John Bucky Egan - Blog Posts

who are you to think that you can hold your head up higher than your fellow man?

i think im gonna be sick

Alex: So is this thing between Buck and Bucky supposed to be a secret? Brady: Hardly, the only people who don’t know are Buck and Bucky.

Heyyyy…..

How y’all doing🤭

Okay so I’m actually going to be back to post some of my favorite edits cause…a butch crash out when TikTok got banned for 12hours so yeah.

Not only that but I just turned 18 last week🤭 and Im so excited to be this age but also scared il not even going to lie though but yeah, I’m back and excited to post again and everything like that❤️

My gosh he’s so fine🤭☺️

TikaTok Creator: @honeymnfx

I wanna be fucking next😭💀

ღ_ -𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐-__𝚒𝚗𝚐. ! ! _.𝚒𝚝𝚜 -| 𝙴𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚜:-_[𝚊𝚗𝚍 . --𝚊_ 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢?//_𝚗𝚘.. 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝-_._{𝚝𝚑𝚎;“’.𝚏𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 ,_!

ꨄ𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 >>> 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝟷𝟶 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚙𝚎-😂

and my sweetie baes ^3^ : @luvlydeja @taylormarieee @charmingballoon @eymie @eleanorbaybars @valianttyrantexpert

“Touchin’ me, telling me ‘we gotta go’ but this time I need to feel you…”

♡︎.

.♡︎

There’s something about him.

You’ve been noticing this something ever since he fuckedyoutillyousawstars persuaded you to give him all the babies he wants– before, you considered yourself possibly tall, but Bucky is taller; not only that, but he’s much broader than you, his shoulders remind you of mountain ranges and his body is solid, hard, and warm. Your body is caught between that body and the inside of your bedroom door, John’s handsome face tantalisingly close to yours. So close, in fact, that you can see the little flecks of olive green in Bucky’s deep blue irises, and the way his pupils dilate; you can see each crease in his full lower lip, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the delicate wisps of hair on his forehead…

It almost felt like you couldn’t get pregnant fast enough.

You fist your hands in the front of his shirt, dragging him down to crush your lips together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Bucky wastes no time forcing his tongue past your teeth, pushing the your own tongue further back into your mouth as you moan, dutifully sucking the appendage into your mouth and letting your teeth graze over it. It’s obscene, really, with the way your practically fellating Bucky’s tongue. It’s also obscene how not a few minutes ago you were begging him for this exact moment.

Purring so sweetly in his ear all the ways he could take you, knock you up, that you were ovulating fucking Christ…

“Cmon baby, don’t you wanna make me a mommy? See my tits nice and heavy with milk for our baby?” And that’s all he heard before lust took over.

Bucky’s huge hands plunge up under your top, curling around the line of your waist and pulling you so close your bodies are flush against each other. Gasping, John’s thigh bullies its way between your legs. You don’t bother to stop yourself from grinding down against it, panties growing sticky as your stomach warms. Your heartbeat pulses loudly in your ears and throbs between your legs, your mind running away with ideas about how good he could breed you with what’s nestled between his legs and decide to play dirty.

“Please,” you coo, nibbling down on Bucky’s earlobe; the man jerks against you at the light sting, and his cock jumps in his pants as you roll your hips to meet the other’s. “S’what you want right? Let me make you a daddy, wanna be so full of you-”

“Turn around, bend over.”

You don’t want to tear yourself away from John, from his kisses, out of those strong arms – but you do, because you know that what’s coming will be so much better. You brace your hands on the door, arching your back and sticking out your ass clad only in panties, a dark stain spreading over the material from where you’d begun to grow wet. John rumbles in satisfaction from behind you, one hand pushing down your panties and the other pulling down his own trousers to release his thick, flushed cock from its confines. You glance back over your shoulder and his whole body shivers, from your scalp right to your toes, at the sight of it. It’s fat and heavy and huge, wrapped with dark veins that you suddenly very much want in your mouth. You push your ass out more, spreading your thighs and whining, practically humping the air in desperation.

John has to think straight enough for the both of you as you’re smaller than him and he doesn’t want to knock all your screws loose. “Bunny, I need to stre-“ you cut him off the pure want in your voice nearly blinding him.

“Hurry up, please, what you need to do is–,” you break off with a shuddering gasp as Bucky lines up his cock to your entrance and pushes, sliding his slick, fat cock in one stroke. His fingers are bruising against your hips, holding you in place as he tries to stuff in a few more inches. The head of his cock forces its way past the ridge of your hole, stretching it out, soon hitting the hard line of your cervix. The sound that falls from your pretty lips when Bucky’s cockhead kisses your cervix is barely human; it’s high, keening and wanting.

Bucky himself is curled over your body, trying his best to swallow down the immediate urge to ragdoll you. Soaking walls clench tight and hot and hungry around him, drawing sweat to the surface of his skin and causing each muscle in his body to tighten.

“Jesus bunny-!,” John manages to push out between clenched teeth, his eyes riveted on where your bodies are joined as he pulls out. The shaft of his cock is slick with your juices, those succulent folds glowing and swollen and clinging to his cock as though they don’t want to let him go. He pulls out just until the head rests inside your cunt, and then he slams back in, right to the base. His balls slap unforgivingly against your engorged clit and his little minx shudders again, humping your hips back impatiently.

“Fuckmefuckme, God, my pussy needs you so bad,” you gasp out. Legs shaking already, threatening to give out from underneath you; in fact you suspect you would have already fallen had it not been for Bucky’s hands elevating your hips.

“She doesn’t want to let me go,” John groans, body curling over yours as he picks up the pace. “Don’t worry, let me do all the work…I’ll give you what you want.”

You whine and spread your legs further, allowing his cock to pound even deeper into you, splitting apart the sensitive flesh of your pussy and hammering against your womb, pushing time and time again over the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled deep inside you. The bedroom fills obscene sounds: your desperate moaning, the slapping of skin on skin, the squelch of your cunt as Bucky plunges into it. He bites down hard into your shoulder, his hands leaving your hips and moving instead to crawl up your chest, taking two swollen nipples between his fingers and rolling them.

“F-fuck, Buck, n-not – ahn,” you, despite your protest, push your chest further into Bucky’s large, rough hands. You feel smothered, suffocated by him, so surrounded by his scent and his warmth. You’ve been invaded by him. You love it.

John tugs hard on your tits, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh. As he does, your pussy constricts around him and he groans, huffing into the nape of your neck.

“I need you to cum in me,” you whisper deliriously, face flushed and sweaty. “Cum in me, please –,”

Your pussy seems to drool even more at the thought, juices dripping down to the wooden floor you he thrust your hips back to meet John’s bruising thrusts.

“…mhmm, gonna put a baby in you,” John purrs, the thought making him almost feral, bringing him back to his most primal instincts. “Gonna fuck my baby into you, pretty… I want to see you swollen for me, fat with my child…” Then you would really be his, solely and completely, in body and mind and soul as you two would raise the beautiful result of your union. He fucks into you even more brutally, his hand dropping to your soft hips and working furiously at your swollen, raw clit.

At the new touch your back bows and you wail, the sound muffled only by the fingers Bucky shoves in your mouth.

“Do it,” you slur around the your husbands fingers as you suck at them, drooling. His thick fingers probe to the back of your tongue, taking it between them and rubbing it; your big eyes fill with overwhelmed tears and you shut them, giving your over completely to his pleasure. “Give me your babies, do it – oh – I’m so close, daddy –,”

“Cum,” John breathes hot in you ear, teeth closing down on the delicate whorl. “Squirt all over my cock mama.”

That’ll do it.

You cry out against Bucky’s fingers, hips humping wildly up and down his cock. Your body forces itself as far back as it can, bringing as much of Bucky’s cum inside as possible. Your thighs shake violently, one foot lifting off the floor completely as your orgasm wracks through you, eyes flickering back into your skull and you stop hearing. Drool dribbles down your chin, landing in fat drops on the floor as you lap at the fingers in your mouth between wails; your dripping, cunt gushing around the delicious stretch, sucking Bucky’s cock in as far as you can.

John grits his teeth hard, his thrusts growing erratic and messy as he climbs quickly towards his climax. He cums with thunder rolling through his skull, burying himself in the wet mushy heat of your cunt, his balls tightening as he releases load after load after load as deep inside you. His thumb, moving in trembling circles over your clit, sends you into a pretty, twitching, overstimulated mess.

His fingers drop from your mouth, slick and dripping, picking your limp body to the bed and dropping in an exhausted heap.

He’d ask if you needed anything but your already crawling on top of him, legs settling around his waist as you make yourself welcome at Ah La Hotel Egan.

You mumble out baby names as you try to stay awake, swearing you only “need a break, no nap” and John just watches you fondly, gaze full of tenderness.

“…better not get tired old man”, the irony of the yawn that follows makes him laugh, amused. Little did he know, when your twin girls are born, he’ll officially be outnumbered.

“I’ll do my best”.

Let me know what yall want

IM BACK GIRLSSSSSS, with both fine ass man🤭🤭

TikTok Creator: @99richie

I wanna be next😭, that’s all I want‼️ @willyoubemycherryy why do make me love my man every time😭😭😭😭💀

𝑶𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 @inlovewithdilfss➬ 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝒘/ 𝑱𝒐𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒛 ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ໒꒱✧. • “….𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒?”

𝑰𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔: 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒑𝒘𝒑, 𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊̈𝒆𝒔, 𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔, 𝒗ø𝒚𝒆𝒖̈𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒎, 𝒇𝒊̈𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊̈𝒏𝒈, 𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂, 𝒔𝒒𝒖̈𝒊̈𝒓𝒕𝒊̂𝒏𝒈, 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 <333

.

.

“C’mon, baby. It’s okay…”

The softness of Joe’s raspy voice in your ear makes you shiver as he tries to coax you to open your legs.

You don’t know why you were being so shy since this whole thing was your idea.

“I like your eyes on me…”

Was what you said late on night when he had climbed through your window for a impromptu visit just to catch you in the middle of changing and was immediately remorseful until you told him that it was okay, that you didn’t mind; in fact, he was more than welcome to watch you finish getting ready. So he did. There was something so sensual and strange about it that he couldn’t keep from asking..

“What else would you let me watch you do?”

That’s how you ended up here.

Naked back against his chest, legs hooked over his, with your ass snug against his clothed erection while he looked down over your shoulder as you touched yourself for him…or tried to.

Shyness had hit you last minute and even though you were wet and beyond excited to have his exact attention on you, you couldn’t get yourself to fall off that edge. You just couldn’t get over how you’d look, the mess, if he’d like the theory more than the practice.

Joe’s groan jolted you out of your thoughts as he cupped your tits, rolling the stiff nubs between his fingers before sucking hotly at your throat.

Wet gasps spill from your mouth, warmth rolling over in waves so strong that you don’t even notice when you start rolling your hips into your hand, thumbing messily at your clit and you quickly lose yourself.

But your hand gets tired from how many times you almost got yourself there before it faded and you whine in frustration. Joe’s watching you with rapt attention. Soft skin, prettily arched back, stiff peaks on your breasts just begging to be in his mouth while desperate noises fell from yours.

“Let me help you, angel”. Whispering against your lips as he tilts your chin up, his other hand trailing down to rest on top of yours and he’s reeling at how he can already feel your wetness without his fingers even close to being inside you.

You’re fighting internally because you know he could help. He’d be the best helper, actually. And even in the face of your reservations, he’d been so patient…which only served to make him hotter. Almost as if he was sensing your struggle, Joe leans down to kiss your cheek, effortlessly melting you.

“Please, sweets…can I see?”

And that’s all it takes to have your legs dropping open while his hand instantly drops to your heat, the thick fingers get slathered in your arousal right away. You let out a throaty moan at the gritty hiss Joe breathes in your ear as he lightly smacks your exposed clit, sticky strings clinging to his fingers.

“Mmm-fuck….you’ve made a mess, hmm?” Reducing you to a puddle as he coos lowly in your ear.

The response you had gets swiped straight from you when he dips his fingers between your soaked lips, dragging them up to the focus of your need. Still, his touch wasn’t picking up enough, and you needed more. “Faster,” you whine out, as you wrap an arms around his neck and pulling him back to the crook of your neck as he watches his fingers fuck in and out your dripping cunt. It felt so amazing, pleasure lighting through you and you cry out.

“Shh, I know. I’ll give you what you need,” he drawled, wet fingers thrusting into you with increasing speed. The arousal in his voice set your skin tingling, before another loud, wanton moan was torn from you when he began circling your clit in slick, firm circles. Even your own touch had never been this good.

Every noise you made, every involuntary jerk of your hips, spurred him on faster, to give you more.

Joe could feel his cock leak as your cries turned to wails the closer you got. Crooking his fingers every slide in, pounding the sensitive nerves inside your twitching cunt so deliciously that you white out, so overstimulated by the force of your own orgasm, you gush. Liquid spraying out around the digits stuffed in your tight hole. He pulses watching tears roll down your hot cheeks as he slows his hand to a soft caress, easing up on your nub, helping you ride out your orgasm until you go slack against him.

Slowly taking his fingers out, he brings them to his mouth, sucking on them and moaning as your taste hits his tongue. He looks down at your limp form and thinks that this is when you look prettiest.

Slick and sated.

pleaseremembertobathritualisticallyinyournearestbodyofholywater

😭..it’s so good🤌🏾

𝑶𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓: 𝑨 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒋𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝑬𝒈𝒂𝒏<33

“𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒕?”

𝑰𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔- 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒙, 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒐𝒓𝒈✪𝒔𝒎𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒋𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 😉

X

O

“Cmon bun, I didn’t catch it the first time.”

Damn he was such a bastard.

You know there’s a high chance you’ll never live this down but you’re too wet to care.

Pinned underneath his body as he teased you, John’s thick fingers stuffed inside your dripping cunt while they’d lightly graze that spot inside you but never hard enough to get you off, just keeping you on edge and under his thumb. Literally.

What he wanted was simple. Lately, when you’d be having sex, he felt like there was something you were holding back, something that could send you to cloud nine and he needed to know what that something was.

Bucky knew he couldn’t be sweet and get it out of you, no. You were too stubborn so you’d never tell. The only option left was slow torture.

Luckily for him, endurance was never your thing so within the first hour of being stripped naked and played with, you broke muttering your embarrassing truth.

“S-spit in….my m-mouth..”

The way Bucky’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline made you wish the sheets would swallow you whole.

“I’m sorry, where did you want me to spit?”

Now he was just being an ass.

You throw your head back with a whine, fighting tears. You needed to cum. The ache was starting to become almost unbearable, clit throbbing so hard it bordered on pain. And it was hot too, only adding to your frustration.

Going to open up your mouth to argue some more, you cut off with a gasp when Bucky suddenly takes his fingers out.

“W-what are y- oooh!” Your voice breaks off to a sharp moan as Bucky slaps his thick cock between your swollen pussy lips, hitting your clit as he slides back an forth, the intense pleasure overwhelming you as you become lightheaded. Fuck, you could cum like this.

Before you get too far, John stops and lowers his face to yours. Blown blue eyes meet your hazy ones as he brushes his full lips over yours, speaking lowly.

“So wet..must ache, huh?” John can see your resolve disappearing almost completely so he keeps going. “Tell me what you want so I can give it to you.” Fuck it, you need to come. “I’ll always give you want you want, pretty..jus’ gotta tell me.”

Nodding, you lift up to capture his mouth in a deep kiss, opening your mouth before he pulls away.

“Now, where do you want me to spit?” He rasps against your lips, and you don’t care anymore. You’d tell him the secrets of the president if it would get your screws knocked loose.

“I want, no…need you to spit in my mouth.”

“Good girl. Now, open. Let me see the back of that pretty throat.“

You obey without question and John hums in pleasure before leaning down and spitting straight down your throat. A high pitched moan erupts from you as you feel its warmth pool in your core. After that Bucky can’t wait anymore as he fucks his length into you cunt and devours you in a kiss. Your lashes flutter amidst your eyes rolling back. The languid strokes of his sweet tongue against your own draws out the most debauched sounds from your throat. His lips suction off of your own with a wet pop and you gasp, “want me to do it again?”

You don’t even have to nod all the way before the taste of his spit is sliding down your tongue and he’s fucking you even harder.

Wrecked moans, slapping skin, and harsh curses fill the room as you finally fall into the abyss of euphoria. Your orgasm hits you in a violent burst of bliss that has you crying out for him in a drawn-out moan, your spine arches amidst the waves of pleasure clouding your mind, body writhing, and pelvis undulating as you ride out the pulsing release. Your soaked cunt throbs and pulses around Buck’s girth, burning hot and dripping.

“F-uck!” he cries, slamming into you, his moan turns to a loud growl before you feel a hot pressure gush inside of you. Your eyes roll back with a sob, clinging onto his broad frame.

You’re both boneless when you come down a few minutes later but John stays inside you, picking up your hand to kiss the back of it soothingly as you drift off.

BOAF BITCH🤭✌🏾💕

TikTok Creater: @editzbybellz

Here’s my man just being fine🤭💕

TikTok Creater: @aeptch

Just one fucking chance man, JUST ONE😭☝🏾

TikTok Creater: @editzbybellz

It’s he’s song guys🤭😫

TikTok Creater: @editzbybellz

I’m screaming and creaming guys, I swear😭🤭

TikTok Creator: @haileaep

Omg omg omggg😭😭😭

TikTok Creater: @kenz.editsae

I want thank my boo @willyoubemycherryy for showing me this edit of my man🤭💕, he’s just so fine😭

TikTok Creater: @theoverglow

I have no caption for this cause it’s just Callum guys like🤭💗

TikTok Creater: @aefabs

Legs wide open, I swear🤭

TikTok Creater: honeymnfx

“The Sex”-🤭🤌🏾

TikTok Creater: @honeymnfx

Jesuss😩💗

TikTok Creater: @honeymnfx

This is for pookie @willyoubemycherryy💕🌸

TikTok Creater: @callumsturner

😭😭 @willyoubemycherryy

❣︎𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝚡 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚢𝚙𝚘𝚙 ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴀᴜ!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝚘𝚏𝚏-𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚘𝚔𝚎😭, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚌 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 ’𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎’, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚍𝚊, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝙾𝙼-𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚈, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚅 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢😂💕

“𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒏’ 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏...’’

࣪𖤐๋࣭ ໒꒱✧. • 𐙚˙⋆.˚. .

If someone told you that you’d be stuck in traffic with 6 of the most adoringly irritating men you’ve ever met, fiancé included, you would punch them in the fucking chest for jinxing you like that.

Because that’s exactly the type of circus you currently found yourself in.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“Bucky, turn it up!”

“No but like the way this song still EATS to THIS DAY?!!!”

“YEEAAAAHHH!”

Rolling your eyes behind the steering wheel at what apparently was your group of middle-school girls, you take a deep breath at what was about to occur.

“I THREW A WISH IN THE WELL-“

Ah yes.

The beautiful vocals of John Egan. Off tune as ever as he shouts the words, the others getting so rowdy that their bouncing shakes the car while they grin and dap each other up.

“DON’T ASK ME, I’LL NEVER TELL!” Curt scream-sings louder than John, moving a piece of imaginary long hair behind his ear before looking up to the side, batting his eyes dramatically. It’s all so completely ridiculous that before you can help it, you’re laughing and smiling with them. You know to other cars, you all probably look crazy as fuck but stranger things honestly.

They bounce line after line at each other, playing it up to absurd proportions by running their hands through their hair, fanning themselves like Victorian ladies seeing forearms for the first time, shaking each other, and firing off every over the top ‘come hither’ stare known to man.

At this point even you can’t help but to bop your head because the song really was catchy as hell.

“BUCK GO!”

“YEAH this is you!”

Oh dear god.

Now in his defense, Gale at least had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, given that he was the only one who hadn’t gone and joined in yet but now the pressure was on with Bucky, Curtis, Rosie, Bubbles, and Douglass all looking at him. Practically daring him to ruin the mood.

“…”

“If you don’t-!”

“BEFORE YOU CAME INTO MY LIFE I MISSED YOU SO BAD!”

The hoops and hollers get so loud that you have to roll the windows down. Gale gives in and sings with them and not surprisingly at all, his voice is hot and beautiful not bad compared to the others.

But as good a mood you may be in, you refuse to entertain their foolishness too much or else it’ll go on forever and after being held in traffic hostage for almost an hour and a half, that’s something you just can’t risk. Luckily you don’t have to because the song ends a minute and change later with them all yelling “so call me maybe!!” out the windows, all crowding each other as they try to get their heads through like a bouquet of golden retrievers.

Bucky leans over to press a sloppy kiss on your cheek, making the skin heat up under his sudden undivided attention.

“Babydoll cmon, why don’t you sing with us?” He asks, tapping the underside of your chin.

“Because~ no♡︎. I don’t think I’d sound too great.” which is a complete lie, you sound just fine but you don’t feel like it right now. More than wanting to sing, you want to get back and eat a turkey sandwich (sorry vegans).

However, your fiancé being who he is, can’t help but voice his opinion on your voice…in the most mortifying way possible.

“Well I think you sound better than great when I’ve got you singing underneath me.”

The collective gasps from the Peanut Gallery in your backseat makes the heat rushing up the back of your neck almost unbearable as you snap your head sideways to look Bucky in his face, eyes wide in shock because oh no he didn’t.

“I beg your utmost pardon?!” Screeching as your hand flies to your chest, jaw dropped. He laughs, shrugging like he didn’t just end your honor.

“What?? I’ve said worse to you!” The “ooh’s” from the backseat egg you on as you two start to argue.

“Immediately no, because be so for real! My pearls are clutched to the finest degreeee right now like what is wrong with you?!”

“Babe what! What’d I say?!”

“Dude you DO NOT say shit like that in front of company!”

“We’re not in the house though!”

“The rule still applies! Do I talk about your d-“, while in the middle of your back and forth, Gale interrupts.

“I feel like this would be less…whatever is happening, with some background noise. Could you turn the radio back on, hon? And if it helps, we didn’t hear anything.”

He’s so sweet, truly. Smacking Curtis on the back of the head when he looks like he’s about to disagree with what he knows he definitely did hear, he smiles at you. So, turning to shoot one last irritated look at John, you turn the radio on.

The intro of an almost electro-80’s pop song fill the car and almost immediately the excitement starts again but Gale’s reaction catches you completely off guard, mouth dropping open as he sings,

“My silhouette is in the frame of your shades again~…”

Hillside boys??!!!!

_

He’s just so-😩

TikTok Creater: @lonlxl0

My man My man My Man🤭💕

TikTok Creater: @ruff4lo

I need this man real bad🤭

TikTok Creater:@bloodbqths

This man I swear🤭💗

TikTok Creater: @callumturners

This came to me like a vision and will be the ONLY time I edit him

I just need a clegan story in Call me by your name vibes

Just imagine

this fic is my roman empire I desperately need more it's just so beautiful and my heart hurts

VI. "Trust Me, Doll..."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

War is hell and every time it seems you and Bucky adapt to your new normal, the game is changed yet again. When at last Victory in Europe is achieved, the pair of you can finally focus on forging the way ahead.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Grief, Mentions of Death, Imprisonment, Pregnancy, Childbirth in Retrospect, Child Rearing, Motherhood, Era-Typical Sexism and Marital Expectations, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Sex While Trying Not to Be Overhead] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note(s): This is it! Oh wow, we made it, kids! Thank you to each and every one of you for your incredible engagement with this series it has truly been an inspiration! I love all of you and have more Bucky thoughts brewing!!!

As always, letters/telegrams have image descriptions that can be accessed by clicking the 'ALT' button. Special thanks to Marina @precious-little-scoundrel for helping me untangle numerous plot points in this series. I could not have done this without you, darling! This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7444

-------------------------

Your sudden return home in mid-February had been decidedly awkward. Without time to send a letter of warning, you had spent a lot of coins on a phone call in a telephone booth at the hospital in New Jersey while you awaited the arrival of a WAC commanding officer to process your discharge.

To say your mother had been surprised to hear your voice over the line was an understatement. Mercifully, your father had already left for work that day and you had only had to break the news to her. Given the frosty welcome you had received from him by the time you managed to reach the steps of your childhood home, you hated to think what his reaction would have been if you had informed him that his unwed daughter was kicked out of the Women’s Army Corps for being pregnant without the softening interference of your mother.

It was truly disorienting to be back somewhere so very familiar when you were so utterly different. The war had left its marks here too, though. A gold star banner hung proudly in the front window, in honor of your brother, and your mother’s garden out back had mostly been turned over to the growing of vegetables, with a huge stockpile of jarred preserves now overflowing the pantry. But the two bedrooms at the top of the stairs belonging to you and your brother, separated by a small hallway that was really no more than a glorified landing, were exactly as you had left them in 1942. As if they were frozen in time. Dusted and cared for, but ready and waiting for you to pick up your old lives.

Only your brother was never coming home, and you had returned home but entirely changed. After the relentless pace you had maintained since enlisting, the thought of remaining at home in idle leisure was too off-putting to even contemplate. You allowed yourself a few days of adjusting to the violent change in time – at least when you had traveled to England you had been afford several days at sea to transition. Flight across the Atlantic had been utterly jarring, and it had taken great discipline to turn your nighttime back into day.

But once you had re-acclimated to the North American clock, you had promptly ventured out to find yourself gainful employment at a nearby grocery store. The owner, Nick, was a friend of the family. A kind man who did not seem interested in asking too many questions about why you were back early, was simply eager for the help around his store. It was most definitely not as mentally taxing as the work you had previously undertaken as a WAC, but it was money, and that was sorely needed as babies were expensive.

Your mother seemed fretful about you working in your ‘delicate condition,’ but the demands of the position paled in comparison to the one you had just left, and you rarely worked more than six hours a day. There was still plenty of time to sit with her, improving your knitting skills as you started on a baby blanket. Your mother was duly impressed you had picked up such a feminine skill abroad and seemed more than happy to pass along helpful hints.

In all truth she did appear to be struggling, dwelling frequently on memories and nostalgia for happier times. It was difficult to say how your father was coping in the wake of your brother’s passing. Any hours when he was not at work, he was spending behind the closed door of your dead sibling’s room, all manner of noises and the odd curse word seeping through the cracks, but neither you nor your mother were quite certain what he was up to.

You had sent a letter to Bucky immediately upon your arrival, as promised, still not divulging the full extent of the situation, but it had been stocked with reassurances and re-direction. It appeared he had not yet received it based on his letter that reached you in mid-April.

Damn that man, but you did love him so. Baby animals – had he guessed the true nature of your discharge then? Gnawing ruthlessly on your lower lip, you found yourself pacing around your room, one hand rubbing at your lower back, sore from standing all day with the growing weight of your swollen abdomen.

‘Or is he simply fishing for more information, unconvinced?’ You wondered to yourself, sighing heavily.

He was simply too intelligent for his own good. Another man would simply have taken your words at face value and left it at that. But there was a reason you had not fallen in love with another man. Had not given yourself to another man.

With another deep sigh, you dug out your writing supplies and drafted a reply that acknowledged his statements but neither confirmed nor denied them. There was no desire on your part to entrap or obligate him into anything. That was the last thing you wanted – to pin a man who so cherished his freedom down against his will. Particularly after enduring his current stay in a prison camp.

As the weather grew ever warmer, it became increasingly difficult to conceal your predicament – no matter how baggy or oversized your dresses were. Your engagement ring only went so far in polite society to protect you from judgemental stares and by the end of April you were forced to quit your job and confine yourself almost entirely to the house. May seemed to drag on, though you certainly managed to knit a wide variety of nearly perfect baby clothes for different stages.

Perhaps the brightest spot came one evening when your father emerged from the room opposite yours and left the door open for the first time since you came home, revealing not the preserved bedroom of your brother, but a fully prepared nursery, complete with an assembled crib, rocking chair, dresser, and change table. As you stood in your doorway in shock, eyes brimming with tears, he shoved his hands into his pockets and gruffly muttered, “baby needs somewhere to sleep after all,” before trudging down the stairs to the bedroom he shared with your mother.

June burst onto the scene with the Allied invasion of France and the good news only continued with the signing of the GI Bill on the 22nd. Your years of service and honorable discharge earned you, and your very active and rapidly growing baby, subsidized medical care. It could not have been timelier as appointments became more and more frequent, your due date looming at the end of July.

Much like her father, Clara Mae had a mind of her own when it came to her time of arrival. She was born in the middle of the night on July 22nd at the local veteran’s hospital – one of the first GI Bill babies, the nurses informed you.

The choice of her name had been rather easy, derived from Bucky’s middle name - Clarence. While you could not give her his family name, or even list him as her father on the birth certificate without his signature, you could at least give her this for now. He had already given her his mischievous eyes and unmistakable ears. Time would tell what other of his features she would share. If the grey-blue of her eyes would settle in the color of the stormy sea like his. If the slight dusting of fuzz of her head would grow into luscious, dark curls.

Sitting there in sore, stunned exhaustion as they carted her off to the nursery, you looked up as your mother sidled over, the broad grin of a recent grandparenthood still splitting her face.

“We have to write Major Egan right away and let him know. Oh he’ll be so thrilled, a sweet little girl to come home to now!”

The force with which your face crumpled, physically unable to bear to weight of all your falsehoods and desperate attempts at inner strength one moment longer, sent your tears scattering down the front of your hospital gown. Your mother snapped her mouth shut, completely taken aback by the abrupt shift in your mood, before she collected a wad of scratchy hospital tissues and tenderly wiped at your eyes.

“There now, I know. It’s been a tremendous effort, and things are very difficult.” She soothed and cradled your head to her breast, rubbing your back softly.

Despite becoming a mother yourself not a full hour ago, it seemed you were still very much in need of one yourself.

“What if he doesn’t want me, mama?” You gulped and looked up to her pathetically as you finally gave voice to perhaps the greatest fear that had been stalking you since the realization that you were pregnant had come crashing down upon you. “We’re not even…it’s not even real…” Your eyes dropped to the false engagement ring that mockingly glinted up at you from your left hand.

She sighed deeply before her hands grasped your face and forced your gaze to meet hers. “Well, pumpkin, I’d say that a man who writes to you despite the difficulties is one of the good ones. And usually it’s the good ones that do the right things.”

You frowned and shook your head slightly, as much as her tight grip would allow. “But I don’t want him to do the right thing. I want him to marry me because he wants to…”

There was another maternal sigh before you were gathered close in her arms once more. “Let’s hope for the best then. I’ll get Felix from down the street to bring his camera. We’ll send a photo of sweet Clara Mae and see if she can’t work her magic on him.”

------------

The Allied invasion of Western Europe had felt like a gift from above, flooding Bucky’s life with a new sense of purpose, and shattering the grim monotony that had calcified everything around him. The gnawing hunger, the biting cold, the evasiveness in your letters, the constant worry and uncertainty he felt for both himself and you. There was surely only one explanation, at least only one rational, sane explanation for your early discharge. But he’d had far too much time on his hands to postulate and theorize all manner of possibilities and their catastrophic outcomes.

June 6 had brought an abrupt and decisive end to that, a sharp divide to their life in camp, and a need for preparations now that the Commonwealth forces were closing in from one side and the Russians from the other. It was early September when he received your life changing letter, two small photos tucked securely between your folded, scented pages. One of you, looking so very beautiful it made his heart ache fondly. And the second of a very tiny infant with remarkably familiar ears.

He huffed fondly and turned back to the letter to read it properly as you finally confirmed what he had long suspected.

Shaking the envelope once more produced a square of paper with the stamp of his daughter’s – his daughter’s – footprints on it.

Cradling it in one palm, he could not help but gawk at the small scale of her. She must be truly tiny…only 20 inches.

“Your girl finally explain herself?” Buck leaned over his shoulder, and he nodded, holding up Clara’s photo.

His friend barely contained a snort and Bucky scoffed in return. “I know – poor girl’s got my damn Dumbo ears. Couldn’t even deny she’s mine if I wanted to.”

“She’s beautiful anyway, despite your influence.” Buck smirked and handed the photo back carefully. “Congratulations. What’s her name?”

“Clara Mae.” An involuntary grin of pleasure overtook him as he said it, quite enjoying the way it sounded. You had picked well.

“Your girl did an excellent job. Be sure you tell her so.”

“You know I will.” He replied with a firm nod.

------------

The twelve weeks it took to hear from Bucky were both a blur and an agony. Clara did her utmost to keep the household, and you in particular, thoroughly occupied. You were somewhat relieved that your parents were sleeping on a different floor than her, that it gave you a chance to dart across the hall and mollify her discordant wails with a fresh diaper or a feeding. But on those nights when even you could not seem to sort out what ailed her, your father stepped in and patiently walked her up and down the length of the porch until she melted into the crook of his arm.

Truly, for such a small being, she had the entirety of her grandfather wrapped around her littlest finger. Clara was the first he greeted upon returning home from work and the last he kissed goodnight. None of this would have been possible without his willing arms, nor your mother’s endless wisdom when it came to washing bottles and diapers and Clara’s vast wardrobe of tiny clothing. But in the quiet moments, when she was busily suckling in your arms or just as you were falling asleep, your thoughts would always fly across the Atlantic to barbwire fences and Bucky.

You hoped your letter reached had him. You hoped it had all of its contents still, that none of them had been lost while being reviewed by the censors and whomever else pried into your mail. His reaction? Well you could not even dare to hope what that might be. It would cause your entire body to tense almost painfully and prevent your lungs from filling with air.

Every day you did your best not to look too eagerly as the postman delivered the mail, flipping through the envelopes calmly, hiding your disappointment when his reply was not there. Your agony came to an end, at last, in mid-October. Hearing your soft gasp, your mother offered to take Clara on her morning walk – it was generous to be sure, but you were also more than aware that she enjoyed the attention warranted by pushing the gorgeous girl through the neighborhood in her pram.

Settling down at the kitchen table once they had left, you sliced open the envelope anxiously.

Tears of relief were tracking down your cheeks by the time you reached the end of his letter, making it difficult to read his words clearly. He had replied. He was not angry, nor dismissive. He called himself Clara’s father. And there was an oblique, very Bucky-like proposal in there. Your watery laugh echoed in the empty kitchen before you sniffled in a very unladylike way. God, you missed him so very much. By the time your mother and Clara returned, your tears of relief had been replaced by sobs of longing that had her tiptoeing through the house, deeply concerned his letter had been one of rejection.

Looking up at her apprehensive face as she peered through the doorway, you smiled through your pain and nodded. “It’s good news.”

“Oh, well…good.” She gave you a somewhat bewildered smile and found a handkerchief for you to once more clean yourself up before you gathered Clara close.

“Your daddy says he loves you, peanut. What do you think of that?”

Clara’s face stretched into one of her toothless grins that came just as easy as Bucky’s did, and you fought the urge to cry again. “Yeah…me too.”

Your reply to Bucky’s letter was accompanied by a holiday card fingerpainted by Clara, now that you were confident in the mailing time of roughly six-weeks, as well as another set of dry goods for him to share with his friends. Time continued to march on and in an effort to better document Clara’s rapid growth, you purchased a user-friendly camera, having Felix give you some lessons.

Mid-January, Clara received a gift from her father – a stunning ink drawing of him done by one of his roommates apparently. It had been over a year since you had looked upon his face and the breathtaking detail captured by the man who drew it, A. Jefferson based on the signature, inflicted an intense barrage of memories. You promptly went to a five-and-dime store to purchase a frame for it, setting it on the dresser in Clara’s room next to a model of a B17. You made a point of showing it to her every day, telling her stories about her daddy – only the appropriate ones of course, wanting her to know him.

That it was also self-soothing was simply a bonus.

That letter was the last one you received from him. As Clara’s features sharpened into Bucky’s, and his dark curls framed her face, it was his gaze staring up at you from your arms as the weeks ticked by with no word. When the abnormally harsh winter yielded to spring once more, there was still no reply to your January letter. The war was all but won, the Germans quite literally surrounded, the Russians in Germany and yet there was nothing.

It was mid-April when the dreaded Western Union vehicle pulled up in front of the house, your heart leaping into your throat.

‘Please let him be alright.’

Your mother had been in the kitchen, working on lunch, but silently appeared at your elbow, ghosts of her own heartbreak etching her features.

“Deep breaths. Anybody can send a telegram, not just the War Department.” She murmured and knelt down beside Clara on the rug to play with her as you forced your leaden feet to move towards the door.

Accepting the yellow envelope from the infuriatingly neutral-faced boy, you confirmed that it was indeed addressed to you before impatiently tearing into it.

Exhaling shakily you smiled in relief. Major Cleven must have escaped. That he would have spent the money to send a telegram to update you on Bucky, and to share a message from the man himself, was quite moving. You could not help the chuckle that escaped you, however, at the fact that this was twice now that Cleven had terrified you in the process of trying to share good news.

“All is well?” Your mother asked softly from the living room, and you turned quickly with a smile.

“Yes, he’s ok, his friend somehow made it back to England and wanted me to know he’s doing alright.”

The smile she gave you in return contained no small amount of relief.

The Russians were in Berlin by the next time Western Union made its second delivery at the beginning of May.

‘Please, when we are so very close to victory, please.’

Even less patient with this envelope than the last, you felt a swell of elation at just the first word.

And he meant it. It was not entirely as soon as either of you would have liked, given that Victory in Europe happened not a week after that telegram, on May 8, 1945, but Bucky certainly did come to you and Clara as soon as it was possible.

It was a hot afternoon in early July, the wind having abandoned everyone when the sun rose that morning. Clara was in a bit of a mood courtesy of the heat and her desire to move about the house independently. Certainly, she had been crawling for months, terrorizing everything and everyone in her path, but as of late she had been pulling herself to her feet and trying desperately to take those first few wobbly steps towards upright freedom. She certainly could manage it while gripping tightly to your fingers for balance, but today her chubby cheeks and granite eyes were screwed tight in consternation as she swatted your hands away to go it alone.

“Alright peanut, off you go then.” You smiled encouragingly, sitting back on your heels as beads of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

Letting go of the edge of the coffee table, she wavered and wobbled, overcorrecting her round little infant body before landing heavily onto her bottom with a squawk of frustration.

“So close, so–”

The rapping of knuckles against the wooden frame of the screen door cut off your statement and you scooped her up, perching her against your right hip as you rose to your feet.

“Let’s go see if that’s the postman with Grandma’s package, shall we?” You smiled and tickled her soft tummy with your free hand, earning a giggle accompanied by her gap-toothed grin as you headed over to the front door.

The man standing there in uniform was most certainly not the postman, however.

“Bucky…” You whispered in shock as he stood before you, in the flesh, after nearly two years of constant worry and concern.

All that separated you now was a flimsy screen door, which you lurched forward to shove open. His eyes were wide as he stared at the pair of you, Clara peering at him curiously. The movement of your left hand caught his eye and his brow furrowed as his gaze landed on the ring you had been hiding behind since April of last year, making you swallow painfully.

“It’s not real.” You murmured quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression, and stepped back to invite him inside.

The sound of his bag hitting the floor was all the warning you had before he was pulling you tightly against him, burying his face into your hair. Pressing your face against him in return, you clung to the back of his uniform jacket, wondering if he had always smelled this good or if he had bought new cologne since returning stateside. A sudden strangled sound came from his throat, and you straightened quickly to see Clara had a ruthless grip on his tie and a wicked grin on her face.

“Ta.” You said firmly, holding out your hand and she surrendered her stranglehold on the piece of fabric which you carefully tucked back into his jacket.

Bucky smirked down at her slightly, but his eyes were filled with barely concealed wonder. Clara, for her part, did not seem the least bit fazed by him whatsoever. Her chubby little fingers moved to trace the shiny buttons of his jacket before stretching up to brush along the coarse hair on his upper lip.

“You like my mustache, Miss Clara?” He grinned and pretended to devour her finger as it strayed too close to his mouth, sending his daughter into a fit of giggles and making your cheeks ache from smiling so wide.

An involuntary yawn suddenly overtook her, and you glanced at your watch, nodding as the time confirmed your suspicions. “It’s nap time, I’ll just take her upstairs.”

“Can I come?” He asked softly, making no move to release his hold on you and you nodded quickly, pressing your lips to his cheek softly before leading him to the stairwell at the back of the house.

“This place looks exactly how you described it…” He murmured softly, threading his fingers through yours as he followed.

Looking back to him, startled, you swallowed down the swell of emotion that had been threatening since you had first laid eyes on him. “I told you about it once, in that…hotel room in London…almost two years ago.”

“And I’ve imagined it almost every day since.” He assured you easily as you climbed the stairs, making you shake your head in awe.

Glancing through the open door into your room curiously for a moment, he followed you into Clara’s nursery, grinning softly as his eyes landed on the drawing he had sent.

“You gave it to her.”

Setting Clara into her crib, you turned back to him. “We talk about you every day.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours and he smiled gratefully before reaching out for your left hand, his thumb stroking along the band of the ring there.

“You know, this isn’t very believable, doll.” He muttered and you felt yourself tense as you eyed him, suddenly nervous in his presence after all those months apart. You had been separated longer than you had even known one another. “I’d have bought you a much bigger rock.” His lips curled into a smirk.

Laughter, something that felt so foreign to you after its long absence, bubbled up from your chest while tears simultaneously flooded your eyes. His hands cradled your face as his lips met yours at last, the kiss distinctly salty despite the best efforts of his thumbs to swipe your tears away. Laying your hands atop his, it began to sink in that he was really home, he had truly made it back to you. And Clara. There was no more need for constant fretting and pleading mantras. He was here.

“In fact I did.” His statement, a continuation of his discussion about your fake engagement ring, felt disorienting as it interrupted your inner musings, and you watched in confusion as he sunk to one knee right there in Clara’s bedroom, slipping the piece of costume jewellery from your ring finger before tucking it one of his pockets.

It was not until he produced a much shinier ring, with a larger and very real diamond, that you registered just what was happening. He addressed you properly, by your full name, before asking the question.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes of course I will.” You nodded vigorously, watching him clumsily slide the heavier ring onto your finger before his mouth was on yours once more, demanding and possessive.

Pressing against him, you would have completely forgotten yourself if not for the sound of your mother calling your name from the bottom of the stairs, tone laced with confusion and worry – surely from finding the front door open and a piece of strange luggage in the front hall. Bucky pulled his lips back and pressed his forehead to yours, hot puffs of his breath caressing your face.

“Parents’ house…”

You let out a small laugh of chagrin. “Parents’ house.” You confirmed before pulling back and guiding him out, leaving the door slightly cracked so you would hear when Clara awoke.

Miraculously she had slept through the entire exchange, a superpower she had surely inherited from her father. Descending the stairs, introductions were made, and you did not miss the way you mother’s eyes lit up as she took in the new ring on your finger. Your father was slightly more difficult to win over, still smarting from the perceived mistreatment of his little girl. You were more than a little convinced he might be taking Bucky to the toolshed to shoot him when he asked for the man to accompany him out there for a chat after dinner.

Your aggressive scrubbing of the dishes in the sink as you watched anxiously out the window amused your mother to no end.

“He’s just ensuring Major Egan has your best interests in mind.”

“He’s not gonna kill him, is he, mama?” You worried your lip and she laughed, wiping Clara’s sticky fingers clean after her joyful decimation of a bowl of sliced strawberries.

“He will do no such thing.”

By some miracle, the pair of them immerged unscathed twenty minutes later, shaking hands and sharing a laugh. You rediscovered the ability to exhale and prepared Clara for her evening walk, which Bucky insisted on joining. Even though you assured him you had a perfectly good pram, gestured to where it sat on the front porch, he insisted on carrying Clara on his hip, much to her delight.

Not only was the vantage point much better, but she had unfettered access to all the intriguing bits of his uniform to occupy herself with as the pair of you followed the usual route around the neighborhood. While no one had taken it upon themselves to be overtly rude to you, something about seeing all six foot two inches of Major John Egan carrying his carbon-copy daughter with you on his other arm seemed to go a long way to repairing your somewhat tarnished reputation around town.

People who had politely nodded or offered no more than tight-lipped smiles were now openly waving and calling greetings as you passed.

“Sure are popular around here, doll.”

“I assure you, it’s the pair of you.” You smirked at him and Clara who was busily tugging at the flap of his breast pocket. “Everything alright after your visit to the toolshed?” You asked now that you were far enough away from the house that your father would not hear.

He nodded easily. “Your father and I are of like minds. You and I are going to the registrar’s office tomorrow to get a marriage licence and then we’ll get this little one’s birth certificate sorted as well.”

“He wasn’t…too harsh on you?” You asked with more than a little trepidation.

Bucky looked to you softly. “No more than I deserved.”

“You deserved no harshness, we both know full well how this happened…”

“I sure didn’t stop you. Couldn’t have, even if I had been able to think straight.” He smirked and kissed your temple. “So we did it out of order, that’s fine. It’ll all be how it was meant to very soon.”

Sighing fondly you continued your progress until Clara was slumped against his shoulder, barely able to keep her eyes open. By the time you returned to the house, your mother had set up a small camp bed in the nursery for you and moved Bucky’s things to your room for the night – everyone agreed there was no way he could possibly be expected to sleep on the sofa. He was simply too long. Wishing one another good night in the hallway with a lingering kiss, you pressed your lips together as your mother cleared her throat expectantly from the landing below and slipped into the nursery for the night.

It was difficult to say how long you had been asleep when a faint noise, your ears now well trained to listen out for the smallest of disturbances, woke you. It was most definitely still dark when you raised your head, immediately looking to the crib to see Clara sleeping peacefully on her stomach, index and middle fingers of her right hand suckled soothingly by her full lips. Shifting your gaze in the dimly lit room, you jumped slightly to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, clad in his boxers and undershirt, silently watching her sleep, expression pensive.

Sliding to your feet as gracefully as the low bed and your thin cotton nightgown would allow, you padded over to him quietly to whisper, “everything ok?”

“She’s just so small…” He replied in a hushed voice, gesturing with his hands, eyes still fixed on Clara’s sleeping form, and you smiled fondly.

Reaching out, you gently manipulated the distance between his palms to represent how small she had been as a newborn. “She was only that big a year ago.”

His eyes tore from the crib to study the small gap between his hands before lifting slightly to drink in how little you were wearing, how thin the material was to try and make sleeping in the summer months bearable. His eyes briefly flicked to yours, revealing the rapid dilation of his pupils before his mouth descended onto yours ravenously.

Sliding one arm around his waist, you pressed with the other against the centre of his chest to guide him back across the hall, closing the door to your bedroom behind you as you quickly surrendered and parted your lips for him. He grunted eagerly, pressing his fully hard length against you through the thin barrier of your clothes, making you gasp at the rapidity of his response.

“The damn sheets smell like you, I’ve been hard all night.” He groaned and you quickly smothered his mouth with yours, well aware just how loud he tended to get.

If you were lucky enough to get away with this, you were going to have to be as quiet as possible.

Rucking the hem of your nightgown up over your hips, he pivoted to deposit you onto the edge of the bed, settling between your thighs as you worked one another’s underwear off. Pressing skin to skin, his head fell back, and you quickly slid your palm over his mouth to smother his eager sighs, rocking your folds along the length of him as you gnawed on your lips and swallowed your own keens. Bucky’s eyes bored into yours hungrily as he mirrored your movements, almost daring you to keep quiet as he continued to moan against your hand.

Silence became impossible for you too as the blunt tip of his cock snagged on your entrance and he rocked his hips forward, slowly sinking into your warmth. Falling back onto the mattress, you slapped the hand that had previously been propping you upright over your own mouth to smother your eager groan as your eyelids fluttered in the struggle to remain open. Shifting forward once he had settled fully inside you, Bucky’s face hovered just above yours, eyes still pinning yours as he began the eager push and pull towards ecstasy.

Desperately trying to keep your hands in place over your mouth and his, your back arched at the long forgotten and very heightened sensation of being so very stretched by him, trembling with each brush of his pelvis against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands planted onto the mattress on either side of your head, fisting into the sheets as his hips snapped demandingly into yours, each sharp exhale from his nostrils cascading across your knuckles as you felt the tension building within you.

Sweat glistened on both of your skin, the efforts in the lingering heat of the night only making you both slick as you writhed beneath him, heart hammering inside your ribcage. And still his eyes would not leave yours. The one time you gave into the urge to clench them shut, he sent them flying open once more with a sharp nip to the meat of your palm and you quickly wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer, deeper.

You could feel him clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth, desperately driving into you until your body shattered in release, nearly going limp with the force of it. Bucky nestled his face tighter to your palm as, with two more erratic thrusts, he followed suit with a harsh cry, thankfully still smothered. Slumping forward, utterly spent, you cradled him close a moment before shuffling and maneuvering to rest against the headboard with him properly nuzzled against your neck, and his legs mostly on the bed.

Stroking his hair lovingly, every so often scratching your nails along his scalp, you could not help the fond smile as his harsh breaths evened out and the weight of him grew heavier against you when sleep overtook him. Sighing softly, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to join him in rest.

The next time you opened them you were alone, tucked beneath the sheet, the soft light of dawn filling the room. The distinct sound of Clara’s giggles carried from across the hall, and you sat up, grabbing your summer housecoat and peered into the nursery to find the pair of them perched on the camp bed engaged in a very entertaining game of wooden blocks it seemed. Bucky had retrieved the model of the B17 from the dresser and was frequently swooping it down to destroy whatever Clara’s clumsy little hands built, much to her delight.

“Ah, Mommy’s up.” Bucky’s statement revealed that you had been caught and you smirked, stepping into the room to kneel on the carpet beside them. “Did we wake you?”

Shaking your head softly, you kissed Clara’s head and then Bucky’s cheek. “Did she wake you, though?”

He shrugged. “Probably my turn anyway.”

You smiled tenderly, laughing as Clara clutched at his arm to demonstrate that she had assembled a new construction in need of his attention. Watching fondly, you blinked slightly to see a new addition to the dog tags, crucifix, and medal that he normally wore. Amidst the collection was now the faux engagement ring you had sported for over a year. Reaching out, you traced your finger along it, raising an eyebrow in silent question as his eyes met yours.

“To remind me of that time I was overly reckless.” He murmured and you swallowed painfully, pressing your lips to his firmly.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he pulled you snuggly into his side, continuing to entertain Clara easily.

“We’ll get the licence today but, what kind of wedding would you like, doll?” He asked quietly.

“Just a date at the courthouse is fine.” You assured him with a nod.

“You don’t want a big wedding or anything? Honestly doll, anything you want and it’s yours.” He assured you softly.

You laughed watching your daughter gnaw on the corner of a wooden block. “Seems a bit hypocritical to put me a white gown don’t you think?” You smirked and shook your head when he looked ready to defend your honor. “I don’t need all those fancy things John, I just need you.”

When he finally came up for air, your lips more than a little swollen from his attentions, he huffed a laugh.

“Not sure what I’m going to do with the parachute I smuggled home now, though…”

“Well, Major Cleven’s getting married soon, isn’t he? I’m sure Marge would appreciate it. She seems lovely from the letters we’ve exchanged.”

He turned to you wide-eyed, struck silent, and you could not help but laugh. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of women, John.”

Bucky shook his head in awe. “Trust me, doll…I would never be so foolish as to underestimate you.”

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"Trust" Series Masterlist

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