Undisclosed - Masterlist
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.
Warnings: Beefy!bucky, angst, references to death/crime, injury, toxicity, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **), a bit of slow burn!!
a/n: This series is now complete 🤍
Series playlist ⍋
❆ Chapter One
❆ Chapter Two
❆ Chapter Three
❆ Chapter Four
❆ Chapter Five
❆ Chapter Six**
❆ Chapter Seven
❆ Chapter Eight
❆ Chapter Nine
❆ Chapter Ten
🤍 Bucky and Alpine
🤍 Bucky at the diner
AU Idea: Beefy bucky with some kind of a helper syndrome. He just loves being of service and doing good. Maybe he's a firefighter or something?
His new cute neighbor though finds it annoying at first. She grew up learning not to trust or to rely on anyone but herself.
But bucky is nothing but a huge adorable puppy, always offering his help to her. Only for her to turn him away every time.
And slowly her annoyance turns into appreciation and finally love.
Hero Next Door
Pairing: Bucky x reader (Lumberjack!beefy!Bucky)
Word Count: 4,196
Summary: You and your dog Winter have recently moved to the quiet of the country and you love it then you meet your new neighbor...
Author's Note: PENGU MY LOVE! Thank you so much for this sweet request. I had been sitting on it for a bit (thank you for your patience) and finally landed on Lumberjack au because just oof...beefy lumberjack!Bucky is so delish. I hope you enjoy this. It starts off cute and fluffy and then...well, it's me so hehe Love you, HUGS! 💕 Thank you all so very much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️ Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you beauty🥰
Warnings: sweet fluff and fun, some flirting, Winter the cutest dog, check out my inspo for him here, tension, light smut (18 + ONLY PLEASE!!!)
PS...please imagine him in a flannel here haha 😏
“What are you wagging your tail about Winter?” you ask your big and white fluffy dog as looks out the window.
He lets out a soft bark and turns his head your way, his pointy ears twisting back and forth.
“Fine, fine. I’m getting up!” you huff.
Your slipper clad feet pad across the floor and you sink your fingers in Winter’s soft fur when you glance out the window.
“Isn’t he cold?” you whisper to your dog.
Winter’s nose bumps your arm and you laugh.
“At least I know you’re a fan,” you mumble, still staring out the window at your neighbor.
He’s out in his yard, wearing nothing but jeans that fit snuggly across his long legs and thick thighs and a flannel shirt that pulls tightly around his bulging biceps every time he swings the axe. His hair is pulled back into a low bun and he keeps tucking the loose strands behind his ear.
“He makes it look so easy,” you continue to comment, making Winter wag his tail harder.
The sound of the splitting wood echoes through the trees and you can almost smell the earthy aroma.
“And he’s so tall…” you murmur, nibbling your bottom lip.
Winter barks loudly as if in agreement and it draws the man’s attention. He smiles brightly and waves at you. You startle and take a step backward, cringing at your awkwardness.
Winter tilts his head and looks at you as if saying, “smooth move mom.”
“Well, I wasn’t prepared…I mean we haven’t properly met yet,” you say defensively.
You walk into the kitchen and put on a pot of tea.
You can still see him through your kitchen window.
“Some wood would be nice. Then I could finally use the fireplace…” you mutter.
The pot whistles on the stove and pulls your attention away from the window.
After a lazy morning you finally get yourself together and go to the grocery store. You stock up on all the necessary goodies and naturally try to carry every bag into the house at once. You stumble up the steps and realize you didn’t get your keys out beforehand.
“SHIT!” you grumble. “Ugh!”
You hear Winter jumping at the door.
“One sec boy, I need to get my keys,” you tell him, precariously balancing everything and searching through your bag.
“Need some help?”
You let out a shriek and almost fall over the bags you had set down. A strong arm reaches out and grabs you, steadying you on your feet.
“I’m sorry,” your neighbor says sheepishly. “I should have giving you a fair warning.”
You swallow hard and nod, staring at him.
He’s gorgeous. Well over six feet, long dark hair that frames a face with ocean blue eyes and dark stubble that lines a jaw carved by the Gods. Then he smiles.
Thankfully, he’s still holding your arm or you might have swooned.
“Did you want some help?” he asks again, his eyes crinkled with a knowing grin.
“Um, well. No, it’s ok. I’m fine. I’ve got it thanks,” you stammer.
“Are you sure?” he asks again, raising his brows.
You put your key in the door and open it, almost forgetting about Winter until he bounds out and immediately greets your new neighbor.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Don’t mind him!” you say, now feeling more frazzled.
“It’s fine,” the man assures you. “I love dogs.”
Winter circles at his legs and leans against him, clearly wanting more scratches.
“That’s Winter. He’s my ferocious watch dog,” you say sarcastically.
Your neighbor laughs.
“Hi Winter. I’m Bucky. Nice to meet you.”
You walk into the house and set down the bags you were still holding. Bucky follows behind you with the rest and places them down just inside the door.
“Thanks,” you say.
“Anytime…” Bucky trails off, clearing waiting for your name.
You introduce yourself and he holds out his hand, engulfing your much smaller one around his thick and calloused fingers. He’s warm and you can feel how strong he is just from the shake of his hand.
“It’s really nice to finally meet you,” he says softly, sticking his hands in his jean pockets and shuffling on his feet. “If you ever need anything just let me know.”
“Thanks Bucky! I will.”
“Ok then. I’ll see you soon,” he says and pats Winter before stepping out onto the porch.
He gives you one last wave and walks back to his house. You watch until he reaches his steps and when he turns around and catches you he waves again with a smile.
You shut the door and lean against it, narrowing your eyes at Winter.
“Don’t get any ideas DOG!”
The rest of the week goes by with scattered sightings of Bucky. A simple wave or smile here and there but nothing more.
Until Saturday morning…
“Why the hell is it so cold in here?” you whine as you step out of bed with a shiver.
Winter’s paws go click clack on the wood floor as he follows you to the living room.
“Great. Something is definitely wrong,” you grumble.
Your shoulders slump with frustration and you wrap your arms around yourself. The distinct sound of cracking wood fills your ears and you go to the window, looking out and finding Bucky chopping away.
Winter’s ears perk up and his tail starts to wag.
“Of course, you wanna say hi,” you sigh. “Come on. Maybe he knows what’s going on.”
You wash up and throw on warmer clothes before heading outside. Winter bounds away from the porch and barks, alerting Bucky.
Bucky turns and kneels down, holding his arms out until Winter smashes into him and bats him with his tail.
“Hey buddy,” Bucky coos. “Good morning.”
Your feet crunch on the frost kissed grass and Bucky’s eyes lift to yours.
“Hiya doll,” he greets. “You ok?”
“Mornin.’ I was just wondering if your heat is out?” you ask.
He stands and places his hands on his hips. The flannel material of his shirt strains against his broad chest and the buttons look like they’re about to pop off.
“No. It’s working fine,” he says thoughtfully.
You continue to stare at his chest, your thoughts wandering when he clears his throat.
“Uh, right. So, it must just be mine,” you say, and call for Winter. “Thank you. I’m going to get the number for a repair man.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can take a look first,” Bucky offers.
“No, no. I can’t ask you to do that!” you tell him with a shake of your head. “I’m sure I can get someone just fine.”
“You didn’t ask,” Bucky starts with a sideways smirk. “I offered.”
“I’m sure you’re busy. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Thank you though.”
You turn and head toward the house.
“Ok doll. Just make sure you get me if you need anything.”
“Will do Bucky! Thanks!”
Winter trots over to your side but keeps turning his head to look at Bucky.
“Come on your menace. Let’s go!” you chide before lightly swatting the dog in the butt.
Three calls later and no luck. The earliest the repair man can come is Tuesday and that’s four days away. You’re freezing your tits off and you have no firewood to even make a fire. You stand in the middle of your living room, shivering with cold and staring out the window at Bucky’s house.
Winter whines at your hip and nudges you with his nose.
“UGH! Fine. You win. Let’s go!”
You stomp off toward the door.
Bucky has his door open before you finish the second knock. He’s standing there in tight jeans, socks and his flannel hanging open and revealing the tight white tee shirt underneath. You’re too distracted to notice Winter worming his way past you and before you can stop him, he runs inside.
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry,” you fret, “he has no manners! WINTER!”
“It’s fine. Really. Come on in.”
You dip your head and step inside, the feeling of warmth immediately surrounding you. You let out a relieved sigh.
“Your house must be freezing,” Bucky says, taking your hands in his.
He rubs them between his own and you can’t help the tremble of your body at the contact.
“It is,” you say, hoping he figures your body is still reacting to the coldness.
“When is the repair guy coming?” Bucky asks.
“The earliest is Tuesday,” you grumble.
“Well, it’s a good thing you have me then isn’t it,” he says brightly and releases your hands. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks to the other end of the kitchen and opens a door before disappearing down a flight of stairs. Winter follows and whines at the steps.
“Get over here you!” you whisper shout. “Stop bothering him!”
Winter trots over and hangs his head, sitting at your feet. You pat him gently and take a look around.
His cabin is rustic and cozy, the dark wood lining the walls and ceiling, providing a rugged elegance much like the man who lives in it. The floors are beautiful, also wood and shining under the mid-morning sun that filters through the floor to ceiling windows at the back.
The smell of pine and something smokey, with a hint of cinnamon creates an ambiance of comfort and warmth. You walk closer to the fireplace and let the heat wash over you, closing your eyes and barely noticing Bucky’s heavy footfalls as he ascends the stairs.
“Cozy, isn’t it?” he asks softly.
“It’s wonderful,” you whisper, turning to find him standing by the door outfitted in a tool belt.
The belt hangs low on his hips and the tools dangle against thighs. He’s put on black leather boots and buttoned up his flannel, which is now framed by black suspenders.
Your mouth goes dry.
“You look ready to get to work,” you squeak out.
“You know it,” he winks. “Let’s go get you warmed up.”
He walks to his front door and holds it open for you, laughing when Winter bolts out first.
“See. I told you, no manners!” you joke.
Bucky laughs and presses his hand to your lower back as you head down his porch steps.
“Wow it is cold in here,” he states upon arriving. “Shit.”
“Right!” you say through clenched teeth.
“I’m going to the check the boiler. Sit tight and grab a blanket,” he teases and disappears down the hallway like he knows where he’s going.
You panic that he might be headed to your messy bedroom so you rush after him, Winter hot on your heels.
“Are you sure you’re going the right way?” you ask, hoping that you don’t sound too frantic.
“Sure, I’m sure,” he answers. “I helped build his cabin.”
That stops you dead in your tracks.
“You…you did?” you ask, quickly moving again when he opens the door to your small basement.
He smiles before he disappears down the steps.
“It’s going to be even colder down here,” he states when he hears your soft steps. “You sure you’re ok?”
You nod and try not to shiver.
He purses his lips and tilts his head.
You let out a huff. “IT’S FREEZING!”
Without a word he pulls the suspenders from his shoulders and untucks his shirt. He has it off and held out in front of him before you can protest.
“You’re going to tell me no and I don’t care. Just take it. I promise, I’m not cold.”
“How do you know I’m gonna say no,” you sass, grabbing the shirt and slipping it on.
“We’ve known each other for a week and you’ve already said no to me at least ten times,” he teases.
You cross your arms over your chest and silently inhale, not willing to grace him with a response. He smirks and gets to work. You could care less about the heating mumbo jumbo he’s talking about but watching him move and lift things and bend over is something you realize you’ll never tire of.
“There,” he says as he tightens one last bolt, his forearms glistening with sweat. “That should do it.”
He steps back and lifts his white tee shirt, now sticky from his exertion, and wipes his forehead with it. You clutch at the collar of his flannel that still rests on your shoulders and try not to make a noise when he reveals his six pack and the light trail of hair that runs just below it and disappears into his jeans.
He drops his shirt and you quickly avert your eyes but the image is now permanently stamped onto your brain.
“Come here,” he says, holding out his hand.
You take a step closer and tuck your fingers into his outstretched hand and he tugs you into his side.
“Feel that” he purrs. “That’s heat.”
You squeal in delight and instinctively wrap your arms around his waist in a hug. He gently places his arms around you and chuckles.
“Glad you let me help,” he says.
You tuck your chin and mumble a quiet, “thanks, me too.”
“What do you say to some lunch at my place while we wait for it to warm up over here?” he asks.
“That sounds great,” you tell him, laughing when Winter barks in agreement.
During your delicious lunch you find that Bucky not only loves to build things but he loves to cook and has even started dabbling in baking. He’s sweet and attentive and every time he catches you staring you see a light pink blush paint his cheeks. It’s endearing and only makes you like him more.
“I think I better head back to my place,” you say. “I have lots to do before the weekend is over.”
He nods in understanding and grabs his jacket.
“Come on. I’ll walk ya home doll.”
“You don’t have to do that Bucky. I live right there.”
“So. I’m a gentleman. Come on.”
You playfully roll your eyes but you can’t help your smile as he holds the door open for you and follows you out. Winter makes a dash for your house before coming back in a blur of white fluff. Bucky grabs him and they start to wrestle, the dog in all his glory.
“I can’t believe he knocked you over,” you point and laugh as Bucky rolls around on the cold ground.
“Only ‘cause I let him,” Bucky answers defensively.
“Thanks for having lunch with me,” Bucky says quietly when you reach your door.
“Thanks for fixing my heat,” you reply. “I’ll see you later.”
You stand on your tippy toes and rest your palms on his chest, kissing his cheek. His beard rubs against your soft lips and run your tongue across them when you pull away. Bucky digs his hands into his pockets and smiles.
“Anytime,” he whispers.
“Oh wait! I still have your flannel,” you tell him and start to take it off.
“It’s ok. Keep it for now. It might still be a little cold in your place. You can give it back to me later,” he insists.
“Bucky,” you warn. “I have shirts in my house.”
“But you don’t have any like this one, do you?” he asks, pulling at the side of the shirt and running his fingers over the soft Sherpa inside.
“Fine,” you huff. “But only because it’s really warm.”
You shut your door and lean against it with a thud, grabbing the collar of his shirt and inhaling. Your eyes close and you sink to the floor.
“This is bad Winter,” you tell the dog, blowing a raspberry when his butt wiggles with tail wags.
Mid-week hits and you get a text from Bucky.
‘Hey doll, did you hear about the storm headed our way? Do you have everything you need?’
You let out an exasperated sigh but still smile. This man takes better care of you than you do yourself!
‘Yes. I heard it on the radio. I think I’m good. Thanks neighbor.’
‘Ok. Well just let me know if you need anything.’
Were you prepared? If by prepared it meant you had a flashlight somewhere and bottles of water than yes but otherwise maybe not…
Friday rolls around and brings dark clouds and intense winds. It’s not raining yet but you can smell it in the air and the temperature is dropping rapidly. The forecast even said the rain might turn to snow overnight.
Winter is pacing the floor and looking out the windows, his tail dropping every time the wind gusts.
“It’s ok boy. It’ll be fine.”
You’re standing in your kitchen and searching the cabinets for dinner. You’re slowly realizing you should have gone out to pick up groceries but it’s too late now. Maybe there’s something in the fridge…?
You open the refrigerator door and hear a loud crack. The lights flash once then go out.
“Fuck,” you hiss, quickly shutting the door and trying to remember where you put that flashlight.
Winter glues himself to your hip as you search the drawers. It has to be here somewhere!
A loud knock at the door startles you both and Winter runs off, barking and jumping. You follow behind and look out the peephole.
“Bucky! What are you doing out here?” you shout over the wind when you pull open the door.
“Coming to get you,” he states plainly. “You’re staying with me.”
“No, I’m not! I’m perfectly fine! I was just looking for my flashlight!” you explain with your head held high.
“Did you find it?” he asks, stepping inside so you can shut the door.
You stomp off and hear him chuckle behind you.
“What’s so funny??” you ask when you spin around and glare at him.
“You. You’re so cute when you’re mad,” he teases.
You let out another huff and stomp back to the kitchen, mumbling to yourself.
“Do you have any firewood,” he asks as he looks around your living room.
“No,” you say quietly as the truth of your unpreparedness settles on your shoulders. “And I don’t even know if I have a flashlight.
Bucky’s face softens and he walks over to you. He holds out his arms and you walk into them, resting your head on his chest.
“You’re gonna come stay with me, ok? I have everything we need.”
“But I’m fine,” you grumble into his shirt.
“I know. But you’ll be better off with me,” he says.
You look up and rest your chin on his chest.
“Fine. But you know I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Of course I do doll face. But it’s ok to let other people help sometimes too,” he states.
“Yea, yea. I’m just not used to it.”
He smiles sweetly and tugs at your hand.
“Is there anything you need to grab before we run back? Food for Winter or your pajamas?” he asks.
“Winter already ate and you know he’ll happily eat leftovers anyway,” you start, then drop your head. “And I’m already in my pjs.”
Bucky steps back and looks you over.
“Perfect,” he says with a warm smile. “Come on, let’s go.”
You grab your phone and your bag and Winter’s leash.
“It’s just starting to rain,” Bucky says when he opens the door.
He takes your hand, giving you a nod before he runs down the porch steps. Naturally, the rain starts to come down in buckets the moment your feet hit the ground and when you get to Bucky’s door you’re both soaked.
Winter shakes himself off and wets you more.
“Thanks dog,” you groan, shaking your hands out.
“Don’t worry. I have dry clothes inside,” Bucky says.
The moment you walk into his cabin the smell of burning birch wood invades your senses and you already feel better. Bucky has candles set up around the living room and the kitchen and the fire gives off a warm glow.
“This is so much better,” you relent. “Thanks.”
He throws you a wink and heads to his bedroom.
“Be right back with dry stuff,” he calls down the hall.
Winter circles around the floor to the side of the fireplace and lays down in a heap of white fur. His snores are almost instant and you laugh to yourself. When Bucky returns you’re standing in front of the fire and warming your feet.
“Here you go doll. This should do the trick.”
You turn around and almost trip over your own feet and fall backwards. Bucky’s hand shoots out and grabs you, his strong arm wrapping around your waist until you’re steady.
“Did I scare you?” he asks, looking worried.
Your hands are tightly gripping his bare biceps and you’re face to face with his chest, the light smattering of hair that lines it just in reach…
“What?” you breathe out, suddenly aware you’ve been staring. “No. Uh. No. I’m good.”
He let’s you go and you meet his eyes. Gone is the sweet blush on his cheeks and it’s now replaced with the hard set of his jaw and the intense heat in his eyes.
You try to hold his gaze but your eyes have a mind of their own as they wander down his chiseled chest and over the distinct outline of the V at his hips. His jeans are wet and clinging to every inch of his skin and the belt around his waist is hanging open.
“You’re still all wet,” you manage to say. “Aren’t you going to change?”
“I am,” he murmurs, holding out another flannel shirt. “Wanted to get you dry first.”
“I’m soaked,” you say with an audible swallow and take the shirt.
You don’t bother to ask why he’s only given you a shirt and rush toward the bathroom. Once you’ve dried off and put on his shirt you splash cold water on your face, hoping to pull yourself out of this daze.
When you feel more composed you walk back into the living room and find him still standing there in his jeans. He’s poking at the fire and adjusting the logs when he hears you approach.
His eyes lock on yours but they slowly drift down your body as he takes you in. His shirt falls just above your knees and the top few buttons are open, leaving him with a teasing glance at more of your skin.
“Better?” he asks, licking his lips.
“Much,” you answer as you step around the couch.
“Are you still cold?”
You stop in front of him and ghost your fingertips down his chest, the muscles of his stomach tightening and flexing under your touch. You hear his breath hitch.
“Not cold, no,” you whisper, now toying with the leather of his belt.
“But aren’t you?” you ask, looking up at him from under your lashes. “You should probably take these wet jeans off.”
“Probably,” is his only reply as you start to tug on his belt.
The wet leather slides begrudgingly through the loops of his jeans and when you finally get it off you drop it to the floor. The hard outline of his cock is pressing against the fabric and you dip a finger inside his jeans, fiddling with the button before you pop it open.
“Tell me to stop,” you whisper, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you slowly start to peel the zipper down and reveal more of the trail of dark hair.
“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, flexing his large hands at his sides. “I want to touch you.”
“Then touch me,” you say breathily, finally getting the zipper all the way down and gasping when you see he has no underwear on.
You spread the denim apart and lightly brush your fingers over him, moaning when you feel his hot, silky skin beneath. The vein along his hip bulges and throbs as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable.
He gently grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. You whine and push your bottom lip out with a pout.
“But” you start to protest, wiggling your fingers until he releases you.
“I want to touch you,” he says again, toying with the first closed button of his flannel.
His eyes drop to your chest as his long and thick fingers slowly work open the first button. He lets the fabric fall naturally to the sides and with each button reveals more of your skin. The callouses on his knuckles brush along the swell of your breast and you gasp out his name, a quiet plea for more.
When the shirt falls open he grazes his fingertips between your breasts then down to the waistband of your underwear.
“I’m going to worship you,” he promises, sliding his fingers lower and rubbing them between your legs.
“Then what are you waiting for,” you counter, your tone indignant until he pushes the lace aside and teases you, eliciting a wanton moan to fall from your parted lips.
“We’ve got all night baby doll. I’m going to have you every way I’ve been dreaming about and I won’t stop until you’re screaming my name.”
@book-dragon-13 @beefybuckrrito @christywantspizza @dreamlessinparis @duchessoftheheart @hiddles-rose @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @moongreydreams @musicalmuffindog1410 @lfnr-blog-blog-blog @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @loricameback @lookiamtrying @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @suchababie @saiyanprincessswanie
if i could 🥀 - chapter 3
if i could 🥀 - chapter 3
pairing: bucky barnes x reader (lumberjack!au)
warnings: paranoia, anxiety, talk of loss, isolations, loneliness, depression, angst, fluff, and if i’m missing anything, pls let me know!
notes: this is supposed to be a christnmas fic but i’m obviously running behind lol. i think it’ll still be good, though. i think it’s very wintery. also! this hasn’t been proofread so sorry in advance for any errors.
as always, feedback is more than welcome! thank you for reading and reblogging and i hope you all enjoy this chapter. dividers from @firefly-graphics 💘
You woke up startled and alert to the sound of your front door opening then closing.
It took you a second to calm your racing heart and let your brain truly catch up and take in your surroundings. You weren’t on the couch, but rather laying in your bed - and Bucky wasn’t next to you. You felt a twinge in your heart but told yourself it was simply the rush of anxiety you had just experienced. You heard footsteps coming up the stairs toward your bedroom and you shot up and looked toward the door as it opened. You must have looked startled and maybe a bit scared because once Bucky’s eyes met yours, he looked sheepish and sorry as he spoke softly,
“Sorry, I thought you’d still be asleep,” he explained with a light nervous chuckle.
“Just woke up,” you responded - sleep still evident in your voice. “What time is it?”
“Almost 8:00. I brought you up here about an hour ago. Steve called and woke me up, I just got off the phone with him.”
“Outside? Isn’t it freezing?” you asked surprised.
“Eh, I run hot,” he shrugged with a crooked grin.
“Mmhm,” you eyed him as you made your way out of the bed. “And what was so important that he called you at 7 in the morning?”
“Ah. That’s classified information, sweetheart,” he responded smoothly.
“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes at him as you walked into your ensuite bathroom and he followed just behind you.
“Any plans for today?” he asked as he watched you grab your toothbrush from its holder and handed you the tube of toothpaste you had left on the counter.
“Not really. Why?”
“Would you be up for getting your tree today? I’m going to be heading to the compound this weekend instead of next week. Steve’s planning this whole Christmas vacation thing and he wants to get started right away. Plus he’s worried I’ll end up snowed in with the storm heading this way and won’t make it.”
You hadn’t really realized Christmas was so soon. Normally you would have had all your decorations up at the end of November at the latest but it was two weeks until Christmas and you had barely started going through your boxes. You knew Bucky had his own life, too, but you couldn’t help the disappointment you felt when you realized he was leaving so soon. And you had been trying to avoid the feelings you knew would be hitting you any day now. That you had nowhere to go for Christmas this year. That you’d be alone. The idea, in theory, didn’t sound too bad to you. But you knew when the day came, it’d be hard to find yourself truly alone during what used to be your favorite time of year. Did you even have a favorite time of year anymore? This past year had been absolute hell and you couldn’t recall a time you’d been truly happy since before losing your family. Well, until yesterday. Yesterday, you had to admit, was a really good day. All these thoughts flew through your mind so quickly - and you responded to Bucky right away without even really thinking.
“Yeah, sure. When do you wanna go?” you asked before starting to brush your teeth.
“I’m gonna head to my place and get ready then I’ll come pick you up. Around 10?”
“Mkay,” you said through the suds of toothpaste in your mouth before spitting the excess into the sink and looking at him.
“Okay,” he laughed as he smiled widely at you and began to back away. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t miss me too much,” he joked over his shoulder as he walked out of your room and headed downstairs.
You were glad he couldn’t see you because his words had a very evident effect on you. You shook your head and returned to brushing your teeth before finishing getting ready.
It was 9:57am when the obnoxious sound of Bucky’s horn started blaring through the air. You had just finished putting your shoes on when he pulled up. You couldn’t help the eye roll you gave as you heard his horn - it was essentially a habit at this point. Grabbing your bag and keys and putting on your coat, you walked out into the cold morning air before turning and locking your door behind you. You practically ran to his car that had just come to a stop before opening the passenger door and throwing yourself in. He looked at you bewildered and laughed.
“If you had given me a second, I was gonna get the door for you.”
“It’s freezing cold out there,” you said through chattering teeth as you rubbed your gloveless hands together.
“You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think?” he continued.
“Excuse me?” you said incredulously. “Just because you ‘run hot’ doesn’t mean everyone else in the world does, too,” you spoke as you adjusted the level of the seat warmer and Bucky turned up the heater even more.
“Yeah, yeah. Just give it a second, you’ll be warm in no time,” he replied as he began to drive out to the Christmas Tree farm.
You recalled last year when you and Bucky had driven to the farm and how excited you were. You had a really great time together and you remembered thinking how happy you both were. So carefree and looking forward to the holiday. You were always looking forward to being with Bucky. And as you sat next to him in his car, you knew you had never stopped. Bucky was always on your mind and in your heart, whether you wanted to admit it or not.
He pulled you out of your thoughts as he turned to look at you and found you already staring at him. You quickly sat up further in your seat and turned to face and look out the windshield.
“Eyes on the road, Barnes.”
You didn’t look over at him, but you knew he was smirking as you felt his eyes still on you.
“How do you plan on fitting three trees on your car, anyway?” you asked, trying to shift the focus off of you.
“I don’t. We’re only getting one. Figured I don’t really need to put up much of any decorations now if I’m going to be gone for the rest of the month.”
“That makes sense,” you agreed, “Really a waste of money yesterday, then. All those decorations you got,” you laughed as you finally decided to look at him again.
“There’s always next year,” he said and his words charged something in you. Grief? Bitterness? You weren’t sure.
“You don’t know that,” you said harshly, instantly regretting opening your mouth. Bucky looked over to you and you could feel his concern though he didn’t say much in response for the moment. After sitting in your quiet, you quickly realized how uncalled for your response was.
“Sorry, I don’t- I don’t know why I said that… like that,” you tried to apologize. You spoke quietly but you knew he heard you.
He shook his head at you,
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I understand. Trust me,” he said as he reached for your hand to hold in his as he steered with his left, “I get it.”
You didn’t attempt to avoid his touch and so you let him squeeze your hand in his before he let go and returned to steering with both hands. You hated when people touched you, but it was different with Bucky. It was always different with him. His touch was comforting and didn’t make you feel so pathetic or crazy.
“Maybe you can take a set of ornaments off my hands? Put them to good use so they don’t have to sit in a container for another year. They’re really nice ornaments, they deserve to be on a nice tree,” he smiled.
“You’re so lame,” you laughed at him.
Before you knew it, you were pulling into the open lot in front of the farm. There were a few cars there already, but it wasn’t nearly as packed as it normally was. Probably because most people already had their trees up and decorated. You were slightly relieved though, the less people, the better as far as you were concerned.
“Here, put these on,” Bucky started as he handed you a pair of gloves from the center console.
“Thanks,” you said as you both made your way out of the car.
The owners of the farm were right outside the entrance waiting to greet you. They were a nice older couple and you remembered them from the previous year as well. The woman had made a comment about how cute of a couple you and Bucky were and had walked away to help a family get their tree paid for before you could correct her. You remembered how embarrassed you felt and the genuine smile Bucky had on his face when you bashfully looked up at him. You had bumped him with your shoulder and walked further down the path to the line of trees in front of him trying to hide your hopeful smile.
“Hey there, folks,” the woman greeted. “Oh, wait a minute, I remember you two! Last year you walked around the trees for two hours before you finally decided on two. You know what’s so funny is, and I know I don’t know you, but we only have so many faces come through here every year, and you guys always do, this is what year three now? I just feel like I know you two. Anyway, I was convinced last year that you were gonna pop the question to this little sweetheart. I’m so glad to see you’re still together. Just the sweetest couple I’ve ever seen, don’t you think Henry?” the older woman ranted on as you two stood before her and her husband. You felt your face flush and the man, Henry, turned to his wife and spoke,
“Helen, you’re embarrassing the poor girl,” he laughed in good humor.
“Oh, you’re right. I’m sorry, darling,” she said to you. “I don't mean anything by it. Just that I recognize two familiar faces and I’m always glad to see returning customers, especially the ones who stick out to me.” she smiled genuinely while looking between you two.
You didn’t know what to say. Honestly. You weren’t sure you wanted to burst her bubble and tell her that you and Bucky weren’t a couple but you also didn’t want to not say anything and cause any issues between you and Bucky should you just let it go. Before you could speak, Bucky did.
“No need to apologize, ma’am. We love this place, look forward to it every year. It’s like our tradition. And we appreciate how much care and attention you pay to everyone who comes through here. It makes getting a tree feel more special,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.
“Aw, well, thank you for saying that, honey! We take a lot of pride in our little farm. And it’s the folks like you who make it worth it every year.” Helen said as Henry grabbed a saw and handed it to Bucky.
“You two have fun, now. You need some help putting your tree on your car, just let us know when you get back here,” Henry said with a smile.
“Thank you,” you said kindly as your hand moved to hold Bucky’s that was still around your shoulder. The older couple walked off to greet a small family who had just arrived behind you and when you looked up to Bucky and opened your mouth to ask him what he was doing, he started talking before you could.
“I know, I know. But you saw her face, we couldn’t deny her. If she knew we weren’t together it would have ruined her Christmas, I’m sure of it,” he said adamantly as he nonchalantly squeezed your hand in his while you approached the gorgeous pines. You couldn’t help but laugh at his words.
“I actually kind of agree with you,” you said as you pulled his hand from your shoulder and let it drop from your grasp. You saw the hurt on his face as he looked down at you, but he didn’t say anything and quickly schooled his expression, moving to shove his hands in his pockets.
“So, what size are you thinking this year?” he asked you. You appreciated the way he didn’t push you or try to continue with the previous topic, though you were sure he had more to say. You let it go, though, and allowed your mind to come back to the task at hand.
“Ya know. Like, a normal size,” you shrugged. “Can’t be too tall or I won’t be able to reach the top. But too small wouldn’t look very nice with the open living room, it needs to fill the space. And preferably little to no bare spaces.”
“I forgot how judgy you are about christmas trees,” he scoffed.
“I’m not judgy, okay. I just think if you’re gonna go through the effort of finding a tree, cutting it down, putting it up in your home, and then decorating it instead of just buying a fake pre-decorated tree, it should look the way you want it to look.” you responded as you examined the pines in front of you.
“Mhm. Well how about this one,” he asked as he ushered you to a tree a few plots down from where you were standing. “It’s a good height. Looks pretty full,” he suggested.
“Yeah, maybe. But I wanna keep looking, just to be sure I don’t miss out.”
“Miss out? What would you be missing out on? This tree checks all your boxes,” he said matter of factly.
“I don’t know. What if there’s a tree I like better further down? I wouldn’t know if I didn’t look.”
“But you wouldn’t need to know if you already had this tree, because you’d have your tree?” He said, trying to understand your thought process. Your thought process, which, by the way, made little sense even to you. You had a perfect tree right in front of you, but you couldn’t let yourself commit to it. You couldn’t shake the thought of there being a tree that you’d like better. And it almost stressed you out to think that you could miss out on it, even if it possibly didn’t exist. It was a theoretical tree you were talking about, here. A theoretical perfect tree vs an actual physical real life tree which was admittedly, perfect for your house. Because, what if the theoretical tree did exist? You’d never know if you didn’t look. But again, why would you need to look when you had the perfect tree literally right in front of you. It didn’t make sense. You knew that, but you couldn’t admit it out loud. So instead you just kept walking.
“We literally just got here, I want to look around more,” you whined with annoyance.
“Fine, but don’t start complaining when we come back around for this tree and it’s gone,” he warned as you continued away from him.
You knew you definitely would start complaining should the tree end up being gone but you also really didn’t want to be done at the farm yet. The walking around was the best part and though you wouldn’t tell Bucky, you wanted to spend more time with him. Once you had your tree and he inevitably helped you get it in your living room, you knew he’d head back to his place to pack for his trip and the next thing you knew he’d be gone for the rest of the month.
You slowed your pace and then stopped walking entirely until Bucky eventually caught up beside you.
Pursing your lips, you looked to him and said regretfully, “We should have gotten coffee before we walked over here.”
“Oh my god,” he bemoaned exaggeratedly, “we really should have.” With that he turned and started heading toward the quaint little christmas shop that was part of the farm.
They sold coffee, hot chocolate, fudge, peanut brittle, and various knick knacks and Christmas decorations. It was also the area where you would pay for your tree on the way out.
You scurried behind him laughing to yourself and then entered the warm and inviting shop as he held the door for you.
Bucky walked up to the counter and ordered your drinks while you walked around looking at the individual ornaments. You didn;t realize Bucky had walked up behind you while you were examining fondly a delicate porcelain angel ornament. He stood closer to you causing you to look up at him. With the way he was looking at you, something akin to admiration and curiosity, you had the instinct to put down the ornament and turn from him. You didn’t though, because there was another part of you, the not so terribly insecure part, that wanted to share with him why it had caught your eye. So you did. Looking back down at the ornament in your hand, you held it up so he could see it better.
“My mom had so many ornaments like these. They were her favorite. She always made sure they went on the tree every year. My sister dropped one once and we weren’t allowed to touch any of the rest of them while we finished decorating the tree that night,” you smiled softly at the memory, “I always wondered where she got them. They’re really beautiful. Even as a kid, ya know, I knew they were pretty and they obviously meant a lot to her, but I didn’t truly appreciate them until I got older.”
“It’s definitely beautiful,” he said as he was looking at you, “You should get it. Start your own collection,” he suggested as he continued to stare at you affectionately.
“Yeah, I think I will,” you agreed. Bucky’s name was called from the counter and he walked over to get the drinks while you took the ornament and went toward the register, but not before another ornament caught your eye. You couldn’t help the grin that spread on your face as you looked over the assorted Avengers themed ornaments. They looked like something you would find on Etsy, they looked hand drawn - each one a beautiful and realistic portrait on it. They each had a different avenger on them and as you sorted through them, you found the one you were looking for. You weren’t sure there would be one for him, but once you saw his face so beautifully sketched on the orb, you grabbed it and brought it up to the counter with you. You paid for the ornaments and found Bucky having a conversation with some guy near the door. For someone with a metal arm, Bucky really didn’t get recognized all that often. And you had a feeling, even when he did, most people were too wary of him to come up or say anything at all. As you approached the two men, Bucky’s back to you, you heard part of the conversation.
“His name is Buddy. He’s right outside with my wife and daughter. I really don’t want to intrude on your day, but it would mean the world to him. He looks up to you, you’re his favorite hero. I actually can’t believe I’m running into you right now. This is crazy. But I mean- would you mind? If not, I completely understand but it’d make his Christmas to meet you.” the younger man said.
“Wo- uh- sure, yeah. I’d - I’d be happy to,” Bucky sounded almost shocked as he responded.
“Great! Thank you so much, I’m gonna get him right now. Thank you!” the man said excitedly as he turned to exit the shop.
“What’s that about?” you asked curiously as Bucky turned to face you.
“I uh,” before he could finish, the door opened again and a little boy about 4 years old entered in front of the man, obviously his dad.
“Look who it is, Buddy.,” his dad prompted the boy who stood in front of Bucky with eyes wide of wonder and amazement.
“You’re my hero,” was all the boy could say as his eyes filled with tears. He ran up to Bucky’s leg and grabbed hold of it and you could feel your eyes starting to water at the sight. It was the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. It made it all the more impactful as you recalled a conversation you had with Bucky a while ago. He was talking about the school event he had just got back from with Steve and Sam and how terrible he felt about it. How he felt he didn’t belong there.
“I’m not a hero. Not really. Not like Sam and Steve, you know? And those kids, it was like they knew I didn’t belong there, either. They looked… scared of me.” He had said quietly as you both sat out on his porch looking at the stars. It had been a long night full of meaningful conversation and you remembered telling him how wrong he was about himself. He didn’t agree but you refused to leave until you were sure he wouldn’t beat himself up for the rest of the night. You had turned to him, looked him straight in the eyes and said with complete sincerity, “You’re a hero to me.”.
The look he returned to you was nothing short of surprise and gratitude. “You don’t have to say that,”
“No, I don’t have to. But you should know that. I want you to know that.” you said softly. You could even recall the anticipation you felt as he leaned in closer to you, for a moment you had thought he was going to kiss you. But instead he wrapped his arms around you as you did the same. “I dont think you know how much that means to me, Y/N.” he breathed. You spent another hour or so out there before you finally went home for the night. You had spent quite a few nights that way, actually. Just sitting and talking. You had missed moments like that.
You came back to yourself as the boy pulled back from Bucky and tried to tug up the sleeve of his puffy jacket before turning around and calling, “Dad! Help me get it off, please,”
His dad took the jacket from him and helped him pull up the sleeve of this shirt to reveal his own prosthetic arm.
“I’m strong like you, see!” the boy said to Bucky who was now kneeling down before the little guy.
His smile was wide and beautiful as ever as he talked to him. “I do see. That’s a pretty cool arm you got there, kid,” he said.
“Can I see yours?” the boy asked hopefully.
“Yeah, sure thing,” Bucky said straight away, though you could sense his slight hesitation as he stood to remove his own jacket. You took it from him without him asking and he then went to remove his left glove and roll up his long sleeve. Buddy looked on as Bucky knelt back down to show him his arm.
“Wow. When I get older, I wanna be like you. I’m gonna fight the bad guys and have a cool arm and my- my best friend Sammy is gonna be like Captain America and we’re gonna beat the bad guys and be avengers too,” he spoke in the adorable voice that most every 4 year old speaks with, all out of breath and sweetly spoken.
Bucky and Buddy spoke for another 5 or 10 minutes as you and Buddy’s family both looked on.
They took a picture together, and you made sure to snap one on your phone as Buddy’s parents did the same. They thanked him over and over and Buddy made sure to give Bucky another hug before they left.
Bucky turned to you and as he looked into your eyes, you saw all the emotions that he was going through. His eyes looked glassy and you didn’t hesitate to walk closer and pull him into the tightest hug you could manage while still holding his jacket, your purse, and the bag of ornaments. He returned the hug gratefully as he rested his chin on your head.
“I told you you were a hero, Barnes,” you reminded him, “And that was quite possibly the cutest interaction I have ever seen,” you went on.
Bucky laughed and let you go as you moved to back away. He took his jacket from your arms and put it back on.
“I saw you take that picture, by the way. I better not hear about it from anyone at the compound. I know about that secret group chat you all were in last year - you helped them plan that surprise party for my birthday,”
“You knew about that?! I worked so hard keeping you from catching on,” you complained.
“Oh you did your part, I found the chat on Steve’s phone when he asked me to help him send a text to Nat before they finally got together. Poor guy didn’t have a clue, but I still acted surprised at the party because I’m a good friend,”
“Mm, the best,” you affirmed with a smirk. “Let’s go get that tree before someone else does,” you added.
Walking back, you grabbed your drinks that had been left on the counter and handed Bucky’s to him as he led the way out of the shop. He grabbed the saw he had left leaning against the storefront with a line of others and you walked back to where the tree was, but Bucky walked past it and raised a brow at you when he realized you were just staring at him confused and not following him.
“Did you or did you not say that you wanted to walk around more?” he sassed.
“Oh,” was all you said in response as you walked toward him and sipped on your drink.
You walked and talked for longer than you had planned before finally circling back around to the tree. You held Bucky’s empty cup with yours while he cut the tree down with ease and carried it back to the car like it was nearly weightless. You threw the cups away and went back inside the shop to get your tree paid for. By the time you made your way back to Bucky’s car, he had the car on getting warmed up and the tree tied securely to the roof as he leaned against the passenger door waiting for you. He opened the door for you as you approached and helped you in before shutting you in and walking around to the driver’s side.
You spent the drive back to your place talking about nothing and everything and for a second it felt like old times again. As he pulled up to your driveway, you realized you’d have to say goodbye soon and then you’d be alone again. You tried not to dwell on it and grabbed your stuff before getting out and heading to your front door while Bucky got the tree down.
“You have the tree stand out already?” He shouted as you opened your door. You gave him a thumbs up and walked down the hallway to grab the stand from the box it was sat in. You placed it in the corner of the living room, off to the side of the tv and next to the wall. Bucky came in behind you and you helped him get the tree properly in the holder before standing and taking your gloves and jacket off, putting them on the coffee table where your purse and bag laid.
“Thank you, Bucky. I really appreciate the help,” you started as you handed him his gloves. “And spending time with you, I- uhm- I think I kind of really needed it.” you confessed quietly while looking down at your fidgeting hands.
“I’m always here for you, you know that, right?” he asked as he gently grasped your chin and lifted your face up to look at him. You didn’t say anything, just nodded as he looked into your eyes. He smiled softly at you before dropping his hand and backing away ever so slightly to give you space. “I’ve really missed you, doll.”
“I’m s- I - yeah. I- I’ve missed you, too.”
“When I get back, I’ll help you take it down. And I’ll be expecting those cookies, too,” he joked as he started toward the door. “I should go pack now. I’m driving out tomorrow, gonna try and beat the storm.”
“Sure,” you nodded. “Drive safe. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” he echoed, then walked out the door shutting it behind him.
You took a second and decided to just let your body do what it felt like doing and rushed after him, stopping him as he started down the steps. You didn’t say anything, just wrapped your arms around him and buried your head into his chest as he returned your hug. You suddenly felt tears threatening to rise and willed them away as you two embraced.
“Seriously, drive safe. The reports are saying it's supposed to start getting really bad tonight,” you said into his chest.
“I know, I will,” he reassured you.
“Okay,” you responded.
You slowly let him go with a small “Bye,” which he returned in kind. You watched him get into his car and gave him a wave as he drove away before walking back into the warmth of the cabin that you called home. It was still the afternoon but you really didn;t feel like decorating the tree right then. Instead you turned on the television and put on a movie you’d seen at least a hundred times. You made yourself a grilled cheese and then found yourself slowly nodding off while laying on the couch. You quite literally had no obligations for the remainder of the year and the only thing you kinda sorta had to get done was your decorating, but that could absolutely wait another day. You were feeling so many emotions at once and it was honestly draining you. You didn’t fight to stay awake much longer and resigned yourself to a nap. It was maybe an hour later that you woke up because you were freezing.
You got up to put your heater on and as you looked out the window, you were shocked at the look of the sky and the amount of snow that had fallen in the short time since you got home. You knew it was just going to get worse and found yourself worrying again about Bucky driving all the way to the compound from here in that weather. You spent the rest of the day putting off decorating and just lounged around until night finally fell. You dressed in your warmest pajamas and headed to bed right before midnight. You slept peacefully while dreaming about Christmas’ past and then about a Christmas future with Bucky. Quite literally a dream.
But you woke up the next morning with tears streaming down your face. You had been dreaming about a christmas party with your family and friends and Bucky and it was magical and wonderful, until you realized that your family wasn’t actually there. They were just memories playing out around you and when you turned to Bucky searching for some kind of stability or comfort, he was walking out the door as everyone else around you had disappeared as well. You were left alone crying to yourself as your every emotion threatened to shut you down.
You wiped at your eyes as you pulled yourself further from sleep and dragged yourself out of bed. You went to your bathroom and threw water on your face before looking in the mirror. You shook off the sadness that was clouding you and proceeded to get ready for the day. Not that you had anything to do or anywhere to go, but habit is habit. You checked the weather and almost couldn’t believe how much it had advanced in less than 24 hours. You looked outside and figured you might be snowed in by the night. You almost wanted to call Bucky and see where he was, but didn’t want to risk causing a distraction for him if he was driving. Especially in such bad conditions. You waddled your way downstairs and put on your kettle before getting out your heart shaped waffle maker that you had gotten for your birthday. Your morning passed slowly as you ate your breakfast and drank your tea, watching Psych play on the tv from where you sat in the kitchen.
You put away your dishes and then walked down the hall to the boxes of decorations you had waiting to be put up. You almost didn’t even bother. Truly, what was the point? You were alone for Christmas and would decorating help you at all or just make you more sad? Instead of leaving them, you decided to at least put lights up on the tree. Bucky had taken the time to drive you and cut the tree down for you. The least you could do for the holiday would be to decorate it. You dragged the box of lights behind you and set it next to the tree before sitting down on the couch.
As you sat there, you debated getting up or just watching tv on the couch for a while. Every move you made seemed to take a lot out of you. You just wanted to lie there and nothing more. You decided not to force yourself to do anything for the moment and just sat there watching another episode. That episode turned into another and then another and then you had to pee. You got up and used the restroom before returning to the kitchen and grabbing your water bottle, filling it up and chugging water which you had neglected to do all day. It was nearing 7pm, you noticed as you glanced at the time on the stove before making your way back to the couch. You were stopped, however, by the sudden knocking on your front door.
Noraaaa i missed you! Wanted to suggest a beefy Bucky cuddling up on the cold nights (im freezing where i live) and a possible suggestion of lumberjack bucky 👀
lumberjack bucky is always so warm and toasty (almost to a fault) but on nights where you’re freezing, you couldn’t be happier with how warm his body is.
having him slide behind you, whisper a soft “you’re cold, aren’t you, honey? well why didn’t you say anything?” as his firm and hard body is already neatly tucked behind you.
except his favourite way of warming you up involves a little more interactivity 😩 “you know, my fingers could work inside of you, baby. get you real nice and warm after a few orgasms. how’s that sound?” and you can feel his length pressing into you already.
hey hey hun 🥰 how we feeling about lumberjack!Bucky !?
We lOVE lumberjack!Bucky. Especially Beefy!Lumberjack!bucky.
His body is always so warm pressed against yours, body thick with muscle and radiating heat wherever he goes.
His hands are big and calloused, drawing patterns up your spine and back down again.
He hums gently, voice deep and rumbling through you as you press yourself closer to him, seeking out his warmth in the cold morning air.
And my man loves to see you on top of him, riding him like your life depends on it. The blissed out expression on your face is enough to have him blowing his load there and then.
I am an absolute sLUT for lumberjack!Bucky Barnes. And I’m okay with it.
For a moodboard... LUMBERJACK BUCKY IF YOU'RE INTERESTED ❤️
I’m more than interested, and am now obsessed with the idea of Lumberjack Bucky 😍 Thank you so much for sending this in, Mack 💜 Now, where can I find him?
Friends, mutuals, strangers, I have a request.
I am looking for some really good beefy!bucky fics. They can be chapter fics but I have ADHD so one shots or short chapter fics are best. It can be on Tumblr or AO3 but I need your best and finest beefy!bucky recommendations. Smut or fluff are best (beefy can also include lumberjack bucky). Pls help me out!
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.
Word count: 5.6k
Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, crime, and injury, smut (18+, minors dni)
a/n: Feedback is so so appreciated!! I love hearing what you think ♡ If you enjoy my writing, consider checking out my ko-fi!! 🤍🤍
You can follow my library blog @pellucid-library for fic update notifications
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
It was so warm at the inn that your skin began to feel sticky.
Sarah was the one in control of the central heating for the halls, but Sarah wasn’t there. She hadn’t been for weeks, actually. Up until now, you had spent practically every night at Bucky’s cabin, leaving a few articles of clothing at the inn to keep things ‘casual’. Because if your things were somewhere else, then you didn’t technically move in.
Sarah stopped waiting for you after the first week, handing you a key to the building with a playful smirk.
“For when you need to access your wardrobe,” she had said.
How stupid you’d been.
Things were bound to catch up to you—you knew that. But you were supposed to be careful. You were supposed to be looking for a new place to go your first couple of weeks here, keeping yourself safe by never staying stagnant. ‘Town hopping’, you had thought up, head heavy on the airplane window.
And then you fell in love with Stowe Mills and its people. You fell in love with Bucky, even when you knew you shouldn’t. Even when you knew it would be impossible to pretend nothing was wrong with such glaring secrets lurking beneath the rocky precipice of the mountain; sharp rocks, dusted with a delicate white.
Your lungs burned as you flitted around the cramped room, each article of clothing shoved into your too-small suitcase a fiery breath in your throat. They didn’t burn as much as the tears in your eyes, but the feelings were comparable.
It wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to, but you never thought you would be feeling this way in Stowe Mills.
But just like last time, you brought this on yourself. This was your fault, you reminded yourself; you were too easy to push around, too nosey, not brave enough, and now, too secretive. You weren’t trustworthy anymore, and wasn’t that just the star on top of your metaphorical tree. No one wants a reporter they can’t trust.
You snapped the suitcase shut. It wasn’t even half full, but you weren’t about to trudge down to Bucky’s and ask him for the rest of your things. You came here with nothing, and you would leave with just as much. You were leaving with less actually; abandoning everything you had gained here felt like emptying your body as well. It felt like some cruel kind of joke.
But maybe you deserved that.
You left someone’s life in ruin, and now you had to pay the price with your own.
Only you actually got to live.
Your bag beat against the stairs, your shirt sticking to the back of your neck. You’d call Stan when you got outside; you’d lock the front door and tell him to meet you at the tree line. No one would look for you there, no one would be able to ask you any more questions.
With a shaky grip, you fumbled with the welcome mat outside the inn. Its jagged material left indents in your skin as you placed the key beneath it. Such a small town notion, putting a key under a mat. You’d miss simplicities like that.
You’d miss Bucky.
“What the hell are you doing?” The undeniable croak of Greta’s voice had you straightening out in an instant, heart racing in surprise. Of all the people to stop you before you left, she was last on the list. “I asked you what you were doing.”
“Greta,” you whispered, slowly turning on the balls of your feet. “I was just leaving.”
Her features narrowed, lips puckered distastefully. “You were just leaving.”
The wind whipped at the thin layers of your clothes, seeping into the skin underneath and chilling your bones. Greta kept her stare firm, and it kept you firm as well; her eyes were unrelenting, rooting you to the concrete with each blink.
“Fine,” she conceded. “Leave then. Break that boy’s heart.” Your chest swelled with an argument, but she cut you off just as quick. “You know I’m right. You leave and he’s not gonna recover from that. Already lost his momma… losing you too—it’ll hurt different, but that’s the kind of hurt that changes a person.”
“I’m dangerous in a place like this. I’m not good for him.” Your hands hung limply at your sides, blood rushing to your fingertips to warm you.
Greta’s cane scuffed against the street. “I know I’m old, but I’m not stupid. You handle books worse than Sam, and that’s saying something. Took me about two days to verify you had no degree in library science. And I had a friend once, Margie...” Greta leaned into the railing of the inn, a deep sigh escaping her. “You know, this town wasn’t always so cuddly. Back in the day, women didn’t have much going for them, especially not in a place as small as this.
“Getting married, having kids—that was it for us. There was no leaving when it got tough and no ‘becoming your own woman’. And Margie, she married the worst of them.”
Your face crumbled in realization, eyes fluttering, head shaking. There was no way she could have made the connection. No way this old woman had somehow found you out within days of knowing you but never said a word. The job, maybe, but this?
“She used to be such a chatty Cathy, Margie did. Would talk your ear off if you let her. And as much as I wish she would shut up, I loved her. Everyone did. Then Thomas came around and she lost herself—stopped coming around as much and apologized every chance she got.” Greta turned, meeting your gaze for the first time in a while. “Was real jumpy.”
“Greta—” you began, but she didn’t seem to want you to talk. She lifted herself from the railing, the glasses hanging from her neck bouncing off of her scarf.
“This town. These people. We’ve come a long way since then, you can feel that. I know you can. And I still don’t think you get it.
“You can leave, but you’ll never be gone. James’ll never forget you. No one will. You might move onto the next big city, running from whatever it is you’re so afraid of, but they’ll stay here. You’ve created a space in Stowe Mills, and it won’t just fill up when you leave. It’ll stay empty. You didn’t even know Winnie, but I know you feel her space—the part of the town she took with her when she passed.”
The snowflake from the cafe was burning a hole in your bag for sure. You hadn’t thought twice about taking it with you; it was the first thing you shoved in your bag. Was it worth it? Leaving everyone to keep them safe, when they didn’t even understand?
What would hurt Bucky more, you wondered?
Greta was already retreating when you decided to finally speak up. “What if he hates me after I tell him?”
She didn’t turn as she replied, “That’s not something I can answer for you.”
You watched as her boots scuffed into the concrete with each small step she took, a war waging within your mind.
You thought a clean break would be enough to keep everyone safe, but was this really clean? When you left, Bucky would surely look into you. Your family, your name, your relationships. He would start to see things that didn’t make sense, and who’s to say he wouldn’t go looking for answers himself, like you did?
And his heart—his bleeding, generous heart. You couldn’t add to its pain. He’d already lost his mother, and was left traumatized by an attack in the woods; you leaving without a trace would be a cruel addition to an already unfair list.
You didn’t realize you were walking until a particularly harsh gust of wind cut you so deep your eyes began to water. You were pretty sure your bag would be ruined by the time you got back to retrieve it. It had been raining during the party, but that rain only took moments to turn to snow. It seemed everything was changing rapidly, all at once.
There was, of course, the small issue of if Bucky would even speak to you. You remembered the look on his face before the door clicked shut—betrayal and hurt. There was a large chance that he would leave your fate the same as his, closing his door on your face before you got a single word in.
It’s not like you wouldn’t deserve it.
Your stomach ached with conflicting emotions as Bucky’s home came into view. His chimney was billowing smoke and there was a low light emitting from his bedroom window. And if you squinted hard enough, you could almost place the outline of a cat in the window, tail swishing, carefree. The sight of this home usually only brought you comfort, but this time, anxiety and fear mingled there as well.
You thumbed the cold mental of Bucky’s key in your pocket, but abandoned the thought of its use almost instantly. Your privilege to use it was lost, thrown into the fire the second you became untrustworthy—a stranger. You would give it back to him today, right after you explained your exit.
Right after you walked away from the one place that felt like home.
Right after you left him.
Your frigid knuckles ached as you knocked on his door. The sound echoed, reverberating against the walls of your mind long after you lowered your arm back down to your side. Now that you thought about it, you had never knocked on Bucky’s door before. He had consistently been there to guide you through the threshold, or insisted that you simply let yourself in, always one to make you feel at home.
So it felt wrong—knocking.
He knew it was you. You could tell by the uncertain gait on the other side of the door, punctuated by the creaking of floorboards. His steps were soft but irregular, as if considering turning away from the door and leaving the problem for tomorrow. But you wouldn’t be here tomorrow.
You knocked again.
The doorknob shook. You took a step back and heard the crunch of snow beneath your feet.
Bucky looked no better than he did at the party, now clad in pajamas and despair. Your heart hurt at the sight of him, at the torment you had afflicted. And when he finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, your mouth parted in surprise.
You were used to a variety of Bucky’s looks. Adoration, playfulness, bewilderment. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, eyes with a gentle gleam, mouth set in a permanent, soft smile. You were even used to the sadness you would sometimes catch beneath a happy glow, as if always waiting for an inevitable melancholy.
But the way he was looking at you now—with so much confusion and poorly hidden aversion, an unrecognizable defensiveness guarding his usually open eyes—it shot right through you.
Your chest shook, eyes fluttering down to the snow in an attempt to calm yourself. You caught Bucky shift from your peripheral, one foot taking a slight step back, and shot out whatever you could to get him to stop moving.
“I’m going to explain everything,” you said to the ground, unable to see that look on his face again. “I’m going to tell you exactly what’s going on because you can’t let me leave a space. I’m going to tell you and then I’ll leave and I need you to fill the space when I’m gone.”
Another creak in a floorboard. “Space?”
“Whatever I leave behind when I’m gone. I want you to—no, I need you to let go of it. To find someone else, or something else, to take its place. I won’t be another thing that breaks your heart forever.”
Bucky got so close to you you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You could smell the piney scent of him mingling with the laundry detergent you had used so many times, and it was all you could do not to fall into its comfort.
He cleared his throat. “It’s a little late for that.” And despite it all, he brought his thumb to your chin, directing your gaze to his. “Whatever space you’re talkin’ about is pretty much ruined for me.”
Your bottom lip trembled under the intensity of his stare, tears threatening to fall and meet his fingers. “If I tell you, I can’t stay.”
A grim nod was all you got in response, his touch leaving you in favor of leading the way to his dimly lit living room. The fire was the only source of light, but he didn’t move to turn on any lamps. Instead, he simply sat on the couch, gesturing for you to take the seat beside him. You did so gingerly, running your palms down your legs as you took a few steadying breaths.
“You’re going to hate me.”
His answer was almost instantaneous. “I don’t think I can hate you. I tried. When you left the party I tried to get angry—to hate you for lying to me and leaving. But even after you do leave, after you keep on running, I don’t think I have it in me to hate you.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, glossy eyes directed at the fireplace. Looking at yourself from the outside, the flames most likely gleamed in your waterline—a reflection. Metaphorical and literal.
“I come from a lot of money,” you began, sitting on the edge of the couch. “I always have. I went to a private school in Manhattan, got shipped off to boarding school in Sweden when my parents wanted to take a year off, was mostly raised by nannies.” You picked at the seam of your jeans. “I don’t know if you had time to look into my last name—”
Bucky interjected, “I did. Y/l/n. Owners of one of the major stock broker firms on Wall Street. Your dad sure is in the papers a lot.”
You pressed your lips into a firm line. “I didn’t always know why we had money. My dad just said ‘Wall Street’ and the kids at school all knew what I was talking about. It’s not like I would have understood the stock exchange when I was eight anyway.” You gave a humorless chuckle and turned Bucky’s way for the first time since you sat down. “My parents were very strict people. Strict and detached. They had me running to etiquette classes and cooking classes and piano lessons my entire childhood, but never showed up for a single thing. I got used to it, but all I ever wanted was their attention.
“And then they introduced me to Quentin Beck when I was fifteen.”
Bucky’s brows met at a point, head shaking in confusion. He most likely hadn’t found Beck in the small amount of time he had to research you. That was purposeful. It meant someone had done their job correctly.
“Beck’s family lived in the building across from ours. I thought it was a little weird that they could afford a place like that when his father was just a police officer, but I never asked questions. I never asked—“
You shut your eyes, inhaling deeply. You needed to get through this. You could have a breakdown later, maybe on the plane to wherever it was you decided on next.
Bucky’s hand twitched when you garnered enough strength to sit up straighter, and you couldn’t help but yearn for his touch; it was an instinct at this point, as natural as breathing.
That was something you would need to unlearn.
“I uh, I went to college for media. Became a news reporter. I thought maybe if I was on TV my parents would be forced to pay attention to me. Turns out they weren’t too interested in the news I was reporting. The station put me on stupid stories like the one Steve and Sam were watching. Dog shows, town fairs, bake sales—I was the ‘small town reporter’ in New York City. My parents laughed at me when they found out.
“I didn’t really blame them. I mean come on, a y/l/n sitting in front of a camera talking about back-to-school sales? I was laughable.”
“Don’t say that,” Bucky whispered. You flinched at the sound of his voice, still so tender.
Your hands were stiff as you wrung them together. “It’s true. My name is so important to so many people. They told me I was making our family look pathetic. Which is exactly why Beck came into play.
“My mom didn’t need to say it, but the implication was there: marry Beck or be disowned. Pretend to love this man I barely knew, or be cut off—no more inheritance, no more namesake. I should have… I don’t know—learned more about him? But I just wanted my parents to like me for once. So when he proposed after we ‘dated’ for three months, I said yes.”
Bucky went rigid. His hands balled up into fists atop his thighs, and your eyes followed his shoulders as he took a deep breath in. When you finally flickered your gaze up to his face, the broken expression he wore was almost too much to bear.
“You’re engaged?” he croaked.
“Technically, yes,” you all but whimpered. “But I’m not—I could never marry that man. Not after everything. And, Bucky, not after you.”
It was then that you heard the static from the television in his bedroom. He must have forgotten to turn it off when he came to greet you at the door, nerves taking up the space in his brain. You let the sound guide you to your next admission.
“I never liked Beck. He wasn’t… he didn’t hurt me. I never thought he would. Not until the end anyway.” Bucky’s head was quick to snap up, eyes wide in alarm as you nibbled at your lip and continued. “He had other ways of making sure I knew my place. He treated me like I was stupid, never let me leave the apartment, hung my parents’ money over my head. It was like being held captive in my own relationship.
“So I figured I would fix my career and then break up with him. As long as my parents thought I was respectable, there was no way they would force me into a loveless marriage.” You smiled grimly. “So I asked the station for a way to prove myself, a way to finally move past the meaningless stories. And they gave me the fucking Cold Case.”
“The Cold Case,” he parroted, as if repeating the words would somehow clarify the whirlwind of a story you had already put him through. And it was only the beginning.
You nodded before repeating the lines you had ingrained in your brain from the moment you were given the assignment, “A string of missing persons, all unrelated, no pattern detected other than the victims’ wealth. So the police gave up on it. News stations were still reporting on new cases, but it was almost like they were talking about the weather, like people going missing was a casual affair.”
Bucky was still tense when he asked, “And you figured it out?” But it wasn’t a question.
“And I figured it out,” you confirmed, and the first tear wet your cheek. “I put together the evidence, had one of my old friends from college hack into a few databases for me, and I walked into an old warehouse with a camera like it was nothing. There was supposed to be a ‘drop-off’ that day with one of the alias’ I flagged as a suspect. I didn’t even know what that meant, just saw the message come through one of the trackers Ned set up.”
More tears were falling; your head was beginning to hurt from the stress and the memories you had repressed for so long. You clenched your jaw at an uncomfortable rate, teeth grinding together as you attempted to set the words free. The words you had never, never said aloud. Because once they were out, there was no going back.
You jumped as Bucky’s hand rested over yours on the couch. He gently unfurled your fist to relieve your palm from the indent your nails were leaving, and stroked his fingertips across the marks.
“You can tell me,” he promised. “I’d never do anything that would put you in danger.”
You let out a helpless sigh. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
Bucky’s only response was a small, unbothered smile; there was nothing you could do to protect him at this point. Nothing other than walking out his front door. If the soothing circles he was rubbing into your hand told you anything, he wasn’t going to let you do that.
“Quentin Beck was in that warehouse,” you choked, tears blocking any shock on Bucky’s face. “He had some—some man in a suit tied to a chair. There were these things on the table next to him, and when he turned around to look at me all I could feel was this indescribable fear. This panic that told me I had to get out of there.
“So I ran. He kept yelling at me as I ran down the stairs, but I could only make out half of the threats he threw my way. But I caught one thing he threw at me—directly in the side. It was a pair of scissors. My fiancé stabbed me and all he said was ‘there’s more where that came from if you keep running’.
“I ran anyway.”
Bucky pulled you against him as your sobs overtook your body. He shushed you and ran a hand over your head and all you could think about was the look of relief on that man’s face when you swung open the door at the top of the stairs. The door you promptly left out of.
Moments before you left him to die.
“Bucky,” you sobbed. “Bucky I let that man die. And probably so many others by not doing anything. I did this to them.”
“No you didn’t, sweet girl. No you didn’t,” he hushed. “Why didn’t you tell the police? They woulda helped you.”
You pulled back, cheeks glistening and throat constricting as you replied, “Beck is the chief of police.” Bucky flinched. “And Brock is his partner, and Dreykov is the second in command. The entire police force is the Cold Case. That’s why they were so quick to file it away.
“And the worst part is that my parents knew,” you hiccuped. You felt yourself teetering on the verge of becoming hysterical, Bucky’s soft fingers on your cheeks the only thing keeping you somewhat collected. “I came home, bleeding everywhere and crying, and my mom just looked sorry for me. Like she wished I hadn’t found out. Like she knew I was going to die or something and I just—”
You lost yourself then, unable to speak or think or comprehend the gentle glow of Bucky’s living room as you relived the night your life started to make more sense. A cruel sense, but one that was inevitably yours.
Your parents weren’t good people, and they didn’t deserve your constant desire for their love. They didn’t deserve their money or their reputation or their status. But most of all, they didn’t deserve to be anywhere other than prison, and you hadn’t done a single thing about it.
“You think you can run from this? This is your life, you idiot girl. Everything you have is because of this!”
Beck’s words echoed in your head as clear as the day you ran from his punishing grip, but they were fading a little, overturned by the soft muttering in your ear that you missed in your panic.
“You’re fine,” Bucky whispered. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You’re right here with me, y/n, right here.”
“I’m so sorry I’ve been lying. I’m sorry I let all those people down and I’m sorry I’ve been lying,” you cried.
Bucky only held you tighter. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for any of that, doll, and no one else would either. You did what you had to to stay alive. Your whole world was against you.”
You sniffled, taking in Bucky’s scent and clenching at the material of his sweater. There was no disdain in his tone, and you almost couldn’t believe that. How could he not think you were evil? How could he not believe that you were a monster after everything you told him?
You had lived your entire life in the lap of luxury, an empire built on a mountain of extortion and lies and murder. And he still spoke to you in the low tone he reserved for your quiet nights, still pressed his skin against yours with a gentleness you had never known.
“How are you not mad at me? You don’t think I’m a bad person?”
He sighed, the air displacing a few strands of your hair as you leaned against his chest. “I know you aren’t a bad person. No ‘bad person’ would get so upset over this.” He ran a hand down your back. “And I’m not mad at you because I love you.”
You jerked back from his chest, features bewildered and breath caught in your throat. You knew you loved Bucky, thought about telling him all the time. But the secret that was now in the air between you had always held you back; you couldn’t share your heart with someone that only knew half of your story.
But now—with your ugly secrets laid bare as he held you close, the drying tears on your cheeks also salty on his thumbs from where he wiped away your pain—you had no reason not to tell him.
“I love you too,” you whispered, almost too quiet.
His thumb trailed from your cheek to your bottom lip, pressing into the skin there. “Stay.”
You knew it was coming. You knew Bucky would be driven to protect you; you knew he would always ask you to stay.
And earlier, you were firm in your answer. No, you couldn’t stay. It was too dangerous now that others knew your identity. They would out you as soon as they caught wind of your last name, track down your parents and alert them of their long lost daughter.
But now Bucky was looking at you with so much love and hope and you were sure there was no way he would even think about sending you back to that place.
One thing still loomed in the back of your mind, however. “It’s too dangerous for you. For all of Stowe Mills. I’m not going to stay here when people are after me. I’ve already pushed my luck being here so long.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” he asked, shaking his head. “There’s no difference between you and Stowe Mills anymore. There’s no you versus us. You are us, sweet girl. This is your home and we’re your family. There’s not a single person in this town that wouldn’t want to protect you from that—that monster.”
You kissed him. He wasn’t even looking at you, anger filled eyes trained on the wall above your head, but you kissed him anyway. His beard scratched against your cheeks as he shifted in surprise, and you groaned at the familiarity.
You were so sure you would never feel that again. You gripped at his face to ground yourself, relishing in the way he felt against your skin. His lips moved against yours with a matched haste and his shoulders positioned themselves in a protective posture around you.
To think you almost lost this. To think you were so close to forgetting the way his hands felt as they wrapped around your waist, the imprint of him becoming a memory clouded by your unceremonious exit. You would have only remembered the sounds he made in your dreams, the way his chest rumbled against you when your fingers slipped into his hair and the moans he let slip across your mouth when your teeth grazed his skin.
There was nothing you wanted more than this—than him. He knew everything about you, and he still wanted you. He still wanted to be your family and he loved you.
“James,” you whispered. And that was all it took.
He hoisted you into his arms, chests pressed together, lips never parting. The trip to his bedroom was quick and half blind, but the second your back hit his sheets there was a calm that washed over the two of you.
Bucky trailed down the length of your body, but kept his eyes locked on yours—like a promise held between gazes. His hands slid down your sides until they met the waistband of your jeans. He kissed the skin above them before he undid buttons and zippers and slid material down your prickled flesh.
His lips lingered on the inside of your thighs, hands holding you in place, breath ghosting over you. “I love you,” he whispered. “God, I love you.” And he groaned when he slid your underwear down as well.
He was between your legs before you even had the chance to respond, eliciting a gasp from your already parted lips. With every flick of his tongue and suck of his lips you were melting further and further into his bed. He had one arm encircled around your thigh, and you gripped at the blankets in surprise when he pushed a finger at your entrance, a moan escaping you.
“Just like that?” he asked. “You like that, sweet girl?”
Your mind was too hazy to respond, an inescapable high overtaking your senses. Bucky kissed up your skin as you came down, helping to ease your hips flush against the bed once more. The sound of your ragged breath accompanied the rustling of clothes, and then the bed shifted.
The warmth of him met every inch of your skin as he hovered above you, and it was all you could do to marvel at the sight of him.
Bucky Barnes truly was beautiful. His face was sharp and angular, but with a softness to it that made you feel safe, mainly brought about by his thick beard. You traced the slope of his nose as he stared down at you, and then your hand ran down to his arm.
The scarred flesh looked delicate under your fingertips, but it protruded from a muscular, capable shoulder. Bucky may be scarred, but he was not broken. He was the opposite really; Bucky was made stronger by his pain, and you wondered if you would ever reach that point as well.
“Just let me love you, sweet girl,” Bucky prompted, tilting your head up with his fingers. “I don’t want you to think about anything else. Just that.”
You leaned up to press a single, lingering kiss to his shoulder, and then you gave yourself up to him. You let him take over your mind as he brushed against your breasts and suckled bruises into your jaw. You forgot about everything—the secrets and the lies—when he pushed into you, moans held within the confines of Bucky’s home.
His headboard met the wall with a continuous rhythm, the sound of your skin slapping against his joining the room as well. Bucky buried his face into the crook of your neck when he positioned your hips up, allowing him to reach a spot within you that had you mumbling incoherent pleas against his skin.
“I know.” Bucky didn’t let up as he spoke, his hips continuing their unrelenting pace. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna take care of you, you got that? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
Your fingers threaded through his hair, a whispered I love you into his temple the only response your jumbled brain would allow. His teeth joined his tongue on the gentle assault across your collarbone, and the coil within you was dangerously close to snapping once again.
Bucky wouldn’t let anything happen to you. He held you so close, bodies connected, pleasure shared between the two of you, and he would never let you go. You believed that now more than ever. With his breath fanning against your chest in unsteady puffs and your head sliding against the pillow with each thrust of his hips, you knew you had no choice but to believe him.
Because it was clear that Bucky loved you. But it was even more clear to you that you loved him more—if that were even possible.
Bucky would say it wasn’t.
Taglist in reblog :) Thank you for reading! 🤍
Lumberjack Bucky showing off in front of teacher with all the kids during career day while Steve and Sam are like dude that is so dangerous don’t. 😅
He figured out that the little humans like it when he lifts or smashes heavy things.
And the best part is you get flustered when he lifts or smashes heavy things. He sees the way you stare at his muscles.
Now that's all he's doing, finding bigger and more daunting tasks to impress you and the little humans. Sam and Steve are very worried. Scott and Cassie love it. Nat and Yelana have a bet going. Bucky doesn't care because he's willing to do whatever to keep you smiling like that
The Wilds [5/?]
Summary: After a bitter divorce, you seek solace in the wilds of Alaska. Unbeknownst to you, it’ll change you in ways you could have never imagined.
Warnings: More sadness, some anxiety.
Notes: Uh, hi? Please don’t kill me for the absolute nosedive I took with this story. I had some personal issues in my life (false alarms, thank god) that hit a little too close to both the content of this story and some personal experiences, so I had to take a step back. Please enjoy this next chapter where we’ll learn a bit more about Bucky! x
Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist
The lake doesn’t feel so peaceful despite the quietness along the water, which matches your mood. Turbulent, unsettled, marred by rolling whitecaps as a result of the slightly rough breeze. It’s cool today, and as you sit by the water, you try and let the wind carry your uneasiness away. You’ve been doing good, so good, and as if he could hear it, Shawn had to make his reappearance. You’d known he would - he couldn’t let you sit for too long. Had to reassert himself, had to reassert his control.
Control you’re fighting like hell to regain and keep.
He’d called to taunt you, to remind you that he was moving on, happy. Flaunted it in your face by talking about their upcoming wedding. The wedding you did have, only bigger, better, with even more flowers and the best money could buy.
You felt pathetic, irritated that you’d had no confident words to spew at him for his games, and you’re embarrassed by the fact that you’d cried after hanging up the phone. Halfway through another sentence comparing you to Lizzie, and you’d had enough, pulling the phone away and slamming the End Call button as hard as you could. It wasn’t very satisfactory - the effect lost on the development of touchscreen phones.
As you sit by the lake, wind rustling the trees and your hair, blowing it around your face, you allow yourself some small victory - you hung up on him, stopped his attempts to bait you in their tracks, regained some control. It’s a small step, but a step forward all the same, and that little bit of optimism, sun through the clouds, brings a small smile to your dampened face.
Your therapist will be proud when you tell her, admit how much relief you feel just from the minute act of hanging up the phone. Eventually, you’re sure, you’ll stop picking up if or when he calls again to torment you. You can take back control.
Fall’s approaching. There’s a sharpness to the air now that signals the approaching end of summer, and some of the maple trees have begun to turn bronze. Alaska is pretty like this - one season fading into another and for a minute, you don’t ever want to leave. But then you remember that you should find a job, stop living off of Shawn’s money despite the alimony you’re sure to receive. Maybe you’ll settle some place like Alaska, open and free, without the constraints of a city. Somewhere there’s fresh air, but still society close enough should you need human interaction.
For now, you let yourself absorb what the wilderness has to offer.
Until your quiet reverie is interrupted by frantic barking some time later. You know only one person with a dog within living distance of you, and despite your instincts to brush it off, you’re overcome with the need to investigate.
Natalia finds you first, dark fur standing out against the green of the forest foliage. She winds herself around your feet, nips gently at your pant legs, grabs hold of your sleeve and tugs.
“What is it, girl?” you ask, and she barks again as she lets you go, tears off into the trees.
Without question you follow her, dodging in and out. She doubles back a few times, makes sure you’re still behind her. She leads you past the path back to your cabin, past the waterfall where you first met Bucky.
Oh god, what if something bad has happened? Unbidden, your heart clenches tight in your chest, cuts off your air as you run to keep pace with Natalia. You’re not even sure why - you hardly know Bucky but you’re worried regardless.
You nearly eat dirt and leaves as your foot catches on a raised root, but you quickly find your balance and push on. Breath coming harshly, you stomp down the painful stitch in your side.
Natalia dashes up the steps to a cabin similar to yours, though smaller. Quainter. The front door is open, leading you to believe she’d forced it open in an effort to find help. Or Bucky just left his front door open for the hell of it. Either way, you don’t think twice about running inside.
The lights are off, and despite the sunlight, you can hardly see a thing. Natalia’s nails click on the floor as she runs down the hall, barks three times from another room, and you do your best to follow it, feel your way across the cabin’s small space, stub your toe on a corner of a wall. Grimacing, you skim your hand along the wall until it meets the wood of a door frame.
“Bucky?” you call into the room, where you can hear Natalia panting and whining lowly. You squint in the dull lighting, barely making out a shape hunched on the floor beside the bed.
“‘M here,” he answers, voice low and monotone - empty. It twists your heart painfully, face tugging into a look of concern, and you approach slowly.
“Are you okay? Natalia found me…” you offer by way of explanation. In the dark, you see Bucky duck his head, hear his heavy sigh.
“I’m...I’m okay. You don’t have to worry.”
Lips pursing at that, you lower slowly to your knees in front of him. His eyes glitter in the dark where they’re focused on his knees, bent and hugged to his chest. Carefully you lay a hand on his arm, and you feel his body go rigid. Beneath your palm, his forearm is hard and unyielding. He shifts it out from under you, tucking it close to his body, shielding it, lets your hand drop to his knee.
“Bucky, what happened? Why are you in the dark?” Your voice feels loud in the still silence, against the quiet breaths of the man in front of you. Breaths when you really listen to them, quicken, shorten. Your fingers curl into his knee. “Hey, Bucky, you’re okay. Deep breaths okay?”
His breathing slows again, and you can feel him relax a little. Piece by piece, inch by inch, he unfurls his body until he’s a little more open, a little more spread out. You sit back on your heels, give him a little more room.
“S-Sorry,” he whispers, and in the dimness you see him drag a hand down his face.
“It’s okay.” He moves as you speak, rises to his feet to flick on the bedside lamp. Soft orange throws deep blue shadows across his walls, and you forego examining his room to scrutinize him instead.
He looks...rough. Deep circles under his eyes, a haunted look within them that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. His hands are buried in his sweatshirt pocket, shoulders hunched in a way that suggests he’s trying to hide. You stand as well, rethink reaching out for him. You don’t know him that well, despite the way his obvious struggle tugs at your heart.
“Can I make you some tea? Or fix you a drink?”
Bucky looks like he’s ready to decline, mouth opening to do so as the wall goes up behind his eyes, but he closes it. Nods, just once. Follows you out into the living room, flicking on the lights as he goes. The inside of his home is no surprise to you - mostly empty, save for a couple personal trinkets here and there. Otherwise, no decor on the walls, a tattered rug in front of the fireplace, no other signs that this is his home.
It saddens you for reasons you’re unsure of, but you let it go for now and busy yourself with filling the kettle. Bucky takes down two mugs and then reaches above the fridge, takes down a bottle of amber liquor that’s about a quarter full. He upends it into his mug, takes a long sip of it and avoids your curious gaze.
When the kettle whistles, you fill both mugs, regardless of the alcohol still in Bucky’s. He drops a tea bag into it and lets it steep, gestures to the living room where a ratty couch sits. You sit at the far end, opt to give Bucky some space to clear his head, but to your surprise he sits close to you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours.
“‘M sorry you had to see that. That Natalia bothered you,” he says gruffly after some time. The dog looks up at the sound of her name, tilting her head curiously.
You shake yours, fingers warm from your mug of tea. “She didn’t. I’m actually...glad she found me. She seemed really riled up.”
His smile is tight, uncomfortable, and he shifts on the couch. “She’s really in tune to my….to me.”
It isn’t the whole truth, but you don’t push. Sip from your tea and busy yourself by looking around the room. Now that you’re not overcome with worry for Bucky, you can look a little more closely. The fireplace is covered in soot, a half-burnt log inside it. The paint is chipping in places on the wall above the mantel.
In the center of it is a single photograph. You can’t make out the faces too clearly, but there are four of them in the photo - three men, one woman. You avert your eyes lest you stare too long, but Bucky’s noticed. His shoulders are stiff and there’s a pinch to his lips as he stares hard at the photograph. Awkwardly you sit and drink your tea until the mug is empty.
You ask before you can think about it: “Why were you sitting in the dark?”
Bucky’s breathing hitches, and you grimace, an apology on your tongue. But before you can utter it, he simply says, “I get panic attacks. I had a bad one and...and that’s why Natalia found you.”
Again, he keeps it short, speaking quickly - there’s more he isn’t telling you, but you daren’t push. He’s still skittish, erratic, eyes bouncing around the apartment only to settle on that photograph again for a moment. It clearly holds significance for him, if the way his eyes strain just slightly when he focuses on it, the shadow that seems to pass over his face.
It spreads throughout the room, darkening it despite the lights he’d turned on earlier. Obviously his mood is souring again, and you feel awkward, your skin itching with the urge to get away - back to your cabin where you can fret and overthink in peace. The phone call with Shawn left you on edge, a raw nerve ripe for irritation, and Bucky’s stony, less-than-pleasant demeanor is rapidly putting you off.
He must sense your rising panic, because he looks over at you, the tension in his face softening just a bit to something more somber, something sadder.
“I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable,” he utters, taking you mildly by surprise. He rubs at his forehead and drops his eyes - a truly pitiful look rife with self-loathing. It breaks your heart.
“N-No,” you argue, and he gives you a skeptical look. “I understand. I understand really well actually. Um, my, um...my ex...he called me, after you left yesterday. It, uh, it threw me for a bit of a loop. My head’s a little all over the place.”
It’s the most you’ve ever given him about your history, about your struggle, and you can see his face softening, an invitation for you to open up more. But your tongue feels heavy enough after giving even as little information as you have, and you stay quiet, pick at a seam in your jeans idly.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, but this time he isn’t talking about his panic attack or pulling you from whatever you’d been doing. He’s apologizing that your ex still seems to have a hold over you.
If only he knew.
He could, a small, quiet voice chirps in the back of your head. Its presence stills you as Bucky’s gaze burns the side of your face while he watches you. He could if you let him in.
God, how you want to. Despite the terror you feel at getting close to another person, you feel that tug in your heart - the one you felt for Shawn when you first met him. The desire to experience that intimacy with another person, it both thrills you and frightens you. Frightens you so badly you still feel that urge to run.
“I’m okay, if you’d like to leave,” Bucky says, and he says it with a gentle smile. His eyes, though, are tinged with sadness at the thought of you leaving - and you don’t know what to do. He knows you’re uncomfortable and he’s giving you an out.
Do you really want to take it?
Sensing your struggle, Bucky stands up, extends a hand. “How about a walk? Fresh air might do us both some good.”
You eye his hand warily, flickering between it and his face - open, completely readable. He wants you to say yes, but he won’t make you.
That flutter in your heart again at his patience, it’s all the resolve you need.
You take his hand.
if i could 🥀 - chapter 2
pairing: bucky barnes x reader (lumberjack!au)
what i’m listening to while i write
warnings: mentions of panic attacks, social anxiety, veiled reference to binging, low self esteem, emotional ups and downs. if i’m leaving anything out pls let me know!
notes: just as self indulgent as ever. :)
as always, feedback is more than welcome! thank you for reading and reblogging - i hope you all enjoy this chapter. 💘
dividers from @firefly-graphics 💙
“You really just pulled an Edward Cullen.” You gasped as Bucky took a ridiculously fast turn in front of oncoming traffic after almost passing the entrance to the parking lot. He was distracted by staring at you playing with your hair as you gazed out the window but you hadn’t noticed that.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
You turned to him with an incredulous expression, “You seriously still haven’t watched twilight?!”
“No, I have not.”
“Well, you need to. If you can watch Harry Potter, you can watch Twilight.”
“I was planning on it. Eventually. Some day. I mean, it’s on my list. Just way, way down on my list.”
“Mhm, well, the sooner the better.”
“So you’ll watch it with me, then?”
“I- what? How do you get from point A to point Z so quickly?”
“Well if you like it so much, why wouldn’t you want to watch it again? And you being there would ensure I’d actually watch it.”
“Hm,” you considered him, “okay, I’ll agree but then you have to promise to watch the entire saga.”
“It’s a saga?”he asked perplexed.
“Mhm. And lucky for you I have the entire collection on DVD and all of the books.”
“Wait. They’re based off of books?”
“Yeah. You can read them if you want. But either way, the movies are happening. And I’m sure you’ll absolutely enjoy each and every second.” You said mockingly.
“Sweetheart,” he laughed as he turned toward you after pulling into a spot and putting the car in park, “I enjoy each and every second I get to spend with you.”
You stare at him deadpanned and quickly turned to get out of the car as you felt your face heat up.
Bucky smirked as he watched you climb out of the car and followed suit.
You walked into the store, grabbing a cart as Bucky led you to the section he was looking for. You had no idea where he was going but you saw the wall of display mantles when you got there.
“Which one do you like?” He asked you.
“Uhm. I don’t know. They’re all nice. Whatever matches best. Maybe one of the darker ones?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Here, this one’s good,” he said as he grabbed one of the boxes from the shelves before you. You didn’t know which one it was he was putting in the cart but you didn’t really care, you figured Bucky knew what he was doing.
Just then a gorgeous woman about your age, give or take a few years, walked up to the two of you. She was tall, thin, and blonde, quite literally the exact opposite of you.
She completely ignored your presence and passed you to walk right up to Bucky.
“Excuse me, sir,” she spoke in the most flirtatious voice you think you’d ever heard in person. “I need some assistance in the next isle when you’re finished here,” she smiled at him.
“Oh, he doesn’t work here,” you spoke up a little defensively and she barely spared you a second glance.
“Thats okay, he looks more than capable enough to me.”
Your jaw clenched involuntarily as your eyes narrow slightly at the woman before you.
That’s not fair. You can’t do that. He isn’t yours, you don’t own him. He’s a grown man - a very attractive grown man - of course women are interested and you have absolutely no right to have any sort of say in this.
“No, she’s right. I’m terrible with this kind of stuff. I have no clue what I’m doing, honestly,” Bucky spoke so convincingly that you almost believed his lie.
“Oh,” she said as her smile fell. “Well, sorry for bothering you, I guess.” She continued, clearly embarrassed.
“Yeah,” he replied shortly as he turned back to face you. He couldn’t help but laugh at the expression of confusion on your face.
“What?” he asked.
“What? What do you mean what?”
“I mean what? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Jesus Christ, let’s just go,” Bucky spoke as he ushered you forward with his hand on your back as you pushed the basket.
As you continued to walk you entered the holiday section of the stores open floor plan. You couldn’t help but admire the twinkling of lights and shimmer of the ornaments on the fake tree displays. You had been considering buying some new ornaments and lights, but hadn’t made up your mind yet. As you stopped in front of one of the displays, Bucky began piling the cart with boxes of string lights and ornament collections.
“What are you doing?”
“I need some stuff for my tree. You have a problem with that?”
“I was just asking,” you said with the same attitude he used.
“Those don’t match,” you told him as you eyed the ornaments he was grabbing.
“What color would you choose?” He asked as he continued looking through the different boxes.
“If you’re doing the red, I’d probably go with the black white or silver set. Or you could do the gold ones.”
“What about the blue?”
“White and silver always look nice with blues. Real winter wonderland vibes.”
He chuckled at that and then added multiple boxes of all the colors you mentioned.
“I didn’t mean get all of them. That’s gonna cost a ton. How many trees do you plan on putting up anyway, that’s way too many ornaments.”
“I’m gonna put up as many trees as I like, with as many ornaments as I want,” he stated as he took the cart from you and continued to the registers.
You just raised your eyebrow, rolled your eyes, and continued following behind him.
When you reached the cashier, you tried to step in front of bucky to pay for your mantle but he pushed you behind him again, earning a glare from you as he added his Christmas decorations to the conveyor belt and paid for the items. You grabbed the receipt from the cashier with your thank you’s and tried to find the price of the mantle bucky had grabbed for you to see how much you were going to need to Venmo him but he quickly snatched it out of your hands as you walked back to his car.
“Hey! I was looking at that.”
“Don’t care. It’s not yours to look at.”
“How much was it?” You asked him, annoyed.
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean no. You don’t have to pay for it. It’s my house, I would have had to get a new one eventually whether you asked for it or not,” he continued to talk as you both loaded the items into the trunk.
“Where to next?” He asked.
You rounded the car and got in as he did the same.
“Whatever’s closest I guess, doesn’t really matter.”
“There’s a supermarket right across the street,”
“Okay.” you said simply.
“What do you have to buy?”
“Groceries,” you replied shortly.
“Anyone ever told you you’re a great conversationalist?”
You turned and smiled at him, “All the time,” and he laughed at you as he pulled into a parking spot.
As you walked toward the entrance doors, Bucky stopped to grab a cart for you before you guys entered the store.
“Thanks,” you mumbled as you grabbed onto the cart and set your purse down on the pull out baby seat.
You could feel him right next to you, walking closer to your side as you passed people. His presence was comforting and you didn’t feel as anxious as you normally do when you go shopping alone. You walked through the produce and grabbed some fruits and vegetables then continued on through the other isles grabbing your essentials.
“I can feel you staring at me, creep,” you said to bucky who stood behind you as you were squatting down to rummage through the cans of soups before you.
“Me?! I’m protecting you from the creeps trying to stare at you, so you’re welcome.”
You stood and turned with a couple cans of different soups in your arms and stared straight faced at him as you dropped the cans into the cart, raising an eyebrow in challenge at him before pulling the cart forward and continuing down the isle as he followed you.
You were walking by the baking section when Bucky’s voice stopped you.
“Are you planning on making those sugar cookies again?”
His question stopped you and you stood there looking at the bags of flour as you recalled the last time you had made them. Your mom had called and begged you to make some to bring for the Christmas party. They were her favorite and she had been looking forward to them since the previous year’s party. You caved and made a ton of cookies. You packaged up the extra you had made - specifically for Bucky - and after packing up the rest for your family, you went and delivered them to his door before you headed out to visit home for the holidays.
You actually had tried to make a batch a few weeks ago, you always loved baking and wanted to try to get back into it. You had a breakdown while rereading the recipe you practically knew by heart seeing the batch size it would make. It quickly reminded you that you had no one to give the cookies to should you actually try. After you calmed down from that you thought that you could just take a bunch to Bucky. It’d give you the excuse you’d been looking for to talk to him again. But as you began mixing the dough, you quickly found yourself heading into a panic attack as you were overcome with emotions out of nowhere, and you accidentally dropped the bowl onto the floor, the dough getting onto the floor as well. You threw it all away and ran upstairs to calm down while taking a warm shower. You hadn’t tried baking anything since then.
“I don’t know,” you shrugged as you eyed all the ingredients right in front of you that you’d need for the recipe. “Haven’t really thought about it.”
“You liked them?” You asked him after a few moments as you turned to face him.
“I’ve liked everything you’ve ever made, sweetheart,” he said softly and sincerely.
You rolled your eyes at the pet name though your heart felt like it would fly out of your chest. You grabbed the flour, sugar, baking powder, powdered sugar, meringue powder, food gel colors and the vanilla, almond, and lemon extract. You already had eggs and butter at home so you didn’t need to grab those.
“I guess I can. But be prepared for an absurd amount of cookies, Barnes. And I’m expecting you to take them all.”
“Gladly. They were a hit at my Christmas party last year,” you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Bucky hosting a Christmas party. You had planned on going last year but ended up leaving for home earlier than you had originally planned. “Steve ate half the batch,” he chuckled as he thought back to a year ago.
“Good, you can share, then.”
“I don’t know,” he started as he stepped closer, “I’m not too fond of sharing.”
You were standing in front of one another, staring at each other but not saying anything until an older woman cleared her throat as she came upon you two in the isle - you were in her way.
You quickly spun around and said sorry as you grabbed ahold of the cart once more and left the isle.
Bucky followed you and returned to your side as you finished grabbing everything you needed.
“So, are you having another Christmas party this year?”
“No, actually. I’m going to spend Christmas with Steve and Nat and everyone else at the compound. They’ve been bugging me to get out of here all year, so I figured I’d get them off my back.”
“Hm,” was all you responded. It was stupid but you were kind of hoping that he would be staying home for the holidays. So in some weird way, you wouldn’t be alone. But you didn’t want your disappointment to show. He didn’t need to know that. It was the furthest thing from being his problem.
“What about you?”
“Am I having a Christmas party?” You scoffed as you eyed him. “Yeah, actually I am. It’s gonna be the event of the year. Everyone’s gonna be there. You’re really gonna be missing out,” you said sarcastically.
“Oh, I’m sure I will be,” he smiled.
You headed to checkout and Bucky helped you load your cart onto the belt. Your items were bagged and you finished paying for your groceries when one of the workers came up to you. He was certainly attractive and just the way he was smiling at you made heat rise to your face. “Hello there, need any help out to your car, miss?”
“No, I think we got it,” said Bucky harshly as he stepped in front of you grabbing the cart. He was taller than the man before you and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew he must have had that look because the worker looked alarmed and almost scared.
“Oh, sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you two were together, I was just trying to be helpful,”
“I’m sure you were. But like I said, we got it. You can go be helpful over there,” Bucky said as he tilted his head to an elderly woman struggling to load her grocery bags into her cart in the lane next to you.
“Thank you, though,” you said to the man as he rushed away.
“What the hell was that?” You asked Bucky exasperated as you walked out to the car.
“You were really rude to that guy - for no reason,”
“No reason?” He questioned as he turned on you when you reached the car. “He was being completely unprofessional,”
“Unprofessional? He’s a bagger at a supermarket and all he did was ask if I needed help ,” you replied as you both began loading the bags in.
“He was clearly trying to flirt with you,”
“HA! You’re insane,”
“I’m insane, you’re oblivious. But I guess I already knew that,”
“Excuse me?” You said offended, “What is that supposed to mean?” You ask as you turn to face him after loading the last bag.
“You’re so oblivious…to how beautiful you are-“
“Stop,” you try to cut him off as you shake your head and walk to the passenger door.
“You’re oblivious to the amount of people who flirt with you and the number of people who stare at you when you walk by,” he continued.
“Can we go? Please?” You asked frustratedly trying to cut him off once again. You waited for him to unlock the doors, completely trying to ignore and drown out his words. They were actually really upsetting you and you couldn’t understand why. You felt almost embarrassed. And not in the shy way, more so in the humiliated way. You knew he wasn’t, but in your head it felt like he was just playing with you, like he was just saying it to say it. Because it was so obvious to you that it wasn’t true. You were usually good at taking compliments or at least you had gotten better about smiling and saying “thank you.” But the sincerity in Bucky’s voice upset you. It was hard to believe him, but also impossible to question his statements when he spoke with such sincerity. Like he needed you to hear him and believe every word he spoke about you. You couldn’t deal with those feelings right now though, so as always, you pushed them away.
“Yeah,” he huffed, “we can go.”
As he pulled out of the spot your eyes landed on a little makeshift tree lot down the parking lot.
“Have you actually gotten your tree yet? Or should I say trees?” You asked him.
“I haven’t yet. I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to go to the tree farm we went to last year? “ he asked as he peered over at you, almost nervous.
“Hm, when?” His eyes shot up at your question like he was expecting you to turn him down right away.
“You busy this weekend?”
You nodded, “Okay.”
You turned to look out your window as you tried desperately to stop the smile threatening to break on your face and missed the gorgeous smile that spread across Bucky’s.
When you arrived back at your cabin, Bucky helped you take your groceries inside and then went back out for the mantle as you began to put everything away. Then you ran upstairs to put your shoes away and change into your soft pink aloe socks. After you were finished you came back downstairs and into the kitchen where you grabbed two glasses and filled them with water. You downed yours and then took the other into the living room for Bucky who was almost finished putting up the new mantle.
“Water.” You said simply as you set the glass down on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” he replied as you sat down on the couch, pulling your legs up onto the cushion, one leg bent up as the other was bent lying down as you leaned back getting comfortable.
Bucky eyed you as he drank from the glass you gave him.
“You have a serious staring problem, you know that?” You said as you met his gaze.
He smiled as he set the glass back down, “It’s almost finished, just need to put in the last screw,” he said as he ignored your comment and turned back to finish up.
He stood and wiped his hands before putting pressure on the new mantle to ensure it was sturdy enough.
“All good?” You asked as he turned to face you again.
“All good,” he replied. You nodded as you stared at him. You felt almost disappointed that he’d be leaving now. Spending most of your day together just didn’t feel long enough. Not after having spent so long avoiding him. You could spend the rest of the month with him and you didn’t think you’d mind one bit. He was your favorite company- well, only company - but your feelings still stood. You wanted to pull him down onto the couch with you and be held by him the way he did all those months ago. His arms felt like home. They felt safe. But you pushed those thoughts away and as you were about to stand, there was a knock on your door.
“Perfect timing,” Bucky said as you looked to your porch from your seat. Through the window behind you, you saw a delivery guy standing there with an order that was obviously placed by Bucky.
You turned your head to see Bucky walking to the door, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. He opened the door and grabbed the pizza from the guy before handing him a twenty. “Thanks, have a good night,” he said as he turned back inside closing the door.
“I’m sorry- what is happening and when did I agree to it?” You asked confused.
“This is dinner and you agreed to it in the Home Depot parking lot.”
You shook your head as you feigned innocence, “I don’t recall,” you said as you tilted your head at him as you once again tried to fight off a smile at the prospect of spending more time with him.
He walked into your kitchen and grabbed two plates from your cabinet. “Well, I do. Now put the movie on before I change my mind and go home,”
You knew he was joking but you felt your heart race at the idea of him leaving now. Gross, you thought. That’s not the reaction I’ve been working towards, stupid heart. You shot up anyway and ran up the stairs.
“I’ll be right back,” you called to him as you made your way up the steps.
This whole ignoring Bucky thing may have been a huge misfire. It’s like when you deprive yourself of something for so long and then once you have it again, you can’t get enough. A vicious cycle, you thought. But one that ends tonight. No more avoiding him, no more ignoring him. You aren’t gonna go the other way with it either, though. You won’t force anything. You’re just gonna live. And if Bucky just so happens to make recurring appearances in your day to day life, then so be it. You decided to relinquish the control you tried to have over this relationship, well, as best you could in the moment.
You grabbed two blankets from your hall closet then rummaged through your bookshelf until you found the DVDs you were looking for. You grabbed your DVD player from the top of your closet and ran back downstairs.
You found Bucky sitting on your couch with two plates of food in front of him on the coffee table along with waters for the both of you. He was resting along the back of the couch with his arms stretched out on top of the cushions. You threw both of the blankets on him and scurried to your tv to hook up the DVD player. Once you had it all connected and your tv turned on, you slipped in the disc and started the movie.
You made your way to the couch and sat to the left of Bucky. You pulled your legs up onto the cushions and sat cross legged while you grabbed your plate from the table and set it in your lap.
You and Bucky sat side by side eating while you made sure he paid attention to the screen. When he tried to get up to get more pizza you pulled him back down and took his plate from him. You ran to the kitchen where the pizza box sat on the stove. “How many slices?” you asked from across the room.
“Two, please,” he sounded back.
You made your way back to the couch and plopped down beside him again while handing him his plate back.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said without really thinking as he returned his focused to the tv. You were pleasantly surprised that he seemed to be getting into it and even more surprised at yourself for not having an obvious reaction to the pet name this time.
He finished his food and you ran your plates to the sink and returned to Bucky laid out on the couch. You were behind him so he couldn’t see you yet. You stood there trying to decide what to do. Did you want to tell him to move his ass or did you want to crawl on top of him and lay down on his chest? You decided you didn’t want to decide. You walked around the couch and stared at him with a raised brow.
“And where am I supposed to sit?” you asked.
Without saying anything, Bucky reached for you and pulled you down on top of him, wrapping his arms around you the way you had imagined earlier. Once he got you settled and you laid your head against his chest, wrapping your arms around him in return, he started to rub your back soothingly. “You don’t need to sit, just lay here with me,” he whispered into your hair. You closed your eyes tightly and whispered back, “Okay.” before relaxing even further into his embrace. You could feel yourself starting to drift off after a while and tried to fight it. You were scared you’d wake up and he’d be gone. You were scared you’d wake up alone. But after fighting sleep for twenty minutes, sleep started to win. Just as you were giving into it, you felt Bucky place a gentle kiss in your hair.
“It’s okay, you can go to sleep. I’m gonna be right here,” he promised.
And with that you let your slumber pull you under as Bucky held you close.
Sitting here plotting
LUMBERJACK!BUCKY IS MY NEW FAVORITE AU AND I CANT BELIEVE I NEVER LIKE REALLY PUT THAT TOGETHER?! It's perfect lol plus I'm kind of dating a lumberjack at the moment(he says he works in "tree service"- he cuts down trees. He a lumberjack) so wtfffffffff is this serendipity?!😂
Misc!Bucky x Reader Fics Masterlist
all miscellaneous Bucky x Reader fics I’ve reblogged and recommended!
Bouncer!Bucky x Reader
*Sinday Drabble by angrythingstarlight
Baker!Bucky x Reader
*Baker!Bucky x Peach Drabble by angrythingstarlight
*Drabble by angrythingstarlight
*Sweeter than Sugar by angrythingstarlight
*Hungry For You by bucky-soldat
Drabble by angrythingstarlight
Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
*Breakfast Before Breakfast Drabble by angrythingstarlight
*Drabble by angrythingstarlight
*NSFW head canon by angrythingstarlight
Firefighter!Bucky x Reader
*Hazy Dreams and Good Mornings by angrythingstarlight
*Burn by boxofbonesfic
Neighbour!Bucky x Reader
*Lemonade by bucksfucks
Thots by becca-e-barnes
Demon!Bucky x Reader
Priest trying to save reader by angrythingstarlight
*Here From Eden by angrythingstarlight
*Drabble by angrythingstarlight
Roommate!Bucky x Reader
living with roommate!bucky by comfortbucky
*one shot by metalbuckaroo
Chubby!Librarian Bucky x Reader
*Drabble by angrythingstarlight
*Drabble by angrythingstarlight
Librarian!Bucky x Reader
*Drabble by angrythingstarlight
Trainer!Bucky x Reader
*Sinday Drabble by angrythingstarlight
Personal Trainer!Bucky x Plus size!Reader by boxofbonesfic
*Body Talk by boxofbonesfic
*NSFW Thots by angrythingstarlight
Dad’s Best Friend!Bucky x Reader
*The Graduation Party by becca-e-barnes
Cowboy!Bucky x Reader
Drabble by angrythingstarlight
Professor!Bucky x Reader
Prof!Bucky x Preschool Teacher!Reader [part 2] by swtbbybarnes
Cop!Bucky x Reader
*Drabble by metalbuckaroo
Dilf!Bucky x Reader
Dilf!Bucky Thots by angrythingstarlight
*Midnight Delight by bucksfucks
Avenger!Bucky x Reader
Maybe Next Time Lock The Door by mysecretlittlelibrary
Chubby!Bucky x Reader
Chubby!Bucky x Personal Trainer!Reader Drabble by boxofbonesfic
how do you see me? by thesnowsoldierwrites
*How would chubby bucky react to reader passing out during sex? by angrythingstarlight
Sugar Daddy!Bucky x Reader
Unexpected by firefly-in-darkness
Cabin Fever, i
summary: A mysterious drifter waltz into your homey life, asking for help. He seems kind, and generous. But what if he’s more than he lets on?
pairing: dark!stucky x black!fem!reader
warnings: Stockholm syndrome, eerie prophetic signs, kidnapping, dub-non con smut. Bearded lumberjack Stucky (a warning itself, woof.)
a/n: A submission for @imanuglywombat & @nellblazer ‘s Lumberjack Challenge. Reading @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s submission motivated me to flesh out this idea I’ve had for the longest. P.s. Thanks to Roo for helping me with the title. You always come up with the best titles! Also, thank you for beta!! I love you more than anything.<3
ao3 // series masterlist
do not repost my works
The sky was a murky canvas of clouded cinereal hue, shrouding the sleepy town in an aura of dreary yet comforting gloom.
Nestled in the secluded Canadian woodlands, tucked miles away from bustling cities, acres of breath-taking crisp landscapes; dense back-country for stylites, eremites, aging harvesters, rural families, naturalists -- retired veterans who seek a life of peace from raging wars in foreign lands, and politics.
A location that is often skimmed over on maps, too small but not entirely invisible to the passerby’s eye. A lone route that directs to major cities, and a dingy welcome sign are the only inklings to this inhabited territory.
A gritty hamlet --- a diamond in the rough. A pale tree rooted at the heart of the town. Streets built around it, proudly stood high, and mighty for centuries -- like a looming deity over generations; a reminder for aging residents of their mortality. A natural order surpassing their own existence.
The inevitable is merely out of mortal’s control.
Cadence of gruff murmuring fishermen loading nets full of fresh floundering fish, sluicing chilled water beats, and cradles against the boats floating near the coastal shore, high-pitched giggles of children dashing down the streets; youngsters who just got dismissed from school.
Howlin’ is a dive-bar on the main road --- a commune for burly beasts of men --- fisherman, mechanics, lumbers, less than a handful of deputies, and former militants; the livelihoods that are the veins of this tiny county.
Manitou is the only remnant of the town’s origins, named by the Aboriginal Canadian founders of this whistle-stop.
It’s an inn now for curious city folks, sparse tourists who parade with fake smiles, clicking cameras, and over-joyful admiration for “discovering this new little world.”
Local residents internally praise the heavens, sniffing tourists is a blue-moon occurrence.
This town was a device, a lurring hole of placid ease -- a festpool -- everyone has a past. A rabbit-hole to escape, and be free.
A gentle fury, stirring anxiously underneath his cavity, twisting around his heart. Brows indented, a menacing twist.
Nose flared wide like a furious bull, one palm perched tightly on the steering wheel, and the other clutching the map -- beyond wrinkled with fold lines.
A man of tradition -- too stubborn to install a modern GPS to help navigate his travels; or even get with the times.
Sweat now beads at his brows, a slight sheen now glistens on his bald dome, wiping his forehead by the back of his palm -- deep rich umber, or how his daughter jokingly dubs him ‘a milk dud’.
Nick Fury never admits it, but the memory of that affectionate tease eases him, a small smile curling at his mouth. It helps him relax in distressing times.
Murmuring low ‘fucks’ and ‘shit’ as shifty eyes scan over the map once more. Blues lines, and red printed letterings of route numbers, city lines -- unfamiliar directions of a country he has no ties. Red ink arrows scribbled around the unknown forest region.
This planned one-man trip is already hay-wire. All his traveling preparations have been once pristine, but now turned disoriented.
Faded Chevy truck --- chipped turquoise --- in dire need of a paint-job. A sigh of relief escapes Nick as he’s driving languidly towards a silva shielded entrance pathway.
The low static of the radio fluctuated into white noise, and low murmurs of out-of-the-way stations. Driving into this town, down the road passing by bars, the pier --- observing the walks of life passing by.
His calloused fingers dive into his backpack that was slumped in the passenger seat, fiddling through the contents for the tattered box of smokes; as he drives for the haven of a hostel.
A few days on the road was weighing down on his shoulders, his spine curving and achingly hunched over. Stewing in his aviator jacket, the luke-warm heat weighing on his bones.
Quizzical faces distort, glancing at the car, just a few curious glimpses at the foreign traveler. Flickering the zippo in his hands, the silver adorned with scratches -- a souvenir back from Vietnam, the only inklings of one of his fallen brothers. A wasteland of memories he doesn’t want to indulge.
Driving through the seemingly quiet streets, driving around the curb, a red brick building peers at the distance; motorbikes parked out front, a dismal aura. Murky fluttering yellow tubing “Howlin’ Boys” hangs high, and proud.
Parched throat, Nick wets his bottom lip -- he could use a drink. Just one, maybe. If his kid was here, she would scold him until her face turns blue for noon drinking; her absence is not rubbing him right. Loneliness seeping deep in his marrow, his companion during stress was always the sauce.
With swift precision, Nick serves a bit to park on the bar’s curb. Stretching his limbs a bit, a wail of satisfaction slips from his lips, trailing into a yawn.
Groaning with the back of his palms rubbing his eyes a bit, he retrieved his cigarettes. Caging just the cherry tip between his canines, with a flick of his thumb, the lid pops open, and a quick spark of flame ignites.
Inhaling deeply as nicotine surges through his lungs, hollow cheeks puff out, white smoke emits from his nose. The leaden sky clears, a vibrant surge of sun beams -- mindless eyes scan the bar, Nick notices a butterfly with wings painted with inky black and bright sunshine yellow.
Fluttering flight of its dainty flaps as it descends in the air, a placid smile curls at his lips as the cigarette dangles.
A peaceful fleet towards his truck --- it was an unforgiving flash, a hasty dash, a blur of nyx feathers violently hit against his vehicle. A shrill of a squawk jolts Nick, flinching back in his seat.
The blue paint of his hood now grated with claw marks. A couple of black feathers, and torn fragments of a butterfly wing trail behind on the crime scene.
Shouting ‘what the fuck?’ Dropping his burning smoke, collapsing on his denim, the heat burning through his skin creating a small burnt hole. Growling colorful profanities under his breath. Hurried hands smudging the ash off of him, a quick glance up, and he flinches.
Beyond in the distance, his vision clearing up a bit, there’s a glaring figure. Nick gulps, clearing in his perspective, startled as panic rises in his cavity -- a feminie figure standing a few feet away from the car.
Staring, glaring --- leering at him.
Nick peers behind his driver seat, twisting his head over his shoulder, out his window to catch if she’s gawking at anyone else but him. Slowly he steadies himself in his seat, facing back ahead of him, hues of greenery burning holes in his skull.
A woman, small yet stands with her chin out, with a maturity visage that graces her oval face. In her small frame, she embodies an essence of daunting, and yet tempting.
With burnished fiery tresses wisping in the wind, half-covering her cheeks, adding to the frightening allure --- a dark crimson jacket, that amples her milky breasts. The leather burns bright under the sunlight, there was a stretch of the jacket, a few buttons open --- a small bump.
Narrowing green eyes as if she’s piercing through his soul. Her trimmed brow arching, eerily ever so slowly cocking her head as if there was some glimmer of familiarity in her eyes --- as if she was privy to something he wasn’t.
Tightly wrapping around her slender legs was a little girl, her doe eyes too unwavering, and intense. Pouty cherub cheeks ensnared in wild chocolate curls, heart-shaped lips, and precious slope of a button-nose.
Clinging onto the woman’s hand, chubby fingers interlocked with slender spidery ones.
Nick's breath hitches in his throat, as the unknown woman’s lips move --- a frightful sight, her brows furrowed, a hungry curl of a smirk --- as if she was spewing an ancient hex under her breath.
Nick swore it’s as if she was condemning his entire blood-line --- from the graves of his ancestors to the unborn wombs of future descendants.
How ghastly the sun shining warps the greenery in her pupils. For a moment, he could’ve sworn her eyes revamped into a hellish maroon --- Nick harshly rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands for a moment. His tired lids refusing to steer away, his head light in a daze --- he just can’t stop staring.
Sharp pain punches in his ear, hissing, and wincing; white-noise pitching higher and higher. His brain felt as if a million wasps were urticating's within his skull by the tips of their stingers, penetrating through cartilage and bone.
Nick’s head hits against his car seat, banging mercilessly --- anything for the pain to stop. Praying to God, almighty to make it end. He couldn’t move, his limbs were numb yet forced to be still; frozen in his seat.
Gripping on the steering wheel, till the melanin of his knuckles shades straining white. Nick’s eyes peel open, more trails of sweat perspire, drenching down his dome. The pain vanishes as if the hellish migraine never engulfed him. A broken crack of a sigh leaves him.
Deja vu bewilders him, confused as if that was a day-dream or simply reality?
A blur, but a sour taste dawdles on his heavy tongue.
She was still there, but her lips stopped roving. The stare down ensues, but was interrupted by a slurring shout, a disheveled man was thrashed by the feet out the door of the bar; distracting Nick.
A drunk now cradled himself on the pavement, blubbering incoherent slurs. Man-handled by a man of similar dark complexion, who now shouted for the drunk to scram; hunching over, slanted squinted eyes.
Nick tore his gaze from the display, compelling his eyes to focus back. Turning his head to face the odd stranger once more --- but she was gone.
Disappearing without a trace, as if she was never there to begin with, a mere shadow. Hurriedly Nick snatched the keys out of the ignition, ungracefully dumping the keys in the pocket of his trench coat.
A flick of his wrist on taking his bag, and slinging it on his shoulder, he got out of the car. Stretching his limbs, Nick pats his chest by his open palm. A poor attempt at alleviating his beating heart. Not even an hour in this town, and weird shit is getting to him.
Nick inspected the hood, fingertips tracing the horrid skid marks, whispering ‘mother-fucker’. Four sloppy jagged lines, unable to miss. He groaned, his head lolling back, with a heavy sigh.
Waving off feathers, his thumb straining against the inside of his sleeve to wipe clean of tiny blood spots. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Nick’s arm limped, and dully slapped the meat of his thigh in defeat.
Turning his head to face the bar establishment, contemplating if it was a good idea to drink right now. He can’t afford it, bad timing --- no, it’s not a drink he wants. ‘Just ask for a nearby motel. That’s all I need. All I need.’ Nick muses to himself, a self-reminder; chastising tone.
Nick treks up to the bar, impressed by the parked Harleys that twinkle and shine underneath the mellow sun, parked in a row at the lot.
The autumn breeze appeases against his moist skin, caressing the nape of his neck, but the chilling air only adds to the shimmer down the crevices of his spine.
Still a bit jittery from those piercing daggers. Damn that bitch --- he’s not the type of man to be spooked. Nerves of cold-steel, trained, and built to handle any obstacle thrown at him.
His breath was easing slower now, air flowing easier too. Nick rubs his face by the cup of his palm, scowling --- to get a fucking grip, man.
Nick’s calloused fingers hook onto the silver metal handle, the front-door is painted black, but chipping at the edges --- worn out from changing elements of weather.
A quick haul of the door, Nick enters with a plods that is both placid and tenacious. Rugged habitués densely survey this stranger waltz in with a purpose, a natural aptitude to command the space he inhabits.
Few grunts, and hmmpfs in response, but it trails back into silence --- shifty eyes observing. The establishment has a wafting scent of ale, and a bit of sandal-wood. Waves of musky dew fogs his airways. The walls were wooden, and seemed a bit worn over time.
“May I help you?” A gruff timbre lingers beside Nick, turning his gaze over his left shoulder. Steady eyes trail over the bar counter, sinking in it’s dull color schemes, brown woodening that glistens with fresh polish --- he can smell the lemon pledge --- steady stools, and the wall organized with rows of tame bottles of spirits to the most rugged of firewater.
Leisure pose, Nick’s steps now tepid, his shoulder roll and shift under the subtle leather of his trench-coat. An attempt to ease his nerves; a tick in his neck, as a sense of a hot gaze radiates upon his body.
Seated by the corner is a red-head, smoldering green hues, and a dirty blonde male tucked to her side donning a rich lavender long-sleeved shirt, hovering over her as a loyal dog; but her pose is strong, brows furrowed --- she doesn’t need a guard to protect her.
A wave of heat beats upon his back, the leather of his jacket now weighs heavier --- the skin of his dome tingles.
As if his coat is his only sense of armor, a lone man in an unknown land. The tall-tale of his intuition on high-alert, his sense activated from the odd encounter that occurred outside with that weird creature of a woman.
“Yeah --- I just came in to ask for directions.” Nick twirls his feet by the soles with a repose, a friendly smile, his eyes falling upon a dark-skinned man, the very man who throttled the sloppy drunk out the establishment.
A clean-cut man, a neatly trimmed goatee, smooth skin, and toned. The grey cotton of his shirt strains just a bit against his biceps, as he cleans the inside of a glass with a white rag --- his stare unwavering.
“Alright, where to?” There was a quick pause, a flicker of a smirk, a cocky down tilt of his head. “If ya’ gonna ask which way is to Toronto, or Ontario --- don’t bother, ya’ way far past it.”
A teasing snicker, as if an inside joke Nick couldn’t catch nor privy to. A cautious smile falters just a bit upon Nick’s face, a chuckle through his nose, tucking his chin to his chest, eyes casted down.
“Nah, just back-packing, really. Got any good spots around in Canada to enjoy?” Nick’s fingers rap playfully on the bar counter, an ease in his tone, graceful movement, as if an olive branch of friendliness. A soft smile twitches at the corners of the man’s face, almost as if kind.
“My name’s Sam.” Sam places the cleaned glass mug gingerly on the bar top, tucking his chin to chest, “And to answer your question, yes.” His lips carve a somber smile, peering through his lashes, gesturing to an empty stool by a nod of his head.
Nick mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath, his palm grips the withered counter, leaning down on the stool --- plush emerald green seats.
“There’s a few spots nearby, but not much,” Sam leans his hands on the bar, arms out-stretched, as his spine reclines outwards, his head tilts back with a sigh, deep in thought as he stares at the wall adjacent, “There’s --- uh, Dawson City, a bit small, but not too small. It’s beautiful, you’ll like it.”
He shrugs playfully, “Also, Prince Edward Island ---” Sam snickers, his head hangs low, shoulders shake with laughter, “Now, that’s small, about seventy-four locals, but when it’s summer, tourists flood.” His eyes rolled exasperatedly, with a curl of the lip, baring his teeth.
Nick hums a chuckle, “Sounds good, thank you. Dawson City is perfect.” Fingertips rap against the wood, as his eyes glimpse at the wall beyond him, a hitch of energy chills his skin --- an odd feeling warms his chest, bitter-sweet twinge heavy on his tongue, jagged memories cling to the tail-end of his mind.
Nick’s eyes catch displays of hung medals --- military earned. Each medal tells a story of honor, hung behind a sheen glass plated next to the wall of liquor, one in particular catches his eye, a blue silk ribbon, with thirteen gold stars, a gold medal of an engraved star, with the emboldened name, Wilson.
“Air-force, huh? Great metals.” His voice an air of praise, but his eyes sheen a bit, as if another story could be told.
“Yeah --- retired pararescue airman. You?” A placid, but tired smile, Sam’s head cocks to the side, admiring his honor, but his eyes fall downcast, pursing his lips --- as if he knows something.
“Me?” Nick’s brow arches, quizzly. Taken back, assuming to be a lucky guess, but an itch, a voice at the back of his head screams at him, an instinct that perhaps this stranger is more clever than he lets on.
“I can sniff out a soldier a mile away.” Sam chuckles, his eyes unwavering.
“How so?” Nick challenges with a curled smirk, enjoying this little game, his head tilted back. “It’s the mannerisms. How you talk ---” Sam trails off, shrugs nonchalantly, “you walk with a certain stride. You’re not a bullshitter, you remind me of my old man.” The tension that once occupied the space has now fizzled into ease, but a guard is still up --- testing each other out.
“Good eye. I’m a retired Colonel.” Nick’s lips stretch into a placid smile, his chest is a bit warm, but his tongue is heavy upon the words. A Colonel --- it seems to be a lifetime ago. Sam’s eyes widened, impressed --- thoroughly so.
A low whistle blows through his puckered lips, “What brings you here to this small town?” Curiosity shifts in the air, but the walls still stand guarded.
“Just searching for some peace. Backpacking in a different country was always a goal for me.” Nick groans a bit, as the heels of his palms lean against the counter, earning a small whine of the wood; one of his hands rub against the arch of his spine.
“Ah, do you seem like the rugged type to be one with nature.” Nick breathes through his nose, a chuckle, peculiar how this man can read him --- he didn’t know if it was obnoxious, or amusing; Nick wasn’t sure yet.
Murps, and nimble pitter-patters thump against the counter, an orange feline jumps on top of the bar, its shoulders flex with a stride, as if it owns the space.
An orange tabby strolls with sleepy ears. Its tail twirls with a curve, saunters with grace --- sharp soft eyes pours into his, as it nears Nick’s direction.
Sam’s fingers fondles the cat, toying with its tail in the cup of his palm, earning a small bite, and a meow --- its small furry dome rubbing against his inner wrist, as it tilts its head back, a string of meows.
Nick coos, fiddling his fingers playfully towards the cat, cautiously snaking to it --- it pauses, arching its paw, analyzing his hand --- as if processing his scent, it’s pink nose sniffs.
Airy kisses thrown at the cat, in hopes to lure it, to caress it --- reminds Nick of his late cat. It freezes, eyes now dilate to daggers, inky blackness engulf its pupils, growling low at the throat.
“Goose.” Sam warns, narrowing his eyes, “Be nice.” patting the cat’s behind, as if scolding a child.
A blur --- a quick dizzying epoch of time, as if movements ceased only for a second --- Nick jolted back, nearly stumbling over the stool, as he shields his right eye.
Steadying his footing, Nick crosses his arms on the wood, furrowing his brows, his eyes hissing at the crude creature, as Sam firmly pins the animal down by the palms, as it snarls --- the paws curling.
Hoarse chuckles emit from the corner tables --- a redheaded woman, and a mean mugging blonde man huddling together at a booth, nursing over their drinks. “Shut it, thing one and two.” Sam snarks, but a grin shimmies itself at the corner of his mouth; his fingers squeeze the cat in quick jolts.
A loud bang alerts, and echoes throughout the bar --- not even flinching, Nick simply turns over his shoulder, the back door was carelessly thrashed against the wall.
Waltzing through was a woman --- her blonde hair cut short, coiffed to the side, throwing kisses to the seething cat.
“Stop.” She says, as her fingers curl under the slope of the cat’s under belly, kissing her ears; cradling her against her chest. “Sorry about Goose, she’s just a little shit.” Goose meows crankily, the strings of murps sounded as if it was talking back --- like a bratty child.
“S’alright,” Nick waves it off, a force chuckle, “Cats are picky on who they trust --- I’m just a stranger in her space.” A smile, the atmosphere eases, as the blonde laughs, Carol approaches closer, Goose still pinned to her chest by the slope of her arm.
“I’m Carol.” Her hand out-stretches, kindly, “I’m Nick.” A sturdy hand-shake, a fleeting thought crosses Nick’s mind, Is she …? Her palm is strong. Carol’s gait has a certain stride, he’s seen women like her before in boot-camp a few years ago, when he did a favor for a past commarde on training recruits.
Tough tomboys, where a handful enjoys the company of women.
Carol asks questions to Nick, curious about this new face surfacing in this tiny town, chatting up on how it’s not tourist season; with Nick informing her that he’s just traveling for some alone time.
The air doesn’t feel right, the hairs on the nape of Nick’s neck rise, goosebumps pimple on his arms, the sensitive skin skims, and ticklish against the cotton stitching under his jacket sleeve. His sixth sense is itching.
“So, you said Dawson City, right?” It’s time to leave, no space in his schedule to linger about; Nick remains relaxed, but his grogginess is weighing him more now. He has gathered the overall energy of this place --- he doesn’t like it.
“Right, so there’s a back road --- kinda a second entrance to the town’s road, uh,” he pauses, his voice lingers into silence.
Sam looks around, eyes darting behind the bar where note-pads, and coasters are, patting his pockets, fingertips digging; he finds a pen, “Hold on, I’m going to draw you the directions.”
Sam treks to the end of the bar, where multiple maps stacked for patrons, “It’s a bit hard to explain since there aren't really many route signs for this back-way,” he shakes his head, uncapping the blue pen, “It doesn’t help that a lot of Canadian maps still haven’t really printed this place yet either.”
Sam began scribbling with precise arrows, chatting about turns, and how this direction is a faster trail to Dawson City, to a quiet highway, no stops.
Nick sat in high-alert, his institution is high-wired; he can sense eyes are all on him, from his peripheral vision, he can see the red-head, and dirty-blonde mugging him, narrowing eyes.
With just a tiny cock of his head, he turns to his left, seeing another two pairs of eyes gawking at him.
It’s as if a fish out of water, his fingers flex against the wood, preparing himself if someone is feeling antsy, his knuckles thirsty for a brawl -- it doesn’t faze him, it’s just fucking weird. But town hicks have always been weird in their own colors, he grew up in a sleepy town in the south.
But no one doesn’t do anything, don’t even make a move; but their eyes are the loudest.
“Be careful driving down that path. Don’t linger around, just drive straight through.” Sam casually suggested, his lids narrowing a bit. “You’re gonna be passing by owned land. The owners are a bit -- weary of travelers near their area.” A bit of amused caution was entangled in his words. Despite his humorless laugh, his eyes gleam with sternness.
“Why? Are they packing?” Nick gestures jokingly with his fingers of a shooting gun, trying to ease the rising tension. “You can say that. Just be careful.” Once a gap-toothed grin now forms into a tight straight line, his lush lips disappearing; dark hues now shadowed under a tense brow.
A queer shiver runs down the arch of Nick’s back, but he maintains his pose composure; under a passive gaze. “Uh --- sure. I’ll keep an eye out.” He tapped his fingers against the sticky bar counter playfully, glimpsing at Goose, who’s low hissing --- baring little tips of fangs. Paws itching for her missed target.
“Sorry again about her. She’s a cranky little shit to everybody.” Carol smirks, her slim fingers caress the feline’s spine, the orange fur spills through her roving fingers.
Dirty blonde strands kiss her lashes, as her eyes lower down to his boots back to his face --- he wasn’t sure if he was sizing him, or just simply curious.
Curious eyes, curious questions … curious people.
A stretching tension creeps up, he doesn’t even need to speak; the air is thick, the energy emitting from every soul is strong; it’s not an unwelcoming synergy, but they don’t want him here any longer than he needs to be.
Nick nodded his head in a curt goodbye, with a polite smile. That familiar eerie sense sheds off of him as second skin, as he sinks back to himself --- quiet, and reserved.
Itching to leave, his feet lead him to the aging black door, faint whispering ascend behind him --- he compulsively urges himself to turn around, but he won’t.
The curious murmuring drags on his coat-tails, but he refuses to fall for it.
The sky is unforgivingly bright.
The sun blares upon him, shielding his eyes by his open-palm, shadowing out the blinding sunshine; it seems brighter than when he went inside the bar. Groaning under his breath, already feeling the musty sensation of sweat smearing on his forehead.
Nick shuffles his shoulder, trying to wiggle the leather jacket off of him, as he treks to his car; mentally memorizing the little road turn to that little inn, to just settle in for the night.
The arch of his spine still aches from the long drive, keys jingling in his palm, as one arm was still caught in his sleeve, and the other is free with the car keys.
A wispy flash of silky inky black, splotches of navy blue and orange dew ---- butterfly wings flutter and dance with a tame frolic, landing on the bridge of his nose causing Nick to go cross-eyed.
A bloom of peace surges at the chest, a small smile curls; within the second moment of placidity, the butterfly flies, and twirls around his dome.
It made a bee-line to a meter that stood next to his car, but it didn’t move … it just looked at him. Nick squints his eyes, tilting his head in confusion, unconsciously he steps forward, and the butterfly flies just an inch above the meter, then right back down.
Another step, the wings edge just a bit.
Another step, another flutter.
His feet begin walking slowly, and the butterfly takes flight; it twirls mindlessly, as if enjoying the soft breeze against it’s little body.
Swings to the left, to the right --- as Nick loses himself into a haze, as he just follows the butterfly. His feet on auto-pilot --- what felt like stretched minutes, was really only five; his shoes scuff against the pavement as the butterfly just aimed up in the air.
His eyes trail after the butterfly, its wings open, and close tenderly as it sits upon a sign --- just a few seconds of just gawking at this butterfly; then it flies away. Deep rich brown eyes regard his surroundings, and vision clear now, a sign proudly towers over him.
A little shop swaddled within the string of stores, it has an earthy energy --- black framing over the glass window, with little painting art of stars, and a small brown dog with spikey fur, signed in the corner with the blue and red initials: B+T.
Nick hesitates just a bit, but he gains his composure, pressing the heel of his palm against the handle, his fingers gripping; a moment.
He awaits, his brain is befuddled, but his psyche zeros back to reality. Nick tugs the door open, with a gust of air fans against his face.
His body weaves through the door --- it was a cute store with bookshelves, racks of clothing, and many shelves of artifacts; accompanied with green-teal walls.
Nick halts at his feet, tilting his head to the side, hanging upon the green-teal wall is a sign offering timed services of tarot and tea leaves readings, spellwork constellations, and mediumship; it doesn’t faze him.
‘Who would buy this?’ Not trying to be crude, but Nick can’t fully grasp superstition, and religions that involve praying to a desk littered with rocks, and candles; cards can’t simply define fate, nor interpret it.
‘It’s plastic cards, for Christ-sake.’
Frankincense is light upon his senses as it drapes upon the shop, claws of creatures decorate the shelves, boxed tarot cards, oils, crystals --- ambling by customers thrifting clothes, and inspecting the many mystical objects, as if it’s normal.
Miscellaneous collections of books are stacked upon book-shelves --- varying from demonology, herbal medicine, candle magick, folk magick originating from different cultures, on ritualistic runes, to books detailing occults, to myths and lore, poetry, fantasy, cookbooks, and many more.
A necklace catches Nick’s eye, it’s a familiar one.
“I make them myself.” Nick jolts in surprise, shoulders hunched, a silky accent lingers behind him.
The accent is familiar, perhaps Russian --- definitely European. Nick turns on his feet, his polite smile drops a little --- it was that eerie woman from earlier. The very one with those piercing eyes that stared his soul down from his car.
But, he doesn’t bring it up, his eyes trails down to her midriff, and his assumptions from earlier are confirmed … pregnant; there’s no need to stress her out with an argument, but he remains on high-alert. A polite smile against the bearded jaw, in a way, offers a silent olive branch, “This is your shop?” He asks.
“Yes,” her eyes are inquisitive, “my very own business. Quite proud of it.” The way her hues are so intense, stands close, but in an arms-reach, her mannerisms, her speech.
Nick is no stranger to different personalities, she’s ... calculatingly --- she remembers who he is.
“Hmm.” Nick hums to himself, a sound that’s a mix of amusement, and quaint, but it comes off as a murmur, disinterest.
“What?” She chuckles, but with an arched brow. Nick catches her expression, quickly his hands are raised to his chest, shaking his head, “Oh, nothing, it’s just different.”
“By how this town looks, you would think people here wouldn’t be so --- accepting.”
“You would be surprised how many customers I have.” Ode to her truth, customers ranging from different ages, mostly indigenous; but she makes good earnings.
Granted, of course, there are people who whisper hawdy gossip about her, and her family that are evil witches, but she keeps it all in stride.
One time, a child innocently said to her in the supermarket, with an excited pointed finger, that her family is like the Addams family.
“My husband is the bread-winner, but he always encourages me to go for anything I’m passionate about. He even helped fund my shop.” Her cheeks redden to plump cherries, tucking her head to the crock of her shoulder, cupping her belly.
A smile stretched just a bit, it was adorable how she gushed to herself, she looks like a happily married woman; his eyes focus on her left hand, clearly now seeing her wedding ring.
Nick remembers his wife … ex-wife.
“My name is Wanda,” her pristine manicured hand reaches out for him, as one palm remains on her ample bump.
He engulfs her hand, his bigger than hers; dainty, but firm. Before he could reply with his name, she cut him off, “Are you interested in anything you see?” Wanda’s hands lift in air, gesturing to the jewelry beyond the display case.
Nick hums, rubbing his chin with his fingers, there was a particular necklace that stood out; an opal gem encrusted in a golden chain.
The multicolored gemstone has soft iridescence streaks of baby-blue, neon green, and splotches of yellow beating against a dewy red sheen --- as if capturing a tiny warm galaxy, milky, and silky.
Timidly tapping against the glass, “This one.” Nick breathes, his breathing is silently getting heavier, his throat strains as he swallows. “What a beautiful choice, I love opals.” Wanda gleams.
“Yeah,” a soft delay, a tight-lipped smile, “--- so do I.” His heart hammers a little, despite the violence in his mind.
“It’s also one of the prettiest birthstones,” Wanda murmurs as she swirls around the glass counter, with delicate care, her slim fingers plucking the gold necklace from the onyx velvet cushion.
Nick nods, but he looks away, just stares through the painted window pane.
Paid in full with the wrinkled bills in his wallet, Wanda lays the necklace in a white box, wrapping it up in a silk teal ribbon; in a finished touch, puts the purchased gift in a small black plastic bag.
Hovering it over to him, Wanda’s open hands lean into the counter, entering his arms-length space, “While you’re here, would you like a reading?”
Nick shakes his head ‘no’, as the bag hangs limp on his wrist, “No thank you.”
“Or maybe, speak to a loved one ---” Her words trail off, as if gesturing to him, trying to lure him in. Her fingers in a lax fist, under her chin, her eyes wide with wonder, and fervent curiosity; but there was an inkling of mischief in her smile.
“Ya’ know, speak to the dead.” Her eyebrows oscillated in merriment, as if enjoying his confusion; as if she was onto something he wasn’t.
“The dead?” Nick repeats in question, “You can speak to the dead?” Uncomfortable with the conversation shifting.
“Yes, all psychics can.” Wanda walks from the counter, taking small steps not to overstimulate herself, as she comes near him, fixing the tousled clothes on the rack, her back to him.
“Psychic?” Nick’s prominent brow arches, his nose flares comically, as he tries to strain his thick lips from laughing. It’s as if she upends him, taking a mental step back.
“In a way, yes. Clairvoyant is the proper term.” Wanda glances over her shoulder with a smile, passionate --- proudly, as she twirls, but her smile wavers into a defensive frown.
“I’m sorry to laugh, but this is all very hard for me to understand.” Nick chuckles, cupping his mouth by his fisted palm, trying to quill his laughter.
Never one for the myths --- or ignorant superstitions, as a man who grew up in a southern household --- he's had enough nutty folks in his life.
Wanda narrows her eyes, tilts her head, “Sometimes there’s things in life we can’t fully grasp. I’ve seen your face before but we never met --- till now.” She said matter-of-factly. Irate by his skepticism, her words sucker-punch him back to reality; his chuckles snuffed into silence.
As Wanda breathes a dry-snicker, lop-sided smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Wanda waddles closer to him now, cornering him, Nick’s hands rise up to his chest, a gesture of defense --- but how can he defend himself against a pregnant woman? Shove her gently to the nearest seat?
Her eyes are in slits, as if her eyes are hissing at him --- her lips pucker for a second, in amusement.
“The crows will sing their songs, and the dirt will cleanse itself.” Her eyes soften, dainty slim fingers near his face, a natural reflex, he flinches, his eyes become frightened like a child’s.
Wanda’s fingertips flutter over his patch, she hums, “Hmm --- you see life, but not its entirety. Sometimes the bigger picture is not all it seems.”
A pregnant pause.
Her feline eyes, her wan face contorts mischievously --- it’s as if she’s savoring his unsettled state. “Goodbye, Nick.” Her accent slithers from her heart-shaped lips, breathy giggles emit from her throat, her lips slipped shut, walking backwards, as her hands rub on her swollen belly as a crystal ball.
Nick’s head balks from Wanda’s hand, nearly swatting her arm away, his feet stumble, nearly contorting his ankle, murmuring under his breath, ‘Crazy bitch.’ Spitting furiously, as his hand pushes the glass door, too harshly as it whines at the hinges --- striking back in place with an obnoxious crude smack.
Stomps heavy, the hard concrete beats against his feet, his open-palms slaps against his bald head; snarling in boiling frustration, jerking his knees up, trampling as he curses everything under the sun ---- if his daughter was here, she would be trying to hug him, her face squished against the arch of his spine, whispers of trying to quill his bristling temper.
He stiffens --- it’s as time stills itself, white noise rings louder, tiny pins and needles stab and lodge his ear-drums, he winces, nearly staggering to his knees.
His eyes widened owlishly --- he never told her his name.
It’s raining tonight.
Heavy droplets of rain soak the window-pane, showering the glass --- the sky is inky, but the dense clouds carpet the sky, weeping over the little town.
The static of the television illuminates throughout the dense darkness, the motel room is engulfed in the mouth of darkness; as a slumped figure sits hunched over, at the edge of the mattress.
His head slumps low, chin to chest, staring blankly into the carpeting, his broad shoulders tense.
Bare chest illumes to a blinding shade of ticonderoga taupe --- a lean cigarette hangs from his lips, as his calloused fingers toys with the lighter, with precision his fingertips clanks the steel lid open, igniting the flame --- to then snuff it with a sharp clank, twirling between his fidgety fingers.
Sleep clings to his eyes, drooping, one eye closes before the other unevenly; his broad nose flares as his mind slowly fries into stinging migraine --- silent screams, mossy bits of grass scatter in chunks from deafening explosions, rancid stench of flesh, and gunpowder haunts him at the dead of nights.
Nick’s hands tremble, his eye-lid twitches, he’s tired --- so damn tired. In nights like this, he thinks of his daughter, as a little girl, she would crawl into his bed, ask for a bedtime story, or ask him to sing; he would tell her jokingly, he sings like a toad, but she wouldn’t care, ‘you’re the prettiest toad, daddy’.
His eyes get water-logged --- inhaling deeply back a wet sniffle, his nose flaring; swallowing harshly, thickly.
Nick went to bed that night --- his chest heaving, swallowed sobs that crack, and strains his esophagus; the outline of his quivering figure trembles under the covers.
Faint whispers wisp within the darkness, deafening --- but inaudible. Floating in the mouth of caliginosity, body weight light, limbs flailing ceasingly.
The voices grate against his ear-drums, his eyes shut closed in a wince.
His chest stings with hot white pain, as if a knife splits open the flesh underneath the cartilage of his cavity; Nick screams in agony, above his breast-bone, as bloodied wan fingertips slither through the torn seams of skin, a wrist cranks itself through as a punch.
The wrist twirls against the flesh walls of his chest, it’s fingers crocking, it’s index finger gesturing Nick, beckoning him. It arches itself more out, thrashing it, wiggling as a white worm, gripping his throat. Suffocating him, tears flood his eyes, soaking his cheeks --- whimpering under his breath, ‘I’m sorry.’
Over and over again.
A stream of light shines beyond his eyes, nearly blinding him.
Nick opens his eyes again, and the pain no longer cripples his body. He’s back at the inn, seated in the love seat of his room --- glued to it, he can’t move. Sunshine gleams into the window, curtains peeled open.
A feminine figure is seated at his bed, legs crisscrossed; facing him.
A crow at her feet, it’s claws indenting in the mattress. Fear grips his heart at the sight of this woman --- her face is smeared --- smoothed, yet features distorted. Nick’s head slant, and her head follows suit --- copying his movement.
Shivering can be heard, the bird shakes, it’s feathers shuffling, as if the animal is going to combust.
“Where am I?” Nick probes, the crow halts. “A place where it’s always sad.” The crow speaks, it’s voice deep, but it’s voice is askew, as if it speaks backwards.
“Some of your friends are already here.” Wings raise in a stance, showing each individual feather.
“Who are you?” Nick asks, his fingers digging into his kneecaps, his eyes never leaving the faceless woman.
“I feel like I know her, but sometimes my arms bend back.”
“Where we’re from, the birds sing a pretty song. And there’s always music in the air.” The crow speaks once more, his feathers flutter, and shuffle as his wings shudder in every direction.
“She’s the one you seek for.” The crow’s small head tilts, the slope of its neck jerks, retched coughs, as moist soil that smells of the earth yaks itself out.
It’s shiny onyx beak snorts, as it chokes --- the crow’s tiny body convulses, it’s caw wails are hoarse.
Her jaw is mawed, unlocking as it hangs, her teeth grimy, her breathing deeper, but her chest is puffing, as if winding up a doll, tugging on the string of it’s back.
A blood-curdling screech, raw, ripping through her throat --- the veins of her neck bulge against the skin.
Nick cups his ears, but it doesn’t help --- he can still hear it.
A brown eye snapped open ---- his body became frigid, yet his bones melted into the mattress, the broad bridge of nose nuzzled against the lush pillow; stick sweat stains the pillow sheet, damp splotches out-line the shape of his skull.
A bluish, grey ambience blankets over the room --- he feels like he’s floating, his soul descends, his breathing is getting heavier, huffing.
Eyes blurring as a fogged mirror, nose sniffling, her wrists are bent, tucked under her chin; a trickle of blood slips from her bottom lip, staining her teeth cherry-red, spilling over the jut of her chin.
Her mouth stops shaking, in a flashed second, the blood vanishes --- her voice is small, but distorted, as if speaking backwards. “There’s something wrong with the sky.”
A shrill cry of a bird awakens him --- it’s morning.
Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: You decide to drop off some homemade cookies to Bucky, and make some innuendos which thicken the tension between you and your neighbour.
Warnings: sexual tension, innuendo about wood, Bucky’s half nakedness.
Author’s Notes: This is written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club’s Unbirthday and 3k follower celebration! I chose the lumberjack AU plus this prompt: “Now that I made it weird, I’m going to make my exit.” I’m not going to lie, I cracked myself up writing this and I had a blast.
The snow crunched under your footsteps as you walked a few minutes to your neighbour Bucky’s cabin. Earlier today you had seen him chopping wood for the fire, he was generous enough to give some to you in exchange for some homemade cookies and pastries, which you didn’t mind at all since baking was your number one hobby and there wasn’t much else to do in the middle of nowhere in the winter.
You knocked on the wooden door and waited, bouncing on your feet to retain some of the heat. From the other side you heard his heavy footsteps approaching, the goofy grin on your face dropped when the door opened, and on the other side of it stood a half naked beefy guy clad in just his boxers with wet hair and water droplets dripping between his shoulder blades. He looked just as tasty as your chocolate chip cookies.
“Hey doll. Come in!” He smiled, oblivious to your gawping. You shook the thoughts from your head and smiled, clearing your throat and walking into his welcoming home.
The fire crackled in the background, the lights dimmed down to almost nothing with knitted blankets thrown over the comfortable looking couch. The tv was paused, the blinds closed.
“I was just about to watch a movie.” He said, noticing you looking around the home.
“I’m sorry to interrupt I-” you stop mid-sentence when he suddenly bends over to grab more firewood for the fire. He holds the lump of wood in his hand.
“It’s heavy.” He chuckled, throwing it up in the air and catching it with both arms. The movement pulled his boxers tighter and your eyes glued to it.
“That’s a big piece of wood.” You blurted out before you could even stop it. The comment took you both by surprise, and nervously you laughed it off. “I mean, it’s the biggest I’ve seen.” Oh shit. Nope nope nope. “Wait no, that sounds worse! I meant- I’ve never seen one so long I-” the longer you rambled, the dirtier it all sounded and you decided to just shut up.
Bucky laughed though, tossing the wood that you admired so dearly onto the fire, the flame crawling higher and he rubbed his hands together. The tension was thick, just like him and there was no doubt you made it weird.
You stared at each other wordlessly, wondering what to do next.
“Well now that I made it weird, I’m going to make my exit.” You pursed your lips and nodded once, spinning on your heels and headed towards the door when he called your name.
“Are those mine?” He smirked, a finger pointing at the tray in your hands.
“Yes, yes they are. I hope you’ll like them.” Your breath hitched as he walked towards you slowly. He lifted the plastic covering and took one off the plate, biting into heaven. He moaned around the cookie, closing his eyes and sighing. It was hard to breathe, each breath feeling tighter the longer you stood in that spot, watching him eat a damn cookie.
“Oh my god.” He moaned louder, finishing the cookie, his tongue slipping between his lips to capture any crumbs. “Oh god yes, mmmm so delicious.” He opened his eyes, lust swallowed his blue orbs as he stared deep into yours. The tension grew thicker and before either of you could stop yourselves, his lips crashed to yours, sending your mind into a delicious and welcoming frenzy.
Rating: Explicit (E)
Pairing: Lumberjack Daddy Steve & Baby Bucky
Word Count: 2.7K
Tags: Size Difference, Dry Humping, Food Kink/Feeding Kink, Body Worship, Daddy Kink, Slight Subspace, Hand Feeding, Established Relationship, Coming in Underwear
A/N: Okay, y'all...this is one I've held onto for a while, I've just never had the chance to use it. I took a different twist on Body Worship and I hope it's something you can enjoy. Maybe it's something only I am into and maybe I'm putting myself out there with this one but...what else is this space for? 😅 Happy Self Care Sunday with this one, besties. I hope you love. 💜
Even with the curtain pulled tight together, the light from the neon motel sign seeps in through cracks Bucky doesn’t have the patience to search for to tug closed.
If it were up to him, he’d leave the windows open. Let everyone peep their share of the show the two of them are surely putting on, visible to none but themselves and the grimy walls of their rented room. Bucky would let someone watch, wouldn’t stop them if he saw them peering in from the parking lot just outside their door. Bucky wants people to see him this way, to see him loving on Daddy in a way only he is allowed, to see Steve in this form.
Steve would never let a single soul witness Bucky like this though, “s’all for me, babydoll,” he’d surely warn.
This tiny room is far from the comfort of home. The soft sounds of the forest that consumes their cabin are replaced with the sporadic noises of cars too close to their front door kicking up rain water as they drive by, by the brash sounds of other motel patrons in their own borrowed rooms, walls shared. The security of being in their own home, their own four walls, is no longer present. Bucky feels immeasurably safe though.
It’s the smell that gets to Bucky the most. Its unpleasantness seeps into his skin, into his bones. It’s musty and stale and isn’t the freshness and scent of home that Bucky is so incredibly used to at this point. Steve is the only thing that smells like home and Bucky presses his nose to the hinge of Steve’s jaw and inhales deeply, fills his lungs up with the smell of him, of them.
It’s crisp, warm. It’s all things comfort. It smells of the fire Steve puts out each night, of the blanket Steve brings him each evening as they tuck in to read until they nod off. It’s a scent of their shared bedsheets, the log walls of their home, ones Steve erected himself. It’s Steve’s flannel shirt that Bucky slips over his head every morning when the sun rises and he’s pulled out of bed to collect eggs and greet both the day and their land and the animals that live their as well.
It’s more than perfection.
“C’mere, baby— open up.”
Bucky’s exhale is nothing short of a wiry moan. His eyelids are heavy where they rest, Bucky needing to put more effort into lifting them to look at Steve as he pulls his head back. He’s met with the sight of Steve’s plush lips slick with what is surely the grease of the slice of pizza that Bucky is being offered up by hand, torn and bite-sized. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue.
“That’s a good boy, Buck,” is what Steve purrs gently as he pulls Bucky’s chin closed in assistance, pats it and watches him chew, and Bucky all but sobs at the cluster of sensations he experiences: the burst of flavor on his tongue he so rarely indulges in, the tease of Steve’s fingers on his lips, the pleased noise Daddy lets out into his temple, the way Steve’s big body feels underneath his own where Bucky sits in his lap. His noise starts out meek, afraid to show itself, but when Daddy wraps his arm tight around Bucky’s middle, setting off a chain reaction that leads him to grinding his dick into Steve’s belly, his strangled noise is so unchained it rattles his ribcage.
Steve merely hums, takes a bite of pizza so large it’s surely three of Bucky’s own bites. “Thank goodness we don’t live in the city. I’d be bigger than a house, eatin’ all the garbage I can if it means I get to see you like this, Buck.”
Oh. Bucky mewls, only pausing to swallow, lets his head fall back to Steve’s shoulder. There’s no stopping his hips now as they roll and press along the line of Steve’s burly body. He’s been so keyed up for what has to be an hour now, has been trying to push off this reaction even though it’s the only reason Steve insisted on indulging in such a way. He is but obedient afterall, and what Daddy wants, Daddy gets.
Bucky almost feels as if Steve slipped something into his food, an aphrodisiac or a drug. He knows it’s a ridiculous thought to have, but he feels like his mind is trekking through honey, slow and syrupy. He feels like he’s two seconds behind the present, trying to catch up but wanting to indulge in this form of slowness. The taste of cheese and pepperoni is hot on his tongue as he nuzzles his nose into Steve’s beard, his neck, feels him swallow his bite underneath his own lips.
Bucky can barely stand it, whines and squirms impossibly closer to Steve’s much larger form, lithe thighs draped on either side of Steve’s thicker ones, hands pressed tight to his chest and between their bodies.
“You sure do know how to make a man feel good about himself, darlin’,” Steve murmurs with a casual smack of a kiss onto Bucky’s cheek. “What else did you get us here, let’s see…”
Either Steve doesn’t take notice of how far under Bucky already is or he doesn’t see a reason to point it out. Steve is observant, is a careful partner; he knows Bucky. And the fact that he’s choosing to ignore Bucky’s hard prick pressed against his belly, the way he squirms, all of his bitty noises, makes Bucky’s eyes damn near roll back into his skull.
His suspicions are confirmed when Steve’s hands squeeze at his waist, a movement that makes a squeal bubble up in his throat, the feeling of those paws on his body alarmingly erotic in this moment.
“What’ya wanna feed your Daddy, babydoll? What about these?”
Bucky pulls his head back and looks in the direction of Steve’s hands, in the direction of the pile of food surrounding them in this bed that Steve alone takes up half of. The fingers of the hand not wrapped around Bucky’s waist are quick to work open a styrofoam container, inside of it a stack of hot wings.
Sticky, spicy, a food you eat with your fingers, a noisy snack.
Bucky’s head drops to Steve’s chest with a whimper the moment his thick fingers dip in to swipe through the sauce.
“You get me the spicy ones? You know what I like, don’t you?” Steve inquires softly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth. Bucky watches through half-lidded eyes and a sugar-spun brain as Steve’s tongue lavs at his own sticky fingers, watches as those pillowy lips wrap around his thumb and suck. Bucky can’t help it, can’t be blamed for the way he brings his lips up to the corner of Daddy’s lips and kisses him, whines, at the same time Steve takes the time to enjoy the sauce.
Steve’s pleased noise in response to the taste of the sauce makes Bucky’s hips kick forward in pure reaction, makes his balls ache where they press up against the curve of Steve’s belly.
Steve chuckles. “C’mere, honey. Feed your Daddy.”
Bucky has always adored the size of Steve, more than adored it; he’s borderline obsessed with it. Ever since the older man saddled up into the local diner where Bucky worked, waited on him, Bucky has been infatuated with the amount of space he takes up. From his tree-trunk thighs to the way one of his brawny arms amounts to one of Bucky’s own thighs, the way his buttons pull tight on his flannels to the way his body screams from the mountain tops, “From sun up to sun down I work with my hands to provide,”, he has always left Bucky a puddle on the floor.
One easy, “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ slippin’ a big ‘ol farm boy like me free slices’a pie?” and Bucky was in love.
Steve has been aware from the moment Bucky set eyes on him that he loves his Daddy’s body, but rarely do they ever indulge in Bucky’s infatuation like this. Steve will pick Bucky up and carry him around, toss him like a ragdoll, will moan and rub his belly when he scarfs down a meal or sweet treat Bucky spent the afternoon making.
Bucky shows his Daddy he loves his body in a plethora of sexual ways: being unable to stop from squirming each and every time he sits himself in Daddy’s lap, massages that are intended to be pure but shift mere minutes after Bucky has his hands full of Steve, innocent necking in the kitchen while Bucky cooks dinner leading to dinner being delayed the moment Steve rumbles, “What’chu got for your Daddy tonight?”
Rarely has Steve indulged to this extent, to letting Bucky rub himself silly along the line of Daddy’s body while they share food, while they feed one another.
Bucky lifts his head, sits back a tad bit, still mere inches from his Daddy’s face and body. His eyes don’t even leave Steve’s as he reaches blindly for a wing, knows for a fact Steve will lick his fingers clean if he accidentally makes them messy. Wing in hand, he brings it up to his Daddy’s mouth, holds it there and watches with rapt attention as Steve opens his mouth to Bucky’s offering, digs his teeth into the meat of the wing.
The noise Bucky makes is pathetic. Daddy loves it, lets Bucky know this by the way his arm tightens right up around Bucky’s middle, rucks up the big t-shirt he has on. Watching Steve eat and being the one to feed Steve are two different things. With this, Bucky is the one filling up his Daddy’s belly, is the one making him bigger; this is his doing. And his doing is almost his undoing.
Steve finishes the wing in two bites without lifting a finger, opens his mouth to Bucky’s offering, eyes on Bucky’s even if his own drift back and forth between Daddy’s mouth and his gaze. It’s almost overwhelming, being pinned against Steve while he eats, being able to watch from this close up. Bucky’s slim hips start to wiggle before he has anything to say about it, Daddy doing nothing to stop him, if anything encouraging Bucky as his grip around his waist doesn’t let up.
When Bucky goes to pull his hand away, to snatch another wing up, Steve stops him with a click of his tongue.
“Ah-ah— can’t let this food go to waste, baby,” he reprimands Bucky, grabbing for his wrist, for the remnants of the wing. Bucky watches, eyes glassy, as Steve brings what’s left of the wing up to his mouth...and begins to suck it clean.
There are few differences between the way Daddy sucks on this wing and the way he sucks on Bucky’s pussy.
Bucky has sauce on the fingers he brings down to Steve’s chest, biting into both the open flannel on his torso as well as the peek of skin through the open buttons. Bucky chases it immediately with a garbled noise, his lips meeting the skin of Steve’s pec in a slick movement, one that is messy and quick. The heat of the sauce, the spice, lingers on Bucky’s tongue as he looks back up just in time to witness Steve’s teeth tear into the last bits of the meat.
He tosses what are now just the bones of the wing back towards the pile of food and reaches for Bucky’s hand, brings it up to his mouth. Bucky wants to moan, wants to cry out, but when he drops his jaw the moment Daddy’s lips wrap around his fingers, Bucky doesn’t have a large enough mental capacity to make any kind of noise.
His dick has a mind of its own though.
With his fingers laved clean by Daddy’s tongue, Steve lewdly moaning as he pops them free from between his lips, Bucky doesn’t know if he can last much longer. They aren’t even halfway through their meal, the last of their deliveries arriving maybe fifteen minutes ago, but if Bucky watches Daddy eat one more thing while he writhes here in Steve’s lap, he’s going to cream himself.
Bucky thinks Steve knows this.
“What’s next, Buck? What else we got here?”
“Steve...Steve I can’t—”
“Onion rings? Fries? Shit, Buck. Is this a burger? You sure know how to treat your Daddy right…”
Steve powers on, one arm wrapped around Bucky’s waist, the other digging through tasty options, trying to decide what to indulge in next. Bucky can’t do it, he can’t. He’s all but humping his Daddy, rubbing his achy dick all over Steve’s belly, the crease of his hip wrapped in denim. He deems himself officially useless when his cheek meets the curve of Steve’s shoulder, nose nuzzling into that well-kept beard. It’s all or nothing now, and Bucky races towards that finish line, gives himself over entirely to the moment.
He doesn’t want to go without his Daddy.
“Steve...Daddy please, lemme...you’re—”
Steve coos, brings two fingers slick with cheese and grease from the double cheeseburger up to Bucky’s mouth, sticks them between his lips brazenly. Bucky digs his dick further into Daddy’s big body, humping him with more vigor.
“Buck, thought you’d last a bit longer than this,” is what Steve murmurs into his ear, Bucky whimpering around Daddy’s fingers as he takes what’s given to him. “It’s been a while since we’ve done somethin’ like this though, hasn’t it? Goddamn, baby— ain’t you just the sweetest thing?”
Bucky’s going to come.
“You just can’t help it, feelin’ so much and lovin’ your Daddy. You like your Daddy big, don’t ya? Like that he’s big around as he is tall. Oh, I know it, god bless it, I know it. S’alright that you want him big, that you like your Daddy big, sweetheart. You go on now, you show your Daddy how much you love him for who he is, go on…”
The hand around his waist shifts then, two thick fingers moving to Bucky’s bottom, rubbing at his rim over his underwear before Daddy is pressing in, hooking his fingers in tight against Bucky’s pussy.
The fingers in Bucky’s mouth are removed right in time for Bucky to let out the noises he knows he wants his Daddy to hear, his sobs and bitty whimpers as his dick spurts come all in his briefs. Bucky is noisy, always is when he comes, but most of the noise comes from within, the pound of his pulse and the ringing in his ears. He manages to find that sweet spot, that perfect friction against Daddy’s belly and now his fingers. His body writhes through its orgasm. He presses the tip of his dick right there above Daddy’s belt buckle, along the swell of where his belly barely hangs over it, even as he rests back against the headboard.
“That’s it, there ya go. Give it all to me, Buck. Show Daddy.”
Through the last waves of his orgasm, the ones he curls his toes into and clenches his torso up in hopes of prolonging his climax, he gets his hands full of his Daddy in any way he can. His fingers dig into patches of Daddy’s body, curling into deceivingly squishy skin, knowing damn well there is a strength underneath his handfuls that is unmatched.
There are parts of Steve’s big body underneath damn near every inch of Bucky’s slighter one, Daddy’s arm still wrapped tightly around Bucky’s middle, pulling at him and helping Bucky rut into his body. One last squeeze at his ass, Steve’s hand getting a good handful, and Bucky feels relief from the inside out he hasn’t felt for quite some time.
Steve surely feels the mess he made in his briefs, can feel it seep warmly through Bucky’s underwear and onto his open shirt, his belly. With a deep sigh, a few chaste kisses placed on Bucky’s temple, Steve is reaching for another styrofoam container.
“Why don’t you feed your Daddy one’a these, babydoll?”
Undisclosed - Three
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.
Word count: 5.8k
Warnings: Trauma talk, description of past injury, some angst, major emotional hurt comfort :)
a/n: Thank you for all the support so far!! ♡ If you enjoy my writing, consider checking out my ko-fi!
You can follow my library blog @pellucid-library for fic update notifications 🤍
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
“No James today?” Greta croaked over her cup of tea. Her glasses were thrown on top of her head and an uninterested expression had bloomed across her face.
“Not yet,” you replied, “He doesn’t come every day, Greta.”
She snorted. “Tell that to my carpets. That boy doesn’t know how to wipe his feet to save his life.”
A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you continued checking in the returned books. In truth, Bucky had been coming just about every day these past few weeks, but it’s not like you asked him to. The night you went to the diner must have sparked a renewed interest in reading is all—nothing to do with you.
Greta would disagree. She saw the way Bucky fixed his hair before he pushed open the windowed doors, and how you rubbed your palms down your thighs each time he entered. The librarian had to sit through the all painful utterances of a new love with both people too nervous to really act on it. And she always had to repress an eye roll.
But it was all you could do to keep yourself calm each time Bucky’s broad frame squeezed through the tiny library. Each time he visited was like an olympic event for you; your heart would start racing as if you ran a mile and your adrenaline would go through the roof.
All of that and he hardly even touched you.
It was strictly books at first. Bucky would come in and ask for a title—starting with the Hobbit—and you had to pretend like you knew where that was. That encounter would lead to him following you through the shelves as you pulled out books that looked almost right. He would stare at the back of your head as you replaced them, a fond smile on his face. He couldn’t get over the look you gave him when you actually did find the right book; elation and then feigned indifference, as if walking down every aisle was something you had done simply for fun.
Bucky obviously knew you had no idea where the books were. He thought it was cute that you pretended you did.
Sometimes others would tag along. Steve or Sam would be about five paces behind Bucky, clearly not in the business for books. They would lean against the counter and chat with you while Bucky browsed the aisles, making you open up in your own little ways. As much as you could anyway.
The book thing with Bucky faded. Soon he came in just to talk to you, most of the time with a coffee in hand as an excuse. The first time it happened, there was a full on blizzard raging outside, and the sound of the bell nearly scared you to death. But in came Bucky Barnes, a shy look on his face and an extra blanket wrapped around his arm.
The blanket was for you—to walk you home of course.
He mainly came in the afternoons after a full day of work. He would have a signature set of plaid on and his coat would be covered in snow. Bucky would hang it on one of the hooks by the door and hand you your coffee without a word, never one to talk first. So you would ask him about his day, or even about the book he was reading if he had one checked out.
You learned a lot about Bucky.
He liked the cold, but the snow made him nervous; it impaired his line of sight and made his job harder. That seemed to explain why every time it started snowing just a bit too hard, he would be at the door right when your shift ended.
He really liked the color red—told you so when you wore one of Sarah’s red sweaters to work. Although, he specified shortly after that he really liked you in red, so you weren’t sure how other red things held up. His cheeks were sure red when he admitted it to you.
He had a sister, but she left town a few years ago to be a doctor. Stowe Mills already had a few doctors, and Rebecca Barnes was sick of small town living anyway. He talked about her like he missed her, a bittersweet smile on his face when listing all of her accomplishments. He assured you that you’d get to meet her sometime soon and that she would just love you.
His mom passed away when he was fifteen, and that conversation had been brief. He loved his mom. His sister loved his mom. The entire town missed her deeply. You thought about how he let you call him James, and your heart ached for him.
The conversation turned to you often, but you tried to keep it short. You never wanted to lie to Bucky; he was one of the only reasons you had started to feel safe since leaving New York. But some things had to stay hidden.
You told him some things about your parents and about parts of New York. Your old family pet and the way you just despised brussel sprouts with a passion. But you didn’t tell him about your exes, or about your job.
Bucky could know everything about you, but he couldn’t know that.
He didn’t seem to notice—or mind—that you didn’t always share everything. He still let his fingers brush across your knuckles each time you spoke, and you could have sworn that hug last week held the whisper of lips on your temple. Bucky was shy with his touches though, just as he was shy with his words.
You were learning to crave that temperament; to crave Bucky as a whole.
And Bucky was nothing if not generous.
The bell jingled, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was far too early for one of Bucky’s visits, and library patrons were sparse. You leaned past the counter to see who came in, but when no footsteps accompanied the interruption, Greta groaned.
“Are you kidding me,” she huffed, wrenching her body from her beloved stool. “I tell them time and time again that they can’t deliver here and no one wants to listen to me. We aren’t a damn post office.”
“I’m sorry, what’s happening?” you asked, following her hobbled steps to the door.
“We get the mail in big shipments once a month since we’re so far from everything, and those damn mailmen always bring it here! I have to drag it down to the lumberyard and I’m sick of it!”
Big shipment was correct. The mailman had even left the rolling basket at the door because of how much mail was delivered. That, and they were probably trying to book it out of there before the wrath that was Greta could find them.
“Well, I could take it for you. I finished all the returns and I don’t mind.”
“Good.” She propped the door open. “It’s down that big hill. Sarah should be in the office since it’s lunchtime. Good luck.”
Her tone scared you a bit, but judging by the amount of ice coating the street, and the questionable tenacity of the wheels, you needed luck. The first step outside proved as much, and you had to hoist yourself up by the handles of the cart before you could fall face first into the ground.
“I’m sure this’ll be fine,” you breathed. “Greta, how far—” She shut the door on you.
She was such a lovely woman.
And thus began your harrowing trek to the lumberyard, a place you hadn’t even been to yet. Greta had just motioned to the bottom of the steep hill, so you hoped it would be obvious when you got there. The town was set up to overlook a very large forest, so that seemed like your best bet.
You pulled against the cart as you took small, careful steps on slippery ice. The worst part was that no one was even on the streets right now; it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday so they were all working or at school. That left absolutely zero people to help you unless you called someone at the lumberyard. Too bad your phone was in your back pocket and a single hand off of the cart spelled disaster.
Greta hadn't even given you the chance to call anyone before she shoved you out the door.
At least you had good shoes now.
After what seemed like an eternity of fighting for your life against the cart, a group of large men entering the clearing below indicated your reprieve. They were all coming in for lunch it seemed, and you could even spot the small office at the very bottom of the hill. The end was near.
Of course, that meant all of your hard work had to be for nothing, because just as you spotted Bucky amongst the men, one of the wheels caught a rock and sent you barreling to the ground. Luckily, all of the mail was in a sealed bag, but you weren’t. Your feet slid out from under you and your butt hit the ground with a force, the snow immediately soaking through your jeans. The mail bag stopped at your feet, but the cart kept rolling. It probably wouldn’t stop until it hit the office.
Well, it wouldn’t stop unless Bucky stopped it. Which he did.
“Shit, you okay, doll?” It was the loudest you’d ever heard him speak. He tossed the cart on its side and went down to help you. “You break anything?”
You groaned, wiping your muddy hands on your jeans before taking one of Bucky’s. “Just my pride. And maybe that stupid mail basket.”
“I think the basket’s fine. More worried about you.” His hands were on your arms as he leaned down to meet your eyes. Flecks of worry sparkled there, and it made you feel like you were falling again.
“Other than feeling sore tomorrow, I think I’ll be fine. That was honestly the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. Do think anyone else—”
“You okay darlin’?” Steve had impeccable timing. “Why were you trying to haul that thing down the hill by yourself? Greta always calls one of us to do it.”
“What—Greta told me she does it. I was trying to be nice.”
Sam, who had somehow also snuck up the hill as well, laughed, “That old woman will pull one over on anyone within range, girl. You had it coming sooner or later.”
“Well, that’s just wonderful,” you huffed. “Can you guys help me bring this down to the office? Now that I’m not rolling down an icy hill.”
It was incredible the progress you’d made with everyone in town—even the people that weren’t close to Bucky. You still weren’t the person you used to know, but there were cracks in your defenses that let aspects of that girl through. Sam found a piece of you with every joke he told, and Steve unveiled a corner when he showed how much he cared.
He even knitted you a scarf.
You had yet to meet Natasha and Maria, but you were excited. Bucky told you numerous times that Natasha was chomping at the bit to get her hands on you—whatever that meant—and was mad that Bucky kept you hoarded away at the library. You had definitely made your way around the town by now, but the couple always seemed to be away when you were available. It just made your inevitable meeting more anticipated.
The walk down the hill left you empty handed as the three large men did all the heavy lifting. You honestly could have gone back to work, but the lumberyard was one of the only places you had yet to see.
And it wasn’t much to see. The clearing in front of the office was covered in snowy grass and had piles of logs strewn about. Some had tiny red flags around them, and some piles were so large they towered over the office building itself. Axes and saws and other tools that held no meaning to you were leaned up against the office and just about anywhere else the eye could see. The expansive forest sprawled out in the distance.
And it smelled like Bucky; like right after he entered the library every day.
“Ma!” Steve yelled, hauling the mail bag over his shoulder. “Mails here! And y/n brought it. Old Greta had her tryin’ to get it down by herself. Toppled right over.”
Your face burned as you let out an exasperated sigh. But Bucky’s hand on your back soon had you going through a completely different range of emotions, his sympathetic smile sending you reeling.
“Stevie doesn’t know when to shut his mouth sometimes. It wasn’t that bad.” It was bad, but Bucky was kinder.
Sarah Rogers had the office door flying open in a flash. “That woman, I swear. You okay, honey?”
“I’m fine, Sarah, it was nothing. I just hope all the mail’s okay.”
“The mail,” she scoffed. Bucky’s hand hadn’t left your back. “No one gets anything interesting around here. Unless you count the bills I get for all the saws these guys go through. They’re like animals—never taking care of anything!”
“Ma, they’re saws. How’re we supposed to take care of ‘em?”
“Figure it out before this town starts owing a debt to the wholesale hardware store at the bottom of the mountain!”
And then Sam started in.
This always happened when you were in groups. Everyone around you and Bucky would get in a heated discussion—whether it be about saws or the rerun of New Girl Steve saw last week—and you two would fall back. Sometimes you would pass smiles to each other at the antics of the group, other times you would occasionally chime in.
But Bucky was usually always silent, content to watch his family go back and forth as he pushed the boundaries and tried to get closer to you.
This time, his hand was already on your back; that meant the first leap was already taken. So he pushed it a little more. He let his fingers rub up and down your spine when Steve took a jab at Sam’s shoddy ax work, the motion sending goosebumps along your arms.
Sarah rifled through the mail bag to procure one of the bills, and Bucky’s hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. You lost your breath somewhere in your lungs at the feel of him. As usual, he radiated heat. Whenever you got close enough, you always wondered what it would be like to be nestled into him; to have both of his arms around you with your head in his neck, his warmth running through you.
You were torn out of your comfortable thoughts by Sam’s next remark, as usual. Bucky took the opportunity to lean down and place his lips by your ear. “This really has no solution. They’ve been arguing about saws for the past three years.”
“And you have no opinion? Aren’t you the big boss, James?”
The laugh against your ear was almost too warm to handle, and not just physically. “You get me every time with that, doll.”
You turned to face him, fondness permeating his blue hues. “Isn’t that the point?”
You felt like yourself for a moment—no fear and no threats; you felt like yourself in Bucky’s eyes. If you could stay in this blissful bubble with the man that made you feel like a teenager again, maybe you wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Sam called. You jumped, shifting out of Bucky’s grip in a quick motion. “When you two are finished, we gotta take lunch.”
“Right, uh, yeah. I’ll catch up with you,” Bucky offered.
The small group entered the office with the rest of the workers, knowing glances surely thrown your way. There were worse things to be teased about; Bucky was hardly dragging you down.
“You wanna have lunch with us?” he asked, hands stuffed into his pockets. “There’s always extras. I know you usually gotta eat by yourself.”
You smiled. “Thanks, Bucky, but Greta gets lunch before me. I have to stay at the library in case anyone comes in. You know, for all the people in dire need of a book.”
“Well I wouldn’t want to leave Stowe Mills without literature.”
“Of course not,” you joked. His hand reached out—just an inch, but you caught it in your peripheral. Much to your disappointment, it fell back against his leg. “Thanks again, Bucky. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“‘Course, doll. Just remember to use your phone next time Greta has you doin’ the impossible.”
“I will. I don’t know what goes on in her head sometimes.”
Greta knew exactly what she was doing.
One month. You’d been in this town for an entire month and had no issues.
The window heater had soothed you to sleep each night, and your phone alarm woke you up each morning. No dreams. No nightmares. But something had set you off, triggering your brain to relive the worst night of your life.
Damn. Really wish you hadn’t seen this, honey.
It replayed even now, echoing over the drone of the old television you turned on the second you woke up. You pulled the blankets tighter around your shoulders and attempted to focus on the channel flickering on the screen. But that wouldn’t work because it was a news station.
The walls of the inn felt too tight around you, suffocating you from a distance. They sucked the air from the room and suddenly the heater felt too hot. You shoved the blankets from your legs and reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, but stopped. Your hands were shaking. Your entire body was shaking. And you were sweating.
He could probably find you here. This was the only inn in town; if he found the town, he would look here first. You should leave. No one else was awake and Sarah went back home to sleep every night. The main door was locked, yes, but he could easily break in. He could easily do a lot of things if you were alone.
You rammed your feet into your boots, leaving your pajama pants bunched up at your ankles. Your coat was haphazardly thrown over your body, and you had no idea what the state of your hair was.
You just needed to get out of here until everyone woke up; until you weren’t alone anymore.
The lumberyard—the forests there were thick enough to hide you until the sun exposed any wrongdoings that could occur. But even in this manic haze, Bucky’s voice could be found. He told you not to go past the tree line alone, not at night. It was a shame his voice was too low compared to all the others.
The trip down the steep hill was far too quick, but you could blame that on the way your brain seemed to blur out the lines of the sidewalk. Everything was moving too fast, but you still couldn’t get away quick enough. His voice kept ruminating over and over again, threatening you and reminding you that ‘he could find you anywhere. No use running.’
You ran anyway. You ran right into the trees that towered over you and protected you from even the moon itself.
Your breathing was sporadic and labored and your chest hurt. You took a break against a tree and the bark rubbed up against your hand. It was uncomfortable, but it grounded you. You let the texture imprint into your skin, pressing more and more until it bit into flesh.
He wouldn’t find you, you reminded yourself. He had absolutely no idea where you were and this place was so hidden. Stowe Mills wasn’t even on every map and—
You gasped, pressing yourself fully against the tree and heaving in shallow breaths. Maybe if you didn’t look, nothing bad would happen to you.
“Y/n, what the hell? Are you okay?”
That didn’t sound like him; the voice was too concerned, too caring. You still couldn’t look, letting your knees fall to the snow. Your body was too wired to even feel the cold seeping into your skin.
“Hey, doll, look at me. What’s going on?”
Doll. Bucky. A corner of your mind seemed to right itself, and you turned when a hand dropped on your shoulder. It was Bucky; you were practically untouchable.
You launched yourself into his arms, still too incoherent to consider the repercussions later, and he wrapped himself around you almost instantly. If you had looked up, the bewilderment on his face would have almost been comical. Because why were you in the middle of the woods in your pajamas at three in the morning?
“Bucky,” you whispered. Your fingers bunched up his coat, head resting against his chest.
“Y/n, what’re you doing out here? You’re gonna get sick and I told you it’s not safe to be out here by yourself.”
You let your nose press against the divot in his chest and squeezed your eyes shut. Bucky’s hands were firm and steady on your back, and you focused on that. You were fine. It was just a dream. And Bucky was here; you were pretty sure he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
“I was sleep walking I think,” you whispered, voice hidden behind Bucky’s shifting feet in the snow. “I didn’t mean to come out here.”
He sighed, placing a hand on your head. “You do that often? These woods really aren’t a good place to get lost.”
“Just when I have bad dreams.”
“What’s a girl like you got to worry about?” He wouldn’t even be able to guess. “How ‘bout I take you back to my place, yeah? It’s really close to here and I can get you by the fire.”
He gently coaxed you away from the tree and led you by the hand to a cozy cabin you had somehow missed in your panic. It was no wonder he found you; you were practically having a breakdown in his front yard. But Bucky didn’t look annoyed as he opened his door and helped you out of your boots. No, Bucky just looked concerned.
Your groggy mind almost failed to feel the softness that brushed at your ankles, weaving between them and stopping at your feet. Bucky let out a soft sound and reached down. “This is Alpine,” he smiled, bringing the cat up to your face. “She’s real sweet. Loves everyone, even Sam.”
The ice in your veins started to thaw at the sight in front of you; the giant of a man cradling such a small cat in his arms, being so gentle it almost made you croon. He held Alpine out further and prompted you to take her, promising that Alpine made everyone feel better.
Bucky was right. The cat nudged her head into your neck almost immediately, her purrs filling the hollowness that had consumed your chest. A quick look around Bucky’s house told you why the cat was so sweet.
Bucky’s home was like a warm hug. The fire was roaring in the fireplace, mismatched stones embedded into the wall illuminated by the flame. The furniture was all different colors, but neutral, and each piece looked more comfortable than anything your New York apartment had ever seen. He had about fourteen different flannels hung by the door, and the kitchen looked just as incohesive as the living room; none of the jars on the countertop matched, the wooden serving utensils the only running theme.
All that to say, Bucky’s home reminded you of him. It was safe, comfortable, and warm. It didn’t scream high class like everything you were used to, but it was everything you needed. And Alpine was just the cherry on top.
“Probably a bit different than New York.” You had missed Bucky’s lingering stare as you took in his home, a nervousness filling his gaze the longer you held Alpine to your chest. “But we don’t have a lot of fancy stuff here. Built most of it myself actually.”
Of course he did.
“No, no, it’s lovely, Bucky. Your home is beautiful,” you breathed.
He cracked a small smile, reaching out to pat Alpine’s head. “It gets the job done. It’s just me and Al, so we keep it small.” He let his hand meet your arm, guiding you closer to the fire. “Can I get ya anything? Alpine loves apple cider, so she might try to steal it if I give you any. But I got hot chocolate and coffee. Anything to get you warmer.”
He was already making you feel warm enough. Between the cat he had shoved in your arms and his tender tone, your body was vibrating. And everything around you just screamed Bucky; just being in this house was enough to soothe your soul.
“Hot chocolate?” you asked.
“Comin’ right up, doll.”
Alpine inspected you from your lap as you nestled into Bucky’s couch. She sniffed at your fingers and rubbed up against your arms, a few meows sprinkled in between. When she came up and pushed her nose into your cheek, an unexpected giggle rumbled in your chest.
“Ah, see? I told you Alpine makes everyone feel better,” Bucky smiled. He held a mug as he sat beside you, his large hand dwarfing it in comparison. “She’s one of my best girls.”
“I can see why. She’s very friendly. Has a great dad taking care of her too.”
The warmth of the mug felt better against your skin than the tree bark from earlier. Bucky’s sudden hand on your knee was even nicer.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” he asked.
You shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “It was just a bad dream. Sometimes I get these… vivid images—memories really. It freaks me out. I haven’t had one in a while.”
“Do they usually make you run a mile away from your room?”
“No,” you mumbled. “I think it’s just because I’ve gotten so comfortable here. Scared me a little more than usual.”
Bucky’s hand flexed on your knee. “What happened to you, doll?”
The hot chocolate burned your tongue, Bucky’s question making it taste bitter when it wasn’t. It was inevitable that he would ask that; a girl shows up in your front yard at 3 am and you’re going to have questions. But Bucky looked at you as if you were precious. He got you coffee at the end of his shifts and brushed his hands along your back when no one was looking.
What would he think of you if he knew what you’d done? If he knew you ran?
Ever the observer, Bucky saw your demeanor shift. You began to close off the way you did when Sam asked too many questions about New York, or when Steve tried to dig into your dating history. Bucky couldn’t let that happen; you had to know you were safe with him, understood.
“A few years back, I was workin’ real late. You’re not supposed to do that, but I needed the money for Becca’s school.” His soft voice startled you out of your stupor. His gaze was fixed on the fire ahead. “We were in the middle of a pretty bad snow storm, so I couldn’t really see much. There’s a reason I always walk you back to the inn, you know.”
He tore his eyes away to throw you a small smile, but it didn’t light up his whole face. It wasn’t the smile he usually reserved for you.
He continued as you rested your hand atop his. “Was finally heading in for the night and I started hearing this rustling a few feet ahead of me. Figured it was a deer or somethin’. All the dangerous stuff is supposed to be sleeping during the winter. Turns out it was a bear.” He blew out a heavy breath, leaning further into the couch. “You can’t outrun a bear, and those suckers can climb. So I tried to scare it off.
“But I was alone, you know? And I couldn’t see much past the snow. So it got me. It clamped onto my arm and wouldn’t let go until I grabbed the flare gun outta my pocket. It ran off after that, but I couldn’t get up. I was out there for hours by myself. I was pretty sure I was gonna die. At that point I was just hoping Stevie found me instead of his Ma—Sarah didn’t need to see that.”
Your eyes burned; for the first time in the weeks since you abandoned your old life, you were crying. You were crying for Bucky Barnes and the way that even in death, he was still thinking of others. And picturing him in the snow of the forest floor—his arm in shambles and his spirit broken—made a delicate sob escape your throat.
“Hey, don’t cry, doll,” he comforted, pulling you into his arms. “I lived, didn’t I? Luckily, Stevie did find me. The punk decided to come in early to help me out and carried me all the way to the damn hospital. We gotta really small one at the edge of town. They ended up calling a helicopter to take me to a real one. It was real dramatic, lots of crying.”
He rested his chin on top of your head. “Got to keep my arm, but it’s all scarred up. Had to take months off of work. Natasha’s weird casseroles were the only thing keeping me sustained,” he joked, pulling you back to meet your eyes. “But I didn’t tell you all that to make you upset. I told you so you’d know that I understand. I get those dreams, the ones where you wake up and you don’t know where you are. They scare the crap outta me. Only difference is that I run further into my house instead of out of it.”
You choked out a wet laugh, the sight making Bucky wipe the tears from your face. Maybe you could tell him what happened. He’d told you one of his worst secrets; the thing that kept him up at night and left him huddled in the corner of his living room when the dreams got too bad. Sharing what happened might make him understand you better.
Or it could make him hate you.
Bucky was attacked by a bear, something completely out of his control. He was working late for his sister and the world turned against him. It was nothing like what replayed in your dreams; what had you sprinting out of the inn in such a rush, your pajama pants soaking your skin from the snow.
“Hey,” Bucky called. His hands were still cradling your face, but they were hesitant, like if you moved too quickly he would yank them away. “You still don’t have to tell me, okay? I just—I get it. What you’re going through. And I’m here if you wanna talk.”
His eyes flitted down to your lips for a brief moment, and your mind went into overdrive. You’d danced around the idea of kissing Bucky for weeks. In the library. At the diner. Just about everywhere he met you, you wanted to kiss him.
But Bucky was so careful around you; it was as if he didn’t know how much was too much—what would make you run away. He held your hand when he walked you home, but he dropped it as soon as the inn came into view. He tucked your hair behind your ear, but that had only happened once, and his cheeks were inflamed afterward.
One thing always stayed constant though: his eyes were always glancing at your lips. Always quickly, never lingering.
“I really appreciate that, James.”
This time, he watched your lips as they formed his name, enraptured.
“Anything for you.”
You leaned closer, your cheeks guided by Bucky’s calloused hands. The logs in the fireplace shifted. Your breath came out in a shaky puff, meeting the air between you, the air that was losing distance.
You looked down to his mouth this time. That must have been the key to it all—the confirmation for Bucky. He titled your chin up, urging you to meet his gaze.
“Can I kiss you?”
It wasn’t even a question. “Yes.”
The kiss felt like home. Not the stuffy New York apartment you grew up in, but the home that Bucky had conjured up; the way he made you feel each time he laughed or spoke up unexpectedly. His fingers slid into your hair, and you set the mug down with wobbly hands, desperate to take him into your grasp.
His chest was prone against your palms as he kissed you. Sweet kisses, running across your lips in soft strokes, becoming deeper with each brush against your scalp. He kissed you more and more, like he needed it to warm him in this harsh winter; like doing so would take away whatever memories you were too scared to share with him.
And then he stopped kissing you, forehead resting against yours, shoulders heaving. “You make me feel crazy,” he admitted. “Second I saw you in that library, I was a goner. And then you show up at my house and start snuggling up to my cat? What the hell, doll?”
You laughed, blissfully unaware of what was haunting you just an hour ago. “I’m just a huge sucker for Alpine.”
“Yeah, you and everyone else.” He angled your head down, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Let’s get you some sleep. You can take my bed”
“I couldn’t do that! Bucky, I practically barged in here unannounced. I’m not taking your bed.”
“You kinda have to. Alpine sleeps on the bed and she’s the best for keeping the nightmares away. She’s like a living dream catcher or whatever those things are called,” he shrugged, resigned. “I don’t make the rules.”
You sighed. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”
“Nope.” He tugged you up from the couch, hands on your waist as he led you down the dark hall.
His bedroom was the same as the rest of his house, and his bed was obviously slept in. You were the reason he had jolted out of it, coat half on and worry set into his brow. He ran through a few reasons why it might not feel the best—old mattress and all that—but it was comfortable, and it smelled like him.
That was better than anything.
Your dreams didn’t return that night, even though Bucky went to sleep on the couch. Because you could hear the door creak when he came to check on you, and you felt safe.
You were safe.
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Please the lumberjack!bucky x teacher!reader had made me feral
I can’t get the thought of him getting a little jealous of the single dads trying to flirt with the reader and him just shutting it down immediately or him being protective and sweet with the kids sometimes too even though he doesn’t really like them
Wait! Who would be the single dads? Does Lumberjack Bucky have a little competition?
And he will be sweet to the little humans even if they are sticky and keep showing him random things they find on the ground 😂