—

You woke up the next morning wrapped in Bucky’s arms. He clung to you like a koala bear. And his heat was the most glorious thing to wake up to on a rainy morning. The world outside was cloudy and grey, and perfect for cuddles. 

“Are you up?” He asked, his voice tired and deeper than normal. 

“How long have you been up?” You asked, turning around to face him. 

“Didn’t sleep.” He said. 

“Bucky,” You chided, “Are you still worrying about last night?” 

He avoided your eyes. 

“Baby,” You cooed. “It’s okay. We talked about it, remember?” 

And you had a long conversation last night, after the multiple rounds of sex in his bed. About his protectiveness, about you being careful, about your relationship, about his fears, triggers, and worries due to his past, about everything. 

“I know,” He mumbled, kissing your forehead. “I love you. Too much.” 

You giggled, “I love you too. Too fucking much.” 

He seemed in a nicer mood instantly. “What would’ve happened to me if you hadn’t showed up that day? At my door with muffins and cookies to seduce me.” 

You laughed, snuggling into him. “Hey, it worked. I mean, I’m naked in your bed.” 

He laughed too. “Thank you, baby.” 

“What for?” 

“Sticking around.”

“Oh Buck. I’ll always stick around.” You mumbled into his neck, “Just promise me we’ll have more… date nights deep into the woods.” 

He mumbled something about how he’d created a little sex monster, then pulled you closer and said, “Whatever you want, baby.” Then finally, he drifted off to a much needed sleep with his arms still wrapped around you.

— 

a/n: get it? She was wearing a RED coat in the woods, and he’s the White WOLF hehehe– [they drag me back to my padded cell as I scream] UNTIL NEXT TIME!!! [they lock me in my cell]

hi mae! i’ve recently become obsessed with herbal teas and i noticed you have mentioned chamomile and jasmine tea in your fics lol. i am wondering if you would be interested in writing a remus or poly!marauders fic with an american reader who loves herbal teas and they kinda tease her about it (in a loving way of course)? i love your fics and i hope you have a lovely day whenever you read this <3

I love herbal teas! I fully support this obsession honey. Thank you for requesting!

cw: british slander, i love y'all but i'm besmirching your brand <3 (based largely on my own experiences lol, so perhaps not fully accurate)

Remus Lupin x american!reader ♡ 614 words

“This is so disappointing,” you sigh at the sight of Remus’ cabinet. 

“What?” he asks from the couch. 

“You told me you had tea.” 

“I do have tea.” 

“No, you only have this.” You take the box of Yorkshire Tea out of the cabinet, brandishing it where Remus can see. “This shit is nasty. Rubbish, as your folk say.” 

“Oh,” he laughs, “so you sail all the way across the ocean, take our teas with you, denounce our government, and then come back here to criticize, is that it?” 

You look at him darkly. “This is what the Boston tea party was really about. I get it now.” 

Remus beckons you toward the couch. You go, abandoning the boiling kettle since apparently there’s no point in searching the kitchen for anything good to drink. It’s only once you sit down on the couch and he takes your hand into his lap that you realize your mistake. 

Remus has a mollifying effect on you. It’s tragic, really. All it takes is a look, a shift in his tone, a small touch like this, and you’re pliant and boneless for him. 

“What sort of teas do you prefer?” he asks you softly, tracing the lines of your palm.

“I usually keep a variety,” you tell him, matching his tone. “Like cinnamon, or passionflower, or rooibos…have you heard of any of those?” 

Remus smiles, slow and sweet. “I have. Would you like whipped cream and sprinkles on those as well?” 

You laugh, rolling your eyes. You try to take your hand back, but Remus holds fast (you don’t make it hard for him), grinning at you. 

“That is so not fair. Just because y’all like your tea bland—”

“Say that one more time for me? Who all?” 

“—doesn’t mean my tastes are somehow unrefined.” You fix him with a hard stare, though your smile is untamable. “You’re being posh.”

Remus looks amused. “Never been accused of that one before,” he says. 

“Have you ever tried jasmine tea with a little bit of sweet creamer in it?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Remus, you’re really missing out.” 

“Alright.” He stands, taking your hand with him and giving it a tug when you don’t follow. “C’mon, up.” 

“Where are we going?”

“To make you a cuppa.” 

You giggle. “I can’t take you seriously when you call it that.” 

“Once you stop saying dude, we can talk about my diction.” 

“So mean,” you tsk, letting him pull you over in front of the kitchen counter. He pours the hot water from the kettle into a mug, placing a tea bag in it. 

“We’ll get this drinkable for you, love, don’t worry,” Remus murmurs, waiting until the tea is a deep brown before going to the fridge. He pours in heaps of milk and sugar, stirring with a look of mild distaste in his expression. “Alright, try.” 

You take the mug off the counter warily, blowing on it before putting it to your lips. 

You hum, and Remus lifts an eyebrow. 

“It’s…better.” 

“I’ve done my best,” he chuckles, taking it from you. “I’ve thrown all my principles and better sense out the window, and it’s still not up to your standards, hm?” 

“No, it’s not bad.” You steal the mug back, taking another sip and smacking your tongue against the roof of your mouth experimentally. “It’ll do.” 

Remus gives you an indulgent look. “I’m sure we can find you some jasmine tea if that’s what you want,” he offers. 

You shrug. “I was just at the grocery store, and I didn’t see any.” 

He tilts his head skyward, blowing out a long-suffering breath. “I think you mean the grocery, sweetheart.”

sooo sweet

remus is very pretty (and overwhelming) in the morning.

The boys dorm is quiet in a way you’ve rarely seen. Stirring in Remus’ bed, you peer bleary-eyed through the curtains around his bedframe, seeing that the room is empty, the other beds adorned with crumpled-up bedsheets.

Faintly, you remember James mentioning something about an early-morning prank in the Great Hall, and decide to make the most of the solitude, laying back down next to Remus. He’s sleeping heavily, in a way that he only really does around this time of the month, a week and a half after his last transformation and a few days before the early symptoms of the next one start to creep in. 

Taking advantage of his state, you shift, laying your torso over his and tangling your legs together. Propping your chin up on his sternum, your eyeline is full of him. His neck, his face, the sandy hair sticking straight up from his scalp.

Despite having dated for months, you can’t help but get nervous when his introspective gaze is directed at you. For that reason, you often find yourself wishing you had more time to simply stare, before you get far too flustered and have to look away. So, despite wishing he was awake so you could talk, you figure you might as well capitalize on this rare form.

You allow yourself to melt on his torso, pressing your cheek against his sternum as your left hand comes up to rest delicately on his collarbone. Eyes roving over him, you take in the many intricacies of Remus. 

The jagged scars that track from his face down to his chest, the ones you know go all the way down to his heels. The little moon and sun tattoos he’s got on his left shoulder, stick and pokes that Sirius did when they were in first year. Moles and freckles that form constellations, ones that you can see on the insides of your eyelids whenever you get a bit too lovedrunk on him. 

You imagine you look quite lovedrunk right now, eyes dopey with sleepiness and adoration, not daring to look away for even a second. 

Soaking it in, your index finger begins to trace his skin as softly as possible. You follow a scar from his jaw to his clavicle, the raised skin rough against the pad of your finger. It’s a relatively new one. You remember the morning after his transformation, sitting in the Hospital Wing as Madam Pomfrey puttered around his bed, applying tincture after tincture to the angry wound. 

Repressing a shudder at the memory, you move on to a cluster of freckles at the base of his throat. They form a lopsided star, and you smile to yourself as you trace the shape over and over, eyes trained on the small spot of skin.

“...What’re you doing, dove?” You jolt softly at the interruption, looking up sheepishly at Remus’ lidded eyes. His voice is thick with sleepiness, a low rumble in his chest that sends sparks down your spine.

You get momentarily lost in his eyes, pools of amber and oak that seemingly go on forever. Only when he brings a hand up to your hip, squeezing gently, do you answer. 

“Just looking,” His lips quirk up at your words, thumb rubbing up and down your hipbone steadily.

“Looking? At what, me?”

You smile bashfully, your finger never ceasing its movements against his throat.

“Yeah. Just admiring you.”

He puffs some breath out of his nose in amusement, eyes glinting as the sunrise peeks through the windows.

“Yeah?” His eyes dance with mischief as he watches you.

Alright, that’s enough. You’ve endured it as long as you can, the all-too-familiar flush creeping up your neck at his intent gaze. With a groan, you raise your head, shifting your legs so you can begin to roll off of him.

“Hey, where’re you going?” A heavy arm comes up from your hip to wrap around your back, forearm keeping you clasped firmly against his chest. He laughs at your wriggling, his voice low.

“Thought you were admiring me, what happened?”

Realising the futility of your struggle, you give up, burying your face in his chest with a frustrated sound. Your voice comes out muffled, but he hears every word. He doesn’t think he could ever miss a word you say.

“Can’t do it when you’re looking at me.” You cringe at your own voice, the words sounding exceedingly petulant.

“No? That why you were trying to sneak it? Look at me while I’m asleep? Y’little creep.” His voice drips with affection, despite the torment of his words.

Your muffled cry of embarrassment softens him, his free hand coming up to card through the hair at the back of your head.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dovey. Y’know I like it when you look at me. Should I close my eyes for you?” 

You grumble at his words, flicking his side, taking advantage of his dramatic yelp to roll out of his arms.

“You’ve ruined it. No more admiring today.”

His strangled sound of protest follows you all the way out the door.

this is real and i'm not accepting to believe otherwise

i have nothing to say except i’m coping !

hey!! looking for tips to sell art work successfully, any suggestions help!! I'm considering making prints but I have no idea where to even start 😭

this awakened something in me, I —

Impressions on the Inside of Your Thigh

summary: Head Ranch Hand James "Bucky" Barnes has had a very, very long day. Only way to remedy it is to make you squeal.

pairings: Beefy!Cowboy!Bucky Barnes x F!RanchHand!Reader

warnings: good ol' fashioned grinding up against a wall, petnames and not-so-pet names (tottie means 'fast girl' in western), choking, hand job/fingering (f receiving), horny cowboy has long day and wants to play, making out, dirty talk

word count: 1.9k

a/n: thought y'all would like this little goodie before the holiday one of the things i'm thankful for is sebastian stan in a cowboy hat ;) this was literally birthed from a singular daydream while I was driving home from work the other day listening to Feathered Indians by Tyler Childers. Couldn't stop thinking about it so here we are. This is also the first smut I have EVER FUCKING WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED??? which is something I would have never imagined but the mind is a mysterious thing.

Please consider reblogging my work! Reblogging helps others to be able to enjoy mine and other writers' works! Help me help you help others and reblog <3

Read here on AO3!

divider by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lowkeysebastianstan

Remnants of dust snaked their way into your lungs, the scent of sweat and horse and earth mixing in the familiarity of one another. The kitchen lights flickered as the dishwasher hummed, a pot of homemade roast simmering softly on the stovetop.

There was nowhere else you would rather be than the bunkhouse. 

You’d be an idiot to admit you wanted to be anywhere else, honestly– especially while Head Ranch Hand James “Bucky” Barnes rutted you up against the weathered wooden walls, creaks and moans coming from both house and human. 

Your vice grip on his shoulders only drove him further, devouring you with his lips on your neck while his calloused hands groped you up and down like a desperate and dying blind man. Your shirt lay open without the help of its buttons, long gone since the minute he’d walked through the door and tore you open. They’d scattered about, under chairs and beds and across the kitchen. You only thought it was fair to trade your shirt for his, discarding it somewhere near the dinner table along with his signature white cowboy hat. 

Electricity coursed through you as your torso bared against his, godly large hands palming your breasts as your bra threatened to snap. His thighs, clad in dirtied denim and fitted leather, straddled you, nuzzling a hard knee in between your legs. You fought for your life as you mewled; friction unlocking your throat, allowing a carnal cry to escape. It echoed through the empty house. You squealed, from both the surprise of James’s hand bolting to cover your mouth and even more arousal as he moved his knee just right.

“Careful, now, chickadee,” he rasped into your ear, “Don’t want anyone to hear ya ‘n think you’re a fuckin’ tottie, now, do ya?” He jutted hard into you as the slur left his lips. Your body shook and you moaned behind his hand in response. He smirked, knowing he could hog-tie you and you’d still thank him. 

He didn’t kick down the bunkhouse door after a long day just to spoon you. 

“Yeah, you like that ya fuckin’ tottie, huh? Like it when I call ya what y’are?” His hand moved to your throat, calloused fingers wrapping around your windpipe. You gasped, fingernails digging further into his back and nodding. He could call you a flat-out whore and you wouldn’t even flinch. 

“Please, James,” you choked, feeling his grip tighten further. Your thighs clamped tighter around his, arousal soaking through your jeans as the friction dragged you through pain and pleasure wrapped up in one big coil waiting to snap in your stomach. 

“It’s Buck, chickadee,” he growled, scraping his stubble and lips across your cheek and meeting yours in a hungry kiss. It gripped you, all tongue and teeth and need, ravaging you like a mongrel dog. He bit down on your bottom lip, sucking in the tender flesh as another moan came from your chest. He chuckled, satisfied with your undoing. His free hand left its place from palming your tender breast, gathering your hands from his stone-carved chest and raising them above you, firmly holding them over you like a prized kill. You gaped at his act, jaw slack and lungs gasping for more oxygen– for more of him.

“Mine,” he claimed as he slammed your restrained wrists against the oak wood walls. You panted as your new necklace released your throat and shot to your core, greedily grabbing your denim-clad core hard. 

“Also, mine.” 

You didn’t dare look away from him, his brilliant baby blues demanding every drop of focus you could spare. Your head spun as he continued to roughly grope your core, fingers unashamedly teasing your clit through your clothing as they pinpointed the spot his knee had discovered earlier. Desperate for his lips you lunged for him, only to be firmly held against the wall with gripping restraint.

“What’s the matter, tottie? You don’t like me playin’ with my dinner?” he tsked, shaking his head with a devilish smirk spreading across his face. You whimpered in response, jutting your lip out in an attempt to dissuade him from your restraint against the wall. When that only turned his smirk upward, you batted your lashes as you bit down on your bottom lip and rolled it through your teeth.

“You can play with your food all you want,” you said, sultry honey dripping into your tone. As much as you loved being his prey, you knew he was starving. 

“But daddy’s gotta eat at some point.”

He became undone.

He grunted, pushing back into you as he seared your lips, his tongue jutting into yours as you both collided. He moaned as you took his lip between your teeth and bit down, marking him as he had done to you. His hands moved again, slipping between you and the wood behind and hooking underneath your ass, leaning you back and into his arms. Your ankles instinctively wrapped around his hips, holding on tightly as he turned back towards the kitchen. Your lips continued locked together as he clumsily navigated through the living room and into the kitchen, your feet hitting the edge of the kitchen table as he spun around.

Your core lit ablaze, the rope in your stomach knotting as he fell forward, spilling you onto the antique barn wood surface. Your knees creased the edge, calves hanging off the table as you laid with haloed hair and bruised lips, staring at him through lidded eyes. He took you in, chest heaving as his lust-blown pupils scanned you up and down. He licked his lips, almost drooling over the task set before him. 

“What are ya waitin’ for, cowboy?” you breathed, voice shaking in a horrible attempt to mask your desperation stemming from your throbbing clit. You wanted your jeans off and you wanted them off now.  

“Wanted t’admire ya before I ruined ya.”

In one swift motion, he bent over your core, kissing the denim barrier as he popped the button and unzipped your jeans, his mouth only leaving briefly as he slid them down and off of you, tossing them somewhere behind him. Your breath hitched as he returned to his place at your core, now only one thin wall separating him from his main course. His nose nudged your clit as he kissed the crease between your legs, fingers wandering every which way as he groped you. 

“Bucky, pl–please,” you pleaded, heart racing as you could feel the slick flood out of you. You grabbed the edges of the table, bracing yourself as his teeth skimmed the waistband and took the thin fabric between his lips. You knew what was to come. 

You relished it. 

He held tight to your hips, thumbs grazing the soft spots on each side that made you buck your hips as he tore upwards, fabric ripping away from your body and finally exposing you. He spat the shreds over his shoulder and instantly dropped to his knees– a sight you knew would haunt your dreams that night. 

Your dreams and your pussy.

His tongue took its first lap at your folds, a guttural groan erupting from his chest as he smacked his lips. The first taste was always the sweetest to him, a flavor he never grew sick of as he nudged deeper and licked your entrance. He drank you in with pride, sucking your swollen clit and smiling against you as you uttered the most heavenly sounds. The wines, the gasps– every sound you made was a symphony scoring his actions, egging him further into you as his tongue entered you. He swirled into you, spelling his name with deep strokes as he held down your hips. From above it was a scene of worship: him, kneeled over you like you were the last drink of water he’d ever have on earth; you, back arched with hands in your hair while mewls turned to moans, escaping you relentlessly. 

He moved again, kissing your folds good luck as his hands migrated; one under you to your ass, the other to the top of your mound. His thumb pressed against your clit, bruised and puffy as all hell, before moving to make way for his mouth. Hot breath clouded over your slit as his index and middle fingers dipped in between your folds, slicking and swirling them, teasing your entrance as he played you like a fiddle. The whines, the whimpers– you didn’t care who heard you. 

All you cared about was the rope in your stomach knotting tighter and together, desperate for him to rip it apart. 

He slipped his digits into you, the two stretching your walls with the most pleasurable pain. Your eyes scrunched shut as your hand made a beeline for his hair, fistful of chocolate locks pulling at him like a bridled stallion. He groaned as you grabbed, the pulling making his cock stretch against his jeans. It only made his knuckles bottom out your hole, fingers hooking up into you and releasing a burst of pleasure. You writhed as he thrust faster, picking up speed and bottoming out repeatedly, thumb swirling over your clit harder, faster. Your grip left his locks and you ran your nails over his scalp, scratching his skin and grabbing the roots of his hair. 

Grunting as his hand thrust into you with each clap, his lips found their way around your clit once more, tongue swirling once more around the puffy bud. 

“Chickadee,” he growled. You lifted your head, smug baby blues meeting your gaze and dancing over your heated face. Heart pumping, banging against your rib cage, you gulped as he commanded the only word you’d been waiting to hear. 

“Come.”

In the same beat, he unleashed a wave of pleasure: one final thrust into you with knuckles against your entrance, his other hand bruising your ass with a vice grip, and, pursed, unbeatable lips sucking in your puffy clit to meet his tongue one last time. 

The knotted rope snapped, your back arching and a howl erupting from your chest; your jaw and muscles locked into an ‘O’, eyes rolling back to meet your brain. He stayed buried in you as you rode his hand out, drenching his hand completely with your come. As you come down, he removes his fingers, sliding them out painfully slow, relishing the final jerks of your climax. 

As you came down, breathless with ringing ears, he rose, moving to your side. Looking down at his work, a grin spilled across his face, lustful and proud. You stared back up at him, eyes shining as you reached for him. He obliged this time, bending down with your hands cupping his face and kissing him softly. He tasted like you– and he made sure you knew so by darting his tongue out and quickly swiping across your lips.

You giggled, sitting up and hopping off the table to face him. Looking at eachother for a moment, you reached to tuck a lock of chocolate behind his ear. He kissed your hand as you brought it back, scruff scratching your palm. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised. You smirked, your hands grazing his shoulders and down his chest, looking up at him through your lashes with the doe eyes you knew he couldn’t resist. 

“That’s me, cowboy,” you giggled, hands gliding down his waist and hooking onto the waistband of his jeans. 

“Now, how ‘bout some dessert?”

this was just so lovely i don't even have the words

everything with you | james potter x reader

summary four times james almost kisses you and one time he does. [9k]

warnings fluff, mutual pining, getting together, first kiss, idiots in love, first date, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, suggestive language/theme, late 90s au, rugby player!james

<3

James Potter is a little obsessed with you. In a cool, extremely chill and normal way, he thinks. It's hard not to be, here, at some random party half drunk and pushed into your side with your perfect hand held protectively over his head to shield him from the hubbub of partygoers.

"Still feeling poorly?" you ask, pushing the hair from his eyes.

"I need a haircut," he says, distracted by your touch.

"No!" you protest in a whisper. "No, James. Your hair‘s lovely, please don't cut it. What would I run my hands through if you did?" You say all this with a lopsided smile, one corner pulled up higher than the other, and a conspiring tone.

He blinks rapidly. Maybe he doesn't need a haircut after all.

Your fingertips push into the thick tresses at his hairline and scrape back. He shivers in light pleasure and reaches out to grab your thigh where his head is resting, indulgently absorbing the warmth of your body.

You barely notice, pulled back into a conversation with a girl on the sofa opposite. James feels his phone pulse in his pocket and is reluctant to retrieve it, worried you'll pause your ministrations. He watches you take a sip of your drink and almost spit it out laughing and deems you distracted, struggling with his phone, just drunk enough that his motor skills are fucking with him as he snaps it open.

Sirius told me to tell you that you look pathetic. Love Remus.

James scowls at his phone and lifts his head from your leg to look towards where he thinks his friends are located. Sure enough, they haunt the kitchen doorway with equally humorous looks on their faces, Sirius smug to Remus' pitying. James flips Sirius off and finds it returned, a perfectly painted and manicured finger held aloft.

You giggle by James' ear. "I hope that's not for me."

"Definitely to me. You'll have to forgive him. He was dragged up," he says, groaning at his embarrassing mates.

"Don't be cruel," you admonish, nudging him with a naked elbow.

His phone chirps again.

I also think you look pathetic. It's cute. Do you want food? Love Remus.

Moons u rly don't need to sign off every txt. Not hngry. Luv u

OK. Love Remus.

James laughs at his friend's hopelessness and tucks his phone away.

"I'm never cruel," he tells you.

You neaten the rolled up hem of his short sleeve unthinkingly and he can't help how much he wants to kiss you. It's all in the little things, he knows. You put your fingers in his hair and he's happy to lie in your lap like a dog; you fix his clothes and he wants to kiss you stupid; you smile at him sweetly, asking if he still feels sick, and if he is does he want you to go sit with him outside for a bit? He's ashamed of the heat in his chest.

James finds himself at your side with an inch between your legs, a porch bench swinging underneath you.

"I don't want to hurt your feelings," you say tentatively. He feels an alarming rush of vertigo at your words, until you continue, "But I think you could benefit from some mild temperance."

He scrubs his face, nausea ebbing as you clarify. He thought for a moment you were going to reject him before he even confessed.

"Yeah, maybe. Wouldn't have any reason for you to take care of me then," he says, startled and sounding it. He winces before he's done. You make a humming sound.

"You hardly need to be drunk for me to take care of you."

He sits with this and looks out over the garden. It's a nice space, the home in a wealthy neighbourhood, twinkling fairy lights strung up over the porch and solar powered lamps peppered down a keenly landscaped stretch of green grass and flowerbeds. There's a pretty stone path leading down to the end of the garden where a grey-white fountain spurts water. It sounds calm if you can ignore the sound of the party, which he finds himself more and more able to do as your knee creeps closer to his.

He wishes, and hates himself for it, that he'd worn shorts. Craves that tiny skin on skin contact when your thigh touches him. You must be cold in your skirt, a midi slit up one side that shows the smooth stretch of your outer thigh, colder on your top half in a spaghetti strap shirt and a loose knit cardigan.

If he thought you'd accept it he would offer you his jacket, but you won't. He's tried before. I don't want you to get cold, Jamie.

"You really don't think I should get a haircut?" he asks self-consciously, tugging a hand through his unruly waves.

"No," you say seriously, turning your torso towards him.

"It's a little long," he complains.

"James, please." You lift your hand up to replace his, pushing his hair back.

"I'll look like Sirius soon enough."

You shift. The bench sways. You push your second hand in his hair and pull it all away from his face gently. He can feel the cool breeze on his bare, clammy forehead as you sit there with your hands in his hair

You run your hand through his dark mop one last time, then stop with your hands braced at the back of his head, a big smile on your face.

"Don't cut it," you implore him seriously, looking into his eyes.

He deserves a medal for not leaning into your arms right then and there.

"How do you keep it so soft even though it's this thick?"

He doesn't understand how you can continue a conversation like this without melting. He's melting. You're talking like everything is normal, fingers twined between ink dark strands and fingertips massaging his scalp.

"I… I oil my roots before I wash it." He doesn't share how his mum insists on doing it for him most of the time now he's back home from school.

"You can definitely tell," you murmur.

His eyes shut. He blames it on his drunkenness and not the feeling of your hands.

"James?" you ask quietly.

"Yeah?" he asks, though it sounds more like an unintelligible hum.

"Are you tired? D'you need to go home?"

"Maybe." He does feel suddenly like his limbs are made of stone.

"Who are you going home with?" you ask.

You stand. The bench wobbles. One hand falls out of his hair to rest on his shoulder and his skin warms where it lands, the other tucking stray pieces of hair behind his ears. He opens his bleary eyes and is met with a silver of your midriff, promptly closing them again to push evil thoughts from his mind in which he kisses stripes over that naked skin for hours.

"Sirius is driving me home," he admits reluctantly.

"Let's go look for him."

James reluctantly follows you with a little wobble. His inebriation has faded as the night progresses but a general tipsy dizziness prevails. You press a hand to his lower back and he narrowly avoids trodding on your strappy sandals.

"I don't see him anywhere. Can you text him?" you ask.

James grabs his phone. You both press your backs to the wall to make way for some passersbys. He doesn't bother with texting Sirius: Remus always answers.

Where r u??

Went to get food. Love Remus.

When will u b back?

Sirius wanted Molly's Kitchen. Love Remus.

Molly's kitchen in MILTON KENYES?

Sorry. He is very convincing. Love Remus.

I know he is… luv u see u never when i die here abandoned & cold

See you tomorrow. Love Remus.

It takes him so long to type this all out he's surprised when you're still by his side. You're looking at the picture frames hanging on the wall with the patience of a Saint.

"They ditched me."

"Oh," you say.

"Yep."

"Well, you'll just have to come home with me," you say breezily.

He gawks. You fish your keys out of your cardigan and brandish them like a lump of gold. "I have leftover pizza. Or we can order in. If you're hungry?"

He's not. "Sure. Whatever you want."

"We can walk. It's not that far. If you can walk?"

"I can walk."

Barely. He knows it would've been a lovely stroll with you in the lazy summer air, sun still ligphting the sky despite the time, gauzy pinks and blues skimming the white-gold horizon, if only he hadn't been half cut. Your skin is shiny as finest silk and a gentle breeze floats your perfume towards him and he's close to admitting maybe he's obsessed with you in a way that isn't cool at all by the time you make it to the front door.

It's a mostly silent journey until you're shutting your bedroom door behind you and he's wondering how he got here, sitting at the end of your bed. Your room is an extension of you that he can't take in fast enough. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.

You lean down and unstrap your sandals and he toes off his own shoes, trying not to look at how you're bent over, at the silhouette of your legs in your light skirt. Next is your cardigan. He feels like a bachelor in the 1800s, hungry and guilty at your naked skin.

Your silver anklets click together as you weave past him to your bedside table. You flick on the glass shade lamp and an array of multicolour sprays up the wall and your hands. He's mesmerised.

"Pizza," you mumble to yourself, and then looking up at him, "James, I don't have any pajamas for you. Um… oh, and your jeans are gonna be uncomfortable. Do you wear boxers?"

"I- I- yeah. Yes." When he tells this story later, much later, he will not recall stammering here.

"Well, if you wanna sleep in your boxers I don't mind. Better than those awful jeans. I'm gonna heat up the pizza. Bathrooms right there," you point at the door, "if you need it. Are you still feeling sick?"

"No," he says, a smidge overwhelmed.

You reach out and cup his cheek for a second as you pass. He sits in your aftermath and worries he may not make it through the night.

Watching you eat is a strange pleasure. To get to watch you eat is the first, and then the face you make trying to catch a string of cheese is a close second. Now, lying shoulder to shoulder with you, too hot for the duvet and in his boxers he can't get the image of you out of his head. He's too afraid to turn and see the real thing in case you think he's trying to cop a feel.

He'd insisted on sleeping on the floor and you'd laughed so much you went warm in the cheeks. "No, James, that's okay. You're with me."

You'd swapped your skirt for a pair of loose cotton pants. The fabric of which brushed against his calf as you squirmed restlessly.

"It's too warm," you complain.

He's so tired he can barely answer. "Yes."

"I'm gonna open the window," you declare. You climb over his legs and there's so many points of contact he thinks he might go blind.

Window opened, you stand at the sill and pick your vest away from your skin, looking over your shoulder at him, catching him mid-heady gaze. If you care you don't show it, smiling at him with your big hoop earrings still in, your necklace, your bracelets. He frowns to himself. Are you supposed to sleep with jewellery?

You climb back into bed, standing at the edge and flopping down much closer to him than you had been before. It wafts a ridiculous gust of your intoxicating smell over him.

"It's supposed to be this hot all week," you say morosely.

"The miraculous nature of British summer time," he murmurs.

You laugh breathily. "How awful. When it's cold I want the sun to come out and when the sun's out I miss the rain."

He turns his head to watch you talk.

"I like the sunshine." You tilt your head up, in a deep debate with yourself. "It's the humidity I can't deal with. It makes my hair so frizzy. I want soft hair like you, and-" you pause. "Watcha doing?"

"Do you sleep with these?" he asks, poking at the hoop hanging from your earlobe.

"Oh. Sometimes. You're not supposed to, 'cos they're big and all, but I forget."

"Can I?"

"Sure, yes. Please."

He nods and brings his other hand up, pulling the latch off your hoop and sliding it from your ear. He climbs up onto his elbow and presses his fingers to your jaw, turning your head into the pillow so he can reach the other. You're decidedly pliant and quiet under his touch as he pulls the second out. He puts them down by your shoulder and pulls on your necklace until the clasp is in sight.

He's holding his breath. You're looking up into his face with wide, soft eyes, and he catches the tremble you resist as he pulls the necklace free from your neck.

"Tickles," you say sheepishly. He's close enough to feel the warmth of your exhale on his skin.

He drapes the necklace next to your earrings but can't bring himself to move. Your eyelashes twitch. Your lips part and he can see the tiniest sneak of your tongue.

The way you're looking at him is dazzling, dizzying. He smooths down the hair closest to your neck that he'd disrupted while detangling your necklace, ignores the unsteadiness in his hands, presses his fingers to the side of your throat.

Your eyelashes kiss as your eyes drift shut, and he leans down just as you turn your face from his.

"You're drunk, Jamie," you whisper, covering his hand with your own.

He knows you're right. Though drunk seems dramatic at this point, admittedly there's alcohol in his system, and he lets himself fall back into your sheets.

"Sorry," he says.

You bring your arm across your front to grasp his shoulder in your palm. Time moves slow.

"James?"

"Yeah?"

You brush the tousled hair from his face, your touch featherlight and familiar now against his temple. His heart soars as you cuddle in closer, skips when you touch your lips to the muscle of his bicep. "Sleep well," you say warmly.

You break the kiss and stroke the skin there gently with your thumb before turning on your back.

-

so u didn't kiss her?

u r exacerbating my pain, Black

Good. Ur pain SHOULD be 'exacerbated' idiot.

i was tipsy. she didn't want me 2

and in the morning when u were sober ??? couldn't have kissed her in between waffles????

she acted like it didn't happen so I did 2

oh my god! U r so dumb !

James dropped his phone in his lap, feeling the humiliation of his defeat tenfold. Sirius was right, James should have kissed you at breakfast. Maybe. Or at least made his intentions with you clear. He wasn't trying to kiss you because he was drunk or because you were there, he was trying to kiss you because he was hopelessly endeared to you and hoped you might want to put up with him for a bit. Or years. Whatever, it's not like he was planning the wedding or anything. Yet.

He very much hadn't kissed you the next morning. You'd gotten up before him, an angel in your new fresh clothes and your hair out of your face, skin dewy and fucking hell was he lovelorn. He'd been sick as a dog at the table and you'd mistaken it for a hangover, pressing a cup of water into one hand and two ibuprofen in the other, smelling like sweetness behind him.

"Temperance," you'd said encouragingly, lips by his ear.

He relayed this all to Remus over the phone on the bus home, who had listened without judging for the most part up until that point.

"Oh, James."

"You think that's bad?" he'd asked.

"James."

"Just. Don't tell Sirius?"

"I won't." A lie, evidently. At least I can be mad at Remus' blather mouth rather than my own pussy footing, James thinks happily, pulling a throw cushion over his face.

"I'm an idiot," he says into the cushion. It doesn't say anything back.

-

James Potter isn't your boyfriend to your whimsy disappointment, but you think he might want to be.

You'll admit that his tipsy almost-kiss was a speed bump where you worried that awkwardness would wedge between you ruthlessly, but the next morning he'd made enough jokes to have you tearing up and looked at you so adoring you assumed that point moot.

You dress extra pretty tonight, a million different trinkets, silver thin bangles that jingle. Please, you think. Please, James, just ask me on a date.

You're sick of motives. These days you only go so you can see James, tired of party drugs and alcohol and sweaty guys looking at you in that way where you know exactly what they're thinking.

You spy him now, pressing through the doorway with his entourage behind him. You think this with love. His two tallest friends are always right by his side, and a smaller girl trails behind them that you think is called Emmeline.

The first half of his friends that you knew of had arrived earlier in the evening along with your only mutual friend, Mary. You give her a saccharine smile as you peel away, not bothering to hide where you're planning on going.

She smiles indulgently and turns to the short-haired girl, Dorcas. Guilt-free, you wheedle past people you don't know and some that you do, giving pause when one of your friends from school appears. By the time you've finished menial well wishes you can't see James anymore.

"Looking for someone?"

You jump and spin on your flat shoes.

A relieved smile works its way across your mouth.

"James, you startled me," you say, voice light, pressing your fingers to your sternum.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Here." He gestures his big hand to you.

A flower. You take its stem between your fingers gingerly.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Saw it on the way."

You twirl it around and watch its petals dance before passing it back to him.

You smile despite yourself at his crestfallen expression and take a step closer.

"Put it in my hair?" you ask.

His brown eyes lighten, hot amber tea steeped in his irises. He's careful as he sews the flower's delicate stalk into the hair closest to your ear, his mouth hovering just over your forehead. You half hope he's going to press a kiss to your skin before he steps back. He doesn't, though his fingertips give you almost the same pleasure as he flattens what are already well tamed baby hairs.

You want an excuse to stay close to him. He'd done it all by himself the last time by participating in a drinking game he had no chance of winning and needing somewhere to lie down. Your lap had been open. You'd prefer he stray from any recreation of this tonight, and are saved from thinking up a new excuse when he taps the toe of his shoe into yours.

You look down at the rubber toes and then up at his face.

"Want a drink?" he asks.

You pull your shoe back just enough to hit his again. "Depends. What kind?"

"We brought a keg, not that I think you're interested in that."

"Nope," you agree, wrinkling your nose with a grimace.

His answering smile is ridiculously contagious.

"You don't strike me as someone so picky."

"I know what I like," you say, demure. "But I'll try anything once."

His eyes darken, sticky sweet; a playfulness edged in something like I dare you.

"Let's hope I can get you something that sticks," he says back, twice as smooth.

An immeasurable pleasure eats up your spine as his hand comes between your shoulder blades, steering you into the kitchen. He exchanges hellos with guys you don't know huddled around the kitchen table playing cards. One of them lights a cigarette and James stands between you and the twisting smoke, opening his arm out to the countertops covered in drink.

"What do you want, baby?"

You cross your legs and lean forward, pretending to read labels.

"How about you pick for me?" You turn your head to the side and enunciate each word through lips barely parted, eyes tracking his hands where they hang at his sides. His left hand twitches.

"And if you don't like what I choose?"

You straighten up slowly, "Then you'll make me another."

He laughs and you know he can see through all the aloof confidence you carry around you, can see you for who you are, but it doesn't read as cruelty so much as a kindness. You feel the layer of coolness you'd layered on slip away and smile at him with too much teeth, pleased when his hand claps your shoulder and he steps forward to make you a drink.

The concoction he makes is a little too sweet for you but you drink it without complaint, sitting up on the counter where there's room.

He leans with his hand braced behind him next to your thighs, face close to your own and beautiful as he talks to you, brown skin cooled by the white fluorescents and eyes shiny. You can see the smattering of dark stubble coming in if you look, which you aren't. Except that you are. Hungry, you soak in his little details. Tiniest scar by his mouth. Beauty spot not far from it under his nose, almost invisible against his skin. Wavy hair in tighter curls tonight and smelling of coconut or almond or something, fresh and fragrant and thick. His glasses, black wire frames, slide down his nose so often it drives you crazy to watch him push them back up.

Eventually, unable to resist the temptation, you straighten them on the bridge of his nose mid-sentence. He pauses to blow air out of the side of his mouth, warding off a curl dipping close to his eyebrows as you do, and the silence stretches even when your hands are safely returned to your lap.

"You look…" You press your lips together in an attempt to fight off a nervous giggle that slips out anyways as you continue, making the words less serious than they're meant to be, "Pretty. Or handsome. If you prefer."

He puts his drink down on the countertop. You knead your own fingers.

"You look pretty too. Handsome, if you prefer," he returns, creeping closer still. Your chest burns with the pleasure of being complimented. "So much jewellery tonight, you're a mirror ball."

"You don't like it?"

"Didn't say that."

You lift a hand, let all the bangles drop down your arm. "I may have bordered on excessive," you admit, abashed.

"Don't worry, I know all about excessive," he placates, picking his drink up pointedly. The image of him plastered and poorly pops up in your head.

"Yes, well, I was hoping you'd stay sober." You run your finger over the rim of your glass, unable to look at him. "In case I need some help."

His hand reaches out, a finger hooking under one chain bracelet and tugging gently. You can feel his gaze on your face, feel as he puts his drink down again with a final clink. His hand closes around your bracelet.

His fingers are gentle as his other hand slowly, slowly works up your face, fingertips pushing over the delicate, smooth skin of your cheek. His thumb finds a home at the bottom of your chin and he uses it to guide your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

It's intense because you want it, because he's handsome, because he's funny, because he's awfully, terribly kind. Because something between you both fits together like it's meant to, and you just know that if he kisses you everything is gonna work out like it should.

His eyes are on your lips. You follow his eyes with sick excitement and miss when he slips your bracelet off of your wrist.

You look between you both. He holds the silver links between his fingers. It's the only one he would've needed to unclasp, the rest are seamless bangles. This one, silver with small blue cut gems, is just his style.

You hold your palm out, mourn his hand as it falls from your face. You both look down between you as you wrap the tennis bracelet around his wrist and click it into place.

"There," you say, so quietly you're worried he might miss it. "Something for me to take off'a you."

His hand finds your face with purpose now, almost pulling you toward his own beaming face and he's opening his mouth, about to say something with a laugh already on his lips when a shattering crash echoes from the living room and into the kitchen. James stills, hand moving down to squeeze your shoulder protectively as he turns to the door.

A barking laugh. James turns back quickly, apologetic, murmuring a "Jump down?" and pushing his forearm under your armpit to help you down off of the counter.

As soon as your canvas shoes touch down, he takes a light hold on your wrist and pulls you along, following the guys who'd been playing cards. In the living room, Sirius sits at a coffee table with a knife in his hand. Sticking into his hand, blood already pooling around it in a black crimson horror that has half the room in morbid silence and the other half panicking.

Remus, at Sirius' left, is laughing with tears running down his cheeks, sounding like he's one guttural guffaw from throwing up. Sirius looks pretty cool about the whole thing, cooler when he spots James in the doorway.

"Prongs! Come and pull this out, would you? I'd do it, but I can't seem to make myself grab it."

Remus let's out another sobbing laugh. You can't help but giggle from behind James' shoulder, and Sirius zeroes in on this.

James drops your hand, walking forward and bending at the waist.

"Hey, don't think because you're his girl now that means you-fuck! Oh fuck, what the fuck-" Sirius presses the open sleeve of his dress shirt hurriedly into the wound, freshly opened. James holds the knife he'd just pulled free in his hand distastefully.

"Alright, hotshot, run your mouth in the car. You need stitches."

"Fuck's sake."

James drops the knife on the table and shoves the wounded boy's head with the flat of his palm, earning another curse. Remus, finally extending some friendly generosity, pulls the dark shirt he's layered over a t-shirt off and encourages Sirius to wrap it around his hand.

Sirius protests. "This'll give me an infection."

"Fuck off and die, then," Remus suggests lightly, wiping at his eyelashes with the side of his pinky finger.

Sirius wrinkles his nose. James tries to shepherd them both from the room, which has once again grown loud with laughing, most of it at the absurdity of Sirius injury.

"What did I tell you about pinfinger?" James asks scornfully.

"Not to play it," Remus supplies, stepping over people's feet with little apology.

You watch the sorry threesome make their way to the door, a disheartened feeling creeping in.

James opens the front door and pushes Sirius through it, torn looking back at you.

"Remus can't drive, so I'll have to take him," he explains.

"You still have my bracelet."

A weak argument. He can hear your disappointment. He smiles, eyebrows pulling up in… sympathy? Empathy? Apology? You can't tell what, only that he looks soft as butter as he says, "I'll call you? We can arrange a time for you to take it back."

"Okay," you agree, much too happy, just as he's pulled out the door by a bloody hand.

-

James doesn't have your number. He realises this in A&E, close to midnight with Remus asleep on one shoulder and Sirius slouched in the other, waiting for the plastics to come and assess if Sirius has done any permanent damage to his finger.

"I don't understand how you can stab yourself in the hand and fuck up your finger," James mutters for what's likely the fifth time.

Sirius sighs unhappily. "It's ligaments or tendons or something. I might very well have cut through a cord that needs to remain uncut."

"You're an idiot."

"Thanks, James."

"Yeah, you're welcome." James slouches a little lower in his chair to take the strain off of his best friend's neck in a show of genuineness. He does love him, after all, even after shocking displays of public stupidity.

"Sorry for cockblocking you," Sirius says.

"Vile. Wasn't gonna turn out that way. Though I was hoping I might actually make a real move tonight. I did make a real move," James shakes his head, disgruntled. "I was seconds away from kissing her. Your idiocy couldn't wait 30 seconds?"

"Wasn't exactly timing it, mate."

"Yeah."

James digs through his pocket for his phone. He never knows where the damn thing is. Your bracelet is tight to his skin and he looks at it with keen longing, imagining your nicely shaped nails running under it.

He shakes it off, goes to unlock his phone, and this is where he realises he doesn't have your number.

"Do you have Y/N's number?" he asks Sirius.

"No." It sounds like why would I?

"Fuck."

"She's Mary's friend, isn't she? Ask Mary."

He sighs and does as he's told, scrolling through contacts until he finds Mary MacDonald's.

Hi mary was wondering if u have Y/N's phone #

And why should I give it to you, Pots? :3 :D <3

pls mary I am not above begging u

While that would be a sight, I meant why do you want it? But please tell me more about the begging part!!! <33

mary

What are your intentions with my Y/N? She's much too sweet for you to manhandle <33

James blushes at her wording and groans aloud. "Girls are impossible."

"Yep," Sirius says tiredly.

James doesn't want his or your business passed around, and if he tells Mary, Mary will tell Dorcas and Dorcas will tell Marlene and Marlene will tell everybody she knows and will find it very, very entertaining as she does. He doesn't plan on awarding her the pleasure. He tells a white lie.

I found her bracelet and want to give it back :]

I'll give it back for you ;) <3

not that I don't trust u M but its super nice, id prefer to give it in person myself

OK OK I'll stop yanking your chain now Jamesie dearest hahaha. Her number is +44 XXXX XXXXXX. I trust the bracelet gets back to her in one piece. btdub, how's siri? <3

crying and shaking like a lamb, thanks m xoxo

He adds your number to his contacts and then stares at it until the nurse calls for Sirius and they get up to meet her, leaving Remus to blink awake confused at their departure.

-

hi Y/N, this is James

You look down at your rarely used phone and feel a warmth like sunshine unfold in your tummy. You don't use any emoticons, though you want to.

Hi James, how are you? How is your friend?

im amazing how r u? doctors are hopeful that he'll live, but it's up to him now :,(

James

kidding. he is fine. R u busy right now?

no I'm not busy why?

can I call u?

You call him rather than answer. He picks up straight away.

"James," you say quietly.

"Sweetheart," he says back. "Hey, hi. I had to get your number from Mary Magdalene."

"Wow, what was she like?"

"Uh… bloody? Which one was she?"

"I don't know, James," you say, laughing behind your hand.

"What are you doing today?" he asks.

You preen though he can't see. "Nuthin," you say, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. "Why'd you ask?"

"Trapped you there, baby. Don't you know you're supposed to wait until after I tell you what I'm planning before you say you're not busy?"

"Oh, weird. Something just came up."

"Uh-huh. Anyways, busy or not, if you want to: I've got a match later. If you want to come." He sounds nervous. It's a new look on him.

"Do I get to sit pretty on the sidelines with the other girls?"

"You can stand, if you like. But yeah, otherwise. Oh, unless you have some kicks. I doubt it would take much convincing to get you on the team."

"How's that?"

"Well, you know. They aren't blind. Dumb, sure, but we play rugby. Not exactly a honeypot of intelligence, all it would take for half those guys is your pretty smile-"

"You're plenty smart," you cut off his compliments.

James gags. "Keep it to yourself. It starts at six, but come whenever. Oh- do you need me to pick you up?"

"No, that's okay. I'll walk. It's warm out."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. It'll be nice. I'll wear team colours." You're almost afraid to suggest it until he makes a very happy noise that he coughs to hide two seconds too late.

"See you at six, then?"

"Definitely. You owe me a bracelet."

"It's a date." He hangs up before you can say goodbye. Good thing, because you spend the next ten minutes with your face in your hands, smiling so wide your cheeks ache.

It doesn't quite feel like a date on the sidelines but you're too busy walking on sunshine to care. You watch as James throws the ball behind him, torso twisting, bulky arms flexing. His shorts and socks are stained green and his shirt grips tight to his chest.

You can see why he wanted a haircut; ink dark hair falls in his eyes as he sprints after the team and he has no hands to tuck it back.

You'd been a little late, trying too hard to look effortlessly radiant at home and forgetting the time. As soon as you'd arrived, out of breath and half-dressed, you stood at the side of the pitch close to watchers but maintaining a small gap trying desperately to catch his eye. It was obvious when he saw you - he smiled beatifically and raised a wide palm in greeting before getting into position for a scrum.

After a while there's a halftime break where he comes bouncing off the field to your side. He goes straight in for a hug, brave, warm, exactly what you wanted, arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground half an inch with the force of it.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pretend it's all an inconvenience, wobbling on tiptoes. "You're getting grass all over me."

"Oh no," he says, faux worried.

He smells like so many things. Deodorant and sweat, grass and dirt and salt. You press your nose into his hair and smell the almond oil there with a lopsided smile.

He lets you down, holding you at arms length.

"You're so fucking pretty."

You try not to burst into tears, turning your face so he can see the heart on your cheek made up of glitter in his team colours. "It's the team rep."

"No, it isn't," he says, running his hand down your face to straighten your head, pausing with his fingers under your chin.

Your bracelet is still on his wrist. You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the lovesickness you're feeling.

You push his hair from his face. He, reminded of this affliction, levels you with a squinting glare. "This is all your fault."

"Sorry, Jamie," you say, biting back a guilty smile.

"It's fine," he concedes immediately. You're suddenly overwhelmed by the power you have over this poor boy.

"How long is the break?"

"Halftime? About ten minutes left."

You nod, thinking to yourself. "Well, um. You can say no, but. I can plait your hair back, if you want. Out of your eyes."

"You can?" he asks, brightening.

"Yeah, I can."

James sits on the bottom bench of the stand and you stand behind him, your fingers raking through his windblown curls in lieu of a comb. He sits strangely still, more controlled than you thought possible of him as you braid back the longest strands at the front of his scalp, sliding your fingers through his hair as kindly as you can. The small intimacy of it all has your heart racing.

Securing the dark braid with a bobble, you take in the back of his head. His soft shiny hair is oil black in the sun, his skin painted with gold. His neck begs to be kissed.

You rub your hands down the back of his neck, across the curves of his trap muscles and then down his chest, leaning on him so you can press your lips to the highest point of his cheek in a shy kiss. He tilts his head to catch your eye as you pull back.

"Done?" he asks, something indistinguishable in his voice.

"Done," you confirm.

His face is close enough to spot the beauty mark adjacent to his cupid's bow. You resist the urge to kiss that, too, and stand at full height. He copies you. You find that the stands underneath you makes you taller, his eyes are level with yours.

"How's it look?"

"I did alright," you say modestly. "Though maybe a haircut isn't the worst idea."

He laughs and looks down, reaching for your hands. He's different without his glasses, not more or less handsome, but different. The focus of his face changes, and you find yourself distracted by his eyes, his nose, his mouth.

He holds your hands like a prince, brushing his thumb over your fingernails. Then, in true royal fashion, he brings your hand to his mouth. A kiss pressed to your knuckles. One kiss becomes two, two to three, a peppering of pecks up your hand and over your pulse and up your arm. He reaches your sleeve. His hand follows his mouth until he's holding your elbow in his hand like you're a sacred being, pulling you in.

You drift together. His hands cup your upper arms and guide you slowly to the left as he ducks in.

A piercing whistle leaps through the air. You flinch apart like guilty kids, his hands a searing heat through your shirt sleeves as the call for halftime's end rings. Loudly.

He grimaces bitterly. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't know why this keeps happening to us, I'm-"

"Going to get in trouble," you finish, peeling his hands off of your body. "Go on, before they get mad."

"Your bracelet-"

"Keep it. It looks good on you, anyways."

He leans in and holds you by the neck. Your heart is a hammering racket for no reason - all he does is peck your forehead, quick and firm. Then he pulls back all sorry looking and scrambles over the bench and the kit to get back into position.

You sit down heavily on the cold metal seat behind you and cover your chest with your hands, taking deep breaths through your nose.

He catches your eye from the pitch and winks.

-

"Be thankful it was your mouth and not your nose."

"Explain what you mean," James demands, wincing at his split lip.

You match his stride. James, having been hit in the face with the rugby ball hard enough to bruise and cut his top lip, had refused to let you look at him, despite the horror it had provoked, and then had refused to let you walk home alone. I'm not getting in your car until you see a doctor, James, I mean it.

Fine, then we'll walk.

So you walk. The sun is setting, the sky a mix of white-pink and light blue, a bleeding yellow light throwing big shadows every which way. You step out of the shade of a towering, green leafed tree where the main road began. Before James can stop you, you jump up onto the small metal barrier that stops cars from driving on the pavement and walk across it like a balance beam.

"Please don't," James says.

You ignore him, using your arms to stop yourself from toppling into the road. A small revenge considering he had ignored your medical advice. James lets you do this for around 10 seconds before he grabs your hand in his. You wobble along the last meter of barrier with your joined hands held aloft and tight before you finally let him pull you back down onto the pavement, giggling breathlessly. Cars careen past, each one wafting a breeze of petrol and fallen leaves towards your legs.

Fingers interlocked, you walk. You take in the relative beauty of your town in its approaching dusk, meandering past roundabouts and roads, back gardens and a corner shop.

You persuade James inside the shop and beeline for the cold drinks at the back. The open fridges cool your clammy skin.

"What one do you want?" you ask him.

"Anything. Whatever you're having."

You grab three identical cans and ignore his raised eyebrows as you bring them to the front of the store, the cashier hidden behind lollipop stands, magazines, a plastic shield plastered in leaflets for upcoming events. There's a small TV in the corner blaring summer music that you can't help but hum as you emerge from the shop, swaying your hips in time.

"Who's the third for?" James asks, accepting his can. You tuck your own in your bag and grin.

"You! For your lip," you say. "It's swollen."

"Doesn't hurt."

"Don't believe you."

He reluctantly takes the can from you and complains loudly, exasperated at having two full hands, one pressed to his face. You wiggle your empty one at him in bad sportsmanship. Before long you're standing outside your home and James is hesitating.

"Do you want to come in?" you ask, half-hopeful.

He shakes his head. "I can't, I have to take Sirius to get his hand looked at again by plastics."

"Too bad," you murmur, looking at his chest and then his face. "Thank you for walking me. I know it's out of the way."

"You're never out of the way," he says seriously.

You slide your fingers into the loose hair behind his neck, rub your thumb across the line of his jaw.

"Get home safe," you murmur as you lift up on your toes, shoes creasing. You press a half-open kiss to his jaw where your thumb had been moments before and close your lips over his skin slowly. You linger, pressing a second on top.

There's an unspoken acknowledgement between you both when you pull away. A promise.

He looks a picture of defeat walking down your front path. Covered in dirt and grass and sweat and blood, hair messy and chased by the last rays of sun. You watch until he's at the end of your street, butterflies thrashing in your tummy as he presses his index and middle finger to where you'd laid your kisses, as though checking his pulse.

-

James' parents own a restaurant. He knows, in his right mind, that this is a lame place to take you on a proper first date, only it's the hottest week of the year and everywhere else with outdoor seating is fully booked.

"I don't mind, James. Actually, I'm excited. I've never seen Sirius in a uniform," you say.

He scowls and scoffs melodramatically over the phone until you apologise to him for your terrible, awful, sick joke.

Technically, the Potter's restaurant is fully booked too, and he watches the books like a hawk for a week while his lip heals until he catches a cancellation. He instantly jots down his name. He's caught in the act by Euphemia.

"James," his mum had said, words drawn out. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

So really, he isn't sure why he thinks this date will go well. Everybody who works here knows him, and even as he waits outside for you under the dark wood porch a server comes up to him and nudges him with his elbow emphatically.

You turn the corner and he stops breathing, a vision in your sundress and sandals. He watches your anklets dance as you approach, eyes roving up your body devotedly until he finds a smile that matches his own in tenacity playing on your glossy lips.

He wants to kiss you then but wants more to foster a perfect, romantic evening first, so he's careful as he brings his hands up to your face appreciatively. Your hands hook around his elbows, an excited glaze in your eyes.

"Hi, pretty girl."

"Hi," you say, hushed by shyness.

He caresses your cheeks lightly, worried about smudging your makeup. Your eyes close when his hands move up, sliding over your hair to rest behind your ears. Sparkly earrings hang from each earlobe.

"You look beautiful," he says, because fuck it if James hasn't got game.

Your smile turns pouting at his words. He wants to record your voice and play it back when you say, "Thank you, James," in the softest tone he's ever heard from you.

He wants to stay like this. He swears he could happily stand in this bubble of the world with you and count your eyelashes, memorise the flecks of colour that surround your pupil, but you shimmy out of his hands and prompt him inside.

"Come on, handsome, I'm hungry." And then, inside the restaurant. "Oh my god. It smells amazing. What smells amazing?"

He has no clue. He's reluctant to go to the bar with you only because he knows exactly who stands behind it - Sirius, in his neat uniform, a towel thrown over his shoulder and a bandage wrapped around his hand.

He's well-behaved when he sees you, though a few things he says has James reaching to wring his neck.

"How's your hand?" you ask.

Sirius sets down James' pint and grabs for another glass, shovelling ice and pouring juice. "It's alright. The bandage is for health and safety, not because it's actually injured anymore."

"Plastics said he's fine," James interjects, raising the dark ale to his lips.

"Perfect," Sirius amends cooly, "is what they said. Head to toe."

James corrals you out onto the mezzanine before you can fall in love with the uppity bartender.

It gets worse from there. A server who's known James since he was in nappies takes your orders, an extremely handsome server with a deep dusky voice and black skin so smooth he's practically carved from stone.

"And what's for you, babygirl?" he asks after airing out every embarrassing thing James has ever done on restaurant grounds.

You're still laughing, but you turn to James with all the confidence in the world as you ask, "What do I get, James?"

He feels a little better after that.

The patio is perfect. The sun's out, the breeze is light. Every now and then he has a hint of your smell, sunscreen and perfume. Your leg bounces under the table, a tinkling sound of silver, and you lean forward. He doesn't look at your chest where the necklace hanging over your collar bones disappears, thank you very much, but you're so obviously perfect and he's attracted to everything - your body and your gorgeous face, yes, undeniably, but your voice! Your laugh, your smell, the way your hands move. The way your every word about him drips adoration. The pride in your tone as you recall what should've been his perfect match (if he hadn't been hit in the face).

After a lazy dinner and a second round of drinks he's buzzing and you're lovely, like a flower, bloomed and prettier than anything he's ever seen.

You leave the table and walk along the woodchip path and kids play area to look out over the lake, a dark shimmering sheet split in half by twisting white light, the sun falling from the sky.

The evening grows marginally colder, especially at the lakefront. At the first sign of discomfort he works his arm over your back, hand pressed to the dip of your shoulder

He's waiting for you to look at him before he kisses you.

"It's so pretty," you sigh happily.

Across the lake is a backdrop of green trees and a small, rustic boathouse. A family of ducks swim past, shepherded by a squawking swan.

"Bully," he mutters.

You hum. "Why is there only ever one nasty swan per lake?"

"Gotta fill their quota."

"The poor duckies," you sympathise. "Look, there's one of the fancy ones with a green head over there."

He follows your finger but gets distracted by the bracelets adorning your wrist, can't help but think about how you'd asked him to take them off.

"James, this is… it's really perfect. It's amazing."

He pulls you in a little closer. "I'm glad," he says, though he's finding it hard to respond - he can barely open his mouth. "I wanted it to be."

You finally turn to face him. He guesses his change in tone is what does it, because you sound similarly low and love-sticky when you murmur back, "Everything. It's all been so perfect. Everything with you."

He can't take it. He darts forward, so close to kissing you that the air between you is charged with it. When his nose grazes yours he gives pause, tries to work out what you're thinking as your tongue wets your lips.

Your eyes are closed. He shuts his own and-

"James! James Fleamont Potter! You come up here and help your mam!" his father's voice calls.

He drops his forehead against yours and lets out a pained exhale.

"Dad," he calls back, refusing to move. "I'm a little preoccupied."

"What? James, look, I don't have my glasses and your mother needs someone to write tomorrow's daily special!"

He pulls away from you and sends a heated look over his shoulder, one he's sure could melt metal and that his father can't even see. "And tomorrow's daily special, this couldn't wait until TOMORROW?"

"James, I've no clue what's turned you into such a sour puss tonight and I don't have time to work it out. All I'm asking is that you do this chalkboard for us and then you can get back to-"

"Dad! Dad! Alright, I'm coming!" he hollers back, cutting his father off before he can blow a gasket. "Jesus Christ," he says under his breath, defeated. You frown sympathetically at his embarrassment.

"You should probably go help your parents," you say, sounding similarly disappointed. He nods, unwilling.

"Just, don't move," he pleads.

You smile, total understanding on your face, and he's only taken a few steps from you when you turn back to the lake and your shoulders fall.

Fuck it, he thinks.

He turns your body with his palm on your shoulder and soothes your surprised flinch with a hand on your neck, your eyes meeting for a startled, excited handful of seconds before he's finally, finally, surging forward. You gasp into his mouth and his fingers tighten on your neck, lips aligned with your lips and searching deeper, parting to invite you in. You follow, a dance, a hand pulling you out of the road, a tether, and you taste like everything he's ever thought you might all at once.

You press your spread fingers over the fine material of his dress shirt and moan when he catches your top lip between his. He kisses, again and again, feels you slip through his hands like water. He hooks his arm around your head to keep you in place as he wades into you, slowing, softening, pulling away to plant one, two, three gentle kisses over it all like a balm. You respond to each one amorously. His chest rears to explode at your dizzy, pretty panting when it's over.

He loosens his arm to pull back and take in your entire face. Your eyes are shimmering, lips wet. He wipes his thumb over your bottom lip, finds it burning hot.

"Oh," you whisper.

"Oh?" he asks, endeared and amused and insanely happy.

"I didn't think it would feel so different to all the little kisses from before."

"Good different?" he asks, the damp pad of his thumb smoothing over the warm hill of your cheek, stolen bracelet scraping your skin.

Any anxiety he has unfurls and dissipates into nothing when you smile and lean in for a second kiss. "Good different," you confirm against his open mouth, "everything with you…"

He pulls you as close as any person can be to another person. He has a pretty good picture of what you were going to say, anyways.

<3

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Arcane Silco x Reader One-shot - I Trust You

Synopsis: After the incident with Vander, you find what remains of the Silco you left at The Last Drop the night before. Now heart shattered, terrified, and close to death, he grips on tight to the only thing he has left as you try your best to comfort him and aid his wounds.

Young!Silco, Pre S1, Implied Fem!Reader but could be read GN, mentions of injury, blood, typical canon violence, knife mentioned, Hurt/Comfort, angst, established relationship, Medic!Reader

I've been inspired after wasting DAYS reading Silco fics, thank you fellow Arcane fanfic writers ❤️ Maybe I'll write more for the fandom?????

The cracked cobblestone paths of the cramped Undercity clack loudly under the worn soles of your boots. Your medic bag hangs loosely over your shoulder, the parched leather splitting at the seams as you toy with the fraying material between your nails.

You don't need to be told that tonight's highly-anticipated Uprising was a failure. You can judge its success based solely on the amount of rioters you saw in your office today; chipped teeth, brutal burn wounds, broken limbs, concussions. The unrest between Zaun and the ever-oppressive Piltover thickens with each passing minute, Enforcers becoming more violent and Zaunites only more angry.

Tonight's rally was meant to be the turning point, Zaun would fight back and push past the bridge, securing their futures with an iron grip and hearts full of hope. Vander spoke of it just yesterday evening, eyes gleaming with ambition saccharine sweet as he raised his glass of ale high in cheer. Silco, your Silco, with a smile so sure, so wide, you were certain you'd never seen him so excited.

"You're sure you can't make it?" He's asking you, shoulder jostling your own as he slides into the seat beside you at the bar. The cacophony of cheer around the bar following Vander's inspiring speech seems to die down and reduce to a droning chatter of voices and clinking dish ware.

Your eyes peel away from Vander — who is serving patrons left and right with an energy so radiant you can't help but shake your head at him, a small smile gracing your features — to meet Silco's sea-foamy green ones, peering down at you from the slant of his nose.

"You know riots mean people tend to get hurt. I'll be more needed at the med center, that's where I can do my part." You say, and it's true. The Undercity lacks in abundance, especially lacking in individuals with medical knowledge, much less an affordable one, or even a doctor you can trust. You've become an important addition to The Children of Zaun, and even more important to the citizens you look out for.

Silco nods, understanding, albeit disappointed that you won't be by his side. He wraps an arm loosely around your shoulders, pulling you in so he can press a chaste kiss to your temple.

"I know. This will be a big one, an important one. We'll be needing you down here."

You smiled softly, "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"As careful as I always am." Silco smirked.

"Great, so I'll be seeing you tomorrow night in my office is what I'm hearing?"

"Well, when you make it sound so scandalous I couldn't possibly miss out, my dear."

You're rolling your eyes at him, nudging him back with your adjacent shoulder as he chuckles. A peaceful silence overcomes the two of you as you soak in your surroundings at the bustling bar. Felicia is bickering with Vander at the counter, her vibrant purple braid flicked over her shoulder and Vander is laughing at her playful scowl.

"What will you do, if you succeed?" You ask suddenly.

Silco doesn't hesitate a second, "Not if. We will. We must succeed." His brows furrow for a moment, "I don't know what I will do. I'll come back for you, and then I suppose we will figure it out together like we always do. You trust me, don't you?"

You can't help but grin at that, "Of course I trust you."

Trust has always been one of the most important values holding you and Silco together. No matter what, you would always trust each other, to the ends of the earth. And you'd never stop reminding the other.

Your next thought is interrupted by Benzo, at least six ales down.

"There will be celebrations all through Zaun tomorrow night just you wait! In just another twenty four hours we will be commemorating our victories with each and every Zaunite throughout the city!"

But, as you make your way home it becomes blatantly apparent that there are no celebrations raging through Zaun tonight, there was no victory, and instead just an evening full of shattered hearts and broken bones.

Needless to say, Silco never did make it to your office tonight, and now as you walk back home on tired feet in the early hours of the dawn you find yourself wondering what state he could be in.

Silco may not be the strongest, but he's quick, and he's so painfully smart you can bet he hadn't been caught by Enforcers — but then if not carted away to Stillwater, why hadn't you seen him at the med center as you usually do after a riot? The nerves bite at your system, and you can only hope he is safe and sound at The Last Drop where you left him yesterday night, waiting for you to find in a few hours. First, you know you need to sleep off the fatigue of tending to the injured all night long.

You turn right into the alleyway that cuts through the block of stacked houses and cross the street to your home. As the door comes into view it is then that you feel a prickling sensation of unease creeping into your very being. You remove your hood from your head, peering at your surroundings cautiously in an effort to calm yourself. There's no one around. Nothing to explain the worry woven into your deepest instincts as you quicken your steps to the entrance of your abode.

The single key fished from the pocket of your med bag rattles in the rickety doorknob before the lock unlatches. The wood swings open with a creak.

There's water everywhere. Puddles of the polluted brown liquid spreads from the front entrance. It trails through the house where cabinets and drawers are left ajar and furniture lies knocked over on the uneven floor. You freeze in horror at the state of your belongings before spotting the streaks of blood on the floor and the counters of your kitchen. Whoever had trespassed had done it in a panicked struggle, things haphazardly left out all around the property. You huff a swear before dropping your bag as silently as you can at the front door, your tiredness suddenly swept away and replaced with unfiltered adrenaline. Survival-mode kicks in, and you're creeping with predator-like stealth to the kitchen. A peek into the open drawer confirms your suspicions, and whoever had broken in had stolen the large kitchen knife you stored and was likely wielding the weapon somewhere in your home.

You go for the next best thing, a rusted but still sharp pair of cooking scissors which you grasp tight in your palm, blade poised.

Following the trail of blood and water, your head swiveling vigilantly in every which direction, you make your way up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. Your bedroom door is wide open, a handprint of blood smeared across the edge of it in a rush. You take a deep, shuddering breath before slipping through the threshold.

The bed is left tidied and made, moth eaten sheets folded over the top of the frayed duvet and curtains billowing softly from the cold breeze which spills through the crack in the window. It's all in the state that you left it in. Your brows furrow in confusion before spotting the faint light which emanates from the crack under the adjoining bathroom door.

Your hands tremble as you creep towards the door, wondering if what lies behind it is the means to your fateful end. Teeth wearing into the flesh of your bottom lip, you stop and lean against the wall beside the bathroom. You listen, ears straining hard to hear through the barrier before you catch it.

It's the faint sound of someone crying, notable only by the quiet, shuddering breaths and wet sniffling that periodically breaks the whimpering noise.

It's then that you hear the low whisper interrupting the soft sobbing, the voice tinged with abysmal pain and fear, "Fuck—,"

Silco.

You're not even thinking as the scissors fall from your grasp, hitting the floor with a metallic clang before you wrench open the door and burst inside, heart thrumming viscously in the cage of your chest as you recognize your lover's voice.

Your breath catches hard in your throat at the sight before you; Silco, curled tightly in the basin of your bathtub, head to toe in soaking wet clothes stained with blood which drips from his face. His wet black hair hangs disheveled over half of his features, cloaking him in the raven locks. Your missing kitchen knife is clasped rigidly in between both hands, blade sticking straight out and bobbing with his labored breaths. His one visible eye widens in what you think is fear and his whole body freezes up at the sight of you, his legs scramble against the edge of the tub like he's trying to get away from you but all you can think is, he's hurt. You have to fix him.

"Silco," you rasp, reaching for him frantically with tears brimming in your eyes but before you know it he's yelling, pointing the blade of the knife at you and waving it around haphazardly.

"Stop—" He's crying, but the syllable comes out guttural and hoarse, "Don't touch me!"

You freeze, hands up to show you mean no harm and falling back on your knees to be eye level with him.

You swallow before you try to say anything, but the lump in your throat only grows ten-fold.

"Silco," you try, tentatively. "What happened?"

"Felicia's dead." Is what he manages to gasp, teeth gritting hard and eyes squeezing shut, another stray tear falling down his face.

You don't realize you're treating him like a patient until you're halfway done examining him with just a glance. His nails are bent and broken like he had scratched desperately at an unrelenting force, the torn collar of his jacket reveals blooms of a deep purple encompassing the surface of his throat and neck, blood pours from what you could see of his cheek, down his jaw and off the point of his chin. His eyes are swollen and bloodshot and his nose is definitely crooked— likely broken and the bruising is beginning to swell beneath his eyes. It doesn't take a genius to tell he had been asphyxiated, and beaten, hard.

Felicia. Felicia is dead. You're trying to hold onto your resolve, face relaxed as to not alarm him any further but your heart wants to cry out in agony. Another good soul, lost to a helpless cause. Another loved one, gone. You want to ask where Vander is, where Benzo is. Whatever it is that happened at the Uprising has clearly shaken Silco to the core, nearly unrecognizable with fear and shame and you worry that if you break down now nothing will be left to hold the rest of him together.

"I don't know where to go. I don't have anyone else." Silco is rambling now, voice sore and body shaking. "I can't go back. I can't go back, he'll finish me off."

"Silco, who? What's happened to you? I don't understand—" You can feel the tears spilling over and you choke on a sob, terrified for the man you love.

Silco shakes his head rapidly, he opens his mouth like he'll try to explain but is cut off by a cry so anguished you feel your own soul shattering. His shoulders tremble and you realize he must be freezing, his clothes saturated and the chill of the night air permeating his figure.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get you a blanket and I'll come right back." you say gently.

He nods and hangs his head low, avoiding eye contact.

You retreat to the bedroom and pull your duvet right off the bed, also grabbing the forgotten glass of water left on the nightstand from the night before. You stand at the threshold of the bathroom peering in as non threatening as you can before taking a deep breath.

"I need you to put the knife down." you whisper.

Silco glances at the object in his hand and stares at it in shock for a split second, like he had not even realized he'd armed himself with your household items.

"I would never hurt you, Silco."

He takes a deep breath, and flips the blade before handing it over to you, handle out.

"Thanks," you whisper, placing the knife on the bathroom counter across from you. You trade it for the glass of water. "Here. Can I touch you?"

Silco takes a deep breath, eyes shut before nodding and wiping crudely at his cheek with the back of his hand, the skin pulling away wet with his tears.

You sit at the edge of the tub and pull the thick duvet into the basin, pausing over Silco's soaked figure.

"Do you want to take your clothes off? We can get you dry and warm."

He shakes his head no, but does pull off the bulky jacket, the wet fabric slapping against the surface of the porcelain bathtub. You drape the blanket over his shoulders, wrapping it around to his front and tucking it around him the best you can manage. He takes a long sip of the water, grimacing as he swallows and you try to catch a glimpse of the bruising on his neck.

"It's okay, I got you." You whisper. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I need to know what's wrong so I can fix it. You can even just point." You say, hand massaging tenderly over his blanketed shoulder.

"I-I can't see out of my left eye," He says, voice low and gravelly, "it hurts."

"Can I look?"

Silco lifts a hand and runs it through his long hair, pushing most of it back out of his face but a few unruly tresses fall back over his forehead. You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips as you survey the gashes running across his eye and mutilating the whole expanse of the area. Blood oozes from the wounds and the flesh swells bright red and pink and you know it's already infected. You can't save the eye, that much is evident.

"I need to clean it before the infection spreads any further, I'm sorry." You cringe, "It's going to hurt but you could die if I don't treat it now."

He nods. Silco seems to be of sounder mind now. Not relaxed by any means, but his breathing is controlled, his good eye is focused and he's understanding you.

You turn around to retrieve your personal medical supplies in the linen closet and find the bottle of antiseptic and gauze, when you turn around you meet Silco's gaze, his brows pressed together with worry and mouth pressed into a deep frown. The blood from his eye drips on the fabric of your blanket and stains it the color of rust.

"It was Vander." he says.

You freeze up, nearly dropping the bottle, "Vander did this to you?" you ask incredulously.

Silco nods. "I didn't mean to get her killed. I didn't mean it, none of this was supposed to happen, I—" he breaks off into silent tears again and you gently hush him.

You've never seen him cry in the many years you've spent together, now to witness it so many times in one night you have no idea how to handle it.

"It's okay, you can explain later. I trust you." You assure.

You tilt his chin to look at you and wipe the tears from his face.

"I trust you." You say again.

"Okay." Silco appeases, "I trust you, too."

It takes nearly an hour to clean out his wounds, by then the sun is beginning to rise, a blue haze filtering in through the windows and casting a glow on everything the light touches. Silco has stripped from his wet clothes and showered, but had asked sweetly if you would wait for him in the bathroom to which you comply.

He changes into dry clothes he had left here ages ago and now lies in your bed, curled up on his side. The blankets are tucked over him and he lays silently beside you while you card your fingers through his hair. His sighs against the skin of your shoulder.

You know he wants to sleep but fears the playback behind his eyes of the events of the failed Uprising, but his body can't physically stand to move anymore. His injured eye is packed under gauze and medical tape and you can only hope you did all that you could.

His eyes flicker up to yours, "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I owe you a proper explanation. Thank you, for caring for me."

"I'll always care for you, Silco. You don't owe me anything, this is what I'm here for. You can tell me when you're ready."

"Okay." He replies, stroking your cheek with the backs of his split knuckles before tangling gently in the hair at the nape of your neck. You lay like that together for a while, you drifting in and out of consciousness as the adrenaline wears off and the chaos of the day becomes a memory. You trace the sharp angular features of Silco's face lovingly, pressing a sleepy kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mind wanders to Vander, to Felicia, to Felicia's two beautiful children and Benzo and The Last Drop.

You wonder if things will ever be the same again and your heart aches at the silent answer. You know you'll never be able to forgive the man who hurt Silco like this; destroyed him at his very core and you know he will never be the same again.

"We can't trust anyone now. Only each other." Silco says, voice thick with pain.

"I'll always trust you." You reply softly, "Sleep, Silco. You need to rest. We will figure it out in a few hours."

Your eyes drift closed after that, the last of your sentence trailing off as you succumb to your exhaustion. The last thing you see is the pretty green-blue eye of your lover, half lidded and glistening in the light of the sunrise.

"I love you."

Mummy Dust - Papa Copia 💚 Australia, Sydney 2023

PLEASE???