MIA

Tsu'tey and my OC Ayluna 💜

He always looks after her, coz the TsahÌk told him to do so! After long time spending together, taking care of her and teaching her, how to life on pandora, he starts to fall for her.

I think, he only realises this, after the fear of losing her kicks in. When he starts to be over protective. Being afraid something happenes to her.

In this artwork I thought about, that he realised her beauty for the first time and his heart jumped a big. His body moved at his own, he goes into the water and pulled Ayluna in his arms. Keep her close, after the fear of maybe losing her one time too kicks in. Disclaimer : Ayluna is an Avatar but she is consciousness like Jake, she doesn't has a controller. She is 50% Human and 50% na'vi DNA she is NOT an albino

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kicking screaming and sobbing rn I LOVED THIS

First Love/ Late Spring

A/N: I had no right to listen to Mitski and write for Neteyam but here I am. I’ve been working on this on and off since December but finally decided to get serious and post it. Hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Masturbation(F receiving). Breeding Kink if ya really dig. Angst. Talks of self doubt and insecurity. All Characters are aged up 18+.

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Summary: Neteyam has passed his Metkayinan Iknimaya, and is now free to choose a woman. Why did you ever think he would choose you? Neteyam X Na'vi Reader.

One word from you and I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.

Tell me don’t so I can crawl back in- Mitski, First Love/Late Spring

As the beloved niece of the reigning Olo’eyktan, in your life you had wanted for nothing.

Had spent the last nineteen years in isolated bliss. The island of Awa’atlu and your tribes familiar inhabitants were all you knew. Your life moved to a steady beat, as sure as the morning eclipse. As rhythmic as the tides.

And you had been content, really you had. Too busy to be bored. Too beloved to truly dwell on the gap. On the absence of a mate no matter how much your Uncle; Tonowari urged you to accept one of the many offerings of courtship. Lonely maybe, but happy.

Useful. Focused.

Ever since the Sully’s arrival, you have felt anything but.

Descending from the skies on ikran back, they left plumes of sand in their wake. Shook up everything you had ever known as they stood there on the beach, adrift. Out of place, different then anything you had ever seen with their dark skin and thin tales. That morning had been a whirlwind of harsh words and brief but tense negotiations.

So much change had happened in such a small amount of time that it was hard to wrap your head around-

The leader of the Sully Tribe, Jake, had begged Uturu for his family. And ever benevolent, your Uncle Tonowari had granted it to them.

Overwhelmed by crowds, you don't recall much more of that day except for the desire to run away. To escape the strained aura’s of the hesitant clans people and the exhausted newcomers. You’d gone to away, eager to get back to your herbs and tinctures. To the safety of familiarity to digest the entire situation.

You’d been stopped in your tracks, rooted in place, by a pair of striking golden orbs.

A stare like none you’d ever known. His eyes resonated with you. Plucking a cord n your chest that echoed throughout the rest of your body. You’d never felt anything like it. Never been so affected by a stranger.

Never been so affected by anyone.

Even now, months later, thinking of Neteyam that look he’d given you on his first day here makes you hot. You dream about it, about him often. He plagues you, has taken up permanent space in your subconscious.

You wake most mornings to phantom touches. To his voice ringing in your ears and an empty bed mat that feels too cold.

This morning is no different. Your eyes flutter open with a gasp and your heart is beating madly in your chest.

It's early. You have only moments before you will be expected to wake and start your daily routine. Really, you should’ve been up by now-

Instead you lie in your corner of the family mauri, the privacy curtains pulled around your bed as you shoulder into the woven blankets. Your hands slip down- lower on your belly and into the dip of your tweng.

Between your legs you’re hot, soaked and pulsing as you always seem to be these days. Your clit swollen almost painfully as you press your fingers to it, rubbing firm little circles as you search for some kind of relief. Humping harshly into your small hand, cupping your sex desperately as you recall Dream Neteyam.

He’d pinned you to a tall palm, your belly pressing against the rough bark as buried his nose in your hair. All panting breaths and wandering hands.

“You’re so beautiful”

“I’m right here”

“Let me have you, I have to have you”

Dream Neteyam says all the things you want to hear as he ravages you. He’s sure footed, cocky in that way that you knew he could be. He’s pushy and needy and you’d give him anything if he asked for it, Eywa all he had to do is hint that he wanted it-

“Spread your legs for me, sevin ”

You bite your lips bloody, your fangs digging into them as your thick thighs clamp shut around your hands and your pussy spasms. You want to cry out as you come. Fight the urge to whine because it’s not enough, you’re still so empty.

Neteyam’s name is always on your tongue as you come down from your self induced high.

“Y/N? My Child, are you awake?”

There’s no time to bask in the afterglow, you wrench your hands away. Wiping the mess on your blankets as you shoot up straight-

“Yes? Yes. I’m coming, i’ll be out a minute” You try to keep your voice from breaking and just barley succeed.

Ronal who had peeked a head into the empty mauri isn't convinced, but accepts it anyway “Hurry now, we have to get going. The tide pools will be filling and we need to restock the sea-tsam(kelp like herbs), you haven't even eaten breakfast yet. Up!”

You only release the breath stuck in your chest when she’s scurrying back out of the home- one of these days you’re going to get caught.

Your people are free with their sexuality, there’s no shame in pleasure whether it be self inflicted or given by another. But it would make those pesky questions arise- if you’re so needy, Y/N- why do you refuse every eligible bachelor that comes your way?

You huff, thinking about that very thing as you get ready for the day. Bruising through your long hair almost violently as you chew it over.

If you need to be fucked so badly, why are you three years into adulthood without a mate? You don’t even have a possible suitor- your friends are having babies, building lives, and you’re still living with your family.

It used to be that you we’re hyper focused on your role in the clan. On your training as part of the Tsakarem. On preparing Tsireya for the day she reaches adulthood and takes over her mother’s title.

You had always been family oriented, and the clan had accepted it-

But now there were whispers. Inquiries, never spoken to you but always about you. It’s an oddity that such a pretty young woman with such high standing is choosing to be alone.

Is there something wrong with you?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The only thing that’s wrong with you is your inability to focus on the most mundane of tasks as of late.

After a quick breakfast, you’d taken off. Determined to knock the long list of chores down.

You’d collected herbs until your fingers hurt and the satchel slung across your chest was full to the brim. You’d tended to the Elders, and checked in on the mother with newborns, still so fresh to the world that they’re connected to their Sa’nok kuru, constant Tsaheylu necessary at such a young age.

Healing isn't always glamorous, and while you’d much rather be mixing potions and sketching in your journals- you check fevers. Change chamber pots. Kiss the scraped knee’s of young ones.

You’re supposed to be heading back to the Healer’s Mauri, the large hut where Ronal waits for you-

But instead you get sidetracked.

It’s all you seem to do these days.

Lounging in the soft warm sand is so much easier then running around the village.

You’d come across your cousins who were circled by Roxto and the elder Sully’s, and it hadn't taken much convincing for you to tag along on whatever little adventure they had planned for the afternoon. It had led you to one of the smaller isles, a tiny thing that was mostly white sand beaches and deep rocky cove tunnels.

Lo’ak and Ao’nung practicing their breath holds, taking turns weaving through the underwater caves. The two had went from going for each others throat’s to thick as thieves, and your glad. Lo’ak’s troubled, but he’s not trouble. Not the way that your cousin's other asshole friends are.

Roxto and Neteyam wade through the crystal clear shallows, hunting for clams that are abundant at this time of year.

You’re sat with Kiri and Tsireya, the three of you staying in the beach and giggling about current clan gossip. Chattering endlessly.

Neteyam’s shoulders are broad and glisten in the bright afternoon sun. You can barely tear your gaze away from him. Hungrily, needing to glance back every few seconds-

“The celebration is in less then a month's time” Tsireya states, a small grin playing on her lips as she takes in the scene.

She knows about your feelings for the eldest Sully son, you’d confessed them to her in a fit one night. Unable to keep them caged in your chest anymore. She can understand the appeal- her own eyes had been glued to the family since the arrival.

What she can't understand is why you wont tell him- or at the very least why you’re being so damn shy about it. You had never been this demure before.

“I know, the preparations have been a real pain in my ass” You reply, turning on your side to face her. Arm bent at the elbow, chin propped in your hand. “Tonowari has me assisting with getting the ceremonial mats woven. It’s not fair”

“I think he just wants you to be…a more active participant this year” Tsireya chooses her words wisely, ignoring your side eye “It’s sweet”

“It’s annoying” you hiss, eyes rolling harshly. Your tail swishes behind you, a firm pat on the sand.

“This is the celebration that’s held for the hunters. The ones that pass their Iknimaya’s?” Kiri asks, intrigued. She’s inquisitive and you’d assured her early on that she could ask you anything, that you’d help her understand the customs of your people.

“Yes and it’s so much fun. You’ll see, the Hunters come back from Motnaui(ritualistic hunt) and we spend the day roasting their catch, thanking Eywa for her abundance. There’s dancing and singing- “ Tsireya’s eyes sparkle as she talks about it, glazed with nostalgia.

You let her rant a bit more before cutting her off, “And mating. Most of the hunters will stake their claim on any courtships that have been started”

Because yes, it is a celebration for the newly joined adults of the clan, but goes hand in hand with the fact that it is their first chance to choose a mate.

“We have something like this back in the forest, it's the start of Fertility Season right?” Kiri verifies and you nod. “Does it coincide with the rains here, too?”

“Mhmm, most newly mated pairs will spend the week or so tucked away…-” Tsireya’s cheeks get red and you roll your eyes.

“Coupling” You interject and she shoots you a look that has you tittering. Awe, your sweet young cousin, still a year away from her own Iknimaya. Innocent and shy when it comes to such topics.

Kiri doesn't look scandalized- she’d come to adulthood back in the forest. Though she hasn't chosen a mate she had partaken in many of the festivities.

“Yes, coupling” Tsireya continues. “Its all beautiful really, its my favorite time of year. Right after the return of the Tulkun of course”

Its nice listening to your cousin's version of the celebration. You think that yeah, your own view of it all used to be mostly the same. That was until you’d reached adulthood, and had spent the last cycles without a mate of your own. This week that Tsireya found so beautiful had just been wet for you. Yourself and other unmated , able bodied Na’vi took on the duties of the disposed clan members.

It was an honor to take care of your people while they were vulnerable.

It was embarrassing to have not found a mate of your own yet.

You wonder if this year you’d spend the week in the rain again.

“You don't seem excited” Kiri whispers and you force a smile onto your face almost instantly, not wanting to come off so extremely transparent.

“It’s not that I’m not-”

“Y/N hasn't mated yet”

“Obviously Tsireya, thank you for pointing that out” you deadpan at the girl but she continues on, not phased in the least by your attitude-

“But I do think that will change this year”

Kiri perks up, big eyes interested, a brow arched “Really? Has someone caught your eye? Every time any one even tries to start courting you, you give them the cold shoulder”

“That’s not true, I’m nice about it” you defend your actions “I just haven't been interested in any of their offers”

“‘Their’ being half of the unmated men in this clan” Kiri’s sarcasm rivals your own, you flick a small shell at her forehead.

“It hasn't felt right and Eywa wouldn't want me to settle. '' The words taste condescending as they roll off your tongue, you don't blame them for scoffing at you but it's true.

If you had accepted an offer in the past, you wouldn't be free to follow your hearts desire now…your eyes flick back to the shore. Back to the broad shoulders.

“I’m sure whoever you choose will be honored,” Kiri chuckles. “Surprised though, probably. I overheard a couple of Elder’s making bets that you’d make another suitor cry this year”

The peel of laughter that Tsireya lets out is shrill and loud,

Roxto and Neteyam’s heads turn, far out enough now that the surely cant hear the conversation but can hear the shrieks of joy. Roxto grins and signs something that you can't quite make out and Neteyam gives a small wave.

You can feel the big stupid smile on your face, it’s no surprise that Kiri acknowledges it.

“You didn't answer my question. Is there anyone in particular that you have your eye on?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. You’d been wanting to run it past her for weeks. Desperate for her insight but too embarrassed to muster up the courage and ask for it.

“Tell her, tsmuk’tu” Tsireya urges gently.

“I have been hoping that…Neteyam might choose to court me. After his Iknimaya” You admit it, carefully watching her for her reaction. Your own ears are pressed to your head, your fingers winding around each other nervously.

“I was wondering why that idiot was going through his rites again” Kiri nods, like she’d found the missing piece of a puzzle.

One that she wasn't willing to share with the group.

“What’do you mean? If he wants to be a hunter, he has to” You point out the facts, the law of the village.

“Well yeah, but I mean look at how our dad did it. He didn't jump through all of the hoops, he just tamed his Skimwing on his own time. My brother has been adamant about wanting to be apart of ceremony”

You ingest Kiri’s words greedily, letting them expand in your chest. It’s hope, the fragile kind, the scariest kind.

“Maybe he just wants to prove himself as a hunter. We’ve heard his skill is legendary to the Omiticaya” you suggest and Tsireya pushes at your shoulder, shaking her head.

“Maybe” Kiri shrugs her shoulders “But mating is important to Neteyam. He’s always wanted a big family, I think he really idolized our parents' marriage. Mom said he must’ve taken an interest in a mate if he’s making such a big deal out of being a recognized adult here”

A big family. Neteyam wants to be a father.

The thought is heady. The seed has been planted in your head and you know there is no way that you will ever be able to dig it out.

“Do you think that-”

You're cut off by booming laughter, by clatter and chaos. Who else could it be but Ao’nung and Lo’ak coming back from the caves, they had the worst possible timing. You shoot daggers at your cousins fat head.

“What are you girls whispering about over here?” 'Nung teases as he drops next to you in the sand,

“That would be none of your business” You snipe, “Skxawng ass”

“Why so hostile, cuz?” Ao’nung starts “I was the one who invited you out here? You don't want to spend time with little ol’ me?”

“I spend too much time with you as is. I was hoping you had drowned down in those caves so I could get a break- NUNG!” you squeal as your cousin shakes his head, wringing out his wet hair all over you. The water is shockingly cold against your sun soaked skin.

Soon enough, Neteyam and Roxto come in from the waves, baskets full of multicolored shells. More than happy to share as they join the small circle.

“You had such a bountiful catch!” Tsireya applauds, happily accepting the oysters that Roxto offers.

You’re awkward around Neteyam on a good day- there's something so intimidating about his beauty. So tall and angular. But today? After the admittance you’d made to his sister? You can barely look at him.

You feel heavy and clunky and ugh, why does he make you so nervous? You’re playing with your hair, twisting the thick tendrils around your fingers idly when Neteyam turns to you.

“Do you want some?” He asks, already prying the tough shell open with his knife.

“Oh, yes please. They’re actually my favorite” You grin, and at least your voice doesn't project all the nerves you feel.

“I know” He hands you the oyster once he opens it and you try not to pay too much mind to how his fingers brush yours.

“How would you know that?” you slurp at the rich juice, grateful.

“Roxto was telling me about it” He says simply, already working open another shell to hand out.

“Oh yeah! Y/N remember when you ate so many of these that you got sick at dinner! I’ve never seen someone puke that much, it was never ending” Roxto chuckles, igniting laughter from the group.

You wince, the memory is not a particularly good one and you don't enjoy reliving it. Especially not in current company. You can feel your cheeks heat intensely.

“It was so bad! You got it all over dad’s lap and he didn't know what to do” Ao’nung adds hysterically “He just started panicking- picked you up by your tail and tossed your ass outside”

Tsireya breaks, giggling behind her hand and Kiri all but chokes. Lo’aks shaking his head good naturedly as Ao’nung and Roxto are in stitches- the only one who doesn't laugh is Neteyam. No, instead he gives you a gentle kind of smile, before going back to his task of shucking.

You’re only the butt of the joke for moments more before it ping-pongs to Lo’ak, who has almost cut one of his odd five fingers off in the process of prying open an ornery shell.

“Oh! Look brother, how pretty” Kiri points out the large blush colored pearl that Neteyam had almost swallowed.

“That’s good luck!” You grin “They don't usually get that big”

Huh. Good luck you say?” Neteyam picks it out of the shell, holding it between his thumb and pointer as he examines how it shines in the sun. Beautiful…

You’re frozen when he reaches out, the pearl in the palm of his hand.

“Here” he offers it to you.

The purple flush that completely takes over your face crawls down your neck too. You're completely flustered by the simple gesture of good will.

You should tell him that you can’t take it- that he should give it to Tuk, his little sister that loves making jewelry. Instead you’re hungry for anything, will accept any scraps of himself that Neteyam will give to you.

“Irayo” you beam as you accept the pear, tucking it away in your satchel for safe keeping. “I love it!”

He just gives you another one of those ever soft boyish grins, his eyes pools of liquid amber.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the weeks go by, there’s a certain light to you. A bounce in your step,

“Your aura has changed” Ronal informs you of the fact as the two of you sit in the Healers Mauri, plumes of heavy incense filling the space with fragrant smoke.

She’s far into her pregnancy now, but that has never stopped her from completing her duties. The salves she mixes with an expertise that comes from years of trial and error are potent and coveted.

Your lips quirk into a private smile as your fingers continue their threading. Working on a personal project in between your chores. “Has it really?”

She assesses you, her turquoise eyes all knowing as she takes you in. You’re a woman grown now far from the small child she had taken in with her husband all those years ago. In theses last few months you have blossomed, like a flower unfurling. She had an inkling of why-

“You are thinking of accepting courtship this cycle, yes?” It’s not a question, but a statement. One she already knows the answer to.

“I am” you whisper. “If he decides to pursue me, that is”

The comfortable quiet is back, both of you focusing on your respective tasks. You’d always been content just to bask in your Aunt’s presence.

“The Sully boy would be a fool not to court you” Ronal breaks the silence bluntly and you really should've had expected that she already knew.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Where dread usually lives in your heart at this time of year, lies only excitement. Joy, that fragile hope as you prepare for the festival. Anyone who knows you can see the change, you throw yourself head first into ceremony prep. Spend hours sitting with Tsireya eagerly sowing together new pieces of clothing for the festivities.

You sing as you tend to your house work, sweet little tunes that your family is surprised to hear.

Tonowari is beaming, endlessly happy that you are going to give a member of the clan a chance. He’d been questioning your self induced isolation for years, and was eager to see which of his warriors had stolen your heart. Ronal refuses to tell him even though he knows she knows,

“It is not mine to share” his wife rebuff’s every time he questions.

As the day of the Iknimaya draws closer you try to make sure that Neteyam knows that you are open to courtship. You spend a decent amount of time with his family anyway, Tsireya and Lo’ak always connected at the hip and Kiri growing into a close friend.

You ask him about his training, tend to any wounds he may aquire diligently. Laugh at his bad jokes, and listen to his stories of home. He misses the forest, you can tell. You selfishly hope that there isn't a pretty Omaticayan girl waiting for him.

At dinner, in the largest communal mauri, filled to the brim with clans members who are all but vibrating with excitement for the close looming festivities, you navigate the people.

In your hands, a large plate made from a recycled shell piled is high. Fish roasted over the fire, steamed rice and root vegetables that you had harvested yourself.

You’d watched Neteyam along with a handful of other training warriors limp into dinner late. They look tired and worn down.

He’d plopped down next to his family without getting himself food, and that just wouldn't do.

“Jake, Neytiri- I see you” You greet his parents as you approach. The sit close together, always intertwined in one way or another.

‘He idolizes our parents marriage’

You understand Kiri’s words as you watch Toruk Makto and his mate, as you appraise their close bond.

Jake grins, Tuk in his lap. Greeting you right back, easy to conversate with. Neytiri is quieter, hard to read. Intimidating, just like Neteyam who favors her so much in looks. Still the older woman signs the greeting back to you.

“You look really rough” is not what you meant to say to their son. Neteyams brow bones rise and you could kick yourself. Definitely would later.

“Thanks, I feel it” Neteyam responds with a tired chuckle.

Instead you laugh too, albeit awkwardly, trying to remedy the situation “What I mean is, you didn't get yourself food- and I know how exhausting training can be. Here, please eat. I’d hate for you to lose strength this close to your rite”

He accepts the plate of food graciously and you try to ignore the heavy feeling of eyes on you. His families, the clans. People have noticed you, have noticed this act of service. There’s only one thing it can mean.

“Irayo Y/N, I appreciate you” he thanks, making room for you on the log that he’s sat atop “Would you like to sit with us?”

“Very much so- but I promised Elder Raou’wal that I would help him back to his mauri. His legs don't work like they used to, and I don't want him to fall again-” you curse your nature, the fact that you offer your help so freely.

All you want to do is take that seat, so close to Neteyam that your thighs would press against one and others.

“That is very kind” Neteyam soothes “It’s okay, another time”

“Yes, another time” You know you sound like an idiot. You feel like an idiot. Standing before him and his family uninvited.

You need to make a quick escape, overwhelmed by all of the attention. “Please, get some rest before tomorrow. I’ve had to tend to over worked warriors all week”

Neteyam’s grin…is something else. Something not so sweet. Something that makes you flustered, that he’s looking at you like that in front of his parents, in front of the tribe. “Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Will you be there, tomorrow?”

“Of course I will” your response is quick, eager and it just makes that look on his face more intense.

“Good. Then I know everything will go well” his words make your heart beat so loudly your ears ring.

You don’t even know what to say, can barley keep your cool as you utter goodbye to his family, all of them quite obviously amused as you begin to scurry away.

You know the blush is burning up your whole face, that everyone can see your feelings as clear as day.

But-

You can’t leave him like that. Not with him facing is Iknimaya in the morning, with all of its promises of danger.

“May Eywa be with you, tomorrow and always” you give him the quiet blessing, truly hoping that the great mother looks over him.

He softens, physically. All of him slumping, as though you had put a balm on a jagged cut.

You don't wait for a reply.

Tonowari watches the exchange from his place at the head of the room,

Oh.

That is who had caught your eye, the warrior that had broken your resolve.

He shares a look with Ronal, his eyes comically wide and she laughs lowly at him.

“Ah my love, you have always been so slow”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Iknimaya rituals go as they always go, a long day full of young, strong hearted Na’vi eager to prove themselves. Most of them don’t succeed, at least half of them will need to wait until the next cycle to attempt it again.

Your family is at the center, you stand proudly behind Olo’eyktan Tonowari and Tsahik Ronal as they guide the young clan members through the rite of passage. Tsireya beside you, knowing that next cycle it will be her and Lo’ak attempting their own rites. Ao’nung cheering on young hunters that he had trained himself.

You love all of your people, the Metkayina one beating heart under Eywa’s watchful eye- yet you can't tear your focus away from Neteyam.

Your eyes are glued to him, and him only. The entire time. You watch, anxious and in awe. He’s so strong, all lean muscle and sharp mind. He mounts his Skimwing on the first try, much to the surprise of his peers. The people cheer him on, whopping loudly.

He’s beautiful, capable and skilled. He’s…stolen something from you. Abducted your soul, enthralled your thoughts in a way that almost felt intrusive.

You watch as the son of the first becomes a son of the sea, a man in both the Metkayina and Omiticaya tribes. A feat that almost none have accomplished.

The Motnaui is tradition, the freshly rited hunters will join the seasoned on a days long hunt. The time in the open ocean solidifies their bond to the tribe, their place that they have earned. Their chief will join them. Tonowari is eager, ecstatic for the time he gets to spend with his new hunters. With his ever growing tribe.

Everyone gathers to see the hunters off, so much love filling the crowded beach. Your people a buzz, tearful. Joyous.

You trail your fingers over the colorful Lei that lies around your neck. It matches the floral wreath nestled atop your head; the orchids are vibrant shades of fuchsia pinks and sunset yellows to represent your family.

They come in all shades, neon greens and baby blues, lilac purples and vibrant reds.

They are traded between your people at this time of year. Elders give them to children, sisters to their brothers. Tonowari wears many around his neck, the visual representation of how beloved he is to his clan.

To give a Lei can be friendly and platonic, sure. Especially if it is one of the dozens that are made just to be handed out- if a person wears multiple for clear decoration and celebration purposes only.

It can also be a very clear invitation for courtship- or at the very least consensual coupling. If a woman takes her lei off her own neck and presents it to a man, it is a sign of ownership. Marking that the specific male is taken for the duration of the fertility season.

You need to give Neteyam yours before he leaves, you want him to know that he has you. That you are his- and that you want him to be yours. That you will wait for him as he hunts and when he returns, he can have all of you.

You’re trying to find him in the crowd, your eyes scanning for the familiar dark blue skin that stands out so shockingly amongst your people-

Neteyam is with his family, all of them exuding proud energy. His mother cups his face in her lithe hands, his sisters hold onto his arms. His father pats his shoulder and his brother stares at him like he’s hung the stars.

You don't want to intrude on the moment, but you have to catch him before he leaves-

It’s like watching a horrible accident, like being witness to carnage that you just can't stop.

Seychelle, a clans member two years your junior, is beautiful. She’s a skilled singer and the daughter of a high ranking fisherman. She’s tall and shapely with pretty eyes, and its her first cycle as an eligible adult. As a woman grown who is available to mate.

She walks right up to Neteyam and his family boldly. Unafraid or ridden by anxiety like you always seem to be. All flirty smiles and fluttering lashes.

You’re too far away, can't hear what she says but you wouldn't want to anyway. Your chest is caving in and you feel like you can't breathe, your ears ring with the lack of oxygen.

You could challenge her. You have a high standing in the clan. You have first choice when it comes to mates,

But instead you just stand there. Bare witness to her taking off her bright orange Lei and slip it around Neteyams neck. He accepts it without a fuss, grinning and you can see his mouth form the words “thank you”.

Your nose burns and tears prick threateningly at your eyes but you know you can not let them fall. Not here.

You do what you do best;

You run away.

Not bothering to explain your exit to anyone, you probably couldn't form words around the lump in your throat anyway, you run as fast as you can. The world feels very far away, like it exists without you in it.

Your family mauri is empty, everyone's still at the beach and you don't even bother making it to your bed. You collapse right inside the entrance as the tears finally over take you and your eyes flood over.

What were you thinking?

How had you read this whole thing so wrong?

Your mind is dangerous, cruel in its confused, hurt state. It assaults you and you sob into your hands. You feel stupid now, in the special clothes you'd donned. Your hair twisted meticulously-

He had never been interested in you, you’d taken his innate kindness and skewed it. Neteyam had just been nice to you and you being the simple minded girl you were- had tried to force it into something more.

You curse yourself, curse your heart. Curse that fragile hope that you had clung to so desperately.

You cry until you feel sick, your eyes swollen and back tight from sobbing. You’re dizzy and tired by the time you crawl over to your bed. You don't even get under the covers, just stare blankly at the wall of the mauri as tears roll down your cheeks.

Who knew one person could produce so many tears? You wonder when your body will run out. You don't know how much time passes, only aware that darkness starts to fill the space as the evening eclipse arises.

“Oh, YN” the silence is broken by your cousin's soft voice.

Tsireya had wondered where you had gone, had been confused about your departure until she clocked Neteyam with a Lei around his neck that was quite obviously not yours.

“I’m sorry” Is all she whispers as she slips into the bed next to you, her arm winding around your middle.

It starts a whole nother round of tears. Of crying, mourning what you thought you could have.

“I-I-I’m so s-stupid” you stutter, snotty and muffled. She shakes her head, tears of her own starting to form as she holds you tighter.

“No, don't say that cousin. You’re not stupid” Tsireya soothes as she pets your hair. It hurts to see you in such a state. This had to be a mistake, she had been so sure of Neteyams feelings for you. Everyone had.

You shake your head, because you know you are. You knew you had little chance and still you’d paraded yourself in front of him like an idiot.

Never again, you vow to yourself.

To your shattered heart.

Wow, okay I didnt expect this to be so big, but I got so caught up in Metkayina Lore building that I kind of got sidetracked. Safe to say 90% of this story is going to be canon divergent. All of this Lore is my own creation and not Mr. Cameron's.

I have to give a shout out to two authors in the Avatar fandom that have inspired me the most as I write this.

@tiredmamaissy has really carved out a niche when it comes to the sexual nature of Pandora. I love the way she portrays Na'vi relationships and if this story leans a bit A/B/O its because I cant see the Na've not going to Heat's/Ruts now. She's just so good.

@loaksky when I tell you that reading her work makes me want to hone my craft, I mean that shit. She is a wordsmith in a way that you don't see much anymore. I am obsessed with how she long hand story tells and I def feel inspired everytime I read one of her fics. Queen of will they wont they/ slow burn.

---

growing sideways

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x fem! reader

summary: kuroo tetsurou is all grown up. you think you might have to learn to let him go. or: an exploration of love, and loving things.

note: sorry that it's been so long!! college has been so silly funny goofy (derogatory) but i'm on break now and pretending that i dno't have to go back in a week.

sort of spoilers for occupations (kuroo, kenma, yaku) post-timeskip! (but also doesn’t really follow canonical futures… sort of a mess, to be honest.) my attempt at reconciling what i’d hoped for him and what he becomes.  title taken from a noah kahan song of the same name that has next to nothing to do with the actual fic.

cw: mention of throwing up (doesn’t actually happen, though)

___

When Kuroo Tetsurou gets scouted to a professional team in Russia, you’re the last person he tells. Technically, he doesn’t tell you at all – it’s Kenma who does, blinking up at you from behind a curtain of his hair.

“I thought he’d told you already,” he says, voice as apologetic as you’ve ever heard it, which is to say apathetic, as always, but with a dash of sympathy mixed in.

“No,” you say, because there’s nothing else left you can say. “He didn’t.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything, shifting his focus back to his game. You take the moment he offers you to exhale, quietly. To resituate yourself around this new hurt in your chest.

“Does everyone else know?” you ask. Kenma lifts one of his shoulders up, a half-shrug.

“Maybe not his mom,” he offers. This is poor consolation, and both of you know it – Kuroo hasn’t talked to his mother beyond stilted platitudes in years, not since she uprooted her life and his sister and half his chest and taken it with her, leaving a husband, a son, and a house with too many rooms.

“So he’s gonna take it, then,” you say. Kuroo is a lot of things – mercurial, bright, a pain in the ass when he puts his mind to it – but everyone knows that first and foremost, he’s a volleyball player. You’d realized it for yourself, back in your first year of university, when one of your friends had dragged you to a match and you’d spotted him, arms outstretched, fingers splayed and braced as if he thought he could hold a sun in his hands. When he’d landed, you’d caught sight of his grin, almost too large for his face.

Ah, you’d thought. So this is what it means to love something.

The next morning, at your eight-thirty introductory economics lecture, you’d shuffled in and put your head down on the desk, drifting closer and closer to sleep every second. 

Then the person behind you had poked you, hard, and you’d let out a half-scream, jolting up in your seat in a way that made every single person in your lecture hall, including your professor, look at you.

The person behind you had started laughing – an ugly laugh, cackling like a hyena, the kind of laugh that made you want to join in, despite your burning embarrassment. You’d swiveled around to face him as the professor resumed his lecturing.

“What is wrong with you,” you’d hissed. It was the boy from yesterday– the middle blocker with the awful hair.

He’d raised his hands up in surrender, although there was still a crooked grin on his face. “Sorry, sorry,” he’d said. “Just was wondering if you had a pencil.”

“You know,” you’d said, fishing one from your bag. “There are easier ways to ask people for a pencil than giving them heart attacks.”

You’d passed the pencil to him, and he’d given you a jaunty little salute with it, one that made your lips curl up despite yourself. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he’d said, and you’d turned back around again, and that was that.

Except the next lecture, you’d arrived at your usual seat to find a disposable cup of coffee there, likely from the little cafe downstairs. You’d turned to the boy behind you, raising your eyebrows.

“As a thank you,” he’d shrugged, leaning back in his chair in a way you’d suspected was meant to be cool and casual. “And also so that you don’t keep falling asleep in lecture.”

“How do you know I’ve been falling asleep in lecture,” you’d said, a little grumpily, pulling the cup towards you and taking a sip nonetheless. It wasn’t your usual order, but it was drinkable, and if you were being honest, you’d need all the caffeine you could get.

He’d watched you take a sip of the drink, a pleased smile playing on his face. “I sit right behind you. I’ve seen you take a nap at your desk every single week.” 

“I’ll have you know that that’s just the posture I learn best in,” you’d sniffed.

“What, drooling?”

“I do not drool,” you’d said, haughty. “And even if I did, how would you even know? You’re such a stalker.”

“Harsh,” he’d whistled, although the smile didn’t leave his face. “I’m just observant.”

You’d rolled your eyes at him, swiveling around to face the front of the room as the professor began his lecture. And if you’d managed – for the first time this entire semester – to make it all the way through without falling asleep, well, that was nobody’s business but your own.

The next week, another cup was waiting for you. 

“You know,” you’d said, “I think you’ve repaid your debt from the pencil in full.”

“Oh, this isn’t about the pencil,” he’d replied. “I didn’t get the right order for you last week, did I? I wanted to try again this time.”

You’d blinked at him. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Kuroo,” he’d said. “Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Well, Kuroo Tetsurou,” you’d said, “did you ever think about just asking me for my order?”

“What’s the fun in that?” he’d asked.

The drinks kept coming, every week, without fail, ranging from plain to ridiculously extravagant. He still hadn’t gotten your order, although at some point during the semester, he’d migrated from sitting behind you to sitting right next to you, passing you stupid notes and doodling all over your notebooks.

The last lecture’s drink was wrong, again, although you kept drinking it anyways. “You should come hang out with me and my friends sometime,” he’d said, sudden, and you’d nearly choked.

“What brought this on?”

“I dunno,” he’d said, uncharacteristically shy, looking away from you. “You know when you meet some people and it’s just like, they’re meant to be in my life, so you have to try really hard to not let them go?”

“So making a girl scream during lecture is your idea of an ideal introduction,” you’d said, and he’d rolled his eyes, leaning over to lightly push at your shoulder.

“You know what I mean.”

“I saw one of your volleyball matches,” you’d told him. Suddenly you’d wanted him to know. “At the beginning of the semester. Before we’d met.”

He seemed to understand what you were trying to say.  “What’d you think?” 

“You must really love it,” you’d said. “Playing volleyball.”

“I do.”

“Well, then, Kuroo-kun. I’ll come meet your friends, under one condition.” He’d raised his eyebrows at you, expectantly.

“I get to tell you my coffee order,” you’d said. “Some of these drinks are becoming downright disgusting.”

“You drink them anyway,” he’d replied. “But I suppose that’s a fair trade.”

You’d grinned at him, and he’d grinned back, and it’d all gone from there. 

You’ve known since you started talking to him that Kuroo is a natural at getting people to orbit around him. He draws people near – crooked grin, warm eyes, quick wit – and then holds them there, at arm’s length, never quite letting them get any closer. You’d thought, perhaps, that you could be an exception to this. That he’d seen something in you that was enough for him to want to let you in. To pull you close. The thing is this: in your heart of hearts you are a romantic, and to you Kuroo has always been a little like the sun, like tilting your face towards the golden wash of afternoon and remembering, soft and gentle like falling into something, So this is what it is to love.

“I don’t know,” Kenma says, and you look at him looking at his game. He is, out of anyone, the most likely to understand how you feel: the air knocked out of you, leaving you gasping and breathless . But he has the reassurance of more than a decade of friendship behind him, built on neighboring houses and the squeak of shoes on a gymnasium floor. Some days you feel like what you have with Kuroo is fragile and insubstantial, playing-card houses on a precarious surface. Like if he left he’d take it all with him.

“Of course he’s going to take it,” you say past the lump in your throat. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything, but the little sound effects from his game pause. He blinks up at you through his bangs.

“We should throw him a party,” you say. “Or something. To celebrate.”

“If you think that’s a good idea,” he says, noncommittal. 

There is an ache in your chest and you think that once you leave Kenma’s apartment you won’t be able to stop yourself from crying. “Of course it’s a good idea. You know how much Kuroo loves having everyone he loves in one place.”

“That’s exactly the thing,” Kenma murmurs, but you don’t hear him, already pulling out your phone to make a list.

“Invites, decorations, food… Oh! Kenma, do you think Kuroo would like it if we made him saba? Or went out to a restaurant that specializes?”

“Probably,” he says. The game resumes. “He’s always going on about doca-something acid.”

“Docosahexaenoic acid,” you correct absently, scrolling through a list of nearby restaurants. Kuroo’s talked about it enough – and despite your better judgment, you’ve listened to his rants enough times – for you to remember the name in full. 

You miss the look that Kenma gives you, exasperatedly fond.

It turns out that Kuroo knows a lot of people. Even more than you’d thought. There are the guys that he plays with on the volleyball team, of course, but then there’s also his other business major friends and the other undergraduates who work in the same lab that he does in his free time (because of course he’d be the type of person to do that.) Then there’s the neighbors he’d had freshman year and still miraculously keeps in touch with, and the ones from sophomore year. Then Kenma casually mentions that Kuroo still frequently talks to everyone from his volleyball team his third year of high school, and you have to beg him to let you use his phone and ensure that everyone from there will be able to attend.

Then there’s the issue of getting enough food: you know from prior experience that volleyball players can eat, and there’s a part of you that worries that the budget you’ve scraped together from whatever your friends managed to donate won’t be enough for one of them, let alone the stampede you’re about to invite into your apartment. And besides, there’s decorations to think about, and maybe a present for Kuroo, and maybe it would be cute if you could get one of those places that rents out cats to send over a couple – do those places actually exist or was the whole thing just a stress-induced hallucination? Either way, the stress of budgeting is enough to make you understand why Kuroo had succumbed to his base capitalistic tendencies and become a business major. You’ll never be able to make fun of him for it again.

Kenma solves this problem readily enough, extending a credit card towards you with barely any hesitation when you mention it in passing.

“Stop stressing out,” he mutters. “It’ll be okay. Kuro’s not the kind who’d care about things like that.”

You blink at him. He determinedly avoids your eyes. “Kenma,” you say. “You know what I have to do, don’t you.”

He sighs, setting down his game. “If you must.”

You launch yourself at him in a bone-crushing hug, and although you hear him click his tongue at you, you can also feel the way his hands come up to rest on your back, soft and steady. 

“He asked me if I’d seen you around recently,” Kenma mentions when you separate.

“What did you say?”

“Said you seemed busy. He said he hadn’t seen you and was worried he’d done something.”

There isn’t much to say back to that. You busy yourself by picking at one of the threads in your shirtsleeves.

Kenma says your name. 

“I know,” you say. “I know. I just – I don’t know.”

Kuroo has many smiles, you know. There’s the one when he’s trying to get a rise out of someone, lazy and lean. There’s the one when he sees a cute animal or a small child or the old lady you always run into the market, the one that reminds him of his obaa-chan. There’s the one he gets when he sees you, sometimes, and doesn’t realize that you’re seeing him back, small and fond in a way that makes you a little afraid, sometimes. At the enormity of it. At how fragile it seems, some days. At what it could become, if given the chance.

And there’s the one he has when he’s playing volleyball, the one that makes his eyes go all squinty; the one that’s a little too large, just on this side of feral, because he’s so happy that he doesn’t remember to think about things like presentability and not scaring the people around him, both on his side and the other side of the net. The one he has when he hits a kill block, or a no-touch ace. 

You don’t think you could stand to take that from him.

“I’ve just been busy. With the party planning, and all,” you finish, meekly. You know he knows you’re lying. Still, Kenma doesn’t push.

“If you say so,” he hums, turning back to his computer. “It seemed like he missed you, though.”

You hate yourself for the small spark of want that blooms in your chest. 

Kuroo Tetsurou, in another life, could probably be yours. You’ve seen the way his ears turn red sometimes when you press a little too close, thighs close enough to be touching at one of the tables of your favorite izakaya. You know he knows your favorites the same way that he knows his own, know that in his head there’s a file of nothing but his knowledge about you, filled to bursting. You know that there are days, hours, moments where his touch lingers on your wrist, your cheek, the back of your arm – never long enough to presume, just long enough for you to notice.

In this life, you’ve seen the way he plays volleyball clearly enough to know that he loves it. That in terms of paths, this is probably the most natural one for him, as easy as breathing. That the world is so big and he deserves to go out and see it, that he’s growing up and some days you feel in your bones that he’s leaving you behind, in the same way that you’d left behind the yellow rubber rainboots you’d adored as a child, outgrown and overworn.

You busy yourself with party planning, so that at least everyone except Kuroo knows that you have a valid reason for ignoring him. Once the budgeting crisis is averted, things go surprisingly smoothly: money really does make the world go round, you think, in a rare moment of reflection between arguing with the caterer and double-checking that you have enough chairs in your apartment.

It’s good, to keep busy. Drowns out your heartbeat in your ears. He’s leaving, he’s leaving, he’s leaving. He’s leaving and you’re not gonna even ask him to stay.

The day of the party is bright and clear, because the universe loves Kuroo in the same way that you do. Bokuto – one of Kuroo’s teammates, and one of your favorites out of all of Kuroo’s teammates (although you’ve long maintained that it would be difficult for Bokuto not to be anyone’s favorite) – is tasked with distracting Kuroo for the day, then leading him to your apartment. This is a good plan because Bokuto is, himself, easily distractible, and Kuroo is, more often than not, perfectly willing to go along with Bokuto’s distractions. However, this is also a bad plan because Bokuto is, out of everyone you’ve invited, perhaps the second-most likely person to spoil the plans for the party. (The first being Lev Haiba, naturally.) To counterbalance that, you’ve asked Akaashi Keiji, one of your juniors, to go along – he has a natural talent for keeping Bokuto in check, more so than anyone you’ve ever met. But you’d feel bad, leaving Akaashi alone to deal with the two of them like that, so to ensure your plan had the greatest chance of success possible, you convince (read: bribed) Kenma to go along with the three of them. Odds are good that he won’t do much to curb Kuroo and Bokuto, but you’re willing to hope that his presence will keep Kuroo from doing something completely insane.

Back in your apartment, you’re adding the last finishing touches to the streamers hanging in the doorway. Yaku, next to you, squints at the streamers. “They’re a little crooked,” he says.

You bite back your immediate response, which is to tell him that if you had a stepladder tall enough that he could reach you’d gladly go get it for him so he could fix them himself. Instead, you ask, “How is it, over there, Yakkun?”

“In Russia?” he asks, and you nod. He pauses, considering. “It was rough, at first.”

“But you got through it,” you say, voice coming out a little more desperately than you’d like. “You like it there now.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It won’t ever be Japan, but I think I can make it home. And Kuroo’s always been able to land on his feet, wherever it goes. I don’t think you need to worry about him, even if he does decide to take the offer.”

“Of course he’s going to take the offer,” you say. “Why wouldn’t he –”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You take it out to read a text from Akaashi. Heading back, it says. Be there in three.

Hurriedly, you jam your phone back into your pocket. “Okay, everyone, places!” you call, watching with a critical eye as everyone tucks themselves away.

“Lev, that’s not gonna work. Hiding behind the lamp’s not gonna do much.”

“Idiot,” you hear someone – Yaku? – mutter, and you laugh a little despite yourself. Your phone buzzes again. In the elevator, you read, and hastily you dive underneath a table with one of Kuroo’s kouhai from high school – Fukunaga, you think – to hide yourself, just as you hear the sound of a key in a lock. 

“I just don’t understand why she’d ask you to take care of her plants,” Kuroo says as he steps through the door, sounding a little bemused. “I mean, I love you, bro, but I still haven’t forgotten what happened that one time –”

Three, two, one, you mouth silently, holding your fingers out where everyone can see them, then –

“Surprise!” you call out, stepping out of your hiding place. The others all scramble to follow, adding their own voices to the chorus.

It is, to your delight, one of the few times you’ve seen Kuroo properly surprised, enough that he actually staggers back a step, eyes wide. 

“What – how – when – what is this for?” he asks, directing his question to you, standing right in front of him.

“To say congratulations, Kuroo,” you reply. Suddenly your throat is a little dry. “On getting the offer.”

This time his eyes widen with realization – and maybe a little flash of guilt. He covers it quickly, though, and you’re left a little uncertain, like stepping on uneven ground. 

“So you didn’t actually ask Bokuto to take care of your plants,” he says instead, and you laugh. The sound is a little brittle in your ears.

“Of course not,” you say. “I haven’t forgotten that one time when he –”

“Did I mention we have cake?” Bokuto swoops in. “I picked out the flavor myself and everything. You gotta come see it. The lady at the store was so nice, though I don’t think she understand exactly what I was asking her to put on it at first –”

With a wry eye roll to you, Kuroo lets himself be dragged away. The rest of the partygoers take it as their sign to start mingling, and you let yourself fade into the chatter, becoming nothing more than background noise. It fits uncomfortably, now, where before it might have been a little more natural. Kuroo has always been good at creating space intentionally, whether it be for you or anyone else: a sly smirk for your eyes only, a joke directed towards you and you alone. It’s one of the reasons why you think everyone feels like they can fall into his orbit more effortlessly. 

Kenma appears by your side, unobtrusive as usual. “You should talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Whatever you want.”

There is a want in your throat and it chokes you. I want you to stay. I know you should go. I’m terrified that I’ll never see you again, either way – if I made you stay and you resented it, if I let you leave and you loved it. 

“I’m worried that he’s getting bored here,” you say instead. “Like it’s not challenging him enough. Like he wants more.”

There are things that you’re willing to admit you can be slightly paranoid about: like putting too much of your heart on the table, like finding someone who loves all of you but the worst parts. Like loving someone and watching them start to resent you, like wanting to learn how to love in the right way but really only learning how to suffocate. And you know it’s possible that in this could be a combination of all those things, that rationally Kuroo knows better than anyone what’s his to keep and what’s his to give away. But you’ve known him for so long now, and there’s a part of you that likes to think you know him better than almost anyone in the world. It’s that part of you that insists you can see Kuroo Tetsurou getting tired, a little bit. He walks off the court with his head tilted back, eyes closed against the glaring lights on the gymnasium, far above. When he looms over the net, you think of it as less a state of being and more of a conscious action: a weary sigh. Another day at work. 

Kuroo Tetsurou, you think, is learning to want new things. To love new things. And that’s okay – that’s more than okay. There’s just a selfish part of you that wishes you could be there to see him through it. 

Kenma hasn’t said anything, staring at you patiently. You think you might throw up.

“I have to go,” you say, limp, and spin on your heel to slip out the back door. Somewhere behind you, Bokuto’s cheers rise above the din, followed by Kuroo’s cackling laugh. It makes your chest ache a little, but at the very least it provides you with some cover.

Your little apartment building stands at an intersection between two streets. Turn right and you’ll get to the park with the stray cats, the ones who’ve started coming around more frequently now that Kuroo has started showing up (now that Kuroo has started bringing them treats, although he denies it every time you bring it up.) Turn left and walk far enough and there’s a little embankment that slopes down to a river. Sometimes in the mornings joggers will pass through the area, but in the dead of the night like it is now the grassy slope is deserted. You sink down onto it, ignoring the way the cold sinks into your skin.

Part of you wants to cry. Most of you is glad you aren’t: can’t, maybe, or won’t. 

You tell yourself the grand lesson in this is that you have to be better at letting go. That there is a lot that your hands could hold – a lot that your hands could want to hold, given the time. Given the opportunity – but not all of it is meant to be held by you. That there is a whole world out there and tonight it feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

Perhaps the grand lesson is just this: that loss exists. That wanting perseveres.

“Hey,” a voice says from behind you. You know without turning who it is, fingers tightening in the grass.

“Hey,” you say back.

“Can I sit?”

You wave a hand listlessly at the space beside you. “There’s space available.”

He settles in next to you, close enough that your thighs could brush if you were a little more careless, if you hadn’t been holding yourself strung tight and stiff.

“Why aren’t you in there?” you ask finally, when it becomes clear that he has no intention of saying anything, that he’s planning on waiting until you start first. “It’s your party.”

“Why aren’t you in there?” he counters. “You planned it.”

“It was a little loud,” you offer. “Was getting a little sleepy.”

“You weren’t there anymore,” he says. “Kenma said he saw you heading out.”

The words stick in the hollow of your throat, between your collarbones. You can feel them lodged there. “Kuroo,” you say, careful to not let your voice shake, “you can’t say things like that.”

There’s a hand on your knee, long fingers and broad palms spreading over your skin easily. His hand is warm. You direct your gaze down to it. His hand is big enough that it nearly covers your knee.

“Why not?”

“It’s not fair,” you say. “I know you’re not that stupid, Kuroo. You can’t go saying things like that when you’re about to leave.”

He says your name, sharp and soft.

“And of course I’m happy you’re going. I know you’re not happy – not as happy here as you could be. I know it’s an incredible opportunity. I know you deserve it, and you deserve every incredible thing that comes your way. Or at least – I want to be happy for you, Kuroo. I want to be able to give you that much, at least.”

He says your name again. It sounds fond enough that you gain the courage to look up at him. He’s looking right at you. The hand on your knee reaches for your jaw, instead, cradling it tenderly.

“I think I’m gonna stay,” he says. “And I’m sorry for not telling you about the offer earlier. I just – I didn’t want you to think I was leaving. I wasn’t even sure if I was, at first. But then I kept coming back to it – the fact that I didn’t want you to think I was leaving. Not at all, not even a possibility. It made me realize that – well. Russia would be incredible. But I think – I know – I would rather stay.”

The words take a moment to sort themselves out in your brain. Then:

“Kuroo, you can’t,” you choke out. “This is your dream.”

“It was,” he says. “For the longest time, it was. And I thought it was something I had to keep loving. Something that I had to pursue. Like I would be doing a disservice to the me I was when I was little, if I decided I didn’t want to follow the path I’ve wanted since I first started playing volleyball.”

You say nothing. There is a sun rising in your throat. You are afraid to let it go.

“But you know,” he says, thoughtful, “I think there is a difference between loving something and being in love with something.”

“Yeah?” you say. He reaches for your hand, flipping it over from where it rests in the grass so that your palm is facing upward. Slots his fingers through the gaps between your own.

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing once, twice, three times. “Like – I love volleyball, you know.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“But I’m in love with it here. With Japan. With the connections I’ve made, with the people who keep me here.”

“I’m glad,” you say, because you are, selfishly so.

“And,” he says, hesitant in a way that you’ve only ever seen once before, back when he was just the boy with the awful laugh and the ugly hair and who kept getting you coffee and getting it wrong, “I’m in love with you.”

And the sun, blooming over the horizon.

---

simon fell in love years ago, engaged to be married to an old colleague until she went MIA, assumed KIA. It took simon a few dozen bottles of bourbon and a few hundred therapy sessions to move on but he did, with you

let down his barriers enough to welcome the idea of marriage again, planting a big rock on your finger and is currently next to you on the sofa, helping you pick handkerchiefs

and when there’s a knock at the door, he doesn’t stop his conversation with you. only when you hear him open the door and drop the bottle of beer he was drinking

your eyes follow his and you’re grateful that you’re not stood right now. standing on the other side, fully-alive and not missing at all, is his first love. still wearing that ring he gave her

---

TRUTHHHH UGHHH 😭😭😭😭

One thing golden era Wattpad writers had going for them was that they knew the importance of a buildup. I'm of the opinion that the sexual tension is WAY more satisfying to read than the actual sex and quite frankly there is a serious lack of non smutty writing.

Like I really miss reading fics/ x readers that start from scratch. Meeting the characters, initial reactions getting to know them, the tension the jealousy the TENSION the freaking tension.

Looking and looking away when they get spotted, touches that feel like they linger but perhaps they didn't and they're both so hot for each other that they think it's wishful thinking. And I don't mean just sweet sunshine romances, darker works can have a buildup too but it seems like so much is just about getting to the smut instead of the psychological aspect.

Bring back the build up!!!!!!!

---

this was so good 😭 finally someone who incorporated the beach scene <3

You Told Me Not To Think! pt. 1

Hi all- new to writing, not to reading, here on tumblr. Had to get the start of this fic out of my brain and down somewhere- let me know what you think. Already writing the next part.-M

Don't steal or post people's things as your own-not cool. None of these characters are mine-just borrowing them to advance the plot.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader (f)

Warnings: None yet, no promises made at all.

_________________________________________________________

(Not my gif- thanks @honey-dew-woo <3)

"Hey man, we don't open for another few hours."

You could almost smell the leather jacket as the man continued walking directly past you. You opened your mouth to repeat yourself, but he held his hand up, still walking to the bar. Your boss, Penny, had her back to the gentleman sat at one of the stools and removed his aviators. 'Typical Top Gun' you thought to yourself as you noticed all the patches littering the back of his jacket. You were about to march over when Penny turned, a smile overtaking her features. She at least knew the man, even if she didn't look overly thrilled to see him in her bar. You went back to wiping down tables and taking chairs off their tops, barely paying any attention to the two at the bar.

------

Somehow you managed to lose most of the afternoon while cleaning, prepping, and taking a few (well-deserved) breaks. You had hardly noticed all the people surrounding you as you stepped behind the bar, tying your apron around your waist. Penny threw you a smile that said 'here we go' more than anything. You casually rolled your eyes and checked your pockets: dollar bills, wine opener, bottle opener- you were ready for a typical night on North Island.

You took a breath, looked down, let it out, and then looked at the people seated in front of you. "What'll you have?" should have been your catchphrase as you moved smoothly through the back of the bar. Mostly beers, a few whiskies, a gin or two, and some god-awful made-up tropical monstrosity- this was just the pre-party to the main event.

As if they had sensed your thoughts, the doors flew open and your senses were blurred to nothing but khaki invaders. You looked around for Penny to give her a warning, but you managed to catch the eye of the man who had come in earlier. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and a shrug. You rolled your eyes and grabbed some new glasses as the pilots started to flood in. "What'll you have" quickly turned into "how many beers?" and it would remain that way for most of the night.

You recognized a few of the newer pilots, but suddenly you started noticing that you knew others that walked in. Most had been here a few years earlier and had left off on missions and deployments- surely they weren't sentimental enough for a class reunion, especially not here. Your thoughts didn't have much of a chance to wander as the count for beers went up as more and more bodies flooded the bar in front of you.

------

After a never-ending stream of Navy pilots and officers finally began to temper down, you finally caught up with Penny. She looked tired, but was enjoying a usual Thursday night. You smiled quickly and then saw the guy at the bar again.

"Who's your friend, Pen?"

She paused, looked back at him, and continued wiping the glass in her hands. The momentary silence pricked your ears. Before you could pester her anymore, you heard someone yell for you.

"Hey there, sweetheart! We're gonna need another round!" You turned and were surprised to see Hangman smirking at you. He hadn't changed much since you saw him-including his rage-inducing habit of snapping at you to get your attention.

"Hold on, killer, you'll get your beer," you yelled, walking his way. You looked back at Penny and noticed she was leaned in close to her friend who fiddled with his aviators.

"Hey Pen- Phone!"

Penny smirked at you, looked at her friend, and rang the ship's bell hanging above her head. Everyone cheered (and cheers'd) at the sound. The man looked around confused, until Hangman made his way over with a "thanks for the next round, pops" as Penny pointed to the sight behind her. "Rules and rules" you heard her say as you pulled another beer and filled the tray up, making your way over to where Hangman had wandered to.

-----

"I'm just surprised you're still here! It's a good surprise, I promise!" Phoenix gave you a half-hug while she held her pool cue in hand. "I figured after we graduated, none of us would ever be here-and that you would've escaped a long time ago!"

You laughed, "I've just been here waiting for all of you to come back and visit." You looked at Hangman as he finished her shot and stood up across from you at the pool table, "Well, most of you, anyway." He let out a snarky laugh and took a swig from his beer. Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy all snickered, with the last two high-fiving. You caught Bob smiling as he quietly sipped in the corner. You opened your mouth to go after Hangman again, but Penny waved you over.

You smiled at the crew and started back towards your post when the door opened with another sea of khaki. But this time, something was different. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the open Hawaiian shirt walking through the door frame. You immediately got to work refilling the bar in front of you and taking new orders as people started sauntering up to the bar.

-----

The last time you had seen Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw had been...well, honestly, you could barely remember it. It seemed that one day, the piano sat empty, the aviators weren't on the bar top, and his smile was slowly fading from your memory. You were barely paying attention to your pours as you tried to remember the last time he had been here.

"Hey, you."

----

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Pt. 4

Pt. 5

Pt. 6

Pt. 7

Pt. 8

Pt. 9

Pt. 10

Pt. 11

Pt. 12

GOOD LORDDDD.... LOVED THIS <333

──miguel o'hara nsfw headcanons. ୨୧ part two.

ʚ 🗯 ɞ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꓹ 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏 .ᐟ 𓏧 463 wc. afab!reader. sub!miguel. soft, service!dom miguel. praise. marking ( bites , hickies ). mild possessive behavior. oral ( r!receiving ). size k. titty sucking. face sitting. breeding k. fingering. daddy k.

꒰ 𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒚 ୨୧ ── goshhh .. 'm soso in love with this man !!! the obsession has been rotting mye brain u_u submissive miggy , my beloved 💭🐑 send asks to fuel mye insane obsession ( > < 🦑 ) 〜 ♡ ( please reblog mwy work if yuu enjoy it ! )

𔘓 miguel is a surprisingly submissive. he folds instantly the moment you show any hint of dominance. the man is so eager to please, so eager to be good and give you anything you want.

𔘓 he makes sure you're constantly marked up. hickies and bites constantly litter your neck. very rarely do you leave the house without his possessive claim.

𔘓 miguel is a pussy eating champ. he eats you out like a man starved, growling and humping the bed while devouring your sopping cunt. he's messy about it too ; slobbering and spitting. if he could, he'd definitely eat you out 24/7.

𔘓 when he is more dominant, he's more of a soft service dom. he's not one for degrading you, instead getting off on praising every little thing about you. he'll fuck you hard while mumbling how much he loves you, how pretty and perfect you are. sometimes in english, sometimes in spanish.

𔘓 he's an absolute sucker for your size difference, especially if you're significantly smaller than him. loves gently manhandling you, moving your body into all sorts of positions.

𔘓 major titty sucker. small titties? big titties? doesn't matter, miguel is gonna suck on them.

𔘓 he has a preference for slow, passionate sex. holding you close, grinding into you, kissing you and telling you just how precious you are to him.

𔘓 sit. on. his. face. suffocate him, ride his face with no care for his ability to breathe. he wants to be absolutely smothered by your throbbing cunt.

𔘓 you already know this man is packing. both long and thick, pretty veins all over. he has quite thick hair down there, but he keeps it neatly trimmed.

𔘓 miguel cums like crazy and loves cumming inside of you. you're always left dripping his release from your puffy, used cunt.

𔘓 he loves to finger you. he could spend hours with you sat between his legs, fingering you through multiple orgasms. miguel really likes to thoroughly stretch you around his fingers before he fucks you.

𔘓 praise him !!! it makes his eyes flutter and gets him so needy for you. he'd really do anything just for a second of praise.

𔘓 pull his hair and you'll have him seeing stars. pull it while he eats you out or while riding him and he'll cum almost instantly.

𔘓 he has a major daddy kink. he goes absolutely feral whenever you call him it. whether it be during sex or in an everyday setting, it never fails to get the man thrumming with the desire to breed you.

𔘓 miguel can be pretty vocal. growls and groans ; sometimes moans, whines, and whimpers when he's really worked up. he makes sure you know just how good you're making him feel.

　 　 　 　 　 ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪

© 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒖𝒓 ｡

---

THIS WAS AMAZING OH MY GOSH

reverie || bradley “rooster” bradshaw

summary: arguing with rooster in the rain. :) what could possibly happen? you definitely won’t kiss in the midst of a storm. right? right???? unless…

words: ~1.1k

warnings: brief mentions of violence, angst, cliche rain kiss. raining on the beach kiss (ok mayb this is even more romantic but i’m 100% here for it) also some swearing

a/n: MY FAVORITE FIC TROPE OF ALL TIME. i knew i was due for a rooster fic with the classic rain kiss scene, so here we are!!

“Echo. What are you doing out here?” 

You turned around to see a rather calm-looking Rooster standing by the dock.

“Leave me alone.”

Rooster sighed, and started making his way down the wooden steps. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

Keep reading

REALLLL they amt of times ive gotten the ick js bc authors dk how to fucking tag their fics

Hey just a friendly reminder to all the new and old fanfic writers for Avatar Way Of The Water, that "x oc" is NOT "x reader". I know the movie only came out a bit ago but I am seeing some writers tagging their work as "x reader" but its an oc. I'm tired of seeing "x oc" when I'm specifically searching for a "x reader". As soon as a author adds a name to the reader that sets it apart from the "x reader" tag. It is now an oc and a character. It doesnt matter if u dont like writing (y/n), y/n, (reader), (name) or even (___), these are what we use in place for the readers name or even their own oc. If u dont like using these don't write "x reader" content, This is so there is inclusion for everyone in the "x reader" tag as soon as an author adds a name it is needed to be tagged as "x oc", and ONLY "x oc"

So pls respect other readers and use the appropriate tags.

best bucky fic ive read period

•°∘∗ treacherous ∗∘°•

summary: you’re asking yourself why he keeps coming back, he’s asking himself why you keep letting him in. it’s a treacherous slope but neither of you can turn back now.

pairing: outlaw!bucky barnes x female reader

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors DNI), swearing, fluff, angst, mention of: alcohol, blood, injuries, guns, death, murder, violence, and non-con (it’s alluded to in regards to an unnamed character).

length: 16.8k

a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. i know nothing of the old west but this is fiction so. title inspired by this song and one part of this fic is inspired by a scene in butch cassidy & the sundance kid (if u know which part ur cool). second time writing smut ✌😬.

You never could quite handle the sight of blood, nor could you ever hide your instinctual response to it. Your father used to terrorise you with the cuts he’d sometimes earn from a hard day’s work, always finding your reactions humorous.

Each time he would smile and say, “You’ll get used to it one day, kid.”

That day didn’t come while he was alive and it hadn’t come now.

Opening your front door to the man you’d spied knocking on it from the kitchen window, you almost shut it again.

The stranger towers above you, his frame taking up the entire doorway, but your focus is drawn down to where his hands - covered in dirt and blood, press above his left hip.

“Ma’am,” He greets in a gruff tone. “I hate to bother you, but I find myself in need of some assistance…” The man nods to his injury, as if it had gone unnoticed by you.

It takes a moment for you to respond and when you do it’s with a jerky bob of your head as you step out of the doorway.

One blood stained hand raises to tip his hat at you as he enters.

Your eyes follow him as he wanders into the kitchen to his left, a slight sway in his steps.

How long has he been bleeding out?

Shutting the front door, you finally find your voice. “What do you need?”

Grunting as he lowers himself into a chair at your small, rectangular table, he answers “Rag, needle, thread, and alcohol - whiskey preferably.”

Removing his hat, he places it on the tabletop.

Okay, he’s done this before.

Focusing on the task he’s provided, you move around the kitchen and sitting room across from it, gathering each item.

The stranger is in luck. Your father had loved whiskey and there’s still plenty of bottles stashed away in the cupboard.

When you come to stand in front of him with everything in hand, you find that he’s lifted his shirt, providing an unobstructed view of his injury.

There’s so much…

“Bullet just grazed me.” The man observes quietly to himself. “Still made one hell of a mess though.” He grumbles, finally lifting his head.

Blood. There’s so much blood and the skin has -

A deep, rough laugh pulls you from your spiralling, making you swallow thickly.

“It’s alright darlin’.” There’s a lighter edge to his tone. “Just put the stuff on the table, I’ve got it.”

You do as he directs but remain where you are.

The man opens the bottle of whiskey first and takes three healthy swigs before pouring the liquid over his wound, hissing.

Quickly averting your gaze with a wince, you focus on his face instead.

What skin you can see is dirty, like his clothes. It’s clearly been some time since he last bathed or even tidied his appearance. His hair is long and tangled. You think it’s naturally a dark brown but it’s hard to be certain. A thick, wild beard hides most of his mouth and half his face, while a sharp nose -

Oh god.

You’ve seen the wanted posters hanging around town. Heard the stories that accompanied them.

Bucky Barnes.

The famed outlaw, responsible for some of the decade’s most daring robberies and revered as the fastest gunslinger in the west, is sitting in your kitchen. Tending a gunshot wound.

For the briefest moment you wonder who it was that shot him and what their fate had been.

Then you realise that’s something you really don’t want to know.

“Ma always said I could never be a tailor.” The man - Bucky mutters, eyeing his truthfully pitiful stitching. “But it’ll do.”

Placing the blood soaked rag on the table, along with the needle and leftover thread, Bucky’s eyes meet yours as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey.

You feel the shift in the air as he sets the bottle back down.

Somehow he knows.

“I’m not lookin’ for any trouble ma’am.”

“Says the man famous for trouble.” You can’t help but retort.

Did I seriously just smart mouth him?

To your shock Bucky merely grins, his teeth surprisingly white and clean. “That’s fair, but a pretty girl’s house isn’t exactly where I make my trouble.” Morphing his grin into a smirk, he amends “Unless I’m asked.”

Your skin heats at the insinuation.

“I won’t be asking.” You state firmly.

“Then you’ve got nothin’ to fear.” Bucky assures, his mouth returning to its serious line underneath his beard.

He regards you carefully and it’s only then that you notice his eyes are the most electrifying blue.

“I best be on my way.”

The sudden declaration should fill you with relief, but as you watch Bucky rise from the chair with an unsteady step, you hear yourself saying “You can stay.”

Something tells you the last time he bathed was also the last time he had a decent meal or rest. He wouldn’t be finding any of those things nearby, especially in his condition.

It’s a miracle he even found you.

The downward tilt of Bucky’s eyebrows is the only indication of his confusion as he looks up from the hat in his hands. “Are you -”

“Just for the night and no funny business.”

Bucky’s eyes study you again and you swear no one has ever looked at you with such intensity.

Then he blinks, focusing on the front door over your shoulder. “I left my guns with my horse. You can keep ‘em with you if it’ll make you feel better.” Meeting your gaze once more, his deep voice rumbles “But I promise you won’t need ‘em.”

How much was an outlaw’s promise worth?

Eyeing him in the same observing manner, you begin to understand what Bucky had been searching for.

Slowly shaking your head, you tell him “It’s alright.”

You had your father’s shotgun should it come to that and you were familiar with the weapon.

“I’ll show you the bathroom.” You declare, striding out of the kitchen. “If you’re gonna stay, you’re gonna be clean.”

Behind you, Bucky responds with a - dare you say, amused “Yes ma’am.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Your eyes fall shut as you lean back against the front door, sucking in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air.

There’s an outlaw in my bathroom.

Re-opening your eyes at that insane truth, you realise you’re not alone.

Bucky’s horse watches you curiously from where she stands in front of the porch steps, her gorgeous white coat shining under the setting sun.

Descending the steps cautiously, you extend a hand to the mare, letting her sniff you. When she makes a soft whinny and nudges at your hand, you move it to stroke her neck.

Her calm temperament surprises you, as she gladly allows you to lead her over to the barn not far from the house.

You settle her in a stall opposite your own horse, Chester. A gelding you aptly named after his chestnut complexion.

When you relieve her of Bucky’s saddle, you spot two guns amongst his belongings, just like he said you would. You leave them there in the barn.

Back in the kitchen, you clear everything except the quarter filled whiskey bottle from the table.

He might as well finish it off.

Wiping down the wooden tabletop to erase any trace of blood, you lift the bottle to clean under it and get a large whiff of the alcohol, making you pause.

It’s been years since you smelt the once common scent and it has memories flickering behind your eyes as you realise you’ve missed it.

Shaking your head, you put the bottle back down.

An hour passes, Bucky yet to emerge from the bathroom.

You stir dinner distractedly, staring out the window in front of you that overlooks the barn and the great nothingness beyond it as the sky slowly darkens.

“Smells good.”

Christ.

Heart thumping sturdily at the small fright, you let the wooden spoon rest against the side of the pot and turn to face Bucky.

Oh.

It’s no wonder he took so long. Bucky had found good use in a pair of scissors and your father’s razor.

His wild, untamed beard has been reduced to stubble, highlighting a handsome jawline. Bucky’s hair - which is a dark brown and currently damp, curls under his ears instead of brushing against his shoulders.

Definitely trouble.

However, dressed in your father’s old clothes, it’s hard to find him as intimidating. 

Your father had been a stout man, so you knew the clothes wouldn’t be a perfect fit.

The pants are a bit baggy and come up short, ending above the ankles of his bare feet, while the shirt tucked into them is an even looser fit. Bucky has rolled up the long sleeves to keep them out of his way, revealing just how thick and muscular his arms are.

“I can wash your clothes if you like.” You offer, realising you’ve been staring.

“No need darlin’,” Bucky responds smoothly “Washed them with me and hung ‘em over the porch.”

You hadn’t even heard the front door open or close.

“Kid, that wanderin’ mind a’yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.”

Nodding, you gesture to the table. “Well take a seat, dinner’s ready.”

Dishing out two bowls of stew, you place one in front of him, along with a basket of bread rolls.

“Can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” Bucky divulges, taking the spoon you offer him.

Sitting in the chair opposite him, you say “There’s plenty more if you want it.”

The two of you eat in silence, Bucky at a much faster pace. You’re only finishing your first serving when he begins his third.

Guess it has been a while since he last ate.

Or maybe this is just his usual appetite. 

“Is it just you here?” Bucky asks after polishing off another bread roll, ending the quiet stretch.

In any other circumstance you’d think twice before giving an honest answer, but it’s pointless to lie to him now.

“Yes, it used to be my father and I, but he died two years ago.”

The pain his loss caused wasn’t something you could describe.

Your mother passed away when you were only four, taken by illness. If it weren’t for the two photographs your father had of her, you wouldn’t even know what she looked like.

After she died it was just you and him.

When his health began failing him some years ago, you both knew it was only a matter of time. You had just hoped for more.

Adjusting to life without your father had been challenging, but you were fortunate. You’d been left with a home - having no one else to come claim it, and the money that came from loaning out the land to cattle ranchers. It kept you fed, warm, and content.

Bucky lifts his eyes to look at you. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You nod, your throat tight with emotion.

Pushing up from the table, you take your empty bowl to the sink as Bucky continues eating.

The subject of your father’s passing stopped affecting you heavily some time ago, but it seems the turmoil of today’s events has brought your pain back to the surface.

“I’ll get your bed ready.” You announce, leaving the kitchen.

He’ll stay in the spare room - your father’s old room. It’s bigger than yours, but you could never find the will to claim it as your own. You were happy in your childhood room.

Grabbing sheets from the bedroom’s wardrobe, you start making the bed.

The room is sparse, containing only the bed with a small table either side of it, the wardrobe, and a chair. On one bedside table sits the two photographs of your mother.

You’re slipping a cover over the pillow when Bucky’s figure appears in the doorway.

“Have enough to eat?”

You doubt there’s any leftovers.

“More than, your cookin’s somethin’ else.” He declares.

A smile escapes before you can stop it.

You’ve always loved cooking and it’s been years since you’ve had someone to feed or receive compliments from.

Dropping the pillow, you look over at Bucky and find his gaze fixated on the bed.

“I’ll leave you be.” You state, moving towards the door.

Still staring at the bed, Bucky steps further into the room and out of your way.

Glancing at him one last time, you utter out a soft “Goodnight Bucky.”

You’re startled by how quickly his dark blue eyes jump to you. Then you realise it’s the first time you’ve spoken his name.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

A pause.

Softly, you tell him your name.

Bucky’s deep voice repeats it, adding “Thank you, for everything.”

His tone is lighter again, like it had been earlier after he laughed, allowing you to hear the emotion in it - sincerity, in this instance.

You’re not sure why it pleases you so much.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

When you wake you’re not as well rested as you’d like, eyelids heavy and unwilling to open.

You spent most of the night tossing and turning, all too aware of the outlaw just two doors down.

Forcing your eyes open, you sluggishly get out of bed, taking your time getting dressed and fixing your hair.

Emerging from your bedroom, you peer down the hall to your right. The bathroom resides next to your room, the spare room next to it. Both rooms have their doors wide open, unoccupied.

Taking a few steps down the hall until you reach the opening on your left that leads into the sitting room, you walk in and find Bucky to your right, in the kitchen... making breakfast?

“Mornin’,” Bucky greets as you approach. Cracking two eggs into a pan, he answers your unspoken question. “Figured I at least owed ya breakfast.”

You weren’t going to argue that.

Taking a seat at the table, you ask “How did you sleep?”

Peering at you over his shoulder, Bucky replies “Like a rock.”

“And your wound?”

“Healin’ just fine.”

Bucky’s still wearing the clothes you gave him, but judging by the heat you can already feel in the air, you know his will be dry before you even finish breakfast.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

You walk back to the house with Bucky on your right and his horse - Alpine, as he’d introduced, on his other side.

He doesn’t mount the mare until you’ve reached the steps that lead up to your front porch. When he does you’re stunned by the ease and swiftness his large body executes the movement with.

“Thanks again darlin’.” Bucky nods, touching the brim of his weathered black hat. “For your cookin’ especially.”

Back in his own clothes with a gun belt around his hips, Bucky looks every bit like the outlaw he is.

For the second time since you’ve met, your mouth takes on a mind of its own. “Well, if you ever find yourself this way again maybe I’ll cook you something else.”

The edges of his lips turn up in a smirk at your offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a light press of his leg into Alpine’s side, the white beauty starts moving forward. You watch as she builds her momentum until she’s galloping, her and her rider becoming nothing more than a dot on the horizon.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 7 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Truthfully, you never expected to see Bucky Barnes again.

The memory of his visit had been stored away at the back of your mind and some days you wondered if it ever even happened - if it had simply been a daydream you’d gotten too lost in.

However, the knocking you hear on your front door one afternoon weeks later is very much real. As real as the man you see standing on your porch through the window above your kitchen sink.

Once you’ve opened the door, Bucky smiles in a way you can only describe as mischievous.

“Hi darlin’.”

You’re relieved to find not one speck of blood on him, just dirt.

Bucky’s maintained his shorter hairstyle but his beard has thickened, though not to the wild state it’d been in when you first met. 

You realise your memory had failed to capture the precise blue of his eyes, as well as the depth of his voice.

Quirking an eyebrow - but giving a small smile nonetheless, your only response is “Bathroom.”

Chuckling, Bucky tips his hat at you, stepping out of his muddy boots before entering the house. You assume the bag in his hand contains clothes since he doesn’t ask for any as he disappears into the hallway.

Walking out onto the porch, you meet Alpine at the bottom of the steps and stroke her neck in greeting, leading her over to the barn.

Bucky’s left his guns on his saddle once again and you place all his belongings on one of the workbenches before settling Alpine in the same stall she’d occupied last time.

After stopping by Chester’s stall to dote on the horse, you head back to the house and start making dinner.

It’s not too long after when you hear heavy footsteps cross through the sitting room, followed by the front door opening.

Glancing to your left, to the window above the sink that looks out onto the porch, you watch as Bucky hangs his wet clothes over the railing.

He disappears from view and you hear the front door shut before his voice fills the room “How ya been darlin’?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you answer with a simple “Good.”

You’re caught off guard when Bucky appears on your right, the smell of the soap he just used invading your senses.

Standing side by side, it’s impossible to ignore his imposing height.

The top of your head barely reaches his broad shoulders and you feel like you have to look up and up to see his face.

You lower your gaze as your heartbeat accelerates, unnerved by Bucky’s sudden closeness. However, it slows as you spy him inhaling the contents of the pot simmering on the stove in front of you.

“‘M starvin’.” He quietly groans.

Smiling, you roll your eyes and tell him “It’ll be done soon.” Pointing to a cupboard at the end of the kitchen you add “There’s whiskey in there if you want some.”

When Bucky doesn’t move or say anything in response you look up at him again, startled to find him staring at you intently.

“You a saint or somethin’ darlin’?”

He speaks gruffly, but you hear a trace of humour in his tone.

Scoffing, your gaze drops again as you take a step towards him, so you can stand in front of the counter. Bucky takes a step backwards to accommodate you.

“What’s saintlike about offering someone whiskey? And to an outlaw no less.”

As the last part slips from your mouth, you tense.

“You’re always talkin’ first and thinkin’ later, kid.”

Bucky merely hums in response, turning around to lean against the counter as his arms fold. The action pulls his shirt tight across his chest.

Not that you’re paying attention to that sort of thing.

“Isn’t that what saints do? Help lost souls?” He drawls.

“You’re lost?” You retort sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at him.

That earns a chuckle from him as he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m always right where I wanna be.”

Bucky’s midnight blue gaze hasn’t left you once, while yours constantly shifts away, like it does now. “And that’s here instead of somewhere nice?”

“Nice costs money.”

Your eyes dart up to his for no less than a second before flitting away.

This time you’re smart enough to not say the first thing that comes to mind.

Concentrating instead on the corn in your hands, you jump when you feel the rough pad of Bucky’s index finger under your chin, nudging your head up until you meet his gaze.

“Don’t start holdin’ your tongue now darlin’.” Bucky states in a low tone, dropping his hand.

Your heart is racing again, but you’re not sure if it’s from fear or... something else.

Swallowing thickly, you manage to voice “I thought you’d have plenty of money.”

“Sometimes I do.”

“Sometimes?”

Really can’t help myself, can I?

The left side of Bucky’s mouth twitches. “It’s not always about the money,” He answers vaguely.

You frown, “Then what’s it about?”

At last, Bucky smirks. “Curious thing, ain’t ya?”

The comment flusters you.

“Why do you wanna know?” Bucky deflects, leaning in until his face is only inches from yours. “Thinkin’ about joinin’ the life darlin’?”

“No thank you.” The bite of your words is lost in your breathless tone, the result of his close proximity.

Bucky just huffs out a laugh, his breath tickling your face. Then he’s gone, strolling across the kitchen for the whiskey you offered hours ago - or so it feels, and that’s the end of that.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Waking with a deep inhale, your eyes blink repeatedly against the bright sunlight your curtains do little to block.

You stretch with a satisfied hum, having found sleep much easier than the last time Bucky stayed the night.

It’s well into the morning so you dress quickly, curious to see if Bucky’s still here, maybe even making breakfast again, or if he’s already taken off.

When you venture down the hall into the sitting room, you find the answer to your question lounging in an armchair, one of your favourite books in his big hands.

“Not an early riser, are you darlin’?” Bucky drawls conversationally, not looking up from the page he’s reading.

You frown, crossing your arms. “It’s morning, isn’t it?”

He’s right though, you’re not one to rise with the sun - never have been. The few times you have are few and far between, the most recent being on his last visit.

Regardless, it’s not that observation that has you feeling defensive.

“Ten o’clock is hardly mornin’, you’ve missed half the day.” There’s nothing in his tone to suggest it, but you know he’s teasing.

It goes straight over your head however, as you’re too focused on what’s in his hands.

“Enjoying the book?” You snark at him.

Bucky smirks.

Oh yeah, he’s definitely winding me up on purpose.

“Tell me, are all your books so -” Bucky breaks off in a chuckle as you pluck the worn book out of his hands and press it to your chest. “So... romantic?”

You grasp the book a little tighter, having half a mind to hit him over the head with it for the gleam in his eyes.

An urge you think he senses.

“I like their humour.” Is your only answer.

Bucky hums lazily, clearly finding your answer lacking as he raises out of the chair.

The visual reminder of his towering height briefly shortens your breath.

Gazing down at you, Bucky lightly brushes against your side as he heads towards the kitchen. “I’ll go warm up breakfast.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 5 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’re not sure what shocks you more when you open the front door. The fact that Bucky is clean, or the fact that he’s holding flowers.

Flowers.

It’s definitely the flowers.

You recognise the handiwork too. Clara, an elderly woman who was as kind as they come, grew all sorts of flowers and sold them from a stall in town.

They’re a little wilted from the long ride here, but still vibrant and pretty.

Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, inadvertently bringing him closer, Bucky’s deep voice teases “What’s the matter darlin’? No man ever bring you flowers before?”

Dragging your gaze up from the bouquet and narrowing it, you jab “I’m just wondering if they’re stolen.”

Bucky only chuckles at your bite, like you expect him to.

You’re not sure what to make of that realisation - that you expect things from him.

Holding the flowers out to you, he states “They’re paid for darlin’, I promise.”

There he goes again, making another promise.

Kept his last one, didn’t he?

Your facade doesn’t last long either way, the corners of your mouth turning upwards as you accept the flowers, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand in the process.

Raising the flowers to your nose - and ignoring the tingle in your fingertips, you breathe in their scent, the stems of lavender standing out the most.

Before you can thank him, Bucky’s bending forward and ducking his head until his dark blue eyes are level with yours. “Was the money technically mine...”

Your mouth drops open as he trails off, his implication hanging clear in the air.

Bucky gives a genuine laugh at your reaction, the warm sound almost eliciting one from you as he pushes away from the door.

You watch him saunter down the porch steps to take Alpine to the barn, completely and utterly bewildered by this outlaw.

He looked dangerous with his imposing height, broad shoulders, and wide chest that peeked through the unbuttoned top of his long sleeve shirts. The same shirts that his muscled arms bulged beneath.

Not to mention his roguish features - the dark hair, thick beard, and piercing blue eyes.

He sounded dangerous, his voice deep and coarse in a way you’d never heard before, every word he spoke seeming to rumble out of him.

He just didn’t act dangerous.

Outlaws weren’t giving, they didn’t tease, or smile, or laugh, and they certainly didn’t let some girl smart mouth them.

However, you weren’t a complete fool.

You knew there was another, more prominent side of him that you were yet to truly witness. You saw glimpses of it sometimes - of the outlaw.

A man who was used to being respected or feared, or both. A man who had the strength and skill to take whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, and without asking.

Then Bucky would blink or turn away, and that momentary glimpse you were afforded passed.

It shouldn’t drive you mad, it shouldn’t make you want to see that side of him, yet... it did.

If you thought about it too long - the image of him being rough and commanding like his lifestyle demands, well...

You jump when Bucky’s hand waves in front of your face.

Looking up from the spot on the porch you’d been staring at but not actually seeing as you lost yourself in your thoughts, you meet Bucky’s blue eyes below his furrowed brow.

“You really get lost in there, don’t ya darlin’?”

Thoughts still scattered, you absentmindedly respond “I don’t mean to.”

Bucky just hums.

Shaking your head to finally clear it, you walk back into the house, listening as Bucky shuts the front door behind him.

Grabbing the old, empty vase that sits on the small glass table in the sitting room, you bring it to the kitchen sink and fill it with water before arranging the flowers in it.

You can feel Bucky’s gaze following you as he takes his usual seat at the dining table, but it doesn’t unsettle you.

Returning the vase to its place in the sitting room, you admire the flowers once more with a soft smile before treading back to the kitchen.

When you pass Bucky you let out a small, confused sound as you come to a sudden stop.

Spinning to face him, you feel the skirt of your light green prairie dress tighten around your legs, and you discover the cause when you spot Bucky’s hand holding onto the bottom of your dress.

“What are you -” You start, flabbergasted until you actually focus on the section Bucky has grabbed.

“What happened?” He asks, not even having to look up from where he sits to meet your gaze.

The fabric is ripped, splitting the skirt upwards about four inches. There’s a scratch to match it along the back of your right leg, which you assume Bucky must have seen.

You can’t read any emotion on his face, but you sense that he’s not pleased.

Strange.

“I was trying to fix the curtain rod in your - the spare room, but the wooden crate I was using broke and I fell.”

Fell seems like an exaggeration.

There wasn’t much distance between you and the ground, but you had landed awkwardly, the wood catching on your dress and scratching your leg - thankfully not deep enough to draw blood.

Currently, you’re more concerned about how you almost referred to the spare room as Bucky’s.

When did it become his room?

Bucky frowns at you but doesn’t speak, making you frown back.

A moment passes before he finally releases your dress, standing up. Still silent, Bucky turns and strides towards the hallway.

By the time you catch up he’s already in the spare room, assessing the window.

You’d been replacing the curtains when the curtain rod bracket came off the wall on one side. It just needed to be screwed back in but the bracket was out of your reach.

The screwdriver sits on the windowsill, where you left it while you tossed the broken crate outside with some unfriendly words as your leg throbbed.

Grabbing the tool, Bucky reaches up to screw the bracket back in, the height not even a stretch for him.

Picking the curtain rod off the bed, you sit down in the same spot and bunch the curtains in your lap, keeping them off the floor as you watch Bucky quickly complete the task.

Turning around, he takes the curtain rod from you and hangs it up.

“What else?”

You stare at him for a second before pointing to the wardrobe behind you. “The right door’s a little loose.”

Diligently, he rounds the bed to the wardrobe and opens the right door, tightening the screws in the top hinge.

“I thought it was you the first time I saw it.” Bucky says abruptly, nodding to the bedside table closest to him where two photographs sit.

Both are of your mother.

In one she’s holding you as a child - you’re no more than two years old, on her lap with a smile. In the other she’s by herself and younger, about the age you are now.

“I once told my dad that I wished I could remember what she looked like, he told me to look in the mirror.”

He hadn’t been exaggerating, the resemblance between you and her was clear as day. Something that always made you wonder if it was hard for him at times - being constantly reminded of her when he looked at you.

You might not have been old enough to remember it, but the love your father had for your mother shone brightly, never once fading over the years that followed her death.

“He said that was the only thing we had in common,” Grinning, you drop your voice to a faux whisper as you repeat your father’s loving words “She was a horrid cook and complete trouble maker.”

Bucky grins at that, giving a slight shake of his head as he swings the mended wardrobe door shut. “I dunno darlin’, I think you’re plenty of trouble.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

After dinner is eaten and the dishes are cleaned, you always move into the sitting room for a bit while Bucky heads straight to bed.

Tonight however, he’s joined you.

Each sitting in an armchair across from one another, he nurses a glass of whiskey while you stitch the ripped fabric of your dress back together.

You use the light provided by the oil lamp and candles on the glass table between you and Bucky, placed around your vase.

As you glance at the flowers you realise you never actually thanked him for them.

Drawing your eyes higher, you’re not alarmed when you meet Bucky’s gaze.

He’s always watching you.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

Bucky was right of course, no man has ever given you flowers before.

“My pleasure darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles.

You’re not sure why you suddenly feel so warm.

“And for fixing those things for me.”

It’s not like you don’t do anything for him in return, but you still want him to know you appreciate the help.

“I’ll fix anythin’ you need,” Bucky states a little rougher “Just don’t go hurtin’ yourself again.”

I didn’t do it on purpose, you almost huff out.

Bucky must anticipate the retort or something similar to it, because he stands, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful.

He takes his glass to the kitchen sink before returning, clearly on his way to bed.

“See you in the morning.” You say as he passes you.

“You mean afternoon?” Bucky calls back, his tone lighter.

This time you do huff, letting out a quiet “Shut up.”

His chuckle echoing down the hall lets you know you were heard.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 4 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

The fourth time you open your front door to Bucky Barnes is... different from the others.

Nothing’s wrong per se, but it’s not right either.

Bucky’s the dirtiest you’ve ever seen him. In fact, you’re struggling to find a visible patch of skin on him.

His large hands rest on the top of the doorframe and his dark blue eyes bore into you the moment the door is open.

“Darlin’.” The word is spoken bluntly and you instantly know he’s not in the mood to talk.

You have a short-lived thought of turning him away.

Instead, you step to your left, silently inviting him inside.

For the first time since you’ve met, Bucky feels dangerous.

Especially when you eye the guns still on his hips.

If this had been the Bucky who knocked on your door while bleeding out, you’re certain you never would have let him stay the night - let alone return.

Bucky trudges off to the bathroom, your eyes trailing after him.

When you hear the bathroom door shut you release a short breath, looking outside to find another irregularity.

Your feet carry you out onto the porch and down the three steps without a thought, drawn to where Alpine patiently waits.

She greets you cheerfully, nuzzling into your hands and covering them with dirt. She’s filthy.

Every other visit her white coat has gleamed, leaving you no doubt that Bucky cared for her deeply. Yet, like her owner, it’s hard to find a clean spot on her.

Alpine makes a noise and seems to nod towards the barn, as if to tell you that she needs food, water, rest, a bath.

The irritation you felt at Bucky’s stiff demeanour is replaced with concern.

You were in town only yesterday and hadn’t heard of any new incidents involving Bucky.

Not that you were keeping an ear out.

“What happened, huh?” You ask Alpine, leading her to the barn.

She simply whinnies in response.

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You’ve just started drying Alpine when you hear heavy footsteps enter the barn.

Her white coat shines once more, the familiar sight easing you, unlike the man approaching.

Bucky’s body radiates warmth as he comes to stand behind you, the scent of soap filling the air.

Daring to glance at him over your shoulder, you find him clean but worn out, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by.

Wordlessly, you let him take over the task.

You prepare Alpine’s stall, stocking it with fresh food and water while Bucky dries her. He’s quietly murmuring to the horse, but you can’t hear his words over the sound of Alpine chewing hay.

When Bucky’s finished he leads Alpine into the stall, closing and locking the gate behind her.

It’s almost humorous. Alpine and Bucky are clean but now you’re not. Your dress is soaked and covered in mud.

The walk back to the house is taken in silence.

“I’ll start dinner after I clean up.” You tell Bucky once you’re inside.

He gives no response.

After your bath you change into a simple white dress, the fabric light and less likely to make you sweat until you switch into your nightgown later on.

Stepping into the kitchen, you find Bucky leaning back in his usual seat, a bottle of whiskey opened on the table in front of him and almost finished.

You decide to make one of your specialties for dinner, hoping it will... well, you’re not really sure what you’re hoping it will do.

As you move around the kitchen you feel Bucky’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement as you keep your back to him more often than not.

That is until you have nothing left to do but let dinner simmer on the stove.

Turning around, you rest your back against the kitchen counter and meet Bucky’s stare.

He doesn’t shift his gaze and neither do you.

“What happened?” You ask quietly.

You don’t expect an answer and Bucky’s continued silence tells you there won’t be one.

Probably for the best.

Instead, Bucky lifts the whiskey bottle and swallows another mouthful, emptying it.

Pushing off the counter, you tread over to him.

“You should have some water.” You state, reaching for the bottle.

Before your hand can wrap around it, it’s grabbed by one of Bucky’s, the quick manoeuvre drawing your gaze.

He doesn’t look at you as he turns your hand over in his, focusing instead on your palm as he runs his thumb over the lines of your smoother skin.

You watch in a dazed state, letting him do as he pleases.

Bucky slowly brings your hand towards him, closer and closer until he’s pressing his forehead into your open palm.

The action stuns you and for a moment you don’t know what to do.

So, you go with what feels right.

Pushing your fingers back and forth timidly, you weave them between the strands of his damp hair.

The droop of Bucky’s shoulders boosts your confidence and you take a step forward, raising your right hand to join your left.

Bucky’s head remains bowed, his face hidden from you.

Taking another step forward to stand more comfortably, you release a small noise of surprise when Bucky’s hands grab at your waist, tugging you even closer until his forehead presses into your stomach instead.

Your heart stutters in your throat and your hands falter, but with a shaky breath you start stroking Bucky’s hair again, just as his strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tight against him.

Being held in such a way makes you feel...

No, don’t dare think it.

Growing bolder, your fingertips start drawing shapes on the back of his neck while you play with the ends of his hair. The longer you do this, the more relaxed Bucky becomes.

Eventually however, the sound of dinner bubbling concerningly cuts through the peace.

You look over worriedly, not wanting the meal to ruin.

Bucky seems to realise, his arms tightening around you before dropping completely. Without looking at him, you dart over to the stove and turn it off.

Dinner is eaten in silence.

“‘M going to bed.” Bucky states once he’s finished.

His first sentence since arriving.

“Okay,” You reply softly.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You don’t expect to find Bucky making breakfast.

Walking into the kitchen, you had been prepared to discover that Bucky had left long before you woke. You’re glad he hasn’t.

He doesn’t appear as worn down either, and the brief upwards tug of his mouth when he turns to see you is more than enough to have you smiling back.

While Bucky’s still clearly dealing with whatever, his mood has at least improved.

Predictably, it’s quiet throughout the meal.

You wait at the bottom of the porch steps while Bucky retrieves Alpine from the barn, admiring the flat plains that appear to stretch on forever all around you.

The sound of Alpine’s hooves reaches your ears and you watch as Bucky leads the white beauty to you, stopping her by your side.

“You gonna be okay?”

You’re not sure why you ask, but you do.

Bucky looks at you over his shoulder, his hands on the saddle he was about to mount.

He studies you, his eyes dark under his hat, before doing something that muddles your brain.

In a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, Bucky drops his hands and turns from Alpine, covering the distance between you in a short step before pressing his mouth to your forehead, his beard scratching at your skin.

“Just fine darlin’.” His deep voice rumbles as he pulls back.

Looking at you one more time, Bucky spins back to Alpine and mounts her in one fluid movement. Then they’re gone.

You can still feel the touch of his lips as you watch their figures fade.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Town was a good hour’s ride from your home, and it was for that reason you only ever made the journey once a week, every Thursday.

Your main stop was the general store where you bought food and other necessities. The store’s owner - Billy, would talk to you from his spot behind the counter, giving you a weekly rundown of town affairs.

Most of the time it was just mundane gossip you didn’t really care for, but not today.

According to Billy, there was a new gang causing havoc around the plains, trying to make a name for themselves.

“They’ve been robbin’ properties all over, startin’ fires and roughin’ up any fella in their way, they even -”

Billy never finished that sentence, but his averted gaze told you how it ended.

“Dunno why I’m worrin’ ya with this girl, God himself couldn’t find ya all the way out there.”

The declaration wasn’t that farfetched. Unless someone knew where you lived they needed to be lost to find it.

However, if someone was intentionally on the prowl...

You check over your father’s shotgun the minute you return home.

Some days it’s hard to forget that you’re a woman living on her own, with no help nearby. Tonight that fact looms over you like a dark cloud.

In fact, it keeps you wide awake, sitting at the dining table with the shotgun in reach until the sun rises again.

You’re sluggish the whole day, tired and on edge.

When afternoon rolls around you’ve cleaned the entire house in an attempt to distract yourself and for the most part, it’s worked.

That is until you hear the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance.

Fear strikes your heart in a way you’ve never experienced and you instantly wish to never experience it again.

Racing to the window above the kitchen sink with the shotgun in hand, you almost cry in relief at what you see.

A white horse and her dark rider.

Sucking in deep breaths, you close your eyes and focus on the fast thump of your heartbeat until it returns to a calmer rhythm.

You’re putting the shotgun back in its place under your bed when you hear his heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by three loud knocks.

There’s no denying the way you immediately feel... safe.

“Bucky,” You greet a little breathlessly as you open the front door.

“Hi darlin’.” He grins, eyes softening just slightly.

It’s hard to picture the sombre man you invited inside only two weeks ago.

“Back so soon?” You attempt to tease, though you feel it falls flat in your drained state.

You wonder if Bucky can tell.

Ducking his head and pinning you under his stare that’s regained its usual intensity, he responds “You don’t mind, do ya?”

No, never.

Smiling, you answer “Luckily for you, I’m in a gracious mood.”

The tease lands better this time.

Humming, Bucky agrees “Lucky me.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

After dinner it wasn’t Bucky who retired to bed first, but you.

The moment your head hit the pillow you were out cold.

Maybe it should concern you how easily you let your guard down just because Bucky was close by, but you don’t ruminate on it long enough to let it.

It’s late morning, maybe even afternoon when you eventually wake. The heat in your room makes that much obvious.

Bucky doesn’t say a word once you walk out into the sitting room where he waits, reading one of your books again. However, the smirk he occupies as he gets up and goes into the kitchen says it all.

While you eat the breakfast - lunch, Bucky has made, you feel fear start to leach back in.

You don’t want him to leave you.

Unable to voice your plea, you take your time eating, dragging out the inevitable until you’re standing and taking your plate to the sink.

When you don’t hear the familiar sounds of Bucky collecting his things, you peek over your shoulder and see he’s still seated at the dining table.

Your gaze meets his.

Bucky answers the question in your eyes. “I’m supposed to meet my - some friends east of here in a couple of days.” You don’t miss his slip of tongue. “If I wouldn’t be overstayin’ -”

“No.” You interject much too quickly. “No, you wouldn’t be.”

He nods and stands up from the table, gesturing to the front of the house. “Your porch needs fixin’.”

While you kept the inside of the house to a spotless standard, the exterior was starting to show its age. The porch in particular, the boards old and beginning to rot.

“I know, I’ve got new wood to replace it with.”

You had it delivered out a couple of weeks ago. You just hadn’t gotten around to actually starting the task yet.

The sun beams down on you both as you walk side by side to the barn, past the horse stalls where you give Chester’s outstretched neck a fond pat, to the back where the tools and wood are stored.

Bucky hauls a bundle of wooden planks over his shoulder while you carry a crateful of tools behind him.

That’s all he lets you do, refusing your help when you go to walk back with him to collect the rest of the planks.

Standing on the bottom porch step, you watch him go back and forth from the barn until he’s brought out the last plank, creating a large pile.

“I can help.” You insist, feeling guilty about having him do all the work, even though he was the one who offered.

Bucky just shakes his head with a huff.

“Darlin’, go inside and relax.” He instructs, bending down to pick up a hammer from the crate. “Or,” He adds, straightening and strolling over to you, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Sit out here and give me somethin’ pretty to look at.”

Your stomach drops as heat floods your face.

Managing a weak scoff, you avert your eyes and spin around, quickly retreating into the house.

Bucky’s hearty laugh follows you inside.

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Taking Bucky up on his first suggestion, you spend the rest of the day in the sitting room, reading.

When late afternoon creeps around and Bucky’s been outside for around three hours, you mark the page you’re on and get up to make him a snack.

Using the door at your end of the hallway that leads outside to where you do the laundry, you balance a sandwich and glass of lemonade on a tray as you walk down the side of the house.

The sight that greets you when you round the corner almost has the tray slipping out of your hands.

Bucky’s shirtless.

His tanned skin glistens with sweat, the muscles in his back and arms prominent as he saws a wooden plank in half.

The longer you stare the more scars you begin to see, most small, others not, marking his body in a pattern unique to him.

You want to ask for the story behind each and every one.

Blinking out of your stupor, you step closer to where Bucky stands in front of the porch steps, sawing through the few remaining planks.

Swallowing thickly, you call out his name.

Bucky’s head lifts, looking over his shoulder at you before the rest of his body turns.

For a second time, you fight to keep the tray steady in your hands.

You’ve only seen peeks of the hair that covers his chest, but now it’s on full display and you can’t help but sweep your gaze down, over his firm stomach, to another patch of hair that leads to -

“Made you something to eat.” You declare, lifting the tray.

It only shakes a little.

Striding over to you, Bucky grins “Thank you darlin’.”

His large, rough hands brush over yours as he takes the tray and warmth pools in your stomach.

“You’ve done a lot.” You observe, desperate to look at anything except him.

All of the old boards have been ripped up and Bucky’s already laid down new ones on the entire left side of the porch, as well as on the steps, where he now takes a seat.

“Should be done by sundown.”

It’s... nice, you realise. So utterly nice to have a man around to help you - to help look after you.

Though not just any man.

Bucky.

You’ll admit that. To yourself at least.

The sound of Bucky’s glass hitting the tray draws your attention. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s already finished.

“You keep eating that fast and your stomach will end you before anyone else gets the chance.” You comment with a raised eyebrow as you wander over to him.

Bucky smirks as he stands, handing you the tray. “Darlin’, if your cookin’ is what takes me out, I’ll die a happy man.”

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As the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, the front door opens.

You look up from where you’re curled into one of the armchairs with a book in your hands.

Bucky’s dark blue eyes roam over you for a prolonged moment before he husks out “Come take a look darlin’.”

He disappears back outside as you stand and make your way over.

Opening the front door fully, you take in the restored porch with a wide smile, stepping out onto it.

“Wow,” You gush “It looks amazing Bucky, thank you.”

You glance over to where he stands in front of the porch steps and meet his gaze briefly before he breaks it, pointing to a pile of the old wooden planks a few yards away.

“That wood’s no good for your fireplace so I’ll burn it tonight, that way it’s not takin’ up any space.” Bucky explains, moving to pick up the tools he left on the ground, dropping them into the crate.

You watch him quietly, leaning against the railing just down from where his shirt and gun belt hang.

It hadn’t escaped your notice that Bucky was wearing it when he arrived yesterday, like he had on his last visit.

You hadn’t thought much about it at the time and you don’t now, too mesmerised by him.

There’s a sense of delight in watching him while his attention is focused elsewhere.

Suddenly you think you understand why he watches you.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that darlin’.”

Bucky’s abrupt words startle you as he turns and captures your gaze.

Like what?

You can’t find the courage to ask him.

Shifting your eyes, you act as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what kind of name is Bucky?”

His chuckle makes you brave enough to look at him once more.

“It’s a nickname.” Bucky answers.

Watching him as he slowly wanders towards you, you press “What’s your real name then?”

Bucky comes to a stop in front of you and for the first time you’re the one that has to look down - if only just.

He runs a hand through his sweat dampened hair, pushing it back from his face as he studies you.

“James Buchannan Barnes.”

The confession is gentle, meaningful.

“James,” You repeat softly, giving a small smile. “Now that’s a name.”

Vivid blue eyes - dark and electric, gaze upon you with something you can’t name as you unexpectedly feel Bucky’s knuckles brushing against your cheek.

“Say it again,” He murmurs.

Your breathing grows heavier as your heart begins a wild rhythm in your chest, his touch so... addictive on your skin.

When your mouth parts to speak, his thumb catches on your bottom lip and it’s a miracle you remain upright, clutching at the porch railing.

Before you can utter his name again, you hear it.

It’s faint, but it still manages to draw your attention.

There’s horses in the distance, kicking up a large dust cloud behind them as they race towards you, the sound of their hooves echoing across the flat landscape.

You can’t tell how many there are yet.

The rough sound of your name returns your focus to Bucky, who is already marching up the porch steps. He breezes past you, reaching for his shirt and gun belt.

“Get inside and stay there.” Bucky orders sharply.

Just like that, the side of himself he’d just been presenting to you disappears, replaced by -

“Now.” He grits out, his eyes shifting to you.

That finally sends you rushing inside, leaving him as he buttons up his shirt.

Darting into the kitchen, you draw the curtain across the window that overlooks the porch.

Bending over the sink, you pinch the bottom right corner of the curtain between your thumb and forefinger, lifting it until you can just peek out.

Redressed, Bucky takes a seat on one of the two porch chairs and places his black hat on his head, tilting it down until his features are obscured and leans back.

He looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

You pick up on a faint noise and realise that Bucky’s whistling, as if truly unbothered.

A man like him would be.

Somewhere between a minute and an eternity passes before the horses - four of them, come galloping up to the house with their male riders.

Bucky keeps whistling.

The horses come to a stop beside each other in front of the porch, forming a line. The man to the far right urges his horse forward a step.

He eyes Bucky before glancing back at his comrades, pulling out a shotgun from behind him and placing it across his lap.

“Oi!”

Bucky’s whistling fades out, the sudden silence unsettling as he straightens in the chair, hat still tilted.

“Can I help you?” Bucky drawls.

His reaction has clearly thrown the men into confusion as they all look to one another before three of them focus on the man who yelled - their leader you assume.

“You’re not too bright, are ya fella?”

The insult makes you wince.

Bucky laughs.

It’s a sound you should find familiar for all the times you’ve managed to raise one out of him, but there’s nothing familiar about it - it’s dark and without humour.

Maybe it should scare you.

It doesn’t.

The men dumbly laugh with him, the one on the far left announcing “We’re here to rob you fool!”

Laughter rings out louder from them, the gang appearing to relax in this odd situation they’ve found themselves in.

“Yeah,” Another one echoes “Everythin’ ya got.”

Not to be left out, the only one yet to speak adds “That means any ladies too.”

Bucky’s laughter abruptly ceases and the leader notices immediately, unlike his three cackling morons.

“Ya gonna give us trouble fella?” He asks warily, the others falling silent at the sound of his voice.

There’s a pause before Bucky answers “Depends.”

“On what?” A moron sneers, clearly unimpressed.

“On whether or not you leave.” Bucky states, voice low and menacing. “‘Cos you make one move towards this house and the last thing any of you will see is the bullet I put between your eyes.”

He draws their attention to the guns on either side of his hips.

The leader hovers his hand above the shotgun on his lap.

Another moron lets out a guffaw, “They’re not even out!”

God they’re dumb.

“No,” Bucky agrees, his tone clearly revealing his dwindling patience. “But I’ve been told I got pretty fast hands.”

Knocking his hat back from his face, Bucky’s hands drop to rest on the handles of his guns.

“Bucky Barnes.” A moron gapes, looking like he just wet himself.

The atmosphere completely shifts amongst the gang, their leader’s eyes widening as he moves his hand away from his shotgun, raising it in the air instead.

“Mister Barnes, we ain’t mean no disrespect sir.” He quickly appeases.

Heads bounce up and down as the others hurriedly agree, watching Bucky fearfully.

You can’t stop the smile that pulls at your lips.

“Well boys, I’m not too bright,”

Oh, he’s good.

“So remind me what it was I just told y’all to do.”

Instead of actually doing it, one of the morons stutters out “Uh, well, you told us to leave sir.”

There’s a lull, Bucky’s frustration palpable, and a part of you believes he’s going to shoot them. In fact, you’re about to turn from the window to avoid the sight.

Before you can however, Bucky speaks again, his voice harsh. “So?”

Finally they gain an ounce of sense and urge their horses to move.

“Thank you sir.” The leader gasps gratefully, turning his horse around.

He’s smart enough to know he’s escaped a bullet, but not smart enough to see how his words irk Bucky further.

It doesn’t matter now. He and his morons are already racing away like the devil himself is behind them.

Maybe he is.

Bucky doesn’t move from the chair. Instead he watches as the gang disappears into the horizon.

When the sky grows dark, the sun all but gone, you pull back the curtain and move away from the window.

You’re lighting the candles and lamp on the sitting room table when the front door opens and Bucky steps inside.

Looking up at him, you straighten and say “That was...”

Trailing off, you frown as you realise you don’t really know how to describe what that was.

Watching Bucky handle the situation, making the four men appear stupid and harmless had been amazing, even though -

Even though they weren’t.

The realisation hits you then.

If you had been alone like you should’ve been, those men, those four men would have -

“Hey,” Bucky’s deep voice cuts through the terror settling in your chest - the terror he must see on your face. “You’re okay darlin’.”

But...

You’re vaguely aware of Bucky striding over to you.

“If you weren’t here -”

“I was.” Bucky cuts in, his voice leaving no room for argument. Grasping your chin, he tilts your head up until you meet his gaze. “I was here and that’s all that matters.”

The declaration is spoken gruffly, but the tender stroke of his thumb over your chin is comforting - the action belonging to your Bucky.

Your?

“Okay.” You reply quietly, after a few minutes have passed and his words have sunk in.

“You’re safe,” Bucky assures. “You’re safe with me.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

It’s late at night, the moon high in the sky when you find yourself standing on the porch.

You can’t sleep, your mind refusing to be quiet.

Too much happened today. Too many emotions were brought to the surface, bringing with them revelations you’d been trying hard to ignore.

Ignoring them now seemed impossible.

You’ve never had romantic feelings for anyone. You knew long ago that your future would be a lonely one, and you had made peace with it.

Then he came along.

Instead of finding your usual place of contentment in the loneliness each time he left, you found yourself counting the days between his visits, eagerly listening for his knock on your front door.

Then came the feelings.

At what point did your heart choose to swell and thunder in your chest at the mere sight of him? At what point did you find yourself missing his watchful gaze when it wasn’t on you? At what point did you decide to trust him with your life?

In your relatively short time together, Bucky has somehow managed to carve out a space for himself within you, and you don’t know how to get him out.

You don’t know if you want to get him out.

“Everythin’ alright darlin’?”

For a second you think you’ve imagined Bucky’s voice during your ruminating, but his presence beside you is real.

“Yeah,” You answer softly. “Was just looking at the stars.”

It was one of the reasons you came out here.

Humming, Bucky leans against the railing to your right, peering up. “There’s no better sight to fall asleep to.”

You remember him once mentioning that most of his nights were spent on the ground in the great nothingness.

“I’m sure,” You reply. “But I think I’d miss my bed every once in a while.”

Bucky lets out a faint chuckle.

There’s a comfortable silence as you both admire the stars twinkling above, but soon a prickling at the back of your neck has your head turning to find Bucky openly watching you.

“You drive me crazy like this.” He murmurs, almost to himself. “You drive me crazy all the time,” He amends “But especially like this.”

Like what?

You don’t have to find the courage to ask this time.

“Standin’ in your nightgown, smellin’ like lavender,” Bucky admits freely, repeating “Drives me crazy.”

Your body comes to life at his confession.

Goosebumps erupt over your skin and your heart pounds faster as a warmth settles low in your stomach.

“James...” You respond softly, not sure what to say.

“I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since we met. Every day, you’re my first and last thought. Always wonderin’ if you’re havin’ a good day, if you’re safe, if you’re thinkin’ ‘bout me.” He shifts closer to you, ducking his head until you’re eye level. “Wonderin’ what your mouth tastes like, how your skin would feel under my hands, what kind of sounds you’d make for me.”

Your breathing grows short and heavy as he leans in so his mouth is only an inch away.

“Gonna let me find out darlin’?” Bucky whispers against your lips.

“Yes.” Breathless and desperate, you add “Please.”

Desperate to be touched - loved, by him.

A thought you’ll come back to another day.

Bucky’s mouth claims yours gently, his lips softer than you imagined as they press against yours, his beard grazing your skin.

You’re tentative in your inexperience, but soon you’re pressing back with an eagerness Bucky happily returns. His tongue glides along your bottom lip, encouraging your mouth to open and when it does he consumes you.

Your arms anchor around his neck to steady yourself as his hands run down your sides to find purchase on your hips.

When you pull back for a desperate gulp of air, Bucky’s hands slip behind your body to grasp your bottom, making you gasp as he lifts you against him.

Securing your legs around Bucky’s waist, you cling to him as he carries you back into the house.

You use the time it takes to get to your room to feel him.

His beard scratches against the palms of your hands before you slip them into his smooth hair, all while you press light, shy kisses to the bare skin of his neck. The soft sigh Bucky releases enchants you.

Then you’re feeling the floor of your bedroom under your feet as he gently sets you down.

Bucky lowers to his knees in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hands close around the hem of your white nightgown, his knuckles brushing against your calves.

The only lighting is the candle you left burning on your bedside table and the moon beaming through your thin curtains, but it’s enough to see the desire in his eyes - which is surely reflected in your own, as you nod to his unspoken question.

In one swift motion Bucky stands, slipping the nightgown up and off of you.

Your legs press together instinctively and your hands twitch with the urge to cover yourself once more as you’re hit with the vulnerability of being completely bared to Bucky.

“No darlin’,” He husks out roughly, grasping your wrists and holding your arms still as his heated gaze peruses your body. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

The fervour Bucky speaks with has you weak.

Pulling you to him, Bucky’s clothes rub against your skin and for some reason make you burn even hotter as his mouth swallows yours in a passionate kiss.

Walking you backwards until your legs hit the bed, Bucky breaks the kiss to lay you down, crawling over you still clothed. His lips seek out your neck this time, sucking and nibbling at the skin.

The sensations of his mouth are soon drowned out by the sudden feel of his rough hands on your lower stomach and you gasp as he slides them up your body to cup your pebbled breasts.

For the first time, you moan.

Bucky’s head jerks up from your neck to look down at you, his expression ravenous as he massages your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples as you feel the wetness pooling between your legs.

He lowers to kiss your mouth, this time slow and intimate as his hands continue their sinful touch, his right hand straying away from your chest to trail down and down and...

Gasping against his lips, your body shudders as you feel Bucky’s fingers push through the curls covering your sex, just millimetres from -

You reach for his wrist.

Bucky stops instantly, his hand stilling as he pulls back from your lips to meet your gaze.

There’s no way he doesn’t already know, yet you still find yourself needing to say “I... I’ve never...”

“I know darlin’,” Bucky soothes. “I’m gonna go nice and slow. Make you feel so good, I promise.”

You release his wrist.

Bucky’s left hand cups and rubs one of your breasts while his right continues its way down to where no man has ever touched you.

The whole time, you watch one another.

You gasp sharply when his fingers graze along your folds, feeling the wetness and warmth flowing from your centre.

It pulls a deep grunt from Bucky who dips down for a hot kiss.

“Gonna treat you s’good, sweet girl.” He whispers as he breaks away, moving down your body.

He’s never called you that before.

Say it again.

You’re torn from your thoughts when his mouth wraps around your left nipple while his right hand keeps caressing your sex.

Bucky switches his attention between each breast until you’re a wriggling, panting mess. With a smirk he moves even further down, planting kisses over your stomach as he goes.

Kneeling between your spread legs, Bucky wraps his large hands around your ankles before skimming them up your legs to grasp your thighs. He rests them on his broad shoulders, his warm breath fanning over your core.

Confused, you’re frowning down at him when he does the unexpected. Staring at you, Bucky lowers his head and licks along your slit.

Your hips buck up but don’t go far in his hold, your stomach tightening at the strange sensation as you let out a strangled noise.

Bucky makes a sound of satisfaction as he glides his tongue over your sex, his hands clutching your inner thighs tightly to keep you open for him.

This...

You’ve talked about sex in hushed whispers with some women in town but they never, ever mentioned anything like this.

When Bucky closes his mouth around your sensitive bud your legs jerk while your hands seek him out, gripping his hair firmly as you moan so vulgarly you don’t recognise your own voice.

“That’s it,” Bucky praises, licking your clit. “Keep makin’ those noises for me sweet girl.”

Your brain is nothing but a puddle of mush as one of his fingers pushes into you experimentally.

How long Bucky spends working you over, you have no idea, but eventually he’s pushing three of his fingers in and out of you.

You’re loud, making noises foreign to you as he licks, pushes, and sucks. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s...

“I’ve got you darlin’, come on, come for me.”

With one final suck on your clit, your body tenses and then snaps.

You shout out in your pleasure, tugging on the strands of Bucky’s hair as he keeps licking, watching you explode.

It’s not until your sounds turn into something small and pitiful at the overstimulation that he stands from the bed, his beard shining with you in the moonlight as he finally undresses.

You eye him hungrily in your dazed state, watching as his shirt flutters to the floor, followed by his trousers. Your stuttered breath fills the otherwise quiet room.

He’s...

Subconsciously, you press your legs together again.

Bucky tsk’s, his hands sliding under your knees and pulling them apart. “Sweet girl, what did I tell you?”

Settling between your legs once more, he hovers above you.

You can only hold his dark gaze for a moment before your eyes drift downwards.

His cock is hard, and leaking, and big. You don’t think they’re supposed to be that big. Your hand wouldn’t even be able to fit around it, so how was it supposed to fit in you?

“Like whatcha see darlin’?” You hear the smirk in his rough tone before you look up and see it.

Flustered, you mumble out a breathless “It’s big.”

Bucky groans deeply, like he’s in pain, and swoops down to kiss you, dominating your mouth.

“Don’t worry sweet girl,” He whispers against your lips. “It’ll fit in your little pussy.”

Shivering at his wicked tongue, your eyes dart down to look at it again.

“Can I touch it?”

Bucky grunts, watching you from underneath his lashes. “S’all yours darlin’.”

Timidly, you reach down between your bodies until you can wrap your hand around the base of his cock.

You were right, your hand doesn’t fit around it.

It’s hot and heavy in your palm as you give it a soft stroke before returning to the base. You repeat the action but this time you trail your thumb along the vein you had felt on the underside of his cock.

Bucky’s forehead drops onto yours, his breathing heavy.

A flick of your eyes upwards shows you that Bucky’s are closed, his jaw clenched tight.

The sight sends tingles through you and with a burst of confidence you tighten your grip around his cock and stroke him again, thumbing at his leaking head when you reach the top.

Hissing, one of Bucky’s hands shoots down to grab your wrist.

You look up and meet his open eyes.

Pulling your hand off his cock, Bucky husks “Won’t last if you keep doin’ that sweet girl.”

The statement thrills you.

Bucky’s hands wrap around your thighs, placing them over the top of his and spreading you beneath him.

Grasping himself in one hand, Bucky keeps his eyes on you as he slowly pushes into you. The stretch burns, making you bite down on your lip as you try to take all of him.

Stopping, Bucky lowers to capture your mouth while his other hand sneaks down to gently circle your bud, relaxing and distracting you as he continues to push in bit by bit until he finally bottoms out.

“You tell me when darlin’.” Bucky pants above you, unmoving.

A few minutes pass and when you feel like you’ve adjusted as much as you can, you say “Okay, just...”

“I’ll go slow sweet girl.” Bucky promises again, reading your mind.

True to his word, Bucky gradually pulls his length out of you before pushing it back in at the same pace. Your teeth snag your bottom lip again as he moves in and out of you, the feeling just shy of painful.

Bucky never looks away from your face, catching every emotion that flashes across it. You’re warm and tight - so tight, around his cock and it has him on the brink of madness. However, your pleasure is what he cares about most and when your face remains pinched on his fourth push into you, his eyebrows draw in concern.

As he pushes himself in on his fifth stroke, Bucky says “Darlin’, do you -”

You moan loud and short, the sound a mixture of bliss and surprise as the pain suddenly gives way to pleasure.

Bucky grunts above you, the look on your face seeming to make him even harder as he puts a little more power behind his next thrust, watching as it makes you moan again.

“There you go sweet girl,” He husks. “That feel good darlin’?”

“Yes.” Your hands wind in his hair, bringing his face down to yours for a desperate kiss as Bucky continues his slow thrusts.

Something’s clawing at your stomach, wanton. You need more.

Your right hand untangles from Bucky’s hair to slide down his muscled back, brushing over the bumps of scars as you hold onto him.

Breaking apart, you pant against his lips “Faster.” You don’t know how you know that’s what you need, but you do. “Harder, please.” You plead in a lustful tone.

You haven’t been oblivious to the wild look in his dark blue eyes, to the barely restrained control he exhibits.

However, your words, your tone, they undo Bucky’s control for a moment and in an almost uncontrollable action his hips slam up into yours as he grunts “Fuck darlin’.”

The powerful thrust claws a breathy whine of shock out of you.

“Gonna kill me, aren’t ya sweet girl?” Bucky murmurs thickly, reining his control back slightly as he does what you asked and pushes into you at a faster pace, his thrusts harder.

Your head pushes back into the bed beneath you as you moan out, the nails of your right hand digging into their hold on Bucky’s back while your left grips his hair tighter.

“Look at me.” Bucky commands in a tone so low you feel the rumble of it against you.

You tilt your head down to meet his heady gaze.

“James,” You whimper, the sensations building within you.

“Fuck.” He thrusts a bit deeper, pushes a bit harder, making you mewl. “I know, I know darlin’, gonna come for me again, aren’t ya?”

He gives another deep thrust, the force pushing you slightly up the bed.

It feels so good. You’re so close, you’re right there...

“Say my name sweet girl,” Bucky groans, rubbing at your clit. “Say my name when I make you come.”

A pleasure so intense it has your eyes rolling back erupts in you, making your whole body tighten and relax repeatedly as you moan, whine, and pant for James as you swim in ecstasy.

The sight of you coming so undone for him - because of him, sends Bucky hurtling.

Pulling out of your pulsing heat, his right hand wraps around his painfully hard cock and squeezes as he tugs it roughly, consumed by lust. On the third harsh stroke he spills over your stomach with a wrecked moan of your name.

Bucky’s forehead drops to yours, your heaving breaths mingling together as you both come back to yourselves.

Pressing forward, Bucky claims your mouth in a brief, sweet kiss.

“You okay darlin’?” He whispers.

A drowsy, satisfied nod is all you can manage.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You’re surrounded by warmth when you blink awake and it takes you a moment to realise the source isn’t the sunlight streaming into your room, but Bucky’s body underneath yours.

If heaven was a feeling this had to be close.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” Bucky’s voice is raspier, a clear sign he’s not long woken.

Tilting your head up from where it rests on his bare chest, you meet Bucky’s gentle gaze and give a small smile, quietly returning “Morning.”

In a movement too fast for your sleepy mind to comprehend, Bucky grabs your hips and effortlessly rolls you onto your back so he can hover above you.

Nudging your nose with his own, he captures your mouth in a tender kiss.

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling back.

Images of last night rush back to you, flooding your body with heat as you answer honestly. “A little sore, but good.”

Humming, Bucky runs his left hand up and down your side. “Just good?”

You duck away from his burning gaze, making him laugh.

“Still shy after last night darlin’?” He questions, though it comes across more like a statement.

Regardless, Bucky doesn’t wait for a response, instead he leans down and kisses you again.

This one is deeper, his lips pressing against yours harder as you willingly open your mouth to him.

You feel the air in the room thicken as Bucky’s left hand continues to roam and grasp while both of yours stroke through his hair.

Despite the soreness between your legs, that desire from last night begins pooling in your stomach.

Breaking apart, you both breathe heavily as Bucky utters “Already need you again sweet girl.”

Pressing soft kisses all over your face before moving down to your neck where he scratches his beard against you, Bucky speaks against your ear. “But I gotta let you recover first before I ruin you all over again, don’t I darlin’?”

You shudder at his words as he places a final kiss below your ear before moving away and getting up.

He pulls on his trousers, his blue eyes swimming with desire as he peruses your naked body while doing them up.

Licking his lips, Bucky husks “I’ll get breakfast started.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

“When do you have to meet your friends?” You ask Bucky as he takes your plate and sets it with his own in the sink.

“Whatcha mean darlin’?”

“You said you were waiting to meet them.” You remind him, recalling the conversation you had yesterday.

Yesterday?

It felt like a lifetime ago now.

Bucky’s back is still to you and his silence makes you frown. “You’re... not meeting them?” You guess hesitantly.

Why would he lie?

If he wanted to stay longer, he just had to ask.

Turning around to lean against the kitchen counter, Bucky’s arms bulge as they cross over his still bare chest.

Despite the current circumstance, the sight makes your stomach flip.

Bucky observes you for a moment before admitting “I heard there was a new gang causin’ problems ‘round these parts.”

That’s all he says, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

Your heartbeat quickens at the possible implication of his words.

“So...” You prompt softly, daring to hope.

Pushing from the counter, Bucky steps over to you, his gaze holding yours as he rests a hand on the table beside you before ducking until your eyes are level.

“So I needed to make sure my sweet girl was safe,” He whispers, raising his other hand “And that she stayed that way.” Brushing a gentle finger over your cheek, Bucky finishes “I’ve got nowhere else to be darlin’.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 6 DAYS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

For six days you’re in a world of your own, where only you and Bucky exist.

You knew it was only a matter of time, but that doesn’t stop the disappointment you feel when life finally crashes in.

Waking up to an empty bed for the first time since you surrendered yourself to Bucky, you don’t think too much about it as you slip on your nightgown.

Venturing out into the hallway, you freeze when you hear voices.

Fear begins to take hold until you push it back.

Bucky would never put you in danger. Of that, you’re certain.

“You sure? The law’s been gettin’ closer than I like.” An unfamiliar male voice states.

“We’ve been plannin’ this for too damn long to back out now.” Is Bucky’s reply.

Sucking in a breath, you know you really shouldn’t be listening to this.

Continuing towards the sitting room, you step louder than you normally would, alerting them of your presence.

Two men sit in your kitchen, their hulking figures making the small table between them appear child-sized. Their heads turn and two sets of blue eyes - one light, the other dark - land on you as you loiter awkwardly in the sitting room.

Glancing as long as you dare at the stranger, you note his dark blond hair which brushes against his dirty collar and wild beard that reminds you of Bucky’s the first time he knocked on your door.

You know you’ve seen his wanted posters, but his name eludes you.

“Darlin’,” Bucky crooks a finger at you, urging you over to him. “This is Steve, we’ve been friends since we were kids.”

Steve.

You could recall the name at the bottom of the posters now - Steve Rogers.

“Hello,” You greet shyly, offering your name as Bucky’s hands settle on your hips and pull you onto his lap.

Not meaning to interrupt them, you look up at Bucky in question. He squeezes your hips, telling you it’s okay.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve declares with a secretive smile. “I’m sorry for barging in.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you?” Bucky grumbles at the same time, making Steve chuckle.

This one laughs too.

“I’ll give you two a moment.” Steve appeases, standing up and settling a worn brown hat on his head.

You realise he’s only wearing socks and find it oddly thoughtful that he took his boots off before coming in.

“We’ll have to get acquainted some other time.” Steve remarks, and by the way Bucky’s grip tightens you gather he’s only saying it to be a menace, especially when he adds “Maybe you can cook me somethin’ too.”

“Fuck off.” Bucky growls, but Steve’s already slipping out the front door with a grin.

Grumbling, Bucky lifts you off his lap and onto the table, fusing his mouth to yours.

Once he’s thoroughly reduced your mind to empty space, Bucky pulls back and orders “Don’t you dare cook him or any other man anything, ever.”

“James.” You sigh, smiling.

“You won’t like what happens if you do darlin’.” He promises in a darker tone.

The thrill that shoots up your spine suggests that maybe you would.

Regardless, you playfully huff “If you insist.”

“I do.” Bucky grunts before kissing you again.

When you break apart, the mood turns solemn.

“You have to go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah darlin’, I gotta go.”

Forcing a smile, you whisper “Okay,” as if you have any say in the matter.

Rubbing his nose against yours, Bucky soothes “I’ll be back darlin’, like always.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 3 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Sighing, you dry the plate in your hands and eye the dishes you still have left. You probably would’ve finished the mundane task by now if you didn’t move so slow while daydreaming.

You spent most of today in the barn, completing chores. It wasn’t until the sun had almost set that you wandered back into the house and began making dinner.

Once these dishes were away you planned on taking a long bath.

Stacking the last plate, you pick up one of the candles on the dining table and blow out the rest, blanketing the house in darkness.

Using the light source in your hand, you check over the windows and lock the front door before trudging down to your bedroom.

Stepping into the dark room you can’t help but miss the moon and the light it provides as you place the candle on your bedside table.

Clutching the bottom of your pale yellow dress you lift it up and off, leaving you in nothing but a thin slip when you hear the unmistakable sound of a match striking.

Gasping, you whirl around as your heart hammers in your chest.

“Don’t stop on my account darlin’.” Bucky drawls, seated in the chair at the opposite corner of your room.

Waving out the match he just used to light the candle on the dressing table beside him, his dark eyes watch you like a hawk. “Go on.”

A shiver races down your spine.

This isn’t your sweet Bucky.

In an almost nervous manner you reach for the straps of your slip, hesitating for just a second before pushing them off your shoulders.

You hear Bucky’s deep inhale as the fabric pools at your feet.

“Come here.”

Your feet are quick to obey the order.

The candlelight flickers over his face, allowing you to take in his appearance.

He looks much the same as he left, beard full but tamed and brown hair reaching his shoulders. He’s a little dirty, but you can’t complain since you are too.

Bucky grabs your waist as soon as you’re within reach and pulls you down onto his lap, your legs either side of his as your naked breasts press into his shirt.

His hands move to grip your bottom roughly, drawing another gasp from you.

Grazing your lips with his own, Bucky whispers “I’ve missed you.”

You’re not given a chance to return the sentiment as his mouth captures yours.

The kiss is ravenous as Bucky takes everything he wants - everything he needs, from you. All you can do is hold onto him, your hands wrapped around his thick biceps as you let him take.

Both of you are panting for air when he eventually pulls away, his right hand gliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck and urge your head backwards, exposing your throat to him.

Running his nose under your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone, Bucky groans in satisfaction against your skin. “Smell s’good.”

It was merely coincidence that you had been using your lavender oil more often since his comment on the porch.

You feel him bite the place where your neck and shoulder meet - as if in claim, before licking over the spot, making you moan.

Bucky nips and sucks along your collarbone, dipping lower until he tugs one of your nipples between his teeth.

You don’t even realise you’ve started rocking against his hard length under you until both his hands seize your hips, halting your movements.

Raising his head, Bucky taunts “Desperate for me darlin’? Where’d my sweet, shy girl go?”

Why those words make you whine at him you have no idea, but Bucky loves it.

Smirking, he slowly rocks you up and down on his length and hums “Maybe my girl’s not so good, huh?”

You moan as he moves you faster, pressing you down to rub harder against his erect cock straining beneath his trousers. Your hands tighten around his biceps as your head drops to his shoulder.

“That’s alright darlin’, ‘cos I plan on doin’ bad, bad things to you.” Bucky murmurs in your ear, beard scratching as your sensitive skin.

His words added with the light press of his thumb on your clit undoes you, making you cry out his name.

If it didn’t feel so good, you’d be embarrassed at your quick climax.

Growling, Bucky stands while you’re still reeling in pleasure and carries you to the bed, manoeuvring your compliant body until you’re on your knees, face down.

He’s never had you like this before.

The sound of Bucky removing his belt has your hands gripping the sheets.

“Can’t wait any longer darlin’.” He grunts, shoving his trousers to the floor before grabbing your hips. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this little pussy every day, dyin’ to feel it wrapped ‘round me again.”

That’s all the warning you get before Bucky pushes in, the intrusion tearing a shout from you, followed by a drawn out moan.

You feel so full. You didn’t realise how much you missed this.

How badly you’ve been craving it.

“That’s it.” He purrs, your walls clenching around him. “Fuck.”

Pulling out until just the tip remains, Bucky surges back in.

You whine again, clawing at the sheets beneath you.

“Oh, you are a good girl, aren’t ya darlin’?” Bucky thrusts into you, pitching your whole body forward as he bends down and husks in your ear, “‘Cos you’re gonna take everythin’ I give ya.”

The way he’s talking is hurtling you towards the edge again.

You don’t respond - you can’t, but Bucky’s not looking for a response.

Straightening, he begins pounding into you relentlessly. You swear the bed is going to give out with how it creaks as the frame bangs into the wall, competing with the sounds coming from you.

When Bucky’s large, rough hand trails under your body to cup your sex, his fingers sliding up until they reach your bud, you almost scream.

Chuckling out a groan, he states “You’re squeezin’ the life outta me sweet girl.”

Bucky’s fingers are as unforgiving as his cock as they rub tight circles on your clit, bringing you to that point.

“Come.” He growls, leaning over you to wrap his large body around yours as his fingers bully your bud. “Now.”

You’re helpless to his demand.

“James!” You squeal, falling limp as your release slams into you.

Moaning deeply, Bucky pulls out of your spasming centre and flips you onto your back. Tugging his cock, he spills onto your stomach, cursing your name.

Collapsing forward, Bucky catches himself on his left elbow, hovering above you.

You’re breathless, eyes fluttering as he lowers to kiss your lips.

It starts out tender but soon turns into something lustful as you feel Bucky growing hard against your stomach. Your resulting whimper breaks the kiss.

“Keep those eyes open sweet girl,” He whispers. “I’m not done with you yet.”

⊷⊷⊷⊷ THE NEXT DAY ⊷⊷⊷⊷

You wake wrapped in Bucky’s arms and a smile instantly spreads across your face. Lifting your head from where it rests on his shoulder, your smile widens when you realise his eyes are still closed.

Bucky always woke before you, yet here he is, fast asleep.

He looks different. Peaceful.

For a while you just watch him, listening to his steady breathing as you feel his chest rise and fall under your right palm.

Eventually you can’t resist the urge to brush his hair back from his face, which leads your fingertips to dance over his beard, down his nose, and over his mouth.

Your forefinger traces across his bottom lip before it’s suddenly snagged between his teeth, making you gasp then laugh.

Bucky’s eyes blink open and lock onto yours as he releases your finger.

“Morning,” You smile softly.

“Mornin’ darlin’.” His raspy voice after waking up is a sound you’ll never tire of. “What you doin’ up so early?”

Huffing at his teasing words, you sit up and move until you’re straddling his firm stomach, both your hands pressed against his chest.

“It’s not that early,” You glare playfully.

Cupping your hips, Bucky smirks “I just know how much my girl likes her sleep.”

My girl.

Lowering until your nose bumps his, you respond “I like spending time with you more.”

Bucky gives a quiet groan, his hands gliding up to cup your face and pull you down further until your mouths connect. It’s a slow kiss, every stroke of his tongue deliberate as he savours the taste of you.

He doesn’t let you go far when you break away for air, his nose prodding yours as he whispers “I have to go.”

“You just got back.” You can’t help but protest, eyebrows furrowing.

Bucky sighs, “I know darlin’.”

Rolling the two of you over so he can hover above you instead, Bucky’s forearms settle on either side of your head as he rests his forehead against yours.

“I got a... job to do,” Bucky explains vaguely. “But, when I come back it’ll be for a good while.”

You mull his words over for a moment before whispering “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He angles his face lower to place light kisses over your cheeks and down your neck where he then rubs his beard, well aware of how much it tickles your sensitive skin.

Once you have tears in your eyes and are stuttering for him to stop between giggles he finally relents, raising his head to meet your gaze.

The grin on his lips is much too boyish to belong to the man who spoke such sordid things to you last night.

“How ‘bout I get breakfast started?” Bucky suggests.

It’s at that moment, in the warmth and safety of your bed - of Bucky, in the little world you’ve started to create together that you realise you love him.

That you have for quite some time.

It’s in that moment, with his dark blue eyes shining down at you, his rough hands tenderly caressing your skin, and the lingering ache in your body from last night that you almost tell him.

Fortunately, common sense rears its head, snatching the words from you before they can tumble out and ruin everything.

You know he cares for you - maybe even adores you, but you don’t think men like Bucky Barnes can do love.

So instead you say “That sounds great.”

You’ll take everything you can from him before he leaves, knowing his absence will be even more palpable this time around with your realisation, and you’ll wait patiently until he comes back and gives you more.

⊷⊷⊷⊷ 2 WEEKS LATER ⊷⊷⊷⊷

Securing Chester’s reins around a post outside the general store, you give his chest a loving rub as he drinks from the water trough.

Moving around him to retrieve some money from the satchel on your saddle, the sound of running feet grabs your attention.

You turn in time to see a group of young boys race past, rushing towards the town centre.

“Hurry up or we’ll miss it!” One of the boys shouts back to his slower friends.

Frowning, you look around and notice that quite a few people are heading in the same direction.

Closing your satchel with the money still inside, you walk up the two steps leading to the general store’s small porch, intent on asking Billy what all the fuss is about.

A piece of paper stuck to the front door informs you he’s not inside. The messily written ‘be back soon’ only fuels your curiosity.

Striding back down the steps, you join the people making their way to the town centre.

It’s an underwhelming reveal.

Your eyes roll when you round the final corner and see that the gallows have been erected.

A hanging, of course.

What else drew such a crowd?

Certainly not one to enjoy such a gruesome sight, you turn around and head back the way you came. You’ll simply wait with Chester until Billy gets back.

You take four steps before stopping.

The whole town seems to be gathering - if not more. Only someone with a name important enough to know would be worth so much attention.

Don’t be stupid.

Fear turns your blood cold.

It can’t be him.

You’re thinking foolishly, you know that.

In what world did law enforcement ever actually catch a man like Bucky Barnes?

The notion was comical.

However, your need for reassurance has you spinning back around and trekking closer. You weave your way through the growing crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the criminal yet to be led up to the high platform of the gallows.

After a few minutes you’ve only managed to make it halfway through the throng of spectators, the rough shoves of uncaring men hindering your progress.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you peer around the figures in front of you, looking to the left corner of the gallows where you know the stairs that lead up to the platform start.

You’re not sure if it’s just a trick of your overactive imagination, but for a split second you swear you catch sight of familiar brown hair and your breath lodges in your throat.

No. It can’t be. It can’t.

The next few moments seem to occur in slow motion.

A brief gap in the crowd gives you a perfect, straight line of vision to the brown haired man. The reveal of his face almost brings you to your knees.

No. No, no, no -

You’re frozen in denial at who you see.

James.

His hands are tied behind his back and two deputies flank him, ready to escort him up the stairs.

Your direct line of sight is broken by the crowd, causing everything to speed up as you finally kick into motion.

Like a desperate woman - because you are, you push through the crowd, ignoring the protests and elbows you receive. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the front.

Ducking around the unsuspecting deputy stationed to keep the mob at bay, you bolt to Bucky, sliding to a standstill in front of him, your shoes touching his boots.

“Darlin’,” Bucky speaks like the wind’s just been knocked out of him, his blue eyes wide.

“James what are you - they’re -”

You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.

This was Bucky Barnes, the famous outlaw. He didn’t get caught and he certainly didn’t die.

“You promised.” You gasp out, eyes itching with tears “You -”

“I’m so sorry baby.” Bucky’s voice strains in his effort to speak softly and you hate it.

As much as you hate that you can’t give a second thought to his sweetest term of endearment for you yet.

“Don’t -”

Regaining their wits, the deputies around you spring into action, one of them grabbing your arms from behind and pulling you backwards.

“Hey!”

“Don’t touch her!” Bucky spits vehemently, rearing forward only to be tugged back by the deputies either side of him.

Throwing your right heel back, you catch the deputy in his shin, forcing him to let go. You lunge at Bucky, clinging to the front of his shirt like it’s your only lifeline.

“Please James,” You plead, as if he has any say in this. “I love you, please.”

You should’ve told him. You should’ve told him that morning.

“Listen to me baby,” Bucky implores, his deep voice gentle like you know it can be with you - not soft. “I want you to know how much I love you, that you’ve given a meanin’ to my life that I had no right to expect, that no one can ever take from me.”

“James.” You choke out, throat tight with the tears that stream down your face.

He loves me. He loves me.

The beautiful declaration should fill you with happiness, not anguish.

“You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky declares, lips curling as his blue eyes admire you.

When the deputy grabs hold of you this time there’s no chance of you breaking out of his tight hold even if you had the strength to try - which you don’t.

Your body is limp, weak, and shattered as you’re dragged away from the only man you’ve ever loved. The only man you’ll ever love.

“It’s alright darlin’,” Bucky insists over his shoulder as he’s pushed up the stairs, his gaze unwavering. “You’ll be okay, I promise.”

You’re shoved into the crowd - which parts from you in disgust, while you watch Bucky ascend to the top of the platform, feeling anything but okay.

They stand him beside the noose and your legs tremble as you subconsciously start walking backwards through the horde of onlookers - as if you can escape what’s about to happen next.

“Bucky Barnes...” A big, well dressed man addresses him before reading out his sentence.

They’re going to kill him.

Your hand shoots up to cover your mouth as the reality sinks in.

He’s going to die.

Only watching you - always watching you, Bucky’s mouth opens.

You can’t hear what he says, but you make out the words.

“Don’t watch.”

“Please.”

The pain suddenly burns you and your shoulders shake from the force of your tears.

Gasping in a deep, shuddering breath, you look at him one last time before closing your eyes, forcing yourself to honour his final request.

Why? Why does death have to take him from me too?

You’re barely aware of anything other than the affliction raging inside you, so you don’t know how you even hear it over the jeering crowd, but you do - a low whistle.

It shouldn’t mean anything to you, but something urges you to open your eyes.

Blinking through your tears, you turn your head to the right - where the sound had been loudest, and zero in on a man who towers over most of the spectators.

A black bandana covers the lower half of his face, but he’s looking at you, his bright blue eyes visible as he winks.

Steve.

Shifting his gaze from you to Bucky, he whistles again, this time a two tone note that’s loud and piercing.

All around you, people scattered within the crowd fling back ponchos to reveal guns that they fire up at the sky or towards the gallows, sending the crowd screaming and running as all hell breaks loose.

---