#bucky barnes/reader
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5 Times There Was Only One Bed (and the one time there were two beds) | Bucky x Reader | One Shot - 4.7k
Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk.
Warnings: 18+ for language, suggestive situations and sexism (but not from our Bucky he would never). Also rated F for fluffy and S for snuggling.
Written for the @bucks-and-noble Valentrope event - "there was only on bed" the reigning champion of tropes!
Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Fics
Your first mission with Bucky Barnes went really well, until it didn’t.
After successfully destroying an underground Hydra base you’d returned to your transport in a less than desirable state.
“Fuck, four flats.” You huffed, poking the tyre with the toe of your tactical boot.
“Fuel line’s been cut.” Bucky muttered from the front, “lucky they didn’t torch it.”
Bucky quietly rubbed a gloved hand over his face, before looking up at the admittedly stunning night sky, he seemed to study it for a moment before making a quarter turn to his left and climbing up a ridge of sandy rock. As if dazed you followed him. You could see for miles thanks to the glow of a full moon, the stars dense and glittering above you both. It was almost romantic, if you didn’t have blood on your cheek and an empty gun on your hip.
Bucky still looked like he could sweep you off your feet though, with his structured tactical vest making his broad shoulders look even wider, his wind swept hair giving him the look of a romantic hero on the front of a paperback, especially with one foot perched on the outcrop of rock above you.
“Let’s go.” He pointed towards a glow rising from beyond the horizon and you’d started walking, doing your best to keep up with his long strides. You could see the motel, how far could it really be.
As soon as you climbed down the motel vanished and the reality of your trek set in.
Around hour two Bucky slowed his pace to allow you to catch up. He didn’t speak much, just what was necessary, and sometimes a hello when he saw you around the compound. But he struck you as shy, rather than cruel or rude. He had checked on you after the mission brief two days ago to make sure you were happy with the plans and, when you were left at the drop off zone, had given you a few of his spare rounds.
You were starting to flag, your steps faltering in the dust and your fingers frozen. Without the sun the desert was so cold the tips of your ears felt like they’d fallen off. Bucky slowed too, cracking a heat pack and handing it over, swapping it for your pack.
“Thank you,” you whispered, teeth chattering.
He didn’t say anything, just gave you a tight smile and turned back towards the motel, growing closer with each step.
Three hours after you’d discovered the flat tyre, you fell through the door of the dingy motel room, exhausted, cold and starving, only to be met with the sight of one queen size bed and a single chair by the window.
“I’m gonna sleep,” you slurred, unable to manage more than zipping off your tactical vest. You fell onto your back and tried to toe off your boots but they were too tight. Your eyes slid shut and you felt the sensation of Bucky sitting on the other side of the thin mattress, making you roll towards him slightly. His weight shifted and settled, the warmth of his body behind yours comforting after everything you’d seen that evening.
He smelt nice too, despite the blood and sweat and gunpowder, he smelt like sandalwood and the desert air. It was all you could think of as you drifted into a deep sleep, how much you wanted to press your face into his back and breathe him in.
The next morning you woke to find Bucky already showered and dressed, pushing his damp hair back from his face and brushing his teeth while he called Torres for new exit plans.
Your boots and socks were off, arranged neatly by the door, a coffee steaming on the bedside table.
Despite all the changes a new team had brought, Bucky liked working with you. You were quiet too and didn’t mind when he was silent for almost a whole mission. You were efficient and skilled, but empathetic, always stopping during the fall out to ensure the team were together and protecting civilians whenever you could.
So it was no surprise to him when you offered to share the bed at the hotel. Sam and Joaquín had long since retired to their room, but you’d both stayed at the hotel bar, silently emptying a bottle of red wine while Bucky continued his 100 Books to Read Before You Die list and you scrolled through your phone, catching up on everything you’d missed during the five day - “phone’s off, and yes, I mean you Agent” - mission.
As soon as you retired to the room you knew there’d been a mistake.
“Ah, shit.” You’d dropped your bag to the floor by the door and Bucky had almost walked into your back, peering over your shoulder at the very neatly made double bed. The only bed.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch.” Bucky had sighed, resigned to a night of lumpy, uncomfortable sleep.
“There isn’t one.” You pushed your bag further into the room with your foot and Bucky brushed past to survey the space.
“The floor then.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not sleeping on the floor, the bed’s big enough for two, we can share.”
You’d said it with such easy grace that he’d felt almost insulted that his chivalrous offer was so easily deflected. Then you’d returned from the bathroom smelling like mint and almond oil, your loose pyjamas hanging off one shoulder and just like that, he gave in.
By the time he’d change and brushed his teeth you were already asleep, holding a pillow close to your chest with your leg well over onto his side of the bed. Carefully he moved you back to your side and slid under the cool sheet next to you.
He woke first the next morning to find you still attempting to occupy the majority of the bed, your face relaxed and mouth slightly open. Bucky indulged in a moment of quiet comfort before getting up. You wouldn’t want him staring at you, you’d be embarrassed that you were trying to cuddle him and it’d ruin the fragile bond you were forming with each mission.
By 9am you were both making fun of Joaquín’s terrible hotel bookings over pancakes and coffee.
“Why can’t we just ask for directions?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
“Yes?”
“Because we just crossed a border illegally, we have no papers, no passports, we’re lying low.”
“They’re hardly going to ask to see our passports, Bucky.” You sighed, hitching your bag higher on your back.
You’d been walking since 5am that morning, crossing through a forest trail to avoid borders and rendezvous with Torres in a village that should have been a few miles away so that you could evac together.
5am seemed a long time ago now that the sun was setting. You’d stopped briefly to heat up a can of beans, a “late lunch, early dinner” Bucky had called it, smiling at you over the steaming mess tin you were sharing.
The scalding heat had dissipated now though and you were tired. The memory of his hand touching yours as you ate still lingering.
“We’re not going to find him tonight, we should stop.” Bucky suggested, “I’ll find a good place to camp.”
Suddenly you were grateful that Mr Overprepared had packed a tent.
“Good idea.” You agreed, rubbing your hands together.
“Well, I will be, you didn’t bring a tent, did you?” He said, walking deeper into the woods, running his foot over the ground, looking for somewhere flat.
Your heart sank, he was right, you’d laughed at him when he’d attached it to his already full pack and he’d said you’d regret it, a teasing look in his eye. Well. You were regretting it. It had started raining a few minutes before, gentle rain drops that got heavy in each gap between the canopy. You had no doubt it’d be heavier soon though, and with the sun setting you didn’t relish the idea of being wet and cold out in the dark.
Bucky stopped and turned, lowering his pack to the floor between two large trunked trees and those twinkling eyes made butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. A boyish grin crossed his face as he got to work.
Ten minutes later and the tent was up, strung between the trees and extra protected with some fallen foliage.
Bucky unlaced his boots and placed them between the inner and outer tent before climbing in, when you didn’t follow he poked his head back around the flap of the tent, patting the unrolled sleeping bag next to him.
“C’mon, you really think I’d make you sleep out there?” He was almost laughing, and the sound was so welcome, so stupidly content despite your situation, you could barely stand it.
You squeezed in, using the inner fleece layer from your coat as a blanket. Bucky lifted the side of his sleeping bag.
“C’mon,” he mumbled, eyes already closed, when you hesitated he tugged you closer until you were tucked against his chest. He rearranged your coats on top of you both until you could feel your fingers again. “Warmer?”
“Yeah, thanks, Bucky.”
He didn’t respond, his breathing heavy and even, beneath his sweater you could hear the steady thump of his heart as it lulled you to sleep in his arms.
Bucky hated these stupid events, he’d only been persuaded to come because you’d done those big round puppy dog eyes and said it’d be no fun without him. Joaquín had asked too and, although Sam had joked that it’d be more fun without ‘Mr Grumpy’, Bucky knew he’d only been teasing.
But it was you that had convinced him. It was those eyes, the way your voice had gone up a little and you’d pouted in that silly way you did when Joaquín took the last doughnut at mission briefings. He couldn’t resist. And he had no idea what to do about it.
Behind him he could hear another team talking about you, how they didn't understand why you were always working with ‘that asshole Barnes’ so much.
In the anonymous dark they joked about you, about him, as if you were a reward for a guard dog. A babysitter for his more violent tendencies. Worse, disgusting, accusations about how you'd come by your place in the team. He suddenly missed his mother, she'd have washed their mouths out with soap.
He felt sick.
Bucky took a long swig from his beer and chased it with a shot of whisky, anything to stop his teeth from grinding.
They were wrong on so many counts. You were skilled and fearless, soft and fierce at all the right moments. But you didn't care about him, or Sam or Joaquín for that matter. Not in the vile, disrespectful way those men imagined. You didn’t men like them - him - messy, unpredictable, unstable. You didn’t really need anyone.
But Bucky - he took another swig, trying to stop the swirling feeling in his chest - he cared for you. He couldn't stop thinking about you. And as angry as he was at what he heard, he was equally ashamed for wishing that you did want him.
He’d been watching you dance with Joaquín and one of your other agent friends for more than an hour now. Your body swaying and rippling in time to the music, your dress ghosting over your hips in a way that made his mouth dry. It was one thing to work with you in army fatigues or go to meetings with you in your casual jeans - the stealth suit had been really pushing his patience recently so he didn't want to think about it - but he could at least keep himself under control while your skin was covered. Then you arrived wearing this dress. The neckline alone made him want to sink to his knees in front of you.
Joaquín danced away with your friend, you winked at the lieutenant and smacked his ass as he passed - you were definitely drunk.
Alone you swayed to the music, still in your own world.
“She’s so fucking drunk -”
“Absolute embarrassment -”
“Can’t believe they let her in -”
Bucky slammed his drink down on the bar top and grabbed his leather jacket, stalking across the dancefloor like a shadow, the lights skimming over him.
You were facing away from him and he couldn’t resist, his hands finding your waist so naturally, his body melting into yours, matching the slow roll of your hips so he could lean into your ear.
“I think it’s time to go,” he whisper-shouted above the pounding music.
“Bucky!” You exclaimed, completely ignoring his suggestion, “dance with me!”
You span in his hands, leaning up and into him, your hands around his neck, twisting into his hair. The little tug you gave sent pleasure shooting down his spine. God he was weak, his body moved without his say so, slipping a leg between yours and - fuck - you were grinding against him. He was lost.
The song ended, fading into the next as the lights flickered and he regained enough of his faculties to remember you were drunk, very drunk.
“C’mon, doll, let’s go, I’ll get you some water-”
“You still here, sweetheart? Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.”
Was he still here? Fucking asshole.
Bucky rounded on him, keeping you close with a hand around your waist.
“You boys having a good night?” You grinned, unable to hear their cruel words over the music.
You were just so - good, so kind, even when these pricks were trying to tear you down, your first instinct was to be friendly - he couldn’t stand it.
“I said -” the agent grinned, dipping down, placing his hands on his knees and levelling his face with yours, that patronising glint in his eyes, “are you still fucking here you stupid bitch?”
Bucky saw red, tucking you under his left arm, pushing you behind his back as he had so many times during missions, and smashing his right straight into the agent’s nose.
“Didn’t your Ma teach you to speak to ladies with respect?”
Blood dripped onto the dark dance floor, a circle forming as the other party goers backed away.
Bucky gave the man one last disapproving look and then his attention was solely focussed on you, leading you out past the crowd until you were outside in the freezing air. He draped his jacket around your shoulders and watched as you snuggled inside. Was he dreaming or did you inhale deeply when he did it?
“M’sorry, Buck.” You hiccupped, leaning into him, eyes half shut.
He took your weight gladly, “s’okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was those idiots in there.” With staggering steps you made it to the next street over and Bucky said nothing as he unlocked the door.
“Where are we?” You slurred, your ankles twisting in your heels with each step.
“My place, I thought you could sober up here while I call you a cab to get you back to your hotel.”
He settled you on the couch and tried to walk away, but there was a hand hooked in his belt loop.
“F’got you live in Neewww York,” you closed your eyes, resting your head against his hip as you continued to mumble about ‘the big apple’, he willed himself to breath deeply, he was struggling to keep his body under control.
“Yeah - what’s your hotel called?”
“You called me ‘doll’,” you giggled, your fingers closing around his belt.
“I did, sorry, it just slipped out. Your hotel?”
“Dun worry, I liked it - can I stay here? I sleep here.” You let go, only to curl up on the sofa, your dress sliding up your thighs.
“Sure.” He sighed.
Bucky scooped you up again and nudged the door to his bedroom open with his hip, the duvet was still rumpled from the night before. Another night of no sleep, at least it was because of you and not another nightmare. And now you were here, nose pressed into his chest, ready to sleep in his bed.
“Okay, I’ll be out here if you need me, g’night.”
“Stay.”
“I’ll be right outside if you need-”
“Stay.”
And it was those puppy dog eyes again, the pout, the voice, the hand on his belt.
Even though he knew you’d sleep like a log, hogging his duvet and encroaching on his space, even though he knew you’d be embarrassed in the morning, probably hungover as hell. Even though, come the morning, he was right. He still had the best nights sleep he’d ever had since he bought the place.
You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time, you were sure if you stood up you’d simply melt into a puddle. Sun warm skin, the buzz of a few too many afternoon beers in your system and the sound of laughter as Sam, Joaquín and Bucky continued to try and catch a single fish had lulled you into a half sleep, dozing on the deck of the Paul & Darlene
“Hey, you want another beer, doll?”
Bucky’s voice drifted over to you and you cracked one eye open. He’d unbuttoned his shirt half way down his chest, the white cotton sticking to his sweaty, sunkissed skin. He hadn’t been able to drop the nickname since he'd had to rescue you at the gala. Although you'd done your best to keep yourself away. The way his eyes burned into you when he turned your way, the memory of his body imprinted into yours, his leg pressing against you, the shadow of a hardness that made your mouth water.
He'd been the perfect gentleman, of course. Had made sure you were safe and comfortable, even escorted you back to your hotel in the morning after a huge home cooked breakfast.
He was a gent. And you were an embarrassment. It ate away at you until you couldn't even look at him.
“Hmm?”
“Beer?” He asked again, holding out the bottle, the cap already popped off.
“Uh, yeah, thanks.”
He flopped down beside you on the deck, the last of the day fading beyond the horizon and leaving you bobbing in the inky abyss where the sky met the water.
“You feeling okay?” He took a swig and you watched the condensation on the bottle trickle over his fingers.
“Oh, yeah, fine.”
“You look dazed, that's all, don't want you getting sunstroke on us.”
Bucky looked genuinely concerned and you figured, from the sudden sick feeling inside, that maybe your heart had skipped a few beats or flipped over or something.
“Uh -” Fuck, did he have to leave his shirt open like that? He asked a question, what was it?
“Are you okay?” He used the back of his right hand and placed it against your forehead, “you feel really hot. Maybe you do have sun stroke.”
“I’m fine, honestly.” You shrugged him off, but went looking for a bottle of water anyway.
As the boat made its way back to the dock you watched the lights of Sarah’s house flicker on in the distance. Sam had invited the three of you to stay, taking up all of Sarah’s space and the room on the boat, while her and the boys went into the city for the night. It was a generous offer, one that you couldn’t say no to after months of hard work without a break.
In the pitch dark you all stumbled back up the driveway, only to find Sarah on the porch.
“Sarah -” Sam jogged to reach her first, concern written on his brow.
“I’m alright, Sam, don’t fuss. It’s just Cass, ate too many beignets and threw up so I thought we should come home. He’s upstairs with AJ. Sorry we messed up your plans.”
Bucky took the suitcase from her hands, “it’s your home Sarah, you haven’t messed up anything.”
She threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sideways, a familiar gesture you’d seen her make before, but for some reason your tummy twisted, jealousy stirring.
“Means we’ll need some rooms back though, I know I said you could all stay but-”
A chorus of voices filled the air, refusing to let Sarah apologise, before you started to get organised.
“Well Cass needs his own bed, that’s a given.” You said, worried that the young boy might be ill as well as over excited about his food.
“Of course,” Joaquín agreed. “Sarah, you’re obviously taking your room too. We wouldn’t ask you to give that up. I’ll go on the couch in the sitting room.” He smiled.
You looked between your other two colleagues, but Bucky spoke first.
“Well if Torres’ taking the couch I’m not going to argue, I’d rather be in a bed even if it is on a boat.” He ruffled Joaquín’s hair affectionately and the younger man shoved at him.
Sam looked at you, “you can take my bed, if you want, I can change the sheets -”
“I’ll sleep on other sofa -”
“You’ll share with me, right doll?”
The three of you spoke at once, and Sarah raised her eyebrows then her hands before opening the front door, “I’ll be in bed, you kids figure this out yourself.”
“Bucky -” Sam started.
“Sam - we’ve shared before,” there was a glimmer of hope that glowed inside of you when Bucky stepped closer, his shirt fluttering open again in the breeze, revealing his toned chest and that dusting of dark hair, creeping under the buckle of his jeans. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made us share, would it?” Bucky joked, nudging Sam as they went to collect more blankets and bedding, “what about that hotel-”
His voice faded until all you could hear were the crickets in the distance, you’d forgotten about Joaquín until he walked past, turning backwards at the last moment so he could see you again, “if you don’t want to share with Barnes…” he let the offer hang in the air and you were torn.
Really, you should protest and ask for your own space. But then you’d missed the sound of his steady breathing beside you, the weight and warmth of him when he turned over into your space. In fact you’d missed him completely, even if you’d been avoiding him on purpose.
Secretly you hoped the bedroom on the boat would be cooler now the sun had gone down, perhaps he’d hold you like he did while you were camping.
Sam let you back onto the boat, making sure you had enough blankets for two distinct sleeping arrangements if you wanted.
Bucky slid into the cool cotton sheets in only his boxers and, shyly, you followed. Expecting to sleep alone you’d packed shorts and a vest, revealing more than you really wanted to considering he clearly didn’t return your interest.
Bucky kept politely to his side of the bed, his arms awkwardly stiff at his side when he turned away from you. Unable to stop yourself you turned too, watching the strong line of his back relax as his breathing evened out.
The boat bobbed gently, lulling you to sleep. You were vaguely aware of a strong arm tugging you closer, the smell of Bucky’s shampoo and sun cream and the weight of a bed rising to meet you.
Everything went perfectly, again, until it didn’t.
Intelligence? Secured. Exit? Executed to perfection. Adrenaline fueled burger stop where Bucky wiped a drop of sauce from your lips exactly as you planned? Complete. Motel booking? Perfect?
You and Bucky stared at the two motel beds.
In the entire time you’d been working together you’d never really managed it. There were either no rooms, the room was wrong or there was no room at all, just whatever you could find. And now there were two beds and you felt sick and your head hurt and after everything you’d seen and done today the last thing you wanted to do was sleep alone.
“Doll?” Bucky placed a hand on the small of your back and reality came screeching to a halt around you.
“Sorry, Buck, I must be really tired, I’m going to shower and get in bed. Do you mind if I go first?” You were already half to the bathroom, the zip down on your tac suit, were you imagining Bucky’s eyes dropping down to where your skin was revealed?
“Of course, whatever you need, I’ll just be…here,”
After a perfunctory shower consisting of a dribble of hot water that quickly turned into a freezing cold torrent, you returned to the shared room.
Bucky hurried past, his body brushing against yours in the doorway, firm and muscular, yet you knew that being held by him was soft and warm. You tried not to feel too sad that there’d be no excuse for getting close to him again for the rest of your trip.
By the time he was finished you were tucked into bed, trying to read the paperback you’d found in the draw because the television signal was terrible.
He stood in the window, a shadow against the light filtering in through the thin material of the curtains, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, his sweatpants so at odds with the man who’d been by your side just a few hours before. This was a rare sight, one you were privileged to see.
Bucky tossed the towel onto the chair by the door and then sat on the end of the other bed, watching you read from the corner of his eye. You knew because the last three paragraphs had become a blur of words, your focus solely on Bucky.
“Maybe we should go to sleep, we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
“You’re right.”
You both slid down into bed, separately, and you’d never felt so alone.
In the darkness you could see the shape of him, facing the door with his hand tucked under his pillow, and somehow the darkness made you braver.
“Would it be weird if I said I missed you?” You whispered.
Bucky rolled over, but put his hand back under his pillow, no doubt he had something hidden under there, he usually did.
“I miss you too.”
You shuffled back, letting the sheets fall further down the bed, “I know you have your own space over there and you probably don’t want to be all cramped up with me, but if you wanted to share still -”
Bucky was out of his bed before you could finish, slipping under the sheets. He’d taken off his sweatpants before getting into bed, his legs bed warm against your own and you bit your lip, trying to focus on his face and not on his almost naked body just inches away.
“Hi.”
“Hi, doll.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me that.”
“What if I want to?”
He was so close, his breath minty when it ghosted over your lips, his nose touching yours, his long eyelashes making his crystal eyes look brighter.
“What if I missed you being in my bed? What if I always want to share with you?” He reached his hand out, cupping your cheek.
“You do?”
And then his lips were on yours, so soft, his tongue slipping past yours as you gasped. One cool metal hand and one callused, drawing you closer, a leg between your thighs, your bodies rolling together and - “oh, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth, letting him tug you into him.
“I - I want that too -” you squeezed out between kisses, “I wanna always - always - be in your bed - I - I always hoped we had too.”
“You did?” He pulled back, stroking a thumb down your cheek and over your kiss bitten lips.
“Uh huh, I did,”
“You been sabotaging us this whole time, baby?” He laughed, his eyes sparkling.
“No,” you laughed too, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb, “maybe I should’ve though.”
“Maybe,” his hand left your face to cup the back of your neck, drawing you down for another languid kiss.
“How long?”
“How long, what?”
“How long have you wanted -” his question trailed off into another series of featherlight kisses.
“Since, ugh - Utah?” You offered shyly, embarrassed to admit that you’d been head over heels from the start.
With a groan he rolled you over, slipping his body between your open legs, his hips settling just right against your own. “Fuck,” he dropped his forehead to yours, “we could’ve been doing this the whole time.” He admitted, lifting his head to smile down at you.
“Well then I guess we have some making up to do,” you linked your hands behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.
“I guess we do, doll.”
#Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes/reader#Bucky Barnes x female!Reader#Bucky Barnes/female reader#bucky x female reader#Bucky fluff#bucky
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Flowers and Courage
Plot: After Bucky fears he might lose his chance with you, he finally finds the courage to tell you how he feels.
Prompts: 'Secret admirer' + "I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you."
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gn!Reader
Requested By: Anonymous (a left over request from Valentines Day)
A/n: Sorry its so short and kind of sucks lol I had some trouble getting it down.
Words: 1.1k
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Bucky was deep in thought as he sat at the bar, his hands slowly turning the glass in his hands as he thought about what to do. He wasn't sure how long he had been here already, but it felt like time had slowed down since he sat down to think.
He felt like he was in grade school all over again. Uncertain of how to tell his crush how he feels, so instead he just leaves them secret notes and candy.
But he wasn't a child anymore, and you weren't just a crush. He had never felt anything so deep and real for anyone before. And he had never found something so hard as he did confessing to you.
It was supposed to be easy, show up at your doorstep with flowers. Allow them to lead into a natural confession. But the second you opened your door, and your eyes cast over the flowers, causing a look of surprise over your face, he panicked.
"These were in front of your door." He said suddenly, feeling all courage he thought he had dissipate.
"Oh really?" You asked with growing curiosity as you took them. "I wonder if they were left at the wrong door."
Bucky felt disappointment and anger at himself wash over him as he held back on saying they were definitely for you.
That had happened months ago. And ever since then, it had become habit for him to hide how he felt. The coffees and flowers left to you randomly at work were thought of as kind gestures of a stranger.
When in reality it was Bucky. Showing his feelings for you the only way it seemed he could. Secretly.
He admired you from afar, adored you really. But was your friend up close, showing no real evidence of how he felt, or so he thought, and hoped.
Bucky thought it was fine, it could become the normal, it had become the normal. Until yesterday, when he overhead another agent talking to you, flirting shamelessly.
And then the man had the audacity to take credit for the flowers and the coffees, everything Bucky had done for you. This ass-hat had swooped in taken all the credit, trying to sweep you off your feet.
It infuriated Bucky, but he held back, not wanting to make a scene, or throw the man through a window.
So here he was, trying to find what courage he could through the anger to tell you once and for all how he felt about you.
Downing the last of his drink, Bucky slapped some money down and left, determination anchored in his heart as he made his way towards your apartment.
--- --- ---
As you pulled open your door, your heart leapt in you chest as you saw Bucky standing at your doorstep. You always felt that same wave of nervousness and butterflies when you saw him, even though you had known him, and been friends for years.
Your eyes cast down to his hands and you felt your chest clench. Flowers. Were they for you? Were they from him? Were they left at your doorstep again? Were they from the agent from work?
Out of all of those options, you hoped they would be from Bucky. Just like you had hoped they were the first time.
"Bucky, hi!" You greeted with a bright smile. "Come in!"
He smiled, but you could tell something was off, he seemed nervous, and that only added to your own anxieties.
As he stepped into your apartment he cleared his throat, handing you the flowers that had been in his hands, you noticed his knuckles were white as he gripped them before letting go.
"These are for you."
"Oh-" You hesitated for a moment "Were they left at the door step again?"
The first time this happened, when Bucky told you the flowers were left at your doorstep you were disappointed. But something told you they had really been from him. Maybe it was just you being hopeful.
Bucky shook his head and spoke, his voice softer than you had been expecting. "No, they're from me."
He saw your eyes widen as your face brightened up and he felt a wave of relief and triumph wash over him.
"Thank you, but- what are they for?" You asked cautiously, yet curious.
A thousand thoughts seemed to cross Bucky's mind in the span of a second as he froze, before he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.
"They- uh, there-" he sighed before laughing dryly "I used to be better at this."
You smiled "Better at what Buck?"
He met your eyes and saw nothing but your familiar kindness, and a hint of encouragement, even eagerness.
"Confessing."
You felt as thought your heart stopped as your breath hitched in your throat.
Bucky continued before you could respond. "Those flowers from a few months ago, they weren't left on your doorstep, I got those for you too, I just...panicked"
You repressed a giggle "You...panicked?"
"I know." He laughed softly. "I don't know I just- I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same, and that it would ruin what friendship we had. So I kept it to myself. I left you coffees and flowers at your desk after that" he saw your face turn to realization "And yesterday I heard that douc- that guy tell you he did it, and it pissed me off. But I realized it was my fault, for not having told you earlier. So I decided to tell you. Because- because I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you. I care about you much more than I have anyone in my life. And I don't want to lose you or any chance I might have of being with you. "
He watched you closely as you looked down at the flowers, watching as a smile slowly spread across your face. "I knew he didn't leave them for me. He made it so obvious he was lying." You looked up and met Bucky's eyes "And honestly, I had a feeling it might have been you, but I was too afraid to get my hopes up. Because I feel the same about you Bucky, everything you said, I feel it too."
You saw a wave of relief and happiness cross his face as you spoke. Suddenly he stepped closer, reaching up and gently touching your cheek as he smiled. "I wasted quite a bit of time, didn't I?"
You shrugged as your grin widened "Nothing you can't make up for."
xx
Sorry it ended so abruptly, I literally could not get anything else out of my brain lol
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The Family -- [Mafia AU, Oneshot]
40's Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Bucky returns home from the war and finds himself with a lifetime's worth of mistakes to make up for. You aren't going to make it easy for him, but he wouldn't have it any other way.
Warnings: smut! gun violence, ptsd, dad bucky (prepare ur ovaries) language, bucky having been a dick in the past, mentions of crime and such. The reader has a name, but it only comes up every so often so.... i think thats it?
Notes: This is one of my fave oneshots that I wrote for my patreon, so unless ya'll used to follow me there, this is an entirely new piece <3 This was basically an excuse to write Mob Power Couple Bucky x Reader, and also Dad!Bucky <3
Words: 17k!!!!!!!!!!!
1944
Bucky stares up at the familiar building, old and faded, but homely. Well, not on the outside, but on the inside certainly, he knows that much. Knows the war wouldn’t have stopped his Ma from keeping her home in any way she could.
Tentatively, he hikes his duffle bag higher on his shoulder and crosses the street.
Climbing up four flights of stairs, where he can hear the familiar sounds of the neighbours through their doors on each landing, when he finally arrives on his floor he pauses, smiling for a moment as he breathes in the sweet smell of home cooked food wafting in from under the door. Of all the amenities and freedoms he’d missed during his time overseas, the food had been the worst.
Lifting a hand, he knocks lightly and steps back, waits quietly even as he hears muffled speaking and shuffling on the other side. For a moment when the door swings open, his heart jumps, worried maybe he’d over expected his welcome.
“Bucky?! James?! Oh, my baby! My baby, my baby!”
His doubt is washed away by his mother’s tight embrace, her arms wrapped around his neck in a vice grip that almost throws him off balance. He chuckles and wraps his own arm around her middle, breathes in the familiar scent of home, and closes his eyes a moment.
“It’s so good to see you…” He says, Winnifred Barnes pulling back for a moment, her hands cupping his face tenderly.
“Is it really you? You’re home?!” Bucky smiles softly, and takes her hand in his own, squeezing them.
“Yeah, Mama, I’m home, I’m here. I promise.”
Once Becca had arrived home from her shift, and her own subsequent bout of crying and hugging, the Barnes’ had sat down for dinner as a family for the first time in five years. Becca had talked his ear off about what she’d been up to, and unlike when they’d been kids and he’d get annoyed, he simply listened and enjoyed the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard in too long. During long nights dug down in trenches, the only sound a blaring machine gun some ways away, Bucky had wished for his sister’s long rants.
Winnie kept heaping more servings onto his plate, asking if he were hungry, pouring him more water until Bucky finally just asked her to sit with him, and held her hand for a long while. Every so often she would squeeze it, as if checking to make sure that he were really there.
“So… how’d you lose it?” Becca asks after dinner, when they stand side by side clearing up the dishes while Winnie made sure his room was fit for sleeping once more. Bucky smirks and sideyes her.
“You know you lasted longer than I had you pegged for. Now I’m just glad I didn’t make bets.” He says, earning an elbow in the side. Becca scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“I’m not a kid anymore you know, I’ve got… tact and shit.” She tells him, and Bucky chortles.
“Oh yeah? Tact and shit, huh? Mama teach you that?” He earns another elbow, but it's soft, not as sharp, and the two laugh for a moment as Bucky continues to dry off each dish as Becca hands them to him.
“Landmine, in Italy. Heard the click before the guy who’d stepped on it, shoved him out of the way… thought I was a goner, but woke up a coupla days later in a hospital. Said they were sending me home.” He eventually breaks the silence, but doesn’t look up from the plate he’s drying, even when he feels his sister’s gaze on him.
“Did it hurt?”
“After, hell yeah, but they gave me some pretty good meds. Don’t even remember the trip home.” He jokes, and Becca chuckles.
“From what I’ve heard, that's a good thing.”
Bucky hums.
“You been to see Vivi yet?” She asks, a little bit of stiffness in her voice, and Bucky sighs.
“No.”
“She know you’re home?”
“No.”
“You gonna tell her?”
“I don’t know, Becca!” Bucky says, exasperated now, and rubs his hand over his face. He sighs again, giving her an apologetic look.
“Yes, probably. You know it’s complicated.”
Becca purses her lips and drains the sink.
“You’re my brother, and I love you endlessly… but she was right. And you are stupid.” She says, stepping forward to catch him on the cheek with a kiss.
“The sooner you tell her, the better it will be.”
Bucky watches Becca leave the room and leans against the counter, chewing on his lip.
‘Better’ is all he can hope for, and yet he still thinks that's far from what he’ll get.
The walk isn’t far, he knows the way by heart even after all these years, and in the cold Brooklyn air, he keeps his head down and his hand in his pocket as he moves. Street lamps light his way, and when he finally turns down a small alley, he takes a deep breath before he climbs up the rickety metal staircase and enters the building.
Inside is when he feels his chest start thumping, and with each flight climbed and each door number passed, he feels like it may just jump from his chest completely.
He knocks, and steps back, waits as he hears someone approach the door. He doesn’t hear the chain slide, instead it simply cracks open enough for a pair of eyes to peek around the edges. They’re the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, just as much now as when he’d first seen you all those years ago.
From your chocolate coloured eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes, your dark curly hair that refused to be tamed, and your tawny olive complexion that just seemed to glow in any lighting… Bucky Barnes knows an angel when he sees one. You’d gotten older, obviously, as had he, but it suited you.
You don’t look surprised or shocked to see him at all, if anything you look annoyed, and honestly, he thanks his lucky stars it’s just annoyance.
“The fuck are you doing here?”
God, he’d missed you so much.
“Just got home. Came to see you.”
“Well, I don’t wanna see you.” You counter, and Bucky rolls his eyes, huffing, but suppressing the smile he knows will only set you off more.
“You don’t mean that, Vivi.”
“The fuck I don’t?”
“Lemme see Ale, then.” He tries, and you narrow your eyes. He knew you too well, knew your bluster was your armour. That didn’t mean you weren’t tough as nails though.
“He’s already in bed.” You lift your chin slightly, defensively
Bucky sighs this time and looks away.
“Come on, Viv, let me see the kid. It’s been five years.”
Your expression doesn’t change, but it doesn’t harden either, and when the door shuts in his face a second later, he waits patiently, listening as the chain-lock jingles against the wood.
The door opens again, revealing you in a gown, and despite his excitement at seeing you so undressed he ignores it, and moves inside. He really did miss you, if the thought of you covered wrist to ankle in a thick robe turned him on.
“I’ll kill you if you wake him.” The threat is half-hearted, and Bucky waves a hand, stepping past you and further into the familiar apartment he’d once called home. He didn’t need you to direct him through it, and you don’t seem to want to either, instead perching yourself by the kitchen window, lighting up a cigarette.
Bucky pulls his hat off his head as he reaches the hallway, swallowing thickly before he pushes open the last door. A soft glow emanates from a lamp on a tall cupboard, giving him enough light to make out the bundled shape on the small bed in the corner. Bucky finds himself carried closer, and soon he’s staring down at the sleeping boy, his heart in his throat.
He’d grown so much… Last time Bucky had seen him, Alessandro had been one, still a baby really. Gone was the cot, in its place now, a small single bed. He sniffs, seeing he was right all those years ago when he’d said the boy would take after you, but he’s more than a little surprised to see how much of a resemblance he carries to himself.
Entirely ignoring your warning about waking him up, Bucky sits himself down on the edge of the bed, and lets his hand reach out to trace the edge of his son’s face, the soft skin warm from the many blankets you had him piled under. He recognises the duvet from your own old shared bed and sighs.
Ale’s curly hair is coarse, but soft at the same time, and Bucky smiles to himself as he smooths it down. He can’t believe he’d missed so much of his boy’s life. Not just during the war, but before it too.
He’d been an immature, stupid kid, never home, always out, always looking for some kind of trouble to get himself into.
And he’d found it too.
Bucky had met you as a teenager, both of you coming from immigrant families from Italy, and you’d fallen in love hard and fast. You’d always been tough, a little prickly, but he’d side-stepped your defences and you’d been wrapped around each other’s fingers. When he’d gotten you pregnant, he’d done the decent thing, and the thing he’d wanted to do anyway, and married you.
But that’s when things started going downhill.
Work was hard to come by, every able-bodied boy in Brooklyn was already hanging around by the docks hoping to get something, anything to help support their families. Bucky had managed a job here and there, but it was never permanent, never stable. He’d turned to less ordinary means of making money, pickpocketing, small-time theft, gambling.
You’d started to fight. You had expectations of him, to provide for his son at the very least, and yet he was too fat-headed, too stupid to listen to you. You’d always told him he was going to get in trouble, and when he did, it would leave you and Ale on your own. You’d been right, like you always were.
Bucky sighs, and moves to stand, but soft stirring makes him pause, and soon he’s looking into blinking hazel eyes, the boy rubbing them tiredly for a moment as he sits up.
“Daddy?” He asks quietly, and the excitement doesn’t seem to be there, making Bucky worry for a moment, until Ale seems to wake up more and he scoots closer.
“Daddy!?”
“Yeah, pal, it’s me, I’m home…” He relishes in the feel of his son scrambling into his lap, his little arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and Bucky feels his eyes sting, vision blurring just slightly.
“Daddy! I missed you so much!”
“I missed you too, Ale, more than anything.”
“Are you stayin’?!”
Bucky hesitates, but shakes his head, stroking the side of Ale’s face as he sits himself more comfortably on his lap.
“No baby, not here, but I’ll be at Grandma’s… but you can come see me whenever you want, okay?” Ale seems to dull a little, but his fingers catch around the dogtags under Bucky’s shirt and he pulls them free, playing with them for a moment, his big eyes travelling over the etched words.
“Okay!” He says then, and Bucky chuckles, ruffling his hair a little.
“Alright buddy, you gotta go back to bed okay? Or your Mama will kill me.” He pauses, thinking for moment before talking again.
“You in school now?”
“Uh-huh!”
“How ‘bout I pick you up tomorrow afternoon?”
“Okay!” He helps the boy climb back into bed, under all the covers and tucks him in, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.
“Goodnight, Al, I love you.”
“Love you too, daddy… See you tomorrow!”
When Bucky steps out from the bedroom, closing the door behind him, he doesn’t expect to find you in the hallway, leaning against the wall.
For a moment you only stare at one another, until Bucky sighs.
“I missed you as well, Vivi.”
You don’t reply at first, adjusting your arms to cross in front of you, but he does notice the quick once over you give him.
“You back for good or they sending you off again?”
“Unless I magically grow another arm, I’m home for good.” Bucky mimics you, leaning against the opposite wall.
You nod and shift, eyes lingering on his missing limb for just a moment.
“Are you staying with your mother?”
“Yep.”
“Good.”
He isn’t quite expecting that, or the harshness behind it and he blinks, swallowing.
“We’re fine. We’ve been fine for five years. You don’t get to come back and just appear in our lives all of a sudden. I won’t let you toy him around with the same broken promises and bullshit you did me, got it?”
Bucky feels a pang of hurt, but he knows you have every right to say this to him, knows that before he went to war he hadn’t been the best father or husband. He knows doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. He knows it’s very likely he’ll never get it.
“Alright.” He says, taking a deep breath and nodding. Your eyes narrow.
“‘Alright’? That’s it?”
Bucky nods again.
“Alright, no more bullshit.” He confirms, and means it.
“You’ll find a job— a real one?”
“I will.” He knows earning your trust will be hard. Not just because of who you are naturally, but because he’d already had it once, and shattered it into pieces. But it's something he has to do.
You may never love him again, but he’ll prove to you he’s changed, even if it's the last thing he does.
Bucky pushes away from the wall and places his hat back on his head.
“I told Ale I’d pick him up from school tomorrow.”
You scoff in disbelief but he ignores it.
“Which one is it, what time?” He asks instead. You seem to suck on your teeth for a few seconds before you give up the information.
“Queen Street. Three PM.” Bucky nods, and not wishing to out stay his welcome, he steps past you and makes his way back to the front door.
As he pulls it open, you move to hold it as he steps through, leaning against the wood for a moment as he turns back. He’d opened his mouth to bid you goodnight but he finds himself unable to speak at the momentary softness drawn across your features, your eyes turned-down.
“Thank you for coming to see him.” The depth in your voice makes his throat run dry for a few seconds.
“And… I am glad you came home. Safe.” You add a moment later, eyes darting around the hall.
“O-of course. ‘Course.” He isn’t sure what else there is to say, or what else he should say, so he steps back and tips his hat at you.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You don’t reply, just watching him for a few seconds before you quietly close your door.
Bucky Barnes had come home from the war, but nothing in the past five years compares to the task ahead of him.
—-
“Buck! How ya been?!”
Bucky grins widely as he’s pulled into the arms of one Steve Rogers. Once upon a time, Bucky would’ve needed to bend down, but in the five years since he’d seen the blond last, the previously scrawny kid had somehow transformed into a tall, muscular man.
Not quite unrecognisable, Bucky had had to hide his slight shock upon entering Valentino’s and seeing his old friend. On the phone that morning Bucky had known the voice before Steve even had a chance to tell him. Steve had apparently heard through the grapevine that Bucky had returned, and invited him down to the local Italian bar. Bucky had needed to check twice that he’d heard the name of the place correctly when Steve told him.
Valentino’s was a mob place, everyone knew that.
“Come on, sit down…” Steve ushers Bucky into a booth, but turns toward the barman. He doesn’t speak, he simply raises his finger as if to get his attention before turning back around and taking a seat across from Bucky.
“S’good to see you, Buck.” Steve starts and Bucky smiles.
“Yeah, you too, pal. Been busy I see…” He trails off as the barman approaches, bottle of whiskey and two glasses in his hands. He sets them down between the two men and Bucky eyes the way Steve hardly acknowledges the other man, simply reaches forward and pours a healthy amount of amber liquid into each cup.
“Bit early for drinking, don’t ya think?” Bucky lifts a brow, even as he takes the glass Steve knocks toward him, clinking the rim against the blond’s before taking a sip. He scrunches up his nose.
“Like hell it is! My best pal returns from the war and that’s not celebration enough to drink?” Steve shakes his head, and then points at him.
“You’re lucky I didn’t come to your Mama’s door last night and drag you out.”
“I think you mean you’re lucky. She would’ve throttled you first.” Bucky scoffs, and the two men share a laugh.
But Bucky can’t stop his eyes from wandering around the bar, curiosity and skepticism filling him. Steve notices and follows his gaze for a moment.
“After you left, I got busy ingratiating myself.” Steve grins wickedly, his face still seemingly filled with boyish innocence as he does. Steve’s family had come from Ireland, but he’d grown up thoroughly in an Italian neighbourhood.
“I can see that.” Bucky says with a nod. Steve doesn’t make to say more on the matter, but he does place his drink back on the table and lean forward slightly, face turning more serious.
“Listen, now you’re back, I’m gonna set you up. I know you’re staying with your Ma, but I’m gonna sort you a place of your own.”
Bucky blinks and immediately begins shaking his head, frowning.
“Steve, you don’t—”
“—I do. You took the fall for me, you got arrested and sent off to europe… I owe you, pal, plain and simple.” Steve nods matter-of-factly and leans back again in his seat.
“Especially since you went and got your arm blown off.”
Bucky knows there’s no arguing with Steve, not when he’d made up his mind already. He can only roll his eyes and shake his head.
“We’ll even get you some work, I know there’s some spots coming up on a—”
“—Legitimate work only, Steve.” Bucky says sharply, sternly, and Steve eyes him for a moment.
“I can’t go getting arrested again. There’s no war to save me from prison this time. I got a family I need to provide for.” Bucky sighs. Steve throws back half his drink.
“I thought Vivi left you.” He asks bluntly and Bucky rolls his eyes once more.
“That doesn’t mean I just stop being Ale’s father. I gotta do what I can now that I can. That means staying out of trouble.”
Steve watches him for a moment longer, considering his words before he nods.
“Alright. Well, I can still help you out with that. You busy this afternoon? We’ll take your stuff to your new place, and I’ll bring you to meet one of my bosses.”
Bucky feels a slight thrill of excitement, not at the prospect of meeting one of Steve’s bosses but at having seemingly gotten himself some form of work already. But he frowns, processing all of Steve’s words fully.
“I— I can’t this afternoon, I’m picking Ale up from school at three…”
Steve waves his hand.
“Fine, after that. Just meet me back here when you’re finished.”
-
At three o’clock on the dot Bucky picks Ale up from his school and walks with him home. He’d seen your figure at the kitchen window as they’d approached the apartment building, your face showing a flash of relief when you’d registered their forms on the sidewalk.
“I’m about to meet with a, uh, friend, about a job and a place to live…” He tells you when you meet them at the front door, a smile and kiss for Ale, a guarded gaze for himself.
“A job?” You ask, taking a drag of your cigarette before blowing it off to the side.
“Where?”
Bucky isn’t even sure himself, and for a moment he considers making something up, but he knows lying to you is not the best way to start his return.
“Dunno just yet. I’ll find out when I meet with him.”
Your eyebrow lifts subtly, but you nod anyway, getting ready to move back inside when Bucky places a hand on the door, to stop it from closing fully. You turn to look back at him, somewhat annoyed.
“I’ll… I’ll let you know where I move… so that Ale can come see me whenever he likes…” Bucky informs you, and for a moment he sees the steel in your gaze soften, before you’re rolling your eyes.
“Mm-hmn.”
Bucky places his hat back on his head and takes off walking.
At least you hadn’t told him to go fuck himself.
—-
Steve makes good on his word, and gets Bucky a mostly legitimate job.
‘Legitimate’ because he was working as a driver and chauffeur, and ‘mostly’ because his boss was one Don Carlo Marinelli.
At first, Bucky had balked. He had thought perhaps he’d be given a job on the docks, or in a storehouse, not driving around one of the most dangerous and powerful men in Brooklyn… Still, it paid well, he wasn’t technically involved with anything unsavory, and it meant he got to drive one of the nicest vehicles he’d ever seen.
Over the next months, Bucky settles back into civilian life. He rented his own apartment, on weekends he wasn’t working he’d take Ale out, and even your coldness seemed to be slowly thawing. It was the first time in a long time Bucky hadn’t found himself drowning under expectation, trying to get atop of it only to pour more water in… it felt good. A small part of him missed the adrenaline and unpredictability of his time at war, but a bigger part of him knew those days were gone.
Or so he had thought.
Everything changes that night.
Bucky is sat back in the driver's seat of the car, a cup of coffee in his hand. He mindlessly whistles softly, his foot tapping out of time. Don Marinelli had entered the small church an hour or so ago, some meeting with some folk Bucky hadn’t dared to eavesdrop about on the drive over. The less he knew, the better.
The night was still and cold and aside from Bucky’s own clouded breath, there was not a single movement up or down the road.
That made it all the more unusual when there was movement.
Bucky frowns to himself when he sees the man walking toward him on the opposite side of the street, his head down, hat low, a dark coat wrapped around him and his hands stuffed in his pockets. There was just something not right about it, which is why as the man draws nearer, Bucky slumps down in his seat, sliding so his form wouldn’t be so easily spotted under the street lamps.
He needn’t have worried about being caught however, as the man simply turns, and walks right into the building Bucky had seen Marinelli enter an hour ago. He pulls a hand from his pocket as he moves, but before he disappears completely, Bucky sees a glint of light bounce off something in his hand.
Bucky certainly was no expert in mob dealings, but he knows that’s not a good sign.
With his heart pounding in his ears, Bucky scrambles, seatbelt flung off his waist, he leans over to the passengers side glovebox and all but yanks the compartment open. He knew there were guns in the car, he’d seen them before, though had never dared touch them. Now though, he grabs the hefty pistol and kicks the door open, not bothering to lock or secure the vehicle behind him as he races across the street.
His mind and body work completely on instinct as he edges inside the doorway, gun raised expectantly and eyes flicking about for signs of the man in the dark coat, but he’s only met with an empty church foyer.
Keeping his pace even and his steps quiet, Bucky moves toward where he can hear muffled voices, and finds himself in the center aisle of the main hall. At the far end, a group of men stand nearby the altar, smoking cigars, with glasses of something Bucky assumes is not holy communion in their hands.
For a moment, he falters, whips his head around searching for the other man, wondering if perhaps he’d been too worked up, too ready to jump into some action.
At the same time he notices Steve amongst the men, the blond calls out to him in confusion, but another sound catches in Bucky’s ears and it's as if time moves slowly for several seconds.
Steve’s calling of his name makes several of the men, including Don Marinelli turn toward Bucky, but a metallic clinking sound over his head makes him spin on his heels. Above Bucky, on the balcony of the upper pews, he spies the man he’d followed inside, knelt down and with a gun poised in his hands, ready to open fire.
Adrenaline and training dictate Bucky’s next moves, and with two shots, he doesn’t even hear, the man on the balcony stumbles back. Commotion erupts behind him, but it isn’t until the would-be-attacker tumbles over the edge, his body falling at Bucky’s feet with a sickening ‘thud’, that time returns to normal for him.
“What the fuck!?”
“Who the hell is this guy?!” Various shouts and words force Bucky back to reality, and he lowers the gun, tearing his eyes away from the bloodied body on the floor.
“Buck? What the hell—” Steve has jogged over to him, his eyes wide as he looks between Bucky and the man on the ground for a moment, before he places his hands on Bucky's shoulders, shaking him slightly.
“You okay, pal? What the hell was that?”
Bucky shakes his head, frowning as he tries to answer that question for himself.
“I— I was waitin’ for Don Marinelli, like I was supposed to, and I just saw this guy come out of nowhere up the street… it didn’t look right, he didn’t… look right…” Bucky trails off, his eyes fixating on his boss as the older Italian man nears.
“Boss, it's an Irish…” Another guy yells, and Bucky casts his eyes back to where a few of the younger men seem to be inspecting the body on the ground.
“You saw him coming in here with a gun and decided to follow?” Marinelli asks, seemingly baffled, but there's a hint of awe in his voice too. Bucky ducks his head a little, nodding.
“Yes, sir.”
Without warning, another hand comes down on Bucky’s shoulder, clasping firmly and pulling him forward slightly.
“You hear that boys? Where the fuck was your drivers, huh?!” Marinelli jokes, and a round of awkward chuckles echo through the church. When Bucky looks back up, Marinelli is tipping his chin up at Steve.
“You two know each other, Rogers?” He asks, and Steve nods.
“Grew up together, Buck just got back from the war.”
“So that’s where you learned to shoot like that, huh?”
Bucky nods awkwardly and swallows as the Don pats him on the back once more, before giving him a steady once over.
“Tell you what, figlio, you come see me tomorrow, we’ll see what we can do about some sort of promotion.” He gives Bucky another firm pat.
“Uh, yes sir. Thank you, sir…” He watches blinking as the Don moves back to the others, all of which look more than ready to wrap this meeting up, or atleast find a new location.
Behind him, some of the lackeys appear to be talking quietly over the body.
Bucky looks at Steve.
“What… what just happened…?”
Steve sideeyes him, a shit eating grin pulling across his lips.
“You, pal, just saved the lives of the most powerful men in Brooklyn.”
Bucky swallows and sucks in a sharp breath.
He doesn’t seem to let it out until the next morning.
—-
You sigh exasperatedly as you peek out your kitchen window, and put your cigarette out on the sill.
“Ale, are you ready il mio amore?” You hear an excited shout back from the hallway and slip on your shoes and coat. Your son bounds from his bedroom and makes straight for the front door.
“Aye! Get your coat and hat or you’ll get cold!” You scold lightly, and watch as Ale quickly pulls his jacket from the hook by the door and tugs it over his arms, he takes his hat in his hands but as you near him, you bend down to place it neatly on his head, pushing back some of his curls.
“You look very handsome tesoro.”
“Thank you Mama!” He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, making you chortle in surprise. You take his hand and walk with him out of the apartment, and down to the sidewalk.
Waiting for you, as you’d seen from your window, is Bucky.
Dressed impeccably in a brown suit and hat, his hand in his pocket as he leans against the side of a black car, he waits patiently for the two of you. You eye the vehicle with some disdain, but focus on the man before you as Ale releases your hand to run and jump into his arm. Bucky catches him skillfully, his smile turning brighter as he holds your son near, pressing his lips to his cheek before he puts him back on the ground.
You can’t help but take in the quality of his clothes now that you’re closer, the shine of his shoes, new and unscuffed, his face recently shaved (though you see he was keeping a light stubble that suited him), and his hair cut. You see as much when he removes his hat to tip at you.
“Daddy, can I sit in the front seat?!”
“You can sit on the passenger's side, make sure you buckle yourself in!” Bucky turns from you to tell Ale, and you both watch for a moment as he hops inside the car, situating himself inside. When the door closes, Bucky turns back to you and you cross your arms over your chest.
“Must be some job.” You say, and Bucky shrugs noncommittally.
“Has its perks.”
“I bet.” You stare at each other for several seconds, you glaring, and Bucky with his relaxed and easy smile. It was infuriating.
“You know, something funny happened the other day when I went to see my landlord.” You begin and Bucky shifts his weight, frowning almost convincingly.
“Oh?”
“Hmn. I went to pay my rent and he told me ‘it’s already been taken care of’, which I think you may understand is very confusing for me…” You attempt to keep your voice even, after all, you were out on the street.
“It’s been taken care of for the next year, so if he tries to weasel anything more outta you, just let me—”
“—I don’t need you to pay my rent!” Your previous attempts at calm go right out the window, and you step forward, hissing at him with your finger pointed toward his chest. Bucky’s dumb act falls away and he purses his lips.
“I have managed just fine, I can pay my own bills.” The argument is futile. You’d already decided if he were going to be dumb enough to waste his money on your rent, you’d let him. Rubbing your temples, you take a few deep breaths.
“I don’t doubt you’ve managed just fine,” Bucky begins, and you straighten as he steps away from you and draws the car door open.
“But a man’s gotta provide.” And with that, he’s sliding into the driver's seat and closing the door behind him.
You watch, somewhere between infuriated and bewildered as the car rumbles to life. Absently you wave goodbye to Ale who peeks at you through the window, and when the vehicle has disappeared down the end of your street, you seeth. Your mind whirls and you draw blood from your lip with how hard you chew on it.
What the hell kind of game was he playing? Where had he suddenly gotten all this money from?
You turn on your heel and march the opposite way, your destination clear in your mind.
Even when the man at the bar puts his hands up and tells you they’re closed, you roll your eyes and keep moving through Valentino’s.
“Hey! Lady, I said you couldn’t be in here!” The barmen suddenly steps in your way, a tall, burly man with a moustache and a mean glare.
“Get the fuck out of my way, I’m looking for Steve Rogers.” You move to push past him, but he steps in your way again, hands lifting to grab you when a sound from behind stops the both of you.
“Vivi?”
“Steve.” You let out in some relief, and gesture to the man blocking your way. Steve stands behind the barman, clearly having just stepped out of the back office, and he eyes the two of you evenly.
“Go on, Frank, leave her alone… I don’t wanna be the one to patch you up if you don’t.” You smirk as the burly man reluctantly steps aside, and you straighten yourself as you begin moving toward the blond.
“To what do I owe the pleasure…?” He shoves both hands in his pockets and smiles down at you as you approach, but you can only let your face fall back into a glare as you remember why you came.
“I want to talk with you.”
Less than five minutes later, you’re sat across from Steve at his desk, two glasses of whiskey between you, and you throw yours back quickly. Steve follows the movement and with a slight smirk, he leans forward and refills your glass.
“What’s he up to?” You demand, and Steve’s eyebrows lift.
“What are yo—”
“—You know exactly what I’m talking about Rogers, don’t you dare bullshit me.” You warn, and the blond closes his mouth and sits back in his chair. For a moment he just looks you over, and you wonder what exactly he’s thinking.
“Where has the money come from? What the fuck kind of job has he taken on? Because I will not let him build up Ale’s hope that he’s gonna stick around, if in a year or so he’s got his ass thrown in prison!”
Steve lifts his hands in a calming motion then, and he sits forward again, relenting.
“Look, Viv, Buck has changed. Even I’ve noticed. Other people have noticed too…”
You frown at that and squint.
“This isn’t some petty thievery ring, alright?”
“What has he done?” You bite out each word and Steve lets out a sigh.
“Carlo Marinelli hired him. Bucky was his driver, nothing more. Then, six months ago, he busts into a meeting between some of the Dons, shoots dead an assassin and suddenly he’s Marinelli’s golden boy. Aside from me, that is…”
You feel your blood boil, a vein in your forehead ticking with each passing word.
“He’s… he’s involved with the Mafia?!”
Steve nods, and tips back his whiskey, quickly pours another, and tips that back too.
“Marinelli made him a caporegime. He’s uh… kind of important now…” Steve leans over and even though you hadn’t finished the last drink he poured for you, he fills up your glass more.
“That’s where the money has come from? The clothes, the car?” Steve nods. You’d known Steve through Bucky for years, the pair had been together when you’d first met Bucky, and after your estranged husband had gone off to fight, you’d heard rumours about Steve and the Mafia. You knew they had to be true, because why else would he be running a known mob joint? The guy who’d ran Valentino’s before Steve had disappeared years ago.
“Is he in trouble?” You ask suddenly, and Steve blinks, looks as though that wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.
“Trouble?”
“Is he going to get arrested? Or is he… will somebody take the fall…?” You don’t know how any of it works, not really. The truth was, you’d grown up around mafiosos and the like. Your father had moved your family from Sicily when you were eight, to help his boss get established in New York, but your mother had left him shortly after.
You knew enough, but the intricacies and relationships of the members still eluded you. Steve cracks a knowing smile then, and shakes his head.
“Not unless he’s really, really stupid. Marinelli likes him. Trust me, he’s basically untouchable.”
Steve insists on calling you a cab home, and you sit in the backseat staring out the window. The rain had just started when you’d left Valentino’s and you find yourself tracing each droplet’s path down your window until you’ve pulled up along your curb and you’re forced to get out.
Climbing the stairs slowly, your mind feels blank and distant and when you’ve finally shut your apartment door behind you, the clicking of the locks seem to snap you free of your daze.
Fine. If Bucky wanted to be a part of the mob, he could be.
You didn’t care.
—-
“You’re kidding?!” Sam pouts, looking up at Steve who stands in the doorway with a hand on his hip and another running through his hair.
“She’s barely able to get out of bed…” Steve confirms, and Bucky eyes him at the worry behind his voice.
“Steve, if you wanna bail, I’ll call—”
“—No. Sharon will be fine. Besides, she would kick my ass if I went to look after her instead of doing this.”
Bucky stares at him for a moment longer but nods.
“Alright, well, we need to figure something else out then. Sharon was an important part of this job… ideas?”
“We could put Steve in a dress.” Sam shrugs and Bucky snorts.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll work… any other ideas?” The three men fall silent for a moment, and they look around the room at each other. On the table between Sam and Bucky were pages of blueprints, time sheets and schedules, bullets, guns.
Tonight’s job was supposed to be a breeze, once Sharon got the manager into his office, they’d pounce and squeeze the safe combination out of him… the only hitch was that without her, they had little opportunity to get in the door.
“I do have an idea… but you probably won’t like it…” Steve says quietly a few minutes later. Bucky looks over at him, frowning.
He’s still frowning ten minutes later, with the phone to his ear and his two companions waiting eagerly. The ringing tone falters for a moment, and then your voice greets him.
“Hello, Vissenta Salvati.”
“Since when did you stop using my last name?!” Bucky demands, unable to stop himself, and he hears a pause on the other end before you scoff.
“When you pawned our wedding rings and never bought them back, stronzo. What the fuck do you want?”
Bucky flounders for a moment, and glares.
He’d forgotten about that particular mark on his pre-war personality. He’d needed the money for gambling, he’d been so sure he was gonna win big…
“I have a favour to ask…”
“The answer is no.”
“Hear me out! I… I’m running a job tonight, the safe in the manager's office at the Bluebell Club… but our gal’s sick. She was supposed to get the manager into the backroom for us…” You stay silent for a long time. Bucky knew you knew what he did now, Steve had confessed that he’d told you everything, but he’d never spoken to you directly about it, nor had you ever brought it up.
“No. I have a baby to look after and far better things to be doing.” You reply shortly. Bucky opens his mouth to plead back when Steve signals for him to hand the phone over.
“Vi? It’s Steve.”
“The answer is still no.”
“I know you’re working tonight, Winnie’s already watching Ale. Trust me, do this for us and I’ll make sure to cut you in decent.”
Bucky frowns in confusion at Steve and purses his lips. How did Steve know what your schedule was, when you were working? And why had he not known his Ma was watching Ale?
He listens as Steve seems to hum and answer a few yes or no questions, before he throws Sam and Bucky a thumbs up.
“Alright. Bucky’ll be by around seven to pick you up.” He hangs up and Bucky cocks his head.
“How do you know what she’s up to?” The flare of jealousy doesn’t go missed, but Steve only rolls his eyes and waves him off.
“I’ve been helping Marinelli run half the businesses this side of town for years, I know who works where and when, that’s my job.”
Bucky calms some.
That made sense…
“I’m going to drop off Sharon’s things with Vi. You make sure you’re on time.” Steve points at him and it’s Bucky who rolls his eyes. When Steve has left the room, he settles back over his planning, double checking everything one last time and trying to distract himself from the fact that you had accepted a cut in on a job.
—-
You check your reflection once more, a little unsure of yourself. It had been stressed to you by Steve when he’d dropped off a box for you, that it was important you wore this dress and these jewels. You’re almost certain you don’t want to know why, but you’re sure it has something to do with whatever man you were going to have to pretend to flirt with tonight.
The deep blue silk fits you like a glove and falls all the way to the floor. Your waist was cinched and your back mostly on display, the scoop neck of the top mirrored even lower at the back.
You don’t let yourself wonder if the diamond necklace and matching earrings were real, it made you worry too much, so you’d continued doing your hair and makeup without another passing thought.
You twist in the mirror of your vanity, and purse your lips at the amount of skin on display from the back. It wasn’t as if it weren’t fashionable, you just weren’t sure you could get away with wearing it…
Your thoughts are muted however, by a swift knocking at the door, and you quickly grab your purse from the bed before making toward it. When it’s opened you have to pause for a moment, your breath hitching in your throat involuntarily at the sight before you.
Bucky looks rather magnificent in his tuxedo, pressed to perfection and pitch black. The lapels of his coat looked like silk, matching the sheen of his bowtie. He’d been looking away from the door when you’d opened it, and so when he does turn, lips pulled in a smile, you have to snap yourself out of your reverie.
“Well, look at you…” He preens, and you try not to let yourself feel like a teenage girl again. You knew better.
“I did my best.” You brush him off, but he doesn’t give in, stepping in toward you slightly.
“I’d say your best is pretty damn good, sweetheart…” You swallow, and tear your eyes from his to where he’s lifted a hand for you.
Gingerly, you place your own atop his and let your door lock behind you as you’re led from the apartment building.
Bucky opens the door of the car for you, and helps you inside, and you have to force yourself to focus. This wasn’t anything but a job. That was all. Anything else was just for show.
On the drive over, a man you’re introduced to as Sam shows you pictures and goes over your brief role in the escapade. You would lure the manager, one Sheldon Mays, into bringing you into his office, at which point Bucky and Steve would take over, they’d get the safe code from Mays and you would meet them back at the car, with Sam playing driver. It was simple enough, straightforward enough, you didn’t see how anything could go wrong.
You were mistaken, clearly.
Everything had gone perfect to start with, you’d caught the attention of Mays, and had easily endeared yourself to him. After that, it had only taken a few suggestive touches and words and you were clinging to his arm, giggling girlishly as he led you up some stairs and into a large, lavish office.
“This is where the magic happens, darling…” He says, spreading his arms and you turn to look at him, coy smile on your face as you flutter your eyelashes.
“It is.” You confirm. It wasn’t that hard for you to fake this level of flirtatiousness. Once upon a time, this had been the exact woman you were… Alluring and quick-witted. Now you were just annoyed.
Your eyes skip towards the door briefly as you situate yourself on the edge of the desk in the room, and Mays begins sauntering toward you.
Where were the boys? You had thought they were supposed to be waiting for you, hidden…?
“You’re just the prettiest dame I’ve ever seen… wrapped up all in silk, hmm?” You focus back on Mays as he nears, his hands gravitating toward your hips and you have to calm yourself. You place your hands on his chest, running them up and down for a moment.
“The prettiest?” You contend, and he hums, leaning his face closer to yours. You barely suppress the urge to dart back.
Where the hell were they?!
“The prettiest. I swear… Now, why don’t you let me unwrap my present, hmn?” His hands climb higher, skimming over your back and to the thin straps on your shoulders, hooking his fingers around them. You feel your heartbeat stutter, and suddenly, you realise something about the job has gone very, very wrong.
But you were still in the office. The only thing between you and the safe under the desk was this man and his code. You could salvage this, right?
It was that, or actually have sex with this man.
Steeling yourself, you take one last look at the door over his shoulder before you let your hands curl up around his neck. His fingers have drawn the straps of your dress over the curve of your shoulders now, and without warning, you quickly bring your knee up between your bodies, yanking his head down into it with a ‘crunch’ sound.
Mays gasps and splutters, stumbling back from you as you quickly hop down off the desk.
“What the fuck?!” His voice is stifled by the hand he holds over his nose and mouth, a thick smattering of blood clearly dripping from his nose. You watch him for a moment, to see how delayed he is, and when he seems to stay put, groaning and whining, you quickly circle the desk, pulling open whatever draws you can see, until you find it.
You lift the gun easily, despite the foreign feeling of it in your hand, and step back around.
“The combination to your safe?!” You demand, and finally, Mays straightens some, confusion still clouding his bloodied features as he blinks at you.
“What the fuck?!” He repeats again, looking around as if there were others in the room, but as you were already painfully aware of, there wasn’t.
“The combination to your fucking safe, or I’ll shoot you in the cock!” You growl, moving near again, and Mays flinches.
“Lady, if it’s money you want, I’ll give you money, but that safe only has—” You flick the safety off and aim at his crotch. He yelps a little and attempts to shield it.
“Okay! Fine! Fine! It’s eight-four-one-nine!”
Adrenaline fuels you and you get an idea.
“You do it.”
“What?”
“Open the fucking safe idiota!”You wave the gun at him and he relents, keeping his hands out where you can see them as you follow him behind the desk, watch as he rolls up an area of carpet.
“Hurry up.” You snap, nervous energy filling you now. What would happen if you were caught? What were you going to do with Mays? You couldn’t just let him go…
You jump a mile, almost yelping when the office door barges open, and you raise the gun to whoever it is, your eyes wide and panicked. You’re met with the sight of Steve and Bucky, both a little worse for wear, and you wonder if the bruises and cut lips are why they’re late. You’re willing to bet it is.
“What the— Vivi…?” Bucky lowers his weapon when he spies you behind the desk, Mays on his knees before you. Despite your anxiety and your worry, you give him an annoyed look and shrug.
“You took too long… Did you really think I was gonna fuck this sap?” You tap Mays with the barrell of the gun, and he jumps, but continues hurriedly inputting the safe code.
Steve and Bucky quickly step inside, shutting the door behind them and moving over to you.
“There was an incident in the—”
“—Later, Buck.” Steve cuts him off, and grabs Mays by the collar as the door to the safe finally pops open. You watch him shove the man roughly toward a lounge in the corner, but let your eyes turn back to the contents of the safe, narrowing them when you see.
“What the fuck is this?” You demand, not a single dollar note in sight, but Bucky doesn’t seem fazed, he simply leans in and grabs the stack of papers, flicking through them.
“They’re bills of sale, for horses, houses, establishments.”
You splutter.
“Horses?! Horses?!”
Bucky looks up at you then, understanding on his face as he grabs another stack, handing them to you.
“We get these to our guys, this turns into gold. Trust me.”
You frown, but say no more as you watch Bucky grab the last pile of pages.
“Steve?” He says, and the blond gives him a curt nod.
“I’ll follow you out.”
Slight confusion colours you, but Bucky has gently taken you by the arm, and led you from the office before you can ask. He doesn’t take you down the way you’d come in, instead you end up exiting into an alleyway, making quickly for the car.
Steve joins you shortly after, climbing into the backseat, squishing you into the middle, between Bucky and him. You watch as Steve casually hands his gun to Bucky, who in turn, tosses it out the window once you’ve made it several blocks away.
Nobody really says much until you’re back at what you assumed to be Bucky’s new apartment, and you stand by the kitchen window, cigarette burning away in your fingers as you peek into the next room. There had been a group of men waiting when you’d returned, older looking men, and Sam had ushered you off to the kitchen to wait.
But through the open doorway, you can see the men counting through the slips of paper, clips of money being placed and moved over different piles, and you wonder what it all means.
You see Bucky pointing at people and papers, his voice low and commanding and despite yourself, it sends a shiver down your spine. You’d never really seen him so assertive or serious, and even if he was involved with organised crime, the clear ambition and talent he has for it makes your belly flop.
You see him lean forward to point at something on the table, explaining something you can’t hear, but in that moment he happens to look up and catch your eye.
Swallowing harshly, you move from your place to the other end of the kitchen, and wait, skin feeling too warm.
Bucky drives you back, the whole car ride tense and hot. When he turns onto your street, you direct him to a side alley by your building, where no one would see you arriving home so late with a man. He doesn't argue that he’s still technically your husband, and you’re glad for it.
“You were incredible, Vi, you saved this job…” Bucky begins once the car is off, darkness engulfing the interior of the vehicle. You look over at him.
“Somebody had to.” You snark, but it's half hearted. You know it. He knows it.
“Never thought I’d see you holding a gun.” He continues, and you have to laugh.
“If you’re lucky, it’ll be the last time.”
Bucky stares at you in the dark of the car, his eyes big and soft and you feel your chest thump. He leans over to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you let him, eyes lingering for a moment on his hand.
How you end up on the backseat, you have no idea.
Your dress has been pulled up around your waist, probably like Mays had wanted to do to you earlier, your thighs spread wide over Bucky’s lap. You have your hands set on the seat behind his shoulders, helping you move, his hand grasping roughly at your hip as you bounce desperately on his cock.
“Holy fuck, jesus christ, you feel so good darlin’.” Bucky mutters, strained, lips pressed to your breast, but he adjusts himself and takes your nipple into his mouth, once more making you moan, one of your hands flying to clutch at the back of his head.
You hadn’t had sex in so long, and despite all his shortcomings, Bucky always knew exactly how to love you, always knew your body better than anyone else ever could. You cuss sharply when he slides down in his seat more, feet now flat to the ground, and rolls his hips up to meet yours. Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling on the short strands and you feel his chuckle dance across your skin.
“Like that, baby? Right there?” He punctuates himself with a deep thrust that sends you scrambling for a hold, and you end up with a hand pressed to the ceiling, the other held to the car seat behind you, for better leverage to ride him.
“Uh-huh! Per favore non fermarti, continua, non smettere di scoparmi! (Please don't stop, keep going, don't stop fucking me)” You ramble, eyes squeezing shut, tongue reverting back to what you know best. You feel your orgasm coming, right under the surface of your skin you can feel the prickling sensation.
Bucky makes a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, and without warning, your chin is grabbed roughly, yanked down to his face and he kisses you open mouthed, wet and warm, his tongue sliding all over yours, making your stomach turn to mush.
“Fuck, I love hearing you speak like that,” He tells you, cussing under his breath.
“Dimmi quanto lo vuoi tesoro, hmn? Tell me how good it feels honey…”
You gasp sharply at the sound of Bucky’s voice rolling over your shared language, the words sending you tumbling over the edge into bliss.
You shake in his hold, clutching onto his shoulders as you ride it out. Bucky groans beneath you, panting and huffing to himself as he thrusts deep once, twice, three times more before you feel the warmth bloom inside you.
Maybe you should have been angry or annoyed he’d not pulled out, but absently you roll your hips against his, and you’re quickly too distracted by the pleasant sensation of dripping with his cum to care.
When you’ve tidied yourself up, Bucky wraps his jacket around your shoulders and draws you near with his fingers under your chin once more. He presses his lips to yours firmly, and you can’t stop yourself from giving in.
Right when you think he may push you back and fuck you again, he pulls away and presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I love you, Vivi.” A lump rises in your throat, wanting to force its way out of you, but you swallow it back.
You watch from your kitchen window as his car pulls out of the alley, and disappears down the street.
—-
The Bluebell Club job is the first, but not the last time you get involved with Bucky’s business. As he works his way up within The Family, he brings you with him.
You put your foot down about the dangerous things, but every so often Steve or Sam call you up, needing information on a location. It usually just required you making an outing to whatever store or business they were planning on hustling, taking note of if they had any security, or what the layout was, where certain offices might be. It was good money, better than the waitressing or maid work you’d been doing for five years.
As for Bucky…
You don’t welcome him back, not entirely. He still comes every weekend to see your boy, occasionally invites you along too. Despite the fact he seems to be physically around less, busy with work, he was reliable in ways you’d never known him to be. If you called, he was there, and if he was busy, he’d send somebody around.
The first time a scrappy young kid showed up at your door, an apology ready on his lips about how ‘Mr Barnes was in a meeting taking longer than usual but he sent me to throw the ball with Ale’, you’d not be pleased. But Peter, as you’d found out his name was, was a good kid. Bucky had shown up halfway through the evening anyway, still in his fancy suit, but you’d watched from the window as he’d played ball anyway.
Today though, the visit is entirely unplanned and you purse your lips at the man who leans against his car, smiling pleasantly at you as you cautiously approach. You’d been readying yourself and Ale for a grocery trip, seeing Bucky outside your apartment was not expected in the slightest. Ale tugs on your hand when he notices his father, and you only resist for a minute before you let him fly toward him, arms out.
“Daddy!” He exclaims. You watch Bucky catch him one armed, a greeting you don’t exactly hear passing between the two before your estranged husband’s eyes are back on you.
“What are you doing here?” You barely refrain from crossing your arms over your chest, and Bucky adjusts Ale on his hip, cocks his head at you charmingly.
“I wanted your opinion on something.” He says, and you wave a hand.
“What?”
“You have to come with me to see it.” He’s being cryptic, and it strikes a cord of annoyance in you. You scoff.
“As if I have fuck all to do today that I can just drop everything to come with you somewhere?!” You usually tried to behave more civil when Ale was around, you didn’t want your attitude with Bucky to sour his opinion of his father.
Bucky rolls his eyes at your bluster, and steps around to open the back door of the car for Ale, letting him climb in.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important…” You purse your lips again and shake your head at the fact you move forwards anyway, ignoring the helping hand Bucky offers as you too slide into the backseat. You’re forced to keep moving along the plush leather seating however, as you realise a second later that Bucky also follows you inside, and it's then you realise his car was being driven by someone else.
You help Ale with his belt, before doing your own, and stay quiet on the short drive, listening absently as Ale and Bucky discuss sports and his schooling. When the car slows to a stop eventually, you can’t help but peer up in concealed awe at the magnificent townhouses and homes that surround you.
You certainly weren’t in your neighbourhood of Brooklyn anymore, the streets here clean and tidy, with trees lining the road. You keep your awe to yourself even as Bucky helps you out of the car, and you pull your son closer, holding tight to him in the unfamiliar environment.
Bucky leads you up to the open front door of an ornate brownstone house, it's windows shiny and clean, the stoop free of debris of any kind. It looked like the set of a film, you think.
When you’re standing in the foyer, Ale’s big eyes looking around curiously, Bucky makes a wide gesture and grins at you.
“What do you think?”
“What do I think?” You repeat, completely unsure of what you think. Bucky nods.
“You want my opinion on a house you want to buy?” You lift a brow.
Bucky nods again, and extends his hand to lead you into the living space, already furnished rather simply and you take initiative in moving from room to room, inspecting the home.
Secretly, you are rather impressed. The size of the dining room must fit your entire apartment inside, and when you chase Ale up to the second floor you discover more rooms and bedrooms and offices than you can think of things to fill them with. The third floor holds it's own master bedroom and bathroom, and for a very small second, you get rather jealous at Bucky’s good fortune to be able to afford a whole house such as this.
“What do you think?” He asks again, a little quieter, and you watch Ale run from the main room one more, lost in his own game as he dives under the table. You swallow and eye him evenly.
“It’s alright. A little too big, though I suppose if you’re going to have all your goons stay with you that’s alright.” You tip your nose up just a little, and Bucky chuckles, rubbing his neck.
“Well, I’m glad you like it. I already bought it.” The words hang in the air for a moment, before you catch on them properly and you lower your chin, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Then what the hell am I even here for?!” Annoyance bubbles in you once more and doubles when you see Bucky clearly unphased by it.
“I bought it for you.” He says simply and your face falls blank.
You blink at him, opening your mouth and closing it again.
“Fuck off.” You scoff at last, turning away from him and folding your arms over your chest, but quickly unfold them when he doesn’t laugh or give up on the joke.
“Like hell you bought me a house!”
Bucky stays silent still and you feel your body begin to thrum with nervous energy.
He wouldn’t do that, would he? Why would he buy you a house?
When you look back at him he’s standing quietly in the center of the room, watching you patiently.
“You didn't!” You insist, taking a step toward him, and he only nods his head once.
“I did.”
“Why?!”
He laughs then, a soft pleasant sound that makes your tummy flop around like a fish in a bucket.
“Because I love you? Because I want you and Ale to live somewhere nicer than a piss stained apartment? Because I can? Do I need to list more reasons?”
You shut your mouth, and attempt to ignore his casual proclamation of love, looking around once more, seeing the place in a whole new light.
It was lovely, truly, and seeing as it hadn’t cost you a penny, you could hardly complain. Your mind starts to rush with all the ways you could make this a home; a new rug, a different colour scheme of course… perhaps you’d invite Winnie and Becca to live here, to fill out some of the space, if Bucky hadn’t already bought them a bloody house too.
But you harden a little, narrowing your eyes once more as you focus in on your estranged husband.
“Where will you live, because you can’t just buy me a house and expect to—”
“— I have a house.” He cuts you off and you stop, staring.
“So this is… what? All for me?” You half-scoff again, expecting him to spring the joke on you once more, but he doesn’t. He only nods.
“Do you like it? I-if not, we can find something else. I—”
Your heart quickens at his anxiety and you realise you really haven’t been very grateful. Swallowing your pride, you cross the room and stiffly place a kiss to his cheek.
“I do like it. Very much. Thank you.” You step away again as Ale enters the room, and before you scoop him up, you spy Bucky standing still on the spot, looking rather bashful.
“Guess what, bambino? Qui è dove vivremo!”
“Qui!? It’s so nice Mama!”
“It is. Now go thank daddy.”
—-
The move in is rather easy, seeing as most of your furniture was crappy enough to be replaced anyway, and with Bucky’s small army of suited-mobsters, the task is over and dealt with quickly.
To your chagrin, Bucky insists on at least one (but usually two or three) of his men staying at the house at all times, and the argument you have about it, it's the only time you haven’t seen him back down.
Usually Bucky gave in to you, whether that be because he was going to anyway, or because of your anger, but this time, he puts his foot down. He doesn’t quite yell, but he raises his voice enough over yours to make you fall silent, and while you know you should have been pissed off, all you can think about is how wet it makes you.
You let him fuck you on the desk in the office you’d set up, and you find you don’t mind submitting to him when he’s so assertive like this.
You sleep together more often, usually at his own home, occasionally at yours, but he never stays the night, nor would you be comfortable for him to. He’d made a lot of amends but there’s still something in your chest that aches whenever you look at him, a hurt not yet undone.
The trust he shows in you however, makes your chest ache in different ways. The higher he and Steve move in the mob, he brings you with him, asking you to scout places, bringing you onboard for planning. He listens to you, trusts you. That's more than he ever had before the war.
You bring your mind back to the present when a glass clinks in front of you, and you give Steve a thankful nod, before turning back into the situation at hand.
“We go in by the end of the week, the six of us, hit the safe and the lockbox and—”
“—The end of this week? That’s suicide, They have extra family in town, the place is packed out full of guards!” You cut off the mobster sitting across from you at Bucky’s kitchen table, a tall but stock man named Rollins, his hair slicked back in an almost greasy manner.
For the most part, Bucky’s men were alright, but some of them you had to wonder about…
You were currently gathered to go over the information for a hit on Irish turf. You’d finished giving your assessment of the building some time ago, and it was time for the others to propose their takes. Rollins looks at you, annoyance barely contained on his face, he doesn’t reply to you directly however, turning back toward Bucky who sits at the head of the table.
“If we miss this week, the lockbox changes hands and it’s a whole new mess of scouting out.”
“And if we go this week half of us are going to die!” You repeat once again. Bucky’s eyes swivel to you, and you can see he’s a little bored, mostly tired. Rollins scoffs this time and does address you, waving a hand toward you.
“‘Us’? Lady, you just write down security placements, you ain’t involved in this.”
Your anger flares up and you open your mouth.
“She contributes more than you do, shit-for-brains.” Sam speaks before you get a word out, and you shoot him a grateful look. Rollins waves him off like he did you and looks back to Bucky.
“Boss, you ain’t actually gonna listen to a fuckin’ housewife over me are you?”
You freeze for a moment, realising aside from Steve and Sam, all these guys thought very little little of you, and Bucky could well risk his reputation in backing you up. If he didn’t however, the embarrassment and humiliation would burn.
You aren’t sure you’d ever want to see him again.
Bucky shifts in his seat, and looks between you and Rollins for a moment, before he sighs.
“Vivi, are you sure?”
You feel yourself perk up, your whole body lighting with anticipation and glee and you nod.
“I am. Better to wait it out and have things go smoothly.” There’s another pause, Bucky strokes his chin thoughtfully before he nods.
“We’ll wait.” He says, only a tiny wave of stifled grumbles echoing around the table as the plans and maps are folded and packed up once again. Bucky leans forward though, slapping his hand down over a page Rollins is attempting to take, forcing the other man to look up at him.
“And that’s my fuckin’ housewife, so watch your fuckin’ mouth, huh?” He smacks the other man upside the head and you lean back in your chair, taking the glass of whiskey Steve had pushed toward you earlier, watching as the room slowly clears of people.
Bucky stays in his seat, looking over a few pages in front of him. He all but ignores you, which is fine, as you down the whiskey in one, and listen out for the door to shut with some finality.
You know much like your own home, there were people guarding Bucky’s at all times, so gently pushing back your chair, your move to the kitchen door, shutting it with a click. Bucky looks up then, as if he really hadn’t realised you were still in the room, and you feel the warmth from the whiskey and his words fill your bones as you slink toward him.
“Want me to call Peter to drive you back?” He asks, looking back to his pages. You shake your head, even though he isn’t looking at you, and when you near him, you sink down to your knees. He looks up again, surprise clear on his face as he blinks down at you, your hands travelling over the tops of his thighs and he clears his throat.
“Vivi, I—”
“Pull your chair out.” Whatever he was going to say is forgotten, and he scoots his chair out fully from the table, giving you proper access as you settle between his thighs. Arousal is clear on his face, in the way he watches you keenly, and in his pants, in the way they bulge slightly in the front. He places down the pages in his hands on the table, shifting to lean back ever so slightly in his seat.
“Viv…?” He starts to ask again, but it ends in a sharp, strangled breath as you lean over him, pressing your mouth to the hardness bulging in the front of his trousers. Saliva wets a patch into the material, and he twitches beneath your lips.
“J-jesus, fuck,” Bucky scrambles for his belt, and you help him, smiling to yourself, keeping his eye contact even as he blinks and looks away, a blush high on his cheeks.
You pull his pants down just enough, and quickly sink your mouth over his cock. Bucky releases a deep groan, and you watch as his head tips back, his mouth hanging open. You keep watching him as you begin to bob quickly, letting your hand wrap around the base of him. You care little for aesthetics or how loud either of you are, you let the spittle and pre-cum mix together in sloppy wet sounds as you hungrily all but devour him.
“Shit sweetheart, shit,” He finally gets a hold of himself enough to watch you, groaning as he focuses on the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock, moving quickly, your eyes keeping sight of him, and it's obvious to him you’re working to please. Your hands press against his thighs, spread wide and open and Bucky doesn’t think he knows a better sight than you in front of him, his cock stretching your lips wide, your eyes stuck on him as you swallow him deep.
His hand falls into your hair, caressing and gentle at first, but he pushes it back, holds it away from your face and gets a grip closer to your scalp. He guides your face, grunting softly as you let him move you how he wants, and he meets your lips with little thrusts.
“La tua bocca è così bella, tesoro, così fottutamente buona…” He feels you moan around him and he hisses, releasing your face.
“Keep going baby, s’all yours, keep going.” He leans over your slightly, enough to get his hand to the front of your dress, careful to pull each button apart and not break any, thankful when you helpfully pull your arms from the fabric, and undo your own bra.
His hand finds a breast easily, squeezing the flesh as he relaxes again, letting you work him over how you please as he fondles your chest. God, he loved your tits, wishes he had two arms still for the sole purpose of squeezing both at once. He lets his thumb and forefinger find your nipple, pinches harshly, enough to make you jolt, enough to make you elicit another moan around his cock, and Bucky gasps, loves that sensation.
Your eyes find each other again and Bucky licks his lips slightly, lets his head fall back comfortably as you start sucking harder on him. He’s close, knows you can tell. He keeps your nipple in his fingers, plays with the pebbled flesh, pinches and pulls at it, softly, punishingly, he knows you like it all…
His orgasm rises quickly, and falls over him suddenly, and he gives your chest a last final tug as he rides his pleasure out, spills against your tongue. He feels you swallow around him repeatedly, dragging out the sensitivity until he’s shaking.
His hands clutch at the chair arms, and as you pull away, you swipe around your mouth with your thumb, cleaning any obvious signs of what you’d just done. Bucky blinks lazily down at you, his chest still heaving with effort, though he still wears an expression of stunned surprise. You lean over him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
“Lavaggio. Ale ti aspetta a cena.” You tell him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.
You leave him there, in his kitchen, pants around his ankles, cock softening in his lap, his eyes following you out.
—-
You look over the top of your sunglasses, up at the buttercream coloured walls and terracotta tiled roof of the villa before you and try to hold back your awe. Nestled in the Sicilian countryside, against the rolling hills of the vineyards surrounding you, you don’t think you’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful, not since you were a child.
The car boot slamming shut reminds you of your company, and you turn just as Bucky sets Ale on the pebbled driveway, and he skitters his way across the stones to grab your hand, hanging off of you, but you don’t mind.
“Mama, Daddy said you grew up here!” He gushes excitedly, his gaze switching between you and the large villa in front of you. Sparing a glance back to Bucky who has now moved to help one of the guards with the bags, you hitch your purse a little higher on your shoulder before leaning down to pick your boy up, shifting him to one hip as you take the first few tentative steps toward the open front door.
“Not here exactly, mi amore. But near here.” You step through into the main foyer of the home and are immediately greeted with the gathered housekeepers who greet you kindly. You’d been informed that only the maid and the chef were permanent residents. You introduce yourself and your son to them in turn, encouraging Ale to speak his best Italian, though his shyness gets the better of him, even though you can see he is intrigued by the new people.
The maid directs you upstairs to the bedrooms, upon asking if Ale would like to see the toybox, and you follow gratefully, peeking behind you when Bucky begins following with your son's bags.
“Can we go to your house?!” Ale asks a small amount of time later, when you’re sitting on the bed watching him play with some wooden toys, and the maid places his clothes from his bags into the cupboards.
“My house?” You question, before remembering his query from when you’d arrived, and you clear your throat, Bucky appearing at the doorway. He leans against it casually with his one arm, the prosthetic he’d been gifted by Don Marinelli looking like he simply had his hand tucked into his pocket. You shift your eyes back to your boy as he crawls closer to you, rolling the wooden car over the tops of your knees on it’s journey.
“My home isn’t there anymore, Ale. It was destroyed.” You say, trying to remain objective about it. It wasn’t as though you spent very long in Italy. Brooklyn was more home for you than Sicily, and yet you still feel some sadness creep into your voice at the thought of your childhood town, bombed out and raided by soldiers of both sides. The damage had been so bad they’d decided to rebuild the town a few miles over instead, the local Don helping to fund most of that, of course.
Don Regio was the brother-in-law to Marinelli, and ran operations out here in Sicily. When Marinelli had decided to vacation to his homeland for the Christmas period, he’d invited Bucky along with him, and in turn, Bucky had insisted you all go. You think perhaps he’d wanted to let you come home, and introduce your son to his roots, but aside from that, you don’t know why he’d insisted so hard you come along.
Still, it was more or less a free trip, and you hadn’t had a holiday in your life, so you’d given in with little thought.
“Ale, why don’t you play with Miss Gianna for a while and let Mama unpack her things?” Bucky speaks up then, nodding toward the maid, who happily kneels down to pluck one of the other toys from the pile on the floor, and soon you’re quickly forgotten. You watch for a moment longer before leaving the room.
It takes you a moment to orient yourself on the top floor of the manor. While the halls were open and let you see down to the lower level, you inspect the various rooms before finding one with your bag. Bucky pauses from where he had been trailing quietly behind you, sensing your discomfort, and immediately steps forward, eyes scanning. Your chest flutters slightly at how attuned he was to you, and how he’d moved to take care of the issue right away, only he too freezes when he sees it.
Your eyes swing to him and from side on you can see the bob in his Adam's apple when he swallows, quickly turning to face you.
“I didn’t— I didn’t put our bags together… one of Regio’s men must have…” He trails off, gesturing back to the stairs, where no doubt your own guard and Don Regio’s loned man must have been taking a check of the house.
You look away from him and back to the bags on the bed, yours on one side, and Bucky’s on the other. Even if you worked together and still remained in close contact, all your guys in New York knew the vague animosity between you and Bucky. They wouldn’t have ever assumed you’d share a room.
Lifting your chin slightly, you shrug as casually as you can muster and move forward.
“It’s a mistake. That’s all.” You take your bags, trying not to let the weight visibly trouble you, and quickly abscond from the room as quick as you can. Bucky is moving behind you, quickly following you as you return to one of the guest rooms you’d spied earlier, a little too late to help you with your bags, even though he holds out his hand as if to do so. You deposit them on your new bed.
“You can have the master room, if you’d like, I will—”
“It’s fine, Bucky. This way I am closer to Ale if he needs anything.” You stare at each other for a moment, and even though a warm breeze blows through the open windows and arches of the villa, you feel a slight shiver down your spine.
In his smart summer suit, skin lightly tanned and his beard a little thicker than usual thanks to the days of travel you’d endured, Bucky looks fine, broad and tall and handsome and you have to push the idea of sharing a bed with him aside. You hadn’t done that since before the war.
His eyes seem to flick over your sundress-clad figure the same way you’d been inspecting him, and after another beatm he simply lowers his head in confirmation, though his eyes don’t leave your face.
“If you prefer.” He says, shuffling and turning to step back out of the room, once again certain if the borders he was and was not allowed to cross. He turns though, and glances back inside at you, and then with an unreadable expression, cocks his head. But he doesn’t say anything, simply gives you a nod before he walks away. You purse your lips, but quickly go about unpacking your things, pushing all thoughts of him aside.
The next few days are filled with many visits to Don Regio and Marinelli’s house, for dinner and lunches and whatever else. There was little talk or discussion of business, which you were glad for, and you were even introduced to the various women of the family and their own children. It was so oddly normal that you begin to forget about the new work you’d endeared yourself to, and begin feeling like you really were just a normal family on holiday together.
Your good mood extends to Bucky too, even though you were far calmer around him now anyways, you don’t bristle or make corrections when one of the women refers to him as your husband in passing.
Christmas itself is an odd affair, with all three families gathering at Don Regio’s for lunch and dinner, presents and gifts and alcohol are passed around freely. Bucky had spoiled Ale all morning with his gifts. A new baseball glove and bat, a fishing rod so the two could fish together, various toys and baubles. You’d already agreed that you wouldn’t buy gifts for one another, but seeing your child so happy and blessed was a gift enough.
It isn’t until well into the night that you finally return home. Bucky carries Ale’s sleeping form back into the villa, and you take the moment to kick your shoes off in your bedroom, before going to tuck him in too.
Your footsteps are quiet on the stone floors, and as you near Ale’s open door you hear soft talking. Creeping closer, you pause by the doorway, just out of sight, but peek your head in enough to see Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, Ale all snuggled up but his hands holding onto his father’s.
“Did you want to go away?” Ale asks, and you realise you’ve walked in on a conversation in progress. Bucky shakes his head.
“No, sweetheart. But I had to. I got into trouble and to make it right, I had to go be a soldier for a while.”
“That’s why Mama is always mad at you? Cause you had to go be a soldier?”
Your heart skips a beat at the question and you duck back out of sight, listening carefully to Bucky’s reply.
“No, tesoro. Your Mama is mad at me because I wasn’t very nice for a long time.”
“But I think you’re nice, Daddy!” Ale protests, and you hear Bucky chuckle.
“Maybe now. But before you were born, I was mean. I didn’t take care of her very well. Your Mama was always trying to help me stay out of trouble and I didn’t listen to her.”
You swallow and hear some shuffling of sheets before he continues.
“And when you were born, I should have been around more, but I wasn’t. And then I was gone for a very long time.” The pure sorrow you hear in Bucky’s voice makes your chest and head hurt, and you almost walk away, but your body seems frozen in place.
“I haven’t been a very good father to you, Ale, but I want you to know that there wasn’t a day when I was away that I didn’t think about you or your mama. I love you so much, sei tutto il mio mondo.”
“Ti voglio bene anche io, papà. Non voglio che te ne vada di nuovo…!” Ale’s reply makes Bucky chuckle, but you can see the sad smile on his face in your mind’s eye. You hear the sound of a kiss.
“I won’t. But I have to ask buddy, will you forgive me? For everything?”
“Of course, daddy!”
You have to quietly suck back a breath, and you start away from the door, needing to compose yourself before you see Ale or Bucky.
By the time you make it back to your son’s room, Bucky is gone, and Ale has drifted off, so you simply kiss his head, and adjust his blankets.
You’ve just finished changing into your nightgown when a soft knocking at your door disturbs you, and you look toward the open doorway, half expecting your boy, but instead you find Bucky.
He wears only his trousers and dress shirt, suspenders hanging around his waist and a few of the buttons undone, as if he’d come to see you halfway through getting undressed.
“Yes?”
“I…. I know we said we weren’t going to buy each other gifts…” He begins, and you straighten, feeling your brow fall into a light frown. You’d feel bad if he’d gone and got you something anyway, when you really hadn’t bought him a thing. Bucky holds out his hand toward you, and in it, a small box. It isn’t wrapped, but you don’t blame him seeing as you know he struggled with tasks like that.
Eyeing him cautiously, you step toward him, plucking the box from his fingers gingerly.
“I didn’t get you anything.”
“That’s alright. Go on, open it.” He nods to the box and you feel a strange rush of excitement. It was clearly a jewellery box, and as you pull the lid up, your heart stops beating entirely in your chest.
You stare down at the two golden rings, unable to process or think for several moments as you stare at them.
“I… They’re not the rings… I couldn’t find them but… I should never have pawned them in the first place… and I just wanted you to have them back in some way.” Bucky speaks softly, and you finally tear your eyes away from the bands to stare at him instead, your mouth still unable to form coherent words.
“I—” You swallow thickly, blinking back tears that you refuse to let him see.
“Thank you.” You manage, clearing your throat, and shutting the lid of the box again. Bucky watches you carefully, and then with a few short steps, leans close to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“I’m sorry, Vivi.” He says, but all you can bring yourself to do is nod.
He doesn’t linger, bidding you goodnight quickly, and you’re left alone, standing with the ring box clutched tightly in your hands.
You decide then, that you never want to hear him apologise again.
—-
You return to New York in the new year, and things once again settle back into their normal place. You take on a new project for Marinelli, helping set up a new casino to funnel money through and by the time opening night rolls around, you’re rather excited about the whole thing.
Downstairs, patrons are only just beginning to enter, but up in the office, you watch Don Marinelli pop open a bottle of champagne, pouring four glasses. He offers the first to you, and you take it gratefully, watching Steve and Bucky take their own as you all toast.
“Well, I’d say you’ve done a fine job, Miss Salvati. The floor looks classy, and the furnishings are only that what a woman could pick. Well done.” You duck your head gracefully and sip your drink.
“Thank you, Don. It has been a pleasure.” And it had. Dealing in work that was mostly legitimate had been nice for once.
“I hope so. Otherwise you’ll hate me.”
You frown at that and shoot Bucky a questioning glance.
“I’m putting you in charge.” Marinelli says, and you freeze.
You? In charge of the casino?! You’d been under the impression you were simply organising it’s decor and opening party, not that you would be managing the establishment!
“I—”
“—Of course Steve will help you settle in for the next little while, until you learn the ropes. But I don’t doubt you’ll make me lots of money.”
You look between all the men in the room, and you see the momentary surprise on Bucky’s face for a second before he schools it.
“Thank you sir! I won’t let you down!” You let the older man pull you in, kissing both of each other’s cheeks, before he downs the rest of his glass.
“Come Steve, let’s join the rabble, shall we?” Marinelli beckons Steve out of the office, and after a quick congratulatory kiss on the cheek from the blond, he follows his boss out the door, closing it behind him.
You look around the manager's office, realising now that all this was yours, and you too down the rest of your glass.
“I… I can’t believe it…” You mutter, turning to face where Bucky stands, a small smile pulled across his cheeks. He shrugs.
“Marinelli has always liked you.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No clue.” You turn back around to inspect the furnishings you’d put there, and in a moment of girlish excitement, you round the desk and take a seat.
Bucky watches you, amusement clear on his features, and he places his champagne down, stepping around the large, ornate desk.
“Congratulations, sweetheart.” He says softly, and you can’t even help yourself from shooting him a grin as you stand once more, now rearranging a few things to how you’d like them. Bucky steps beside you, and you pause when he covers your hand on a paperweight with his own, stopping you to turn you around.
Nervousness overcomes you then, as he steps even closer, backing you against the desk.
“We should… join the party…” You begin, but his hand is already trailing down to the front of your dress, and you follow the movement with your eyes as he begins to gather the fabric up, your breath hitching when he drops to his knees.
You don’t need encouragement to wiggle back onto the desk slightly, widening your thighs as he slips between them, one finger pulling your panties to the side as he leans in.
“Party’s right here as far as I’m concerned…”
You bury your hand in his hair as the first flicks of his tongue over your folds make you gasp, tightening your grip when he nestles in closer, lips working you over quickly.
You shake in his hold as he licks over you like a man starved, covering your mouth with your free hand as you begin to twitch under him.
“Buck! Don’t stop!” You warn pointlessly, feeling how he focuses his mouth around your clit sucking and running his tongue over it in motions until you’re crying out, gripping his hair harshly as your hips tremble against his face.
When he pulls back, he looks proud, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe over his mouth and chin with. You attempt to get your breathing under control, but only a second later, he’s leaning in, kissing you open mouthed, your taste still on his tongue. You’re prepared to climb further back on your desk, and let him fuck you when a knock at your offcie door startles you apart.
“What is it?” Bucky calls out, annoyed, and there’s a pause before the answer comes.
“There’s a situation at the door!” The reply comes through and you and Bucky both share a look.
You fix yourselves quickly, and seeing as this was your club now, you follow Bucky out through the throngs of happy customers, to the main entrance. You can see Steve already out front, his shoulders squared, and you’re only stepping around him, about to ask what the issue is when a deafening bang echoes out. The first is followed by several more, but you don’t have a mind to keep count, somebody’s arm around your middle dragging you to the pavement, a heavy body almost crushing you as people gasp and scream.
The gunshots stop and as you orient yourself, you see a man run down the street, before he ducks inside a dark car, Steve and some others chasing after him. You shift under the weight of the body on top of you and find Sam pulling himself up. You blink up at him in slight shock, even as Bucky makes his presence known.
“Baby? Baby are you alright?!” He’s got his hand on your face, his eyes running over your body and you nod, dazed.
“I’m— I’m fine— What—” He looks away, up at Sam, and you stop speaking.
“He was shooting at her!” He stresses, and the dark-skinned man nods, his eyes scanning the crowds as several other men begin to placate the people outside, promising free drinks as an apology. Bucky’s eyes swing back to you.
“I’ll find them, I swear to god.” He promises, and all you can do is nod as you’re gently helped to your feet.
After a short meeting with Marinelli and some others up in your office, Bucky holding his arm around you the whole time, you have Sam drive you home. All you wanted to do now was see your baby and forget all about your soured night.
Before you leave, Bucky kisses your forehead and once more promises to find the person responsible.
You go home and cry, and then when you’ve calmed down enough, you crawl into Ale’s bed, and hold him until you fall asleep.
You don’t see or hear from Bucky for several days, in which time you begin to worry. It isn’t until almost a week later you receive news that the gunman was found, and the boys were ‘seeing to him’ now. Relief fills your body at that, and even though you somewhat pity the man for what you know he’s likely to endure, you push all thoughts from your mind and go about your day as normally as you can.
You send word to Bucky’s home that he should come for dinner, but you get no reply, and tea time comes and goes without his appearance.
He doesn’t show up for another day, and when he does it’s almost three in the morning.
The loud knocking on your door is annoying enough, let alone when you pull it open to find a bleary-eyed, drunk Bucky, whiskey bottle still in hand. Your whole body tenses up and for a moment you think you’ve travelled back seven years, when he’d come home at all hours of the morning, drunk, sometimes beat up.
But something strikes you as different this time and you realise, when he chokes back a breath, that he’s crying.
“Bucky?”
“M’sorry.” He says, falling forwards, his arm thrown around your neck, and you barely have time to catch him, steadying him against you awkwardly.
“Bucky?!” Your voice is more panicked this time, but he only sobs into your shoulder.
“You could have died.” He rasps, and you feel some understanding settle over you.
You manage to pull back enough to look at his face, and take it in both your hands.
“I didn’t, I’m alright, see?” He half nods, but scrunches his eyes shut again as his breathing gets shallower and shallower, and you aren’t entirely sure if he’s actually taking in air anymore.
“Bucky? James, breathe! You need to breathe!” His knees seem to give out under him as the panic attack takes over, and you aren’t strong enough to hold him up, so you simply move with him to your foyer floor, taking a moment to shut your door behind him.
“Buck, come here, look at me, okay? I need you to breathe baby, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You hold his face again, and coo clamingly as he holds onto the front of your nightgown with one hand. When his eyes do open, he looks around wildly, and he seems distant.
“Viv?” He gasps, and you nod.
“Viv, I can’t— I can’t feel my arm!” He chokes out, panic and confusion in his voice and you realise that he’s not with you right now. He’s in Europe somewhere, bleeding and scared. He continues to ramble about his arm, calling for a medic, for any kind of help, and all you can do is hold him until he calms some, breathing heavily against your chest. You don’t realise you’ve been crying until you get him to follow you into your bathroom, and see yourself in the mirror briefly before you start the water.
Bucky doesn’t let you go, but you don’t plan on going far as he sits in the bath, his eyes empty and red, like he wasn’t there at all anymore. You wash him with hot water, dress him again, and put him to bed, lying close, stroking his hair gently as his breathing softens out.
You don’t sleep.
You let Bucky sleep in the next morning while you ready Ale for school, trying not to let visions of the night before haunt you, but you find yourself thinking back to Bucky’s harrowed calls for a medic, how his eyes seemed vacant except for when they seemed scared.
You’re relieved to find them back to normal by the time you return home, discovering Bucky in your kitchen. He straightens and lowers the coffee from his lips as you pause in the kitchen doorway, and for a moment you just blink at each other.
He’d redressed himself in last night’s clothes, and you can see now in the light of day, a few specks of blood on the sleeves.
“I— sorry, I… I just woke up.” You stare at him carefully, but he must mistake your expression for disdain because he sets down his coffee cup and clears his throat, avoiding your gaze.
“I’ll just go. I’m sorry—”
“—Bucky.” You cut him off sharply, and he snaps his eyes toward you.
You’d been thinking long and hard, all night, and you’d really only come to one conclusion after last night’s events.
“I don’t think you should be living alone.” You say, and you watch his face filter through confusion, into a frown.
“What?”
“I don’t think you should be living alone. If last night is anything to go by.” You turn your nose up a little at the end, but only because recognition and understanding flash over his face, and his frown disappears.
“Is that so?” It’s not challenging, in fact you can’t really read his tone at all and you cross your arms over your chest.
“You aren’t well, clearly.”
“Clearly.” He nods, carefully picking up his coffee cup again and you nod, lifting your nose again.
“Good. Now that’s decided, you should organise to move your things.” And with your heart beating quicker than you’d like to admit, you turn on your heel and leave him in the kitchen.
Within the week, Bucky’s moving his things into your house.
Ale had been ecstatic when you’d told him, and hadn’t stopped bouncing for days.
Bucky hasn’t stopped bouncing either, though a little more subtly. He helps his guys carry any furniture he’d wanted, inside your place, and after a long day of back and forth, he’s ready for a long shower and a meal with his family.
“Bucky?” Your voice startled him from stretching his back, and he turns to find you poking your head through the doorway.
“Dinner soon. Clean up.” You tell him, only half rolling your eyes when he straightens and salutes you.
He finds himself climbing slowly up the stairs to the second floor, gratefully taking in the details of your home. He’d had nice furniture and such in his house too, but there was something about a space that had been filled with love, not just things.
On the second floor landing he passes Ale’s room, and smiles to himself at how close he’ll be now. Right there, just two or three doors down…
Bucky keeps moving, exhaustion setting into his bones now as he pushes open the door of the guest room and steps inside, ready to find his towel and get to washing up. Only, the second he lifts his eyes to scab the space, he pauses.
Where were his things?
He knows his clothing and such had arrived earlier, because you’d told him yourself that you’d put it away in the room upstairs. One check inside the cupboard tells him this room is empty. Confusion colouring his gaze, Bucky steps back out and looks toward the stairs.
“Vivi?” He calls out when he’s close enough.
“Where did you put my things?” There's a slight pause before your answer comes.
“Upstairs!” Bucky frowns and looks back toward the guest room, and then, almost hesitantly, to the steps that lead to the third floor.
“Upstairs?” He confirms, and you hum a confirmation back.
Stepping quietly toward the second flight, Bucky knows he’s probably reaching, but as it is, he really wants that shower, and it wouldn’t hurt to check off the only other upstairs bedroom, your room.
Climbing the stairs with soft footsteps, a nervousness sets upon him when he stands outside the only door on the floor.
Swallowing thickly, he turns the handle and lets the wood fall open of its own accord, as he waits in the doorway, watching.
Your room is warm and cozy looking, a vanity to one side, an en-suite bathroom to the left. Your bed is a four poster, with rich coloured fabrics that look soft to the touch, and—
Bucky sucks in air, and his feet carry him forward of his own accord. There’s things laid on the bed, obscure from the doorway, but as he nears he takes it all in. Clothes, his clothes, laying ready for him to change, a folded towel and washcloth sitting atop them. In minor disbelief, he looks around the room, waiting for someone to jump out and tell him he’s been duped, but all he can hear is the faint sounds of movement from the lower floors.
He can’t help it, Bucky’s lips twitch and pull up in the corners, and with a brand new kind of relief settling in his chest, he reaches out and takes the towels.
He’s already kicking his shoes off when something else catches his eyes. Frowning down at the small box that had been under the towel, but atop his clothes, Bucky shifts his things under his arm, and then reaches out to gingerly collect up the box. Blinking at it, and with no real clue what it was, he snaps the lid open, and stares.
—-
You’ve just finished setting the table when Bucky enters the dining room, fresh and clean and dressed in the clothes you’d set out for him.
“Ale, come sit down!” You call, transferring a dish from the oven to the table, just as your son skitters out from underneath the table.
“Daddy! Can you sit next to me!?” Ale begs, tugging on Bucky’s hand.
“Of course! Where else would I sit, pal?”
You pitter about with some other things as Ale takes his seat, waiting for everyone to be settled before you turn back around, along to find that when you do, Bucky is still stood waiting, your chair pulled out.
“Thank you.” You say softly, placing the butter down, before letting him guide your seat under your. Bucky takes the place you’d set for him at the top of the table, between yourself and Ale, and smiles.
“Smells amazing.” He nods, and you open your mouth to reply, but are cut off.
“Let’s say grace!” Ale announces, holding his hands out for you and Bucky to take.
“Good idea, pal.” Carefully, you reach across the space between you to take your son's hand in your own, and lift your other to find Bucky already holding out his other, waiting for you once again.
The light glints of the gold on his finger, and when you place your hand in his, your rings clink against one another in the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.
Bucky smiles.
“Bless this meal, this house, and this family.”
#mob boss!bucky#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes/you#bucky barnes/yn#bucky barnes x yn#mafia!bucky
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Sweet
A/n: You know how sometimes when you’re having a breakdown and nothing is helping but then something completely unrelated and stupid just does it for no reason. This is that. With pot brownies and kissing. Bucky is recovering and reader is an moron with a heart of gold.
Angst, hurt/comfort, humor. Reader/Bucky. 3k words
Warnings: Marijuana use; conversations about trauma, particularly food-related; language.
-
The path leading away from the cabin is littered with wet patches of morning. Rime colors of miserable winter in sludge grey are starting to be overtaken by sprouts of green, yellow, and brisk dew, springtime optimism come to life.
Pepper’s got the front of her house looking like a farmer’s market flower stand. Pots of tulips and daffodils explode up the steps and tri-color ribbons connecting porch-light to porch-light. The magnolia tree is soon to bud, and she’s hung hummingbird feeders and birdhouses all around.
When the cars start rolling in for the quarter-yearly potluck, you hang out near the garden, rocking back and forth on your feet. You'd shown up early but didn’t know what to do around a toddler, so outside it was.
The familiar Range Rover halts to a stop, Sam’s door opening as he makes his way out, holding ceramic handles of an enormous crockpot.
You call, “Bring your famous chili?”
“Damn right, I did,” he beams, “you bring your appetite?”
You waggle your eyebrows before looking to the SUV he hopped out of, Steve lingering by the back door with a brown paper box tucked beneath his arm, knocking on the heavily tinted windows with a long-suffering sigh. “C’mon, Buck. Up and at ‘em.”
A loud, decisive knock thumps back at him and Steve rolls his big, pitiful, puppy dog eyes in your direction. Beneath the blue of his left orbital is what looks suspiciously like the fading ochre stain of either an almost healed bruise or a newly forming one, which only makes Steve’s silent call for aid more pathetic and urgent.
Damn, okay. Since you’re kind of on thin ice already, this could go one of two ways.
Sliding up, you crack your knuckles.
“Barnes,” you call, “I got something illegal for you. Wanna see?”
“Dead body.” He responds from behind the still shut door, and you’re not sure if that’s a question. Steve glares at you accusatory, as if you’d actually bring a dead body to a potluck, good grief.
“Uh, no.”
“Knife.”
Steve shoots you another look—which is just ridiculous at this point, the both of them.
“Knives aren’t illegal.”
“Depends.”
Steve shifts the box of what looks to be cherry turnovers and mouths phrase day, which means that Barnes decided to stop talking in complete sentences sometime between when he woke up and probably when Steve over-crowded him and is now reducing all communication to two or three words as both a method of punishment for Steve and self-preservation for Barnes.
“It’ll make you feel better,” you urge, “Loads better.”
“Sex.” He rolls down the window just enough for you to get a glimpse of his eyes, narrowed and steely. “Drugs?”
You mouth bingo, outrightly ignoring the fact that it feels like Bucky Barnes nearly solicited you for sex, and Steve puts his hand over his own face, about to quip until he realizes that he’s probably said too much already—which is what got him in this predicament to begin with—and simply drags himself toward the house.
Barnes watches him go wordlessly before he opens the door and steps out, looking down at you, lightly shivering in the cold, and says, still one-worded, “Okay.”
-
He pops three brownies into his mouth and chews, opening just enough to get out a muffled, “too sweet” before returning to grinding down like he’s cracking pecan shells in there.
“I know you have like,” you make panicked motions with your fingers, snapping the red Tupperware lid back down frantically, “hella metabolism, but pump the brakes or you’re going to flip.”
“Flip,” he concludes, determined. He squirrels about two more in before you can do anything about it.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I was going to let you take those home later—oh my god, I’m going to get into so much trouble.”
The two of you are stopped at one of those cutesy stone birdbaths around the perimeter, leaning on the lip as Barnes licks remaining chocolate off his fingers, looking as pleased as punch. As much as he can look, anyway, you think, since you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him smile at anything other than the time Steve stubbed his toe bad enough on Tony’s kitchen island that he doubled over.
“Did you say sex earlier?” You suddenly remember the flash of silver from the darkness of the SUV. “Wait, actually, I wanna go back even before that—did you really think I’d have a dead body?”
He shrugs.
“Cool,” you reply, “cool, cool, cool, cool. I think I should be more concerned, but you know what, I like it. Feels like a vote of confidence.”
A wide grin stretches across your face and you temporarily forget that Bucky fucking Barnes has eaten about half a pan of brownies with 25 grams of pot baked into them, that in about 15 minutes you’re both expected to sit down like normal people and have a nice dinner without anyone doing… whatever it is that he might do when he’s blazed to high heaven.
You shake the thought of Steve’s disappointment out of your head. Maybe it’d be best to keep acting natural, get him into some kind of headspace.
“So,” you whistle, “what’d you bring to the potluck?”
He gives you a sidelong stare and if there were Olympics for how someone can convey eat shit and die without moving anything but their eyes, he’d win every 8 years for the rest of his unnaturally long life.
“Well, I brought myself,” you curtsy, starting back down the trail again, figuring that you’ve got five minutes walking forward before it’d be time to turn back to the house, “and your present,” to which he gives you a short nod, “and an empty stomach. You excited for Sam’s chili?”
“Spicy.”
“Spicy?” you recoil, suddenly finding the prospect of a man who gave Captain America a black eye last week or possibly this morning—the monster who ate half of your most lethal bake—panting and sweating over a bowl of chili astoundingly inconceivable.
“Oh wait, you live with Rogers. What’s he feeding you at home? Steamed chicken?”
“Baked.”
You sigh, “God, you’re fucked. Nat brought something with Carolina Reaper infused honey glaze. Barnes... we’ll have to do a prayer circle for your ass.”
His face twists into a look of disgust before he starts to notice his lips, pressing them together, pulling them apart. After a few more motions like he’s discovering his body, bit by bit, he turns to you, and announces, “Feeling it.”
You laugh, jealous, because although you had a bite about 30 minutes before he even arrived, the brownie hasn’t hit you yet. “Good,” you say anyway, “that’s good, right?”
He only apathetically regards a sparrow flying past. You suppress a chortle when Barnes repeatedly licks his lips and rubs at the sleeves of his sweater.
“Have you ever been high before?” You correct, “In the fun, recreational, consensual way?”
Another listless shrug before he turns his head. You push yourself off a nearby log and make a show of stomping through haphazard piles of sticks and dead leaves, curling your fingers in a come along motion.
He follows, boots crunching, steps short and patternless, making a racket behind your back. He looks like a kid, fingers tucked up into his long sleeves, bouncy knees as he attempts to splash into every puddle as he possibly can before catching up. He’s almost got a grin when he looks at you, remembering where he is again, and there’s a light brush of color along the tops of his cheeks from the chill.
Around a small bend in the path, you duck under a branch, hop over a stone, and when you land back on both feet, the ground wobbles just enough to notice.
The air smells nice. Your eyelids feel heavy in a good way.
“Steve really piss you off this morning, didn’t he?”
Barnes lands a couple of feet away, his face dropping into an exhausted expression at the question, which you can’t fault him for because Steve’s a lot of things. Simple things, on the surface, but Barnes has known him longer than most anyone else and you imagine all of his noble qualities—his longstanding patience and willpower and belief in the goodness in everything and everyone—you imagine that shit gets old.
Hell, it gets at you on occasion, and you’re not even the brainwashed best friend who’s probably hearing a hundred voices in his head and is too tired to hear one more no matter how well-intentioned it might be.
Sometimes, being inundated by language just breaks it all back into foreign, incomprehensible script. And sometimes, being exceedingly plied with something you can’t make any sense of makes you turn inward, makes you bare your teeth in self-defense.
Which makes you realize you probably should ease up, too, talk less, but then he takes a long step with his ridiculous legs and is by your side, walking as if you two do this all the time.
“He’s a fixer.” Bucky’s brows are scrunched together, hands buried in his pockets. You nod quickly, not wanting him to go into any more detail than that because it’s not news that the entire population is still wary of Bucky Barnes’ re-emergence as a United States citizen when he was, up until very recently, a—uh, Russian one.
This, obviously, puts many things at odds with each other, including Steve, who is Mr. United States himself. The Avengers, too, who are mostly Team United States, considering the location and overwhelming population. But most of all, Bucky, who is still cobbling together bits and pieces of his life each day, is faced with the knowledge that everyone in the world knows more about him than he does.
You rub the back of your neck sympathetically because that shit would kill your heart so fast.
“You know what.” You shake the Tupperware at him, “Have the rest of these. You deserve it. And like, a million hugs.”
He barks a laugh, gladly gulps down the rest, and there’s a dapple of fudge on his chin looking so silly and sweet as he chews.
Ah, shoot. You avert your gaze, feeling very bad ideas break out up your arms and neck, and the shudder that is about to overtake you seems less about Barnes’ sweet face and more about Steve’s disappointed one. Like, he’s going to read your mind and know you’re having ideas about his best friend. And he’s going to do that thing where his eyebrows drop and his lips press together as he attempts to hold back a few choice words. Until later, probably, when he corners you somewhere and unleashes them anyway.
What were you thinking?, he’ll hiss. Are you capable of thinking rationally?
“What?” Barnes prods. “What is it?”
“Nothin’” you take a leap forward, herding the both of you back. The closer you are to the cabin the more you’ll remember that you’re at a family event, with friends, who should all stay in the friend territory.
But you blurt anyway, “You said sex earlier!” Because you’re a whole ass idiot.
He makes a small noise, says, “Yeah,” like that’s any help.
“Are you…” what the fuck, your head is spinning, “like, in… need of some?” Your face feels hot.
“Maybe. My body is…” he frowns, so weirdly open right now, and then he looks at you with half is face in a weary grin, the other half lost and confused. “Responding to stimuli in ways I haven’t— responded to in... Trying to fix it. Steve wants me to be fixed.”
He tilts his face to the sky, glaring at it. “Can’t get it out.”
You’re trying to force your rabbiting heart down to a manageable pace. You’ve never had any in-depth discussions with him about anything, much less his sex drive. The most interaction the two of you get is the occasional mission or get-together where you crack jokes and get shitfaced when the job’s done. You’ve been told you’re sort of a pain and haven’t given a fuck too much to change that.
You’re sort of in trouble right now, having been “irrational” during the last mission, running across the iced lake instead of taking the planned route and falling in. It ended up working out, since you got to the enemy helicopter before the enemies, but then there was the stabbing because you were sort of outnumbered and the pneumonia afterwards because you fell into the fucking lake…
There was a massive chewing out. Steve and his many, disappointed words.
Something about motor-mouths and low-object permanence but sure, good on the inside when it counts.
You hope this is one of those times where it counts.
“Listen,” you start. “Take as long as you need, there’s no rush on recovery and pushing yourself too hard is detrimental to your health. It’s not a straight line.”
“I hit him.”
Your wheeling brain is making a sharp left, trying to figure out where Barnes is driving toward. Oh. The black eye.
“Aw, Steve?” You wave your hand, swatting nothing. “He’s a big boy.”
“I’m hungry. Then I’m not.”
“I mean, that sounds normal—“
“No, a lot. Fast. Cyclical. Endless.”
It must be his metabolism adjusting. The realization of his relationship with food comes fast, almost visceral. Scarce when he was young, then rationed during the war before it was taken from him altogether. He was given the bare minimum with Hydra—protein slurry, tube-fed—then purged—stomach pumped—before being put on ice.
For decades.
Starvation must have truly felt endless.
And now with food being a surplus, with his body readjusting to it, yet his mind still struggling with habits—it must be so confusing. Another seemingly natural function to be confused about.
“Ah,” you manage, a lump in your throat like a blockade.
“I get nightmares.” He’s glaring at his hands, one flesh, one metal, opening and closing his fist like trying to get a grip on himself, and his voice is so small and pained. “These thoughts. All sorts. Can’t sleep.”
You extend your hands, shake off the dry sob that wants to erupt from your chest, and declare with flourish, “On the fourth day, God made Purple Kush, and it was good. So, we can—we can fix that.”
He takes another one of those long looks, through his lashes, lips quirked in quiet humor.
“You’re not really a fixer.”
He shakes the container of crumbs in your face.
You gasp, snatching it back in offense. “I can fix… some things! I replaced the utility light in the kitchen yesterday!“
Your cheeks are hot, face twitching like a broken screen because all you can think about is how handsome he is, out here like this, nose blushing, eyes lazy and crescent shaped, the heavy creases beneath them less pained and more relaxed.
And how he’s teasing you—- and he’s kind of a little shit.
“You fucker,” you say.
He grins—all big and silent, and for a second you count your blessings that he’s not going to say anything else shitty until he quips, “Not unless you’re offering.”
He’s staring at you intently, a curious expression winding its way up his face. His eyes are huge and blue and the most alert, glazed-over, pair of bloodshot, redder-than-the-devil’s-dick eyes you’ve ever seen on anyone stoned halfway to the moon.
His tongue darts out, sweeps a slow, careful line over the width of his bottom lip, practically asking, and you’re just the simple idiot who openly gawks at him.
“Ah,” you nod. “Yeah you’re definitely right. I’m—“ you gulp, “more of a fuck-up.”
Because what’s another fuck up to add onto the long-running list of fuck ups you’ve had recently, anyway? Kissing Barnes might count as a really serious one, sure, but at least it’s not pneumonia.
It’d make him feel better, probably, it’d make him feel something, at least. Steve would appreciate that, if Barnes came to the dinner table verbal, maybe even laughing. No one has to tell Steve that his best pal kissed your face off in the woods.
The idea of your face being kissed off is doing a number on you. The idea of Bucky Barnes, this gorgeous, miserable, godly, tragic contradiction, your at-arm’s-length teammate, your quickly-becoming friend, kissing your face off because he needs to feel something soft in the midst of the rest of the horrible, jagged things he already feels every second of his life—and he can get it from you.
You’re stupid and simple and how could anyone say no to that? So you take one last second to steel your heart, push forward, and lean in.
It’s, frankly, bizarre.
He kisses you gently, fantastically, inconsistently, wavering from assured one second to apprehensive the next, like he remembers how but can’t quite execute.
You meet him where you can, respond to the parting of his lips with your own, adjust to his tension with grace, and when he starts feeling like he’s getting the hang of it, like muscle memory has finally settled into his body, you let him lead.
One hand finds the base of your skull, the other placing itself on your waist. His kisses grow greedy, like he remembers desire is a thing that occurs to him. He tilts his head down, kisses up like he wants to swallow every sigh between your lips, like he’s hungry for the sounds you make—and you’re making, embarrassingly, a lot of them. He’s good—dominant but kind, mouth wide, lips full, tongue cocoa-sweet and clever as it strokes yours again and again.
When he backs you up into a tree, you barely register it. His hand has moved to cushion your head, and he’s urging his entire body forward into yours, grip tight at your hipbone, moving his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, and you stutter a string of letters that refuse to make words.
Barnes is expertly sucking marks beneath your collar, right beneath the neckline, his breath hot and coming out in a near snarl and when he scrapes his teeth down, sinking them into the soft skin of your chest, you yelp loud enough to send a few birds scattering from the trees.
He jumps off like he’s burned you, eyes frantic, afraid.
“No—” you clear your throat, hands out, “Hold on.”
He’s blinking, head clearing, head trying to assess what he’s done, the situation, the pulled loose neckline, the wet shine of his spit up your throat.
“S-sorry—”
“No, don’t be sorry.” You give him his distance but take a small step forward. “That was hot. But,”
He blinks, confused, and this whole thing could easily go pear-shaped, your well-intentioned explanation might turn into unintelligible speech at any moment, but you have to try or else he’ll tailspin into catastrophe, and you suddenly feel so sorry for Steve, the poor fuck who’s doing this every day, clinging onto the hope that what he’s saying doesn’t set Bucky off, doesn’t push his boulder back downhill.
He's still stuttering sorry, starting to pace.
“Listen,” you say firmly, clipping your own panic, “that was wow, let me tell you. But if you don’t stop, I’m going to like— hotwire a car.”
Somehow this stops him in his tracks, “What?”
“Well, I didn’t drive here. Because you know, I was going to like, get really shitfaced.”
“What?”
“Yeah, and like, take you to a hotel or something.”
He frowns, obviously completely lost. “Why?”
It’s your turn to be lost. Both of you open-mouthed and panting at each other like two dumb dogs chasing each others’ tail in an ouroboros of idiocy.
“Huh? What do you mean why? You just tongue-fucked me, do you think I’m immune to getting on my knees for that?”
Now you can see it happening—the incomprehensible speech like a marquee as it runs across Barnes’ brain. Tongue-fuck, immune to getting on my knees. He doesn’t understand any of that, and god bless any soul who can. What language are you even speaking right now other than hot-brained, hot-skinned, hot-hearted to him, who’s still struggling to defrost?
“Never mind,” you redact, “ignore that.” You put your hands on his shoulders to ground yourself, vaguely thinking that maybe you shouldn’t touch him but the firm slap of your palms seems to break him out of his new trance. “Can we kiss again, later?”
He blinks, staring at you, at your hands on him, at your lips all swollen up.
“Yes.”
You sigh, relieved and thankful that other than you, no one’s freaking out, that your plan to get Bucky Barnes high worked out after all, and that he has agreed to make out later because he’s really, really good at it.
“Wonderful. Let’s go back now? Are you ready?”
He mulls it over and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sure, but I’m not eating chili.”
“Well, you’re in luck, there’s plenty of chicken.”
He grimaces, cuts a sharp look up to you before a twinkle settles in his blue, blue eyes. “Okay,” he agrees, “guess we should do a prayer circle for my ass.”
You clap your hands together and recite Our Father.
-
“It was sex, wasn’t it?”
Sam’s got one hand over his belly, snickering. Everyone else looks your way, gullible, scandalized, and you can’t blame them since the two of you were gone an awfully long time and came back extremely disheveled.
Bucky had walked in dutifully behind you, wiped off his boots, sat down at the dinner table, and asked for seconds saying please and thank you and he even threw in a that was delicious just to watch Steve’s head explode.
And Bucky, who you’ve come to realize is genuinely a shit— still one-worded and knowing full well the repercussions of his one word— only shrugs and responds, “Yes.”
The room erupts into shouting as you throw a buttered roll at his head. He catches it easily and brings it up to his grinning mouth, shimmer of spit glossy and fantastic on his lips.
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Fourth of July
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: Bucky visits the cemetery the first since Steve funeral, but he isn’t the only one that’s mourning on the Fourth of July.
Word Count: 2.3k
Rating: R
Warnings: Grief, self-harm, depression, death, mourning, mentions of infidelity
A/N: Listen, this has been in the works for a year, but I’ve been redoing this whole time. I wrote it listening to “Fourth of July” by Sufjan Stevens. Slight AU because I like to think that Bucky didn’t know that Steve was gonna do that shit. 
It was humid in the city, making it feel a lot hotter than it actually was. He had started to sweat under the sweater he had pulled on and he tried his best to ignore the discomfort. The slight breeze made the various red, white, and blue decorations flap in the wind and carried the scent of someone grilling nearby. Hot dogs, he thinks.
As the sun started to set, the smell of gunpowder started to fill the air as the streetlights started to flicker on. Children ran past him as he walked on the sidewalk, sparklers held high in their hands. They giggled and laughed, their families yelling at them to be more careful. The man just keeps on walking, quickly crossing the street as soon as his destination came into the view.
Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets, keeping his cap covered head down as he walks into graveyard, gravel crunching under his feet. He hasn't been here since the funeral and he didn't really want to come today, but he knew he should.
A part of him still wanted to scream at his best friend, wants to ask him what was so special about Peggy Carter that he had to go and upend so many lives. The other part of him just wants to stand there and cry, mourn the loss of his best friend, his brother, the only tie to he had to his old life.
Yet, someone had beat him to it to that second one.
He didn't expect her to be kneeling there in front of the shining marble headstone, her body as still as the statues that dotted the cemetery. She doesn't hear him, or possibly just chooses to ignore that someone else was here to mourn over the same person today. He can see that she's saying something, but even with his super hearing he can't hear it.
Bucky stopped in his tracks, not knowing exactly what to do in this situation. Should he let her be, let her mourn? Should he call Sam and ask her to come sit with her? Raynor hadn't prepared him for this. He was barely getting his own feelings under control, so how was he supposed to help anyone else? Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He had only met her a handful of times, with most of them being before a fight. The first time that he had met her, the first time he actually can fully remember meeting her, was after the mess in Berlin, when his arm was caught in a vice because none of them knew if he was still Bucky. She had smiled at him and said in a saccharine sweet voice, “I will not hesitate to put you six feet under if you do that shit again, understood?”. It was after that comment, after Sam and Steve had both look at her almost in shock, that the latter had introduced her as his wife.
Before he knows it, his feet are carrying him towards her, his footsteps almost silent on the grass until a twig snaps and announces his approach. Y/N's back straightens, her body tensing. Bucky's feet don't stop though, not until he is standing right behind her. She keeps her eyes locked on his headstone, tears having left black colored tracks on her cheeks.
"Are you alright?" Bucky questions, immediately kicking himself for how stupid his question was. Of course she wasn't fucking alright. The woman was crying at her lover's grave on the man's birthday. You're a fucking idiot, James Buchanan Barnes. He watches as her eyes shut and she tilts her chin upward every so slightly, letting out a shaky breath. In the distance, fireworks go off, shimmering in the sky.
"You don't have to say anything-It's okay." He quickly replies, knowing that he wouldn't want to open up to someone that he hardly knew. Y/N sighs, her eyes fluttering open and she looks back down at the slab of marble. In front of it was dozens and dozens of offerings. Flags, small shields, candles, plastic red, white, and blue flowers, action figures of the man himself-all left by people they didn't know.
"I didn't think anyone was going to be here. I thought that since it was getting dark that everyone was going to be watching the fireworks." She tells him, her eyes scanning over the words on the headstone over and over again, as if the name was going to change, "I guess I was wrong."
"I didn't want him to be alone on his birthday." She cuts through his thoughts with a knife, stopping him in his tracks. Her voice sounds small, almost faraway as she continues, "I didn't want to come, didn't want to be here, but-but, I knew he shouldn't be alone on his birthday. No one should be alone on their birthday."
Red explodes in the sky, bathing them both in scarlet. Another flies past it- a green one this time-and bursts as the other fades, just as Bucky takes a seat beside her. He gives her ample space as he tries to get comfortable on the grass.
"No, no he shouldn't." Bucky echoes as he picks up a small action figure of Steve. The eyes are slightly crooked and the colors of his suit have been discolored by the sun, "Did he ever let you throw him a party? I tried, but the punk never let me. Always told me that we shouldn’t waste money on shit like that."
"A couple of times, but nothing too big. Just something small, no gifts, no frills." She answers, a faint smile appearing on her face, "Always gave me something to do. I've never been patriotic."
A bright white firework exploded in the sky, making it look like a thousand more stars had suddenly burst into existence before flickering out.
"You aren't patriotic but you married him?" He questions, holding the action figure in the air. She her smile grows ever so slightly as she shakes her head, her eyes turning towards the sky. Bright blue illuminates her, turning her cobalt for a few seconds.
"I see the irony in it too, don't worry."
There's a moment of silence between them. He looks away from her, his eyes focusing back on the headstone in front of them. The noise of the city celebrating still sounds then, the whistles of the fireworks flying into the sky, the cheers of happy children.
She had disappeared after the funeral.
No more public engagements, no more paparazzi shots. Sam had said that she hadn't been calling, hadn't talked to him at all since they laid Steve to rest. The lights were always off at the house she used to share with him in Brooklyn, but they knew she was home.
She didn't have anywhere else to go.
Her friends were either dead or spread to the wind. Her team was gone, splintered far beyond repair. She would’ve had her husband, but he had made his choice and now she sleeps in a bed that’s too big for her, in a house that’s too quiet, too empty.
"Do you think-Do you think we are allowed to be mad at him?" Her voice is no louder than a whisper when she decides to speak. Her eyes once more on the slab of marble, looking at it like the man himself was sitting there with them. She continues, her eyes watery, "I don't-I've been trying not to be angry with him, but I can't."
"I think so. He-He kind of screwed us over, didn't he?" Bucky answers, turning his head to look at her once more. Her thumb was twisting her gold wedding band around her finger, trying to calm herself, rating to rein in her emotions.
She was there was Steve came back, hair white and skin wrinkled. She hadn't said anything-No, she just looked at her husband, tears filling her eyes. There was no screaming, no sobbing, no real signs of any outward emotions other than her watery eyes. Steve had tried to talk, tried to explain himself, but she had just walked away. She knew what he did, where he had went. There was no point in arguing with him, with fighting over a choice he had already made so she didn’t. Bucky wonders if she had cried after that, if she had screamed into her pillow after being betrayed by the man she loved.
He didn’t know that an oh so familiar numbness had started to taken a hold her as she had walked away from the situation. She doesn’t remember any of the drive home-she honestly doesn’t understand how she able to drive at all. The next few days were a blur-she didn’t leave the house, hell, she didn’t even leave her bed unless she had to.
It had taken four days for it to finally settle in, for the pain to crack through and force itself through that numbness. There had been a lot of crying, of screaming during that time. Shattered picture frames, broken dishes. She kept to herself, not wanting to take her anger out on anyone as she processed everything.
At the funeral, she didn't say much to anyone. Everyone's condolences were met with a small smile and nod. She had stood in between Sam and Bucky in the front pew. Her back was rigid, her head held high. Her makeup and hair done perfectly-she had been the dutiful wife and now it seemed like she was becoming the perfect little widow. For a second, Bucky had thought she was processing this all well-better than him, at least-until Sam suddenly grabbed her hand in the middle of someone's eulogy. She had been scratching the back of her hands until they were bloody and raw, her pale pink nails discolored by garnet.
Another firework screams its way into the sky, exploding and illuminating them in emerald for a brief moment. She shifts in the grass, drawing her knees into her chest, making her look smaller than she actually is.
"I miss him. I-I don't know if I should, but I miss him. I still love him." She announces, barely loud enough for him to hear, "No matter what he did, I still love him. I-I wish I didn't, I think it might make it all easier."
"I yelled at him, both Sam and I did. He tried to justify it, wanted Sam to convince you to forgive him." Bucky confesses, his eyes still on her. She turns her head to look at him, brows furrowed, “He didn’t understand why you were so angry with him.”
“I talked to him before he-He didn’t want me to be mad at him. He didn’t want to leave with us with in the middle of fight. Didn’t want to leave it like that. He couldn’t stand it when we fought and these past five years-God, it felt like that was all we did. Everything I did wasn’t good enough fir him.” She looks back down at the ground, fingers picking at the grass, “I kept askin’ him ‘Why?’ and he couldn’t give me an answer. He told me that he loved me, but he also loved her. He acted that’s all he needed to say.”
“I know he had a family with her. Had kids, grandkids, the whole shebang. He had told me-He told me that after we fixed everything-after we brought everyone back that we were gonna settle down like we always talked about, that we could start trying and God, I knew it sounded too good to be true.” Emotion is wrapping around her neck like a noose, making her words strained as tears start to roll down her cheeks, “And I wanted it so bad. I wanted a family with him, even though things were shit and he was pushing me away, I still wanted that. I thought-I thought that finally everything was okay and I feel like an idiot for believing it.”
Her words hang in the air above them, above his grave. They weighed heavily on Bucky, forcing his shoulders down. Steve had promised her a family, a quiet life-some semblance of normalcy and had ripped it away for what? For a woman he knew less than a year? Bucky had asked him if he had regret what he did and Steve hadn’t responded. He had just changed the subject, deciding to instead talk about the quality of his hospital food.
“You’re not an idiot. You didn’t-You didn’t know he was going to do this. None of us did.“ Bucky replies, his voice just as quiet as hers had been moments before. She just sits there, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Both of them just looked at the grave in front of them, a dozen different emotions flowing between the two.
The tears on her face have started to dry. In the distance they could hear music playing, people laughing, and celebrating. They continued to sit quietly in the cemetery, the buzzing of cicadas and fireworks turning into white noise.
-
"Shall we look at the moon, my little loon?
Why do you cry?
Make the most of your life, while it is rife
While it is light
Well, you do enough talk
My little hawk, why do you cry?
Tell me, what did you learn from the Tillamook burn?
Or the Fourth of July?
We're all gonna die"
#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers/reader#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky barnes#steve rogers
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What Happens In Vegas
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Warnings: language, drinking, mouthy Bucky, quick smut, mostly angst
Word Count: 869
Synopsis: This was not what either of you had come to Vegas for.
A/N: Been having thoughts about this for a couple of weeks now. I don't know what this will be if anything more. I have a little bit more written but it can just stand alone as a one-shot too. We'll see what happens. Not beata'd.
The pounding in your skull was second only to the sheer panic that flooded you the second you managed to pull awake in the dark.
Completely naked your eyes did a quick survey of exactly where you were. “Shit,” the quiet curse falling from your lips as you slid out of the bed quiet as a mouse. “Fuck. You stupid fuck.”
Fumbling around in the dark your hands sought out the familiar texture of your clothes, blindly shuffling against the short course carpet on your hands and knees. Fingers finding the edge of a pair of pants you prayed they belonged to you.
“You stupid fuck,” the harsh reprimand fell from your lips as you struggled to fit your leg into the turned-out sleeve of your jeans. Heart sinking as you thought about the pair of panties you were abandoning, a particular throb to your skull had you pausing and clutching your head as the room began to spin. “Stupid tequila.”
What the hell had happened last night?
There were clear memories and then there were hazy ones. You could clearly remember flying into Vegas with the throng of women you barely knew for your mutual friend Abigail's bachelorette party. You remember everyone getting gaudy pink sashes before boarding. You remembered doing shots on the plane. You remembered checking in to the hotel.
Then the limo came and things got spotty.
Cheering.
Dancing.
The strip club.
The Lux.
Another strip club.
Another casino.
The fountain.
The hotel bar and then…
Your mind was blank after you returned to the hotel bar.
Now here you were in a room that was most definitely not yours.
Leaning back your hand brushed over the soft lacy edge of your panties and you snatched them up immediately. That was when your mind graced you with a pristine moment of clarity.
The weight of a heavy body against you. Legs spread and fingers that were not your own looped into the band of the sopping wet panties. Desperate kisses bordering on unhinged against your lips, stealing every ounce of air you could take in. Always too much and never enough.
He pulled a mewling cry from your lips as his fingers worked against your sensitive nub and under the elastic of your panties.
“That’s it. That’s my girl, open up for me,” he purred, the praise easily falling from his sinful lips.
And you relished in it. Loving the sweet drag of his tongue over your shoulder before laying his teeth on you with a growl just as your hand began stroking his cock, “That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”
Embarrassment was hot in your veins as another curse slipped past your lips as you frantically stuffed them into your pocket and resumed trying to get back into your pants. You had to get the hell out of here.
Above you, there was a shuffling of sheets. A restless moment in sleep, well deserved according to your patchy memory, that had you pausing quietly on the floor. You waited patiently for the sound of heaving breathing to resume before you peaked over the edge of the bed.
One foot stuck out from beneath the rumpled sheets and duvet, other than that they’d fallen back into a peaceful slumber.
“Thank god,” you heaved a quiet sigh of relief. “That was close.”
Managing to wrestle the other leg into your jeans you hastily zipped and buttoned them before beginning the search for your bra or shirt. Resolved that whichever you found first was what you were going to be wearing out the door.
At this point, you were not above leaving semi-topless.
Hands shuffling along the floor you searched, arms sweeping in front of you when out of nowhere the bedside lamp clicked on. In an instant, your heart was in your throat. Dread formed deep in the pit of your stomach as a shadow loomed over you.
Swallowing hard, you looked up from the horribly patterned carpet to the imposing and nude form standing over you. Knelt on the foot of the bed towering over you, his hands resting on his hips and semi-erect cock practically waving in your face was Bucky Barnes.
His hair was skewed and tousled either from sleep or whatever had happened between you both last night. The bedside lamp glints off his black metal arm as blue eyes leer down at you.
Your gaze betrayed you, briefly darting down to his cock and back to his face in time to see a rueful smile pull at the edge of his lips, “Where do you think you’re going, my blushing bride?”
The fear of being caught sneaking out was nothing compared to the alarming unease that threatened to swallow you whole now.
Suddenly you were very interested in his left hand. The shining metal mocked you as your eyes followed it from his shoulder all the way down. There it was, wrapped delicately around his third vibranium digit, shining gold, a ring.
A wedding ring.
Eyes snapped down to your own hand as you lifted it into the air. The matching gold band staring back at you. Daintily wrapped around your finger as fate herself laughed in your face.
“What the fuck!”
Hey Kittens,
Thanks for reading. Don't forget to Smash the ♻️ Reblog for more content!
#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes#bucky barns x y/n#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes/reader#james bucky barnes#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes drabble#james bucky buchanan barnes#mcu#marvel#avengers#bucky smut#winter soldier#james buchanan barnes#winter solider#tfatws
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Three Times Feelings Went Unspoken, and the One Time It Was (Bucky/Reader)
Cross-Posted on my AO3
[Main Masterlist] | [Marvel Masterlist]
Probably my favorite trope, wrote this one so long ago tho!
Warnings: fluff, fluff, more fluff
++The First Attempt++
Bucky Barnes paced back and forth in his room, rehearsing the words he wanted to say to Y/n, his heart pounding with nerves. He had developed strong feelings for her, but every time he tried to confess, his tongue would tie itself into knots. Tonight was going to be different.
As the team gathered for a casual movie night, Bucky found himself sitting next to Y/n, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other. Gathering his courage, he turned towards her, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Y/n, there's something I've been meaning to tell you," he stammered, his palms sweating. But before he could continue, his mind went blank, and his words failed him. Y/n looked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue, but all he could manage was a weak smile with a slight shake of his head and turned his attention back to the screen.
++The Second Attempt++
A week passed, and Bucky couldn't stop thinking about his missed opportunity. Determined not to let his nerves get the best of him, he invited Y/n to a quiet coffee shop. As they sat across from each other, sipping their drinks, Bucky took a deep breath.
"Y/n, I... I've been wanting to tell you something," he began, his voice trembling slightly. But once again, his anxiety overpowered him, and he stumbled over his words. Y/n leaned forward, her eyes filled with concern.
"Bucky, take your time. I'm here for you," she reassured him. He managed a small smile, grateful for her understanding, but disappointment weighed heavily on his heart.
++The Third Attempt++
Bucky decided to take a more casual approach for his third attempt. He invited Y/n for a walk in the park, hoping the relaxed setting would ease his nerves. As they strolled together, admiring the scenery, Bucky mustered up his courage:
"Y/n, you know you mean a lot to me, right?" he asked, his voice sounding more confident. Y/n nodded, a gentle smile on her face, encouraging him to continue. However, just as the words were about to leave his lips, his fear gripped him once more, rendering him speechless. Instead, he settled for a sigh, small smile, and yet another slight shake of his head, feeling even more frustrated with himself.
++The Fourth and Final Attempt++
Time passed, and Bucky couldn't escape his feelings for Y/n. He knew he couldn't keep hiding them forever. Seeking advice, he turned to his best friend, who listened patiently.
"Buck, sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith," Steve said, giving Bucky a reassuring pat on the back. Emboldened by his friend's words, Bucky decided it was time to make his final attempt.
He invited Y/n to a quiet rooftop, their favorite spot to watch the city lights. As they sat side by side, Bucky took her hand, his heart pounding in his chest. "Y/n, I've been trying to tell you something for a while now, and I don’t think I can keep it to myself any longer," he confessed, his voice steady and determined.
Y/n's eyes widened with anticipation as she squeezed his hand. "Bucky, what is it?" she asked softly.
Taking a deep breath, Bucky looked into her eyes and finally let his feelings flow. "I'm in love with you, Y/n. You're the most incredible person I've ever known, and I can't imagine my life without you. I understand if you don't feel the same way, but I just need to be honest with you."
Silence enveloped them as Y/n processed Bucky's confession. Slowly, a smile crept onto her lips, and she reached out to cup his cheek. "Bucky, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear those words," she whispered, her voice filled with affection. Bucky's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat.
"You... You feel the same way?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
Y/n nodded, her eyes shining with joy. "Yes, Bucky. I've been falling for you too, but I was too afraid to say anything. I'm glad you finally did."
Relief and happiness flooded Bucky's heart as he leaned in, capturing Y/n's lips in a tender, long-awaited kiss. In that moment, all the failed attempts and nervousness faded away, replaced by the warmth of their happy love.
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pretty woman, this is me trying || finale
Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader
Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers
Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls
(14/14)
Mini-Series
Warnings: explicit language; reference to past SA; heartfelt confessions
Word Count: 2,000+
Author’s Note: Now, to be honest, I really hoped to make these chapters longer. But I wanted to published on Christmas Day and I haven’t had time to write all month. I truly hope I wrapped up this story well, and who knows? It could have epilogue next year or next month. I love you all. xxMoni
~
The day after Christmas was no better. Three times you had dressed and undressed, debating whether to leave your apartment and go speak with Bucky. You were both overthinking this and you were both in the wrong. Bucky shouldn’t have kept treating you like a flaky friend or kept his initial indecision a secret, and you shouldn’t have stormed away without hearing him out first.
You needed to see him. But your body wouldn’t let you get in your car and take matters into your own hands.
You flopped face-down onto your bed, releasing one long groan. When your lungs ached with the need for air, you sucked in a breath and repeated the process. Groaning until your throat was sore. You rolled over, instantly regretting it. You had washed your sheets, but not the pillowcases.
That heavenly mixture of snow and Starry Night. No swirling irises to accompany it, though.
“Do you want to come back the day after Christmas and show me how to jump?”
He chuckled, “It’s a date.”
You snapped up, replaying the words in your head.
Rockefeller Center, ice skating, the date.
Would Bucky remember? Would he even go?
You had to try. You missed Bucky, you missed Axel, you missed who you were when Bucky was with you. You missed the feeling of companionship. Of choosing who to spend that time with.
You didn’t want to be lonely anymore. Lainey would have kicked your ass all the way to Rockefeller by now, you bet.
After throwing on your winter jacket and boots, you sprinted out your front door, tripping only twice. Then turned back to your apartment, grabbed Bucky’s present, and repeated the tiring process of putting the key in the lock.
Stopping at Lainey’s old door, with absolutely no regard to whoever occupied it now, you declared, “I’m going to win him back. Because I love him, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
~
“Are you sure she’ll be here?” Steve asked as he opened the car door for Bucky. Rockefeller Center looked to be even more crowded than the last time he had come. It was like a cruel joke, making the search for you that much harder.
“She was the one who suggested it,” Bucky explained. “And if what you said is true, she’s not mad at me.”
“Oh, she was mad. Maybe not with you entirely, but she was mad.”
Bucky scowled at his friend, though he was grateful to have a second pair of eyes aiding him. Bucky was grasping at straws. Either you remembered that you had suggested this date and had the same idea as him, or you forgot and he was here when he should be at your apartment.
Or—the worse option—you had remembered and chosen not to come.
Bucky hadn’t really thought about what he would do if that was the case. He was a big boy, and although it would hurt him to bits, he would have to survive. Your time teaching him how to receive touch again would not be wasted. He promised himself that.
“You take one side and I take the other?” Steve suggested, adjusting the baseball cap. “Or do you want to stick together?”
“We can cover more ground separated,” Bucky replied. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”
Steve studied him for a moment, then took his word. “Text me when you find her.”
Bucky nodded, watching as Steve blended into the crowd.
Step one: Pass through this chaos.
Taking a deep breath, Bucky prepared his mind. None of these people were out to get him and self-defense was not necessary. Most people were here with their family and friends, not plotting the end of the world with his metal fist in mind. He clutched your gift as he held it in his jacket pocket, then moved.
Bucky pushed through the crowd, apologizing for shoving people too hard and smacking his shoulders against them. Most people moved out of his way, allowing him some air. He searched every visible face, every occupied bench, every person exiting from the buildings. He guessed you would be near the ice rink considering that’s where the date was going to take place, but he still focused everywhere.
Someone’s shoulder brushed across his shoulder blades, paralyzing him for a moment. It was a quick touch, one that was over before he could truly dwell in it. His body told him to run back to the car, to find refuge in his mountain of blankets. That behind his apartment door is where he would be truly safe.
Though his body craved that comfortable feeling of safety, his idea of safety was no longer the loneliness found behind a closed door. His safety was encased in your touch, in your bedsheets, in your presence.
So he continued to push and shove through the crowd, counting his breaths and picturing your face. This was for you. It would always be for you.
His heart stopped as he took in your face for the first time since you walked away from him. You had painted your lips red and thrown on the same cardigan and jacket that had been hanging on the hook beside your front door for the entire month now. You caught his line of sight, freezing in place.
He pushed through the last of the crowd, stopping a few feet from you. You had your hands in your jacket pockets, but you were still shaking in your boots. Bucky wanted nothing more than to run to you and provide you some warmth, but there were words that needed to be said. Things that needed to be addressed.
“If you want to leave me, I will fight you.”
Your eyes widened a fraction at his unexpected declaration.
“When Stark told me to find a date, I refused because I physically could not swallow that reality. I said no, but I had no choice.”
He continued quickly when your face fell. “But I told Stark that I trusted his judgment. He gave me an out, but I had already met you. You were loud, and inappropriate, and reminded me of me from when I was young.”
“Bucky—”
“A part of my innocence was stolen from me long ago. And as much as it kills me, I know I’ll never get it back. I didn’t deserve to have it ripped from me. I deserved happiness, and a home to return to, and soft hands and soup and a little corner store to call my own. But life fucked me over, and I got none of that. I got tortured, and wiped, and… assaulted, in a thousand ways. And for the longest time, I thought they stole the whole of me. I thought there was no hope. That there were no soft touches left in the world. But you… You make me want to try again. You make me believe that people can still be good in this world. Because you’re good, and you’re good to me, and I love you. I love you more than hot chocolate, more than biscuits, more than the Santa Clause movies. I love you. And I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment you threw your arms up and introduced yourself. I’ve wanted you since our first picnic. I’ve wanted you since the first touch. I want you, I love you, and I just pray that you want me, too. That you love me, too.”
Multiple tears dripped from your eyes and down your cheeks. And when Bucky reached up, he found his cheeks were wet as well.
“I don’t expect you to quit your job or be solely mine. But I find myself running under your sweet nothings and I don’t want to abandon that feeling just yet. So I declare, the day after Christmas and surrounded by strangers, that I choose you too. I am scared of the world, and what they think of me, but I am not scared of you.”
“Bucky.”
Bucky sucked in a wobbly breath and pulled the bracelet from his pocket. It was handmade, green, and had a little L carved into the stone.
L for Lainey.
You stopped in front of him, turning the bracelet over in your fingers. Then you let him put it on your wrist. You cupped his cheeks with your surprisingly warm hands. Bucky whimpered sweetly, chasing the heat.
“I think you are courage incarnate, Bucky Barnes. Believe it or not, but you make me want to be strong. I have been lonely for so long and you showed me that friendship was still a real thing. I thought I had lost it forever, doomed to be stuck in a world that did not appreciate me.”
Bucky laid his forehead against yours, nearly hiccuping as your words pierced through his burning heart.
“I am yours. Only yours. And I’m sorry for being in my head too often.”
You pulled out a pair of fancy, leather gloves in his size, blushing. “It’s not as sentimental as the bracelet, but—”
He pressed a deep kiss to your mouth, holding you close. His chest warmed against yours instantly. His knees only needed to bend slightly to reach your lips. Your pinkies curled perfectly around each other.
How had he not noticed this before?
“Take me home,” he whispered, using his thumbs to wipe your tears away.
You nodded against him. Then, you giggled uncontrollably, melting against him.
“What?”
“Don’t forget Steve.”
Bucky shot a surprised look down at you. “How did you—”
“I know what his eyes feel like boring into my back by now.”
Sure enough, Bucky glanced up to see Steve watching your exchange with a genuine smile on his face.
~
“Do you trust me?”
Steve huffed, his knuckles turning redder as his grip tightened against the railing. When Bucky had mentioned that Steve had always wanted to come to Rockefeller Center with him in the 1930s, you had assumed Steve knew how to ice skate. You didn’t expect a trembling Captain America scared to find his balance and refusing to let go of the support.
“I trust you, but if I fall then you’re going down with me by default.”
“Fair. Now let go of the railing,” you ordered, holding out your hand for him to take. You hadn’t told him you were a beginner ice skater yourself. But you figured, since Tony rented out the rink for private use for the next six hours, it was the perfect time to test this out.
Steve murmured a curse under his breath before reaching out his left hand. His right still held onto the railing, so he began stretching and involuntarily splitting his legs. “Help! Help!”
“Let go!” you laughed, taking his extended hand in your own. He slunk back together rather comically, wobbling as he gripped both your hands. “Now close your eyes and skate!”
“Wha—Why should I close my eyes?”
“It’s the only way to truly trust yourself!” you lied, sounding creepily authentic. You pushed off, taking him with you. He argued twice more before finally shutting his eyes, allowing you to lead him anywhere.
“There we go! You got it! Keep those eyes closed!”
He thankfully listened, unaware of where you were leading him. You would think his super soldier hearing would alert him of a new pair of skates on the ice, but his anxiety probably clouded his thoughts.
With a quick nod, you expertly exchanged Steve’s hands into Bucky’s.
Skating away but still at a close enough distance, you called out, “You can open your eyes now!”
Steve nearly tumbled, but his expression was one of pure elation. Uncontrollable, joyous laughter spilled from his mouth.
“Buck!”
Bucky only smiled, tugging Steve closer. Hand in hand, flesh on flesh, they skated the perimeter together. Not once did Bucky drop Steve’s hand.
It may have only been a battle won for Bucky, but this was an entire war won for Steve Rogers.
He was touching his best friend again. If it wasn’t for you, for Bucky’s determination and strength, it wouldn’t have been possible.
You skated to the railing and watched the childish men for the next hour, wiping away tears whenever they dropped from your eyes. Lifting your hands up, you snapped an imaginary picture. To save for later. To think about whenever you thought something was impossible.
Then you snapped another, a real one using your phone, for safekeeping.
~
#Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x y/n#captainsimagines#finale#pretty woman finale#pretty woman au#marvel fanfiction#by Moni#holiday fanfic#holiday smut
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Ocean Eyes
Prince!Bucky Barnes x Pirate!Reader
warnings: cursing, violence (they're pirates), angst, fluff
word count: 5.7k
synopsis: After narrowly escaping the royal guards who were looking for him after sneaking out, Prince James takes refuge unknowingly in the ship of one of the most notorious groups of pirates out there. Now, he not only has to navigate his way through life being captured on a pirate ship, but he also has to deal with the fact that the captain is one of the most attractive women he's met.
a/n: i love pirate aus so much and thought that there is not nearly enough where you are the pirate, so here. this took me forever and im so proud of it so i hope you like <33
The village was bustling with people as Prince James walked out of the warm tavern. The sun was high, making James sweat under the black cloak he was wearing in an attempt to conceal his identity. There were royal guards patrolling, looking for the Prince who left the castle unannounced, so a panic was in the air as they were trying to find the boy.
James saw them, silver chestplated men, swords in sheaths as they frantically asked people about him, while they marched their boots and the hooves of the horses around the fishing village. It was sure to cause an uproar if the people had caught wind of the news of the Prince’s disappearance. He was one of the only fully liked royals since the disease that was making its rounds through the village years ago. Of course, the village had recovered, but the people who lost family and friends had not forgiven the king for his lack of help during the awful times. James was lucky, he was only 14 by then, unable to do anything but watch the anguish come from his people.
Suddenly, the Prince caught the eye of a guard, one he disliked at that. Out of panic, James started running towards the docks desperately, stumbling over poor merchants barrels of food and tables of intricate jewels. Shouting out apologies left and right, his boot clad feet were pushing him onto a large ship, not noticing the cynical eyes of the skull on the flag flying high next to the unnaturally clean sails. He hid behind some crates which fully concealed his body while he watched the guard who just saw him frantically shout some things to the others and take off in the direction he went.
His plan was simple; wait until the guards left to look outside of the village, then leave the ship and make his way back to the castle. Easy right? That's what he told himself before multiple voices started shouting various things in slurred speech that he couldn’t quite make out from his loud heartbeat and bangs from the main deck, before the guards started getting smaller, turning into ants in the distance.
The boy was in panic; breathing becoming accelerated and palms sweating excessively as he did when he was nervous. This is beyond nervous. It was supposed to be an easy day; sneak out of the castle without accidentally notifying the guards, have a drink at the tavern he regularly visits, wander around the village and pick out a necklace or two for his mother’s birthday. And now he was on a moving ship, the village he calls home a mere blur in the distance.
His elongated visit on the ship was only going to get worse as two men approached him. The Prince’s vision went black as the younger of the two hit him over the head, successfully knocking the man out. The older took off the cloak and picked James up by the back of his shirt, hauling him over to the group of people on the other side of the deck.
“We have a stowaway on board, where do you want him, captain?” Sam asked you, Prince still in hand.
“Tie him to the mast.” Your voice came out uncaring as you waved your hand dismissively in the man’s direction, looking over at the horizon. “We’re set for Gamswell.” Gamswell was a nasty place. It was full of cheap prostitutes and drunken pirates. However, your crew insisted on visiting, wanting to experience the thrills and adventures of Gamswell. Having been there a multitude of times, you were hesitant, but saw the excitement on your men’s faces and decided to allow it.
Swinging over the railings you land a few metres away from the mast as the man wakes up. He has a small cut on his right cheek -you assume from the hit from Sam- and is wearing a basic white tunic and trousers. His shoes look expensive, a large contrast to the generally basic and cheap outfit.
You raise your eyebrow looking at the expensive looking rings adorning his dirty hands, and a single gold chain with a charm laying on his slightly exposed chest. “This guy don’t look poor.” You told Sam, who was still next to you, admiring the expensive jewels covering different parts of his body.
Before the conversation can carry on, the man starts to groan before his eyes shoot open. “Who are you?” He sounds nervous as he figures out what’s happened.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously at the man before carding your fingers through his short hair and yanking his head up to meet his eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing on my ship!?” You stare into his eyes.
“I’m sorry! I was running away from some guards and ended up here. I promise I didn’t mean to invade.” You look into his steel blue eyes with suspicion, “My name’s James Barnes.” He told you, honesty seeping through his voice. He definitely didn’t want to anger you anymore than you already seemed. You let go of his head and stepped back next to Sam.
You looked back at the man next to you and shrugged, while he gave you a big, malicious smirk and walked off to take the wheel from Peter.
“Listen, just drop me off at the next port and I’ll be out of your hair.” The man on the mast looked up to meet your eyes once your first mate had walked away.
“And what makes you think I’d listen to you? You sneak aboard my ship and you’re asking to be let free? Boy, you don’t know pirates at all.” You shook your head in mock disappointment before moving closer to him once again, face now serious, “what about you would make me want to let you free so early on? I could use an extra helping hand.” You grinned maniacally before stepping back once again, “Welcome aboard The Serpent’s Revenge, James Barnes.”
You almost felt bad for the man, but this is what happens to stowaways on your ship, they get tied to the mast and damned to the icy depths of the sea after accidentally coming loose during a particularly rough storm. It has happened a multitude of times, each time bringing an uncomfortable weight on your shoulders but it had to happen. Men like these were unfortunate creatures, they get their egos chipped away by you after challenging you to a duel, or attempting a one person mutiny against you as a pathetic try in stealing your pride and joy, The Serpent’s Revenge. However, they never stayed long throughout their attempts at driving a sword through your heart, or escaping the mast, which usually resulted in a shot between the eyes from Clint, who was usually found scouting in the crow’s nest day and night.
It had been days since the stray prince made his way onto your ship. It had been days since he was first tied to the mast. There was a sort of sympathy you felt for the poor boy, something you’ve never felt for stowaways before. Deciding to listen to the angel on your shoulder rather than the devil, you decided to let him down during a storm, which you had sailed right into on your quest to Gamswell.
The rain beat heavily down on polished wood and thunder clapped around you as you were searching for your first mate, who you saw ordering men around, surrounded by people grabbing buckets and throwing water back overboard. “Sam! Take him down to the brig!!” You shout to the man, who dropped the bucket he was holding and ran over to the passed out prince.
Everything after that was a bit blurry. You were still at the wheel, guiding your crew through the rough waters and loud shouts of overthrown men. After a night of battling the large, desecrating waves you were able to rest, your crew being happy to allow you to retreat to your quarters early morn.
James was still tied up, though he was now in one of the cells that were below deck. Every once-in-a-while, someone would bring down some scraps, a small bottle of rum and whatever else you didn’t need to keep him alive, but just enough for him to not be any real trouble.
You felt sympathy for the boy, knowing what it's like to be kept in a cell, tied up while people's normal lives continued on around you, completely ignoring you. However, you knew what you had to do, and kept him suffering in the iron bars a while longer, though you did decide to throw him out at Gamswell, which, arguably, is worse than being locked in a damp cell.
There was only a couple times that you actually visited the cell, to give the man some food, and to make sure he hadn’t escaped or died or anything. He did get some visitors after a ship had attacked you, a futile attempt at taking down the most notorious group of pirates. However, the visit was short lived once your crew chopped the men down one by one, not before they took a glance at you, however, a well known pirate for leaving no survivors, and the for the fact that you were a woman, of course.
Superstitious bastards.
The monotonous drip of leaking seawater was all that entered James’ ears, along with the drunken singing of your men and harsh footsteps above him. His blue eyes were disorientated as they looked around, not staying in one place for long before studying another part of the worn down wood that made up the ceiling. He lay in the corner of his cell, feeling the cool metal of the cell behind him, taking in deep breaths of salty air that was seeping through the small cracks in the walls.
Wasn’t he feasting on large, hearty meals and sipping on the best wine only weeks ago?
It felt like months.
There hadn’t been anyone down to visit him in a couple of days, seemingly forgetting about his body, soon to be rotting in the cold cell by himself.
During his wallowing in self-pity, his ringing ears didn’t pick up on the heavy footsteps coming down to greet him. His ocean eyes looked up, seeing your familiar dusty brown boots and long leather jacket.
You roll your eyes and shake your head in mock offence, “Don’t seem too surprised to see me.”
James’ eyebrows furrow, “I’m not exactly pleased. You did lock me in here.” He says before sitting up to get a better view of you, blood rushing back to his head making him feel dizzy for a minute.
“Yeah, sorry about that, love.” You laugh mockingly, before chucking a small flask into the cell as well as handing him a bowl of small scraps of leftover fish and potatoes that they still had from when James first appeared on their ship after stopping. It was probably the most food he’d had in the last few days, which James was happy for.
“What happened to me eating fish bones?” James questioned curiously, looking up to meet your eyes.
You tilt your head condescendingly, “What? Would you rather go back to that?” The brunette backs down instantly, taking the small metal bowl from your hand and sitting back in the corner of the cell and digging in, watching your retreating figure walking casually up the stairs.
Much to his surprise, you come back down only minutes later, a key in your right hand. “Thought you would’ve finished by now.” You snorted in amusement, a clinking noise followed by a loud creak being heard as you opened the door to the cell. You both start walking up the first flight of stairs to the hammocks where one or two men were wiping the floors.
James looked surprised, “Why are you letting me go?” He asks incredulously.
“Because, we have reached our destination.” You continue to walk up the stairs as he watches you from behind.
He follows you up the stairs with a confused expression, though you could not see it.
“Usually, I would keep stowaways on board until their bodies slip from under the ropes from the mast during a storm and get thrown overboard from not being able to hold themselves up, or keep ‘em in the brig till they rot.” James pulls a face as you continue, “I decided to have mercy on you and drop you off at the next pirate port, though I must warn you, it isn’t the loveliest of places.” You explain to the boy, who is now not looking the happiest and throw him a dopey smile as you reach the wheel.
The moon was high in the sky as you reached Gamswell, the air chillier than expected. You could feel the excitement radiate throughout the ship, though you and James were not feeling the same way. Sam’s face lit up as he took a look at the bustling town reaching the end of the bay at the docks, where you had just arrived. “Thank you so much, Captain.” He shook your arm slightly with excitement before climbing onto the wooden docks taking him into the heart of the village.
James was standing beside you, watching the relaxed expression on your face slowly dissipate as you docked. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like it here. Maybe he could convince you otherwise, to drop him at a different port. Or maybe he could join your crew? It wasn’t something he ever considered, but surely it would be better than whatever was waiting for him in this vile village.
The water was twinkling like the stars currently in the sky off the side of the docks as you and James slowly followed off the ship. James now knew what you meant by ‘it is not the loveliest of places’, there were prostitutes with their chests out, singing drunken sea shanties with wasted sailors and pirates looking for a good time. Fights were breaking out all over the place, people shooting and stabbing each other over the smallest of issues. It’ll definitely linger.
“Charming little village, ain’t it?” You smiled at the man, who was silently freaking out at the thought of being left here with nothing but a name.
James pinched his nose together to avoid the smell as much as possible as you made your way to a small tavern, which was not too occupied. There were a few people engaged in heated arguments, looking like they’re on the verge of a fight and drunken pirates singing lively songs with women on their arms. It gave a warm feeling, though it was far from James’ preferred place to be. You escorted him to a small table close to the corner, further away from the sudden fist fights and immediately left to get drinks.
“You aren’t actually going to leave me here, are you?” He gives you a small look as you return with two mugs of mead in an attempt at making you feel bad.
“I’m sorry, love, but there’s not much I can do about that. Unless you are willing to become a part of the crew.” You shrug, taking a big sip out of the mug and smiling at a pirate who winked at you from the bar.
There was a few seconds of silence before he spoke again, “What if I am?”
You turn around to meet his eyes, finding them completely serious, “If you are, then I suppose we could find you a spot amongst the crew.” Now, normally you wouldn’t offer that kind of hospitality, but you had a soft spot for the man. You don’t know what’s come over you, what happened to no remorse for stowaways? Either way, you couldn’t resist those bright blue eyes, seemingly having found their shine outside of the cell he had been locked in.
“Thank you so much! I-”
He got cut off by another voice, “Hey! Don’t that look like the missin’ prince?” The voice was gravelly as a dirty finger pointed towards the man sitting in front of you, along with several other voices that agreed with him.
Your eyebrows furrowed as James spoke up, quickly dismissing the dirty man, “No! I’m not.” It was almost suspicious the pace that he did, but you decided to ignore it and return your focus back on the brunette.
“I sure hope you’re not, fuck the royals.” You curse, taking a big swig from your mug of mead.
“Y-yeah, don’t worry. I’m far from a prince.” James mimics you nervously, also drinking.
The night went on with drinking and more drinking, you both becoming progressively more drunk. You were both dancing, arm in arm, to a sea shanty that was being bellowed significantly louder than it was when people were more sober. You were being tossed around, twirling around with different men, only taking a break for a sip from the canteen of rum strapped to your belt. It was well through the night before you both decided to leave and find a room to sleep.
The streets were still lively, though not as much as it was before you entered the tavern. The dirt roads were illuminated by the golden candlelight of the occasional lamps scattered around on buildings.
You stopped before a large building, from the outside, it looked old, cozy and rather welcoming. Large stacked stones and hardwood pillars make up the outer structure, a golden glow coming from the lamps resting over the glass acting as windows. From the outside, you can see that it’s not that busy, knowing that it is now a lot later than you intended to be, but you could still hear the hustling and bustling of hardworking people on the inside. You both enter, feeling the warmth contrasting the slightly chilly air outside.
You immediately recognise the man at the front desk, having met him years ago when he joined your crew.
“Y/N! What a lovely sight!” The french man greets you with a warm smile. He almost doesn’t belong here, such a sweet person in such a nasty place, but looks can deceive. Éric Garreau was an ex-pirate, he was a ruthless member of your crew, until one day he decided that he wanted to settle down, having had enough of the unpredictable life of a pirate. Of course you were sad when such a valued crew member and friend decided to abandon ship on your second stop in Gamswell, but you were happy when he came to you to tell you his true feelings instead of trying to hide it. Now he was married with a child on the way and a successful business, and you couldn’t be happier for him.
“Éric!” You opened your arms wide, allowing the large man to engulf you in a hug.
“I see you’ve come here with a man again, a single room I’m guessing?” He tried to joke and you laughed, but James beside you furrowed his eyebrows.
“Unfortunately not tonight, Éric. How about two rooms?” You try to play it off, not letting James see your flaming cheeks at the insinuation. Éric gets the hint and goes behind the counter to grab your two keys.
“Oh! You must join us for breakfast, Elise has asked about you recently.” He smiled genuinely, passing you and James each a silver key.
“I’d love to.” You nod your head politely; something James had never seen you be before, it almost makes him respect you a little more.
“And your friend is more than welcome to come too.” Éric continues with his teasing, getting a kick out of making his friend blush and attempting to hide it.
“Thanks Éric…” You roll your eyes jokingly at the man before heading towards the creaky stairs in the corner, dimly illuminated with two candles meticulously placed on the bannister. You and James part ways not long after, him creaking open the door next to yours, playfully saluting.
It wasn’t long after your head hit the lumpy pillow that you fell fast asleep.
Despite your words to Éric last night, it was agreed to set sail early morn with your new crew member, and unfortunately wouldn’t be able to catch up with Elise and Éric. As much as you wanted to, your loyalty and heart lies with the Serpent’s Revenge and devoted crew. You couldn’t even imagine the uproar it will cause when you announce that the previous stowaway is now joining the crew initially, but it will be sure to end in a joyous night of rambunctious laughter and booze.
The sun was high over the horizon by the time you set sail, merchants just setting up their stalls by the docks and deserted taverns reopening slowly. You could smell the sea, the comforting smell settling deep in your bones as you looked over the wheel. All was peaceful.
It was like that for days. The crew bustled around the deck; James even helped out here and there.
“Sure you know what you’re doin’?” You question the brunette, watching him hold the wheel and turn it cautiously. “It’s not that delicate, you don’t have to hold it like china!” You scold as he strengthens his weak grip on the wheel and becomes more confident, “That’s it!” You smile at him, something you’ve found yourself doing a lot more around him recently. Maybe he’ll be more useful than I thought.
“A-Am I?” He asks in mild shock, smiling back eagerly.
The moment was interrupted as Clint shouts down from the crow’s nest, “Uhh, Captain. We’ve got an issue!” He slides down the rope, “Royal Navy.” He says simply, but you can sense the fear in his voice.
“It’s not a problem, we’ve taken them before!” You shout, trying to reassure your crew.
“Yeah, Captain, at the cost of many men.” Sam looks towards you dubiously, eyebrows furrowed as your men agree.
You scowl, “Raise the jolly roger.” Is your final order before your crew disperse, raising your flag and preparing for the battle. You turn back to James, who has a worried look on his face, “You got a problem?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ve really fought the navy before?” He seems shocked.
“You don’t just come across other pirates on the seas, James. We’re ‘criminals’, wanted people.” As much as you hate to admit it, you were named criminals for wanting to be free. For wanting a life on the sea. “Good luck.” Were your last words, hearing your crew shout louder as the ship comes closer, firing cannons towards the delicate wood.
You saw the officers in their blue navy uniforms, delicate buttons and powdered wigs and scoffed. Why should they and the royal family get all of these expensive jewels and money to show off how rich they are when your family suffered for food each day? Why should they get to live in their country estates and grand palaces while they watch their people suffer with disease and poverty? It’s pathetic. For years you suffered, watched your family become ridden with disease when you were only a child before you fled. There was nothing left for you there. From then on, a hatred for the royals grew and grew as the memories repeated in the dead of night. Your crew have all come from similar backgrounds; poverty and disease. Maybe it’s why the bond is so strong. Why you’ve been able to become one of the most feared pirates to sail the seas. And you’re proud of that title.
This crew was the only family you had left.
And you’d be damned to lose them to some entitled snobs.
You had been fighting for hours.
Your arms ached, ears rang and head pounded.
You hadn’t seen James for hours, you only wished he hadn’t been killed. It was only then you saw him; injured on the deck. He was hiding behind a crate, in a similar position to how he was found, and he was holding his stomach where blood was soaking into his white shirt. Your heart pounded at the sight, quickly lowering your pistol into the holster on your hip and running to him, sure to avoid any officers.
His wound was deep, likely from a dagger, you assessed as you came towards him. He looked up, eyes squinting slightly as if he couldn’t quite recognise who you were. “Y-Y/n?” He asked weakly.
“I’m right here, don’t worry.” You applied pressure to his wound, moving his hands out of the way. Luckily you were still out of sight behind a barrel, but you’re sure it won’t be long before you’re found. “I’ve got you, everything’s going to be fine.” You reassure, but it seems more like you’re trying to reassure yourself.
The surroundings were loud; swords clashed in the backgrounds, men shouted and screamed in pain. But it was just the two of you.
It was then you were brought back to reality as you felt cold metal against your neck. Quickly, you took in a sharp inhale as you watched James’ eyes flutter closed.
“Quick! I found the Prince and he’s injured!” A gravelly voice shouts from behind you, the one with the dagger to your neck. He leans closer to your ear, his hot breath hitting the side of your face and you cringe in disgust. “What were you doing with the missing Prince, wench?” He hisses meanly in your ear, but you can only focus on one thing.
Missing Prince.
Your mind raced. How could you have let this happen? You let this rich bastard onto your ship. You should’ve realised who it was, you should have realised that night at the bar. The man said he looked like the missing prince. Anger coursed through your veins at the thought of letting royalty onto your ship, something you swore would never happen.
Then why do you not hate him? A small voice whispers in the back of your mind.
But you refused to listen as you were dragged up by the man, his soot covered hand leaving a handprint on the back of your neck. You watched the Prince get taken away, being carried as carefully as possible by two sailors.
Your nostrils flared and you curled your hands into balls as the man behind you grabbed them and shoved them roughly into iron handcuffs. “I suggest you keep quiet.” And for once, you complied. Normally, you’d talk his ear off to annoy him, but you just wanted to figure out why.
Why would he want to be a part of your crew if he was royalty? He could have anything he wanted, so why would he want to join your crew. He seemed genuine enough, but you should’ve known better.
You were pushed roughly over the gangplank onto the navy’s ship. You couldn’t face your crew, ashamed at the fact you’d allowed royalty onto the ship when everyone had a hatred for them. The officers all sneered at you, faces twisting up in disgust as you were shoved down the stairs and into a cell. The door was left ajar as you were forced into the cell, before being shut roughly and locked with a key the man placed in his pocket. “No escape attempts, alright wench? Or we’ll have a problem.”
You only scoffed, not giving the disgusting man a reaction before sighing deeply and sliding down the wooden wall, facing the cell door.
How the tables have turned.
It must’ve been weeks before you docked.
The cell door was yanked open, making you flinch ever so slightly at the grating noise. A gloved hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you up harshly. You were dragged through the ship, walking past your crew who had also been captured, the few cells almost overflowing with people.
Your dusty boots padded against the wooden floor of the ship as you walked up the stairs. James was nowhere to be found, most likely having already been escorted off the ship.
The sun was bright, beating down on your face almost in punishment as you walked to the cell, where you would await your death.
It hardly seemed fair; being punished for wanting to be free.
Alas, you were handed between guards roughly, each of them dragging you through the stone walls of the fort. You knew where you were headed, where the rest of the captured pirates are shoved together in a singular dusty cell as they wait to be called for the gallows.
You never thought you’d end up here. It was always your assumption that you would live out your life on the high seas, drinking booze with your family and singing sea shanties at the top of your lungs until you passed out on the deck. That was freedom. Not whatever these poor peasants live, and you're sure they would agree.
But everyone’s high streak must come to an end eventually.
Everything passed as a blur from then on. Teasing wolf whistles and jokes came from the other side of the cell, but the energy to stop them wasn’t there. You were taken first. Dragged back out through the walls of the fort and into a courtyard. The small stones and hot dust burn your feet as you’re pushed through the crowd. You looked up, bleary eyes looking for his face. Those ocean eyes.
You spotted them, eyes widening as you saw him there. He was back in noble clothes; a long, decorative coat despite the scorching weather, beige knee breeches and a notable frown on his face.
He mouthed something to you.
I’m sorry.
It was all you could make out before you were shoved up the oak stairs, feet slipping slightly due to your weakening body.
You stood there on the platform, seeing the scowles from the nobles and peasants alike; one similarity you could find between the two classes.
The drums began, loud and menacing, echoing throughout the village, sending shivers through your spine. A loud voice came from behind you, beginning to read the list of your crimes.
“Y/N L/N, accused of piracy and treason against the crown, you are sentenced to hang from the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul.” Your ears rang and head ached with the cheering that followed.
It wasn’t long after your hanging was announced that it happened.
A shot came from a top corner of the fort, hitting the executioner directly in the head. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he hit the ground beside you. It wasn’t long before the shouting started. The crowd was bustling as people made their way through, pushing the spectators to the ground to get through the crowd.
You whipped your head around to where you had seen James. He had a large smile on his face before he rose from his seat, climbing down the large step to push through the crowd towards you.
Sam appeared first, “What? You didn’t think we’d let you die, did you Cap?” He smirked and winked, reaching his hand out to you before realising what he did, “Oops, sorry.” He quickly ran up the steps, stealing the key off the executioner before unlocking your hands and passing you your pistol.
You smiled at the feeling of it back in your hands, “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” You jokingly kiss the barrel, causing Sam to roll his eyes before the Prince reaches the bottom of the platform.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry!” He shouted over the commotion.
You rolled your eyes at him, “We’ve no time for that! We have to get out of here.” You looked around at the rest of your crew fighting the guards, the rest of the guests having fled the fort quickly.
He just nodded before taking out a concealed pistol from his breeches. You raised your eyebrows in surprise, “You know how to use that?” You asked, walking down the stairs to stand next to him.
“I’m sure it can’t be too hard!” He smiled dubiously, raising the pistol and firing the shot directly into the wall. “Uhh…” He turned the gun in his hands a few times, inspecting it, “I think it’s broken.”
Once again, you only roll your eyes before seeing the many more officers come into the fort through the archways, armed with muskets and bayonets, “Shit!”
You look towards Sam just as he strikes down another guard and he only smiles reassuringly, “Don’t worry, cap. We got it. Go get your ship.” He points his gun towards the archway out of the fort.
You grab James’ hand and run. He grips your hand back and squeezes, a small gesture of comfort and reassurance, but also a sorry. You smile at his kindness even in stressful times as you come up to the wall.
He takes off his heavy jacket, leaving it in a heavy heap on the ground and him in just a waistcoat and white shirt. He looks towards you and smiles before stepping up onto the ledge and you do the same.
The water is deceivingly cold as your body hits it. Despite it being a warm day, the water is freezing. You surface, moving the hair out of your face as you meet James’ eyes opposite you.
“You know, I always thought your eyes looked like the ocean.” You smirk at him.
“Oh yeah?” He comes closer towards you, cupping your face in his hands, warming your cheeks slightly before wrapping his arms around your waist.
“Yeah…” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer, slotting your lips over his. He kisses back eagerly, smiling against you before pulling away.
“I’ve wanted to do that for ages.” He chuckles, his face going slightly pink.
“Have you now?” You go to tease him, but loud shouting comes from beside you both.
“Are you guys gonna get on or what?” Sam shouts down at the two of you before throwing down a rope.
You grab his hand, “Are you sure? You can’t go back after this.”
He only smiles, “I’m sure.”
#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes x yn#pirate au#marvel#marvel au
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Good Girl | Bucky x Reader | Mutually Beneficial AU | Drabble
You don't listen to Sarge's instructions during a mission so he has to show you that you can be a good girl if you try.
Warnings: 18+ sexual content, dom!Bucky, dirty talk, pet names & honourifics, clothing dispartiy and leather kink.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Mutually Beneficial Masterlist
Bucky dragged you to the back of the plane, sliding the panel that separated the main sitting area from a small cargo hold at the back.
Sam had shouted that the both of you should behave, there was no worry about that. You'd behave now, the fire behind Bucky's eyes told you you'd behave for a long time after this as well.
"You could have died" he hissed, hauling you up onto the large container box. Even though he was looking up at you now, you still felt small. Stupid. Tears welled in your eyes as he continued to berate you, that you were an agent first, that you were supposed to follow orders because they keep you safe.
He looked up from his tirade to see the tears begin to roll and stepped forward, back into your space.
"Babydoll?" He dropped his voice, quiet now, and wary.
"I'm so sorry" you sobbed, letting the tears over flow and pour down your face "I'm so sorry, I wanna follow orders, I wanna be good, I thought-" you hiccuped "I thought you were in danger, I couldn't-" hiccup "bare it".
Strong hands cupped your face, brushing your tears away, his hands cold from his leather gloves.
"Oh, Babydoll, that's why?"
You nodded, voice failing you. Bucky wrapped you in his arms, pulling you close and burying his own face in your leather clad chest.
"I wanna be good" you whispered "I wanted to be good. I - I love you is all and I"
He looked up, pressing his thumb to your lips, salty and red from your tears.
"I love you too, Baby, I'm sorry. You are good, you are" he ran a hand over your hair.
"Even though I didn't follow your orders?"
"Even though you didn't follow my orders. I can't blame you, I'd have done the same thing" he murmured.
"Will you tell me I'm good again? I feel...bad" you flushed, trying to hide your embarrassed face in his neck.
"Yeah? You need to feel like my good girl again?" The words went straight through you like electricity.
"Yes, yes please, Sarge" you did your best innocent eyes, blinking slowly and biting his thumb, still resting against your mouth.
"Hmmm... okay" he narrowed his eyes but the low grin he was hiding gave him away "Let's get you out of this" he plucked at the leather jacket and polyester combat trousers you were wearing, a few knife cuts against the legs from your earlier tussel.
Bucky backed across the small hold to the thin bench against the wall of the plane as you stripped, patting his knee "c'mon then, Babydoll, c'mere like my good girl, my best girl"
On wobbly legs you walked across the space, you felt dizzy, sick like you'd been poisoned by your own lust. Falling into his lap he spread your legs over his own, knees widening until your body hovered between you.
He pulled you down by your tag, holding you still while he kissed you, biting at your bottom lip and pulling away enough to look you in the eye.
"That's my Babydoll" he slid a leather clad hand across your wet folds, the cold material drawing stark attention to his tight black attire and your complete lack of clothing. The thought made you gush, fresh slick coating the leather as he pushed two fingers in "What a good girl, all wet for me."
He leaned forward making you clutch at his jacket for balance "think you could get wetter"
You moaned a response, you're sure you could, the question was more whether you'd survive it.
His fingers stilled, your hips winding in response, trying to find purchase, friction, something. Bucky chuckled darkly, biting the lobe of your ear until you cried out. His other hand shot up, covering your mouth. Without his support you dug your hands deeper into his clothes, feet barely touching the floor as your legs dangled over his thighs.
"Hush, Baby" you quietly moaned against his mouth, moving your hips again "I know what you need, my desperate girl can't wait any longer, can you" you shook your head, trying to stay quiet "and you want to be a good girl for your Sergeant, right?" You nodded "then you'll fuck yourself" you moaned again, his hand tightening over your lips "quietly! Or not at all. Can you do that?" You nodded. His hand moved away "tell me"
"I can do that, Sarge"
"Do what"
"Fuck myself, Sarge" you were so deeply ashamed of how much you needed this, but God, he was right, you were wetter, your arousal dripping on the floor.
"How?"
"On your fingers, Sarge" his deep chuckle was back.
"Good girl, yes, but I was looking for quietly"
"Yes, yes quietly, Sarge, I'll be quiet, I'll be good, Sarge, promise, so good"
He brought his legs a little closer together, your toes just touching the floor and giving you enough leverage to bounce on his hand.
"Then show me"
#Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes/reader#Bucky Barnes x female!Reader#Bucky Barnes/female reader#bucky x female reader#Bucky fluff#bucky
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Bucky Barnes Masterlist
I have written enough for Bucky that he now desrves his own masterlist lol.
(Marvel Masterlist)
Headcanons:
Headcanons - Tag
Bucky being a father figure (platonic)
Romantic
Sleep Headcanons
Being stuck in Quarantine with Bucky (fluff)
The moment they realize they have feelings for you. (fluff/romance)
Oneshots/Fics
We need to talk (action/angst)
Have you ever heard of personal space? (fluff/humor)
Carry Me (fluff/angst/action)
Thunderstorm (fluff)
We always share blankets on the couch I’m sure sharing a bed is fine too (general)
So…did you miss me? (angst/fluff)
Reader cuts her hair - Bucky’s reaction (general/cute)
Three times I almost kissed you, and the one time I did (fluff/action/angst)
Werewolf AU (Written by Guest Writer ‘Jay’)
“Was that a wolf?”’There are no wolves here” (action)
Spending Christmas with Steve and Bucky (buying Bucky a present and being afraid you offended him since he is Jewish) (fluff)
Love and Flowers; 2021 Valentines Multi-Part Special (fluff/romantic)
Happy Birthday Buck (fluff)
I’m too sober for this (humor)
Haunting (Halloween/spooky)
Safe with You (angst/comfort/fluff)
Perfect (cute/fluff/Valentines Day)
Be Mine (cute/fluff/romance)
Moments In Time (fluff/humor)
Take a Chance (fluff/cute)
Flowers and Courage (romantic/fluff)
Mood-boards/Camera Rolls:
Camera Roll: Picnic Dates with Bucky
Gif-Imagines
Having slowed aging and reunited with Bucky and Steve
Bucky being nervous to kiss you for the first time
#bucky barnes masterlist#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fic#marvel masterlist#fatws#bucky barnes camera roll#bucky barnes imagines
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The Itch [1/3]
Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader
Summary: “It seems whatever suppressants HYDRA pumped you with over the years have flushed out of your system at last… you aren’t sick, Sergeant Barnes. You’re an Alpha who hasn’t known an Omega in more than 80 years.”
Warnings: smut smut smut smut smut 18+ PLEASE! also cussing probably, and later the implication of infidelity but sort of not really, (if you have concerns feel free to shoot me an ask and i can explain further!)
A/N: this is just one of two different ABO au’s i’ve been planning for a while teehee, but this is the shorter and more complete one so far! let me know if you’d like to be tagged!
Word Count: 3.6k
Once Is Chance
Bucky scrunches his nose in vague distaste, pursing his lips even though he knows it won’t do anything to make him blend into the settings around him any more naturally. He’s not sure how he let himself be talked into this, he hated these modern nightclubs, how loud they were, the flashing lights, the people.
From every direction his senses are assaulted by various scents of those crammed into the underground space with him. Alphas, Omegas, Betas, it seemed like this, and the hundreds of places across the city just like it, was exactly the place to be if you wanted to catch the attention of a mate…. Even just for one night.
Unfortunately that was the exact reason for his attendance tonight, and even more unfortunately, that reason was advised by his doctor.
Bucky Barnes was an Alpha who had gone through just about everything in his over-extended life, and yet somehow he still found his whole face igniting beet-red when his doctor had turned to face him, fingers clasped and an amused smile just waiting to fall out from behind his lips.
“It seems whatever suppressants HYDRA pumped you with over the years have flushed out of your system at last… you aren’t sick, Sergeant Barnes. You’re an Alpha who hasn’t known an Omega in more than 80 years.”
Honestly Bucky thinks he might’ve preferred the reality in which his bolstered immune system was attacked by some super-flu. Instead, he was stuck in this reality, where the only medical instruction he’d been given was to ‘get laid’.
It certainly didn’t help that ever since finding out what his real problem actually was, it was as if he couldn’t properly think about or concentrate on anything without his thoughts devolving. A couple of years ago he would have stubbornly refused to listen to either his doctor or his body, never would have stepped foot into a club full of people like this, but to his chagrin, Bucky had found himself aware of his own growth and healing, marked by the fact he knew this wasn’t something he could handle on his own.
Now Bucky was stuck between wanting to rid himself of the near-constant hardness in his pants, and his own lack of fondness for one night stands. He’d never been a fan, not really, but that had been back in his time. Things seemed even more foriegn and cold nowadays, and despite the many interested omega scents he can pick up from those around him, Bucky’s not entirely sure he even knows how to take a gal home anymore.
He’s so lost in his thoughts, frowning to himself and his whiskey, that he nearly jumps a mile when a hand lands gently on his arm.
Bucky whips his head to the side, aware all of a sudden of a familiar warm, sweet scent to his right, though in his surprise it takes him a moment to fully focus and recognise you. Embarrassment at his lack of cool threatens to pink his cheeks, but he pushes it down in favour of letting his body relax once more.
“Bucky? I thought that was you,” you smile kindly, and let your hand drop from his arm now that you have his attention, and Bucky gladly focuses on you fully, if not to get his mind off of everything else for a few minutes.
“Hey, what’re you doing here?” he hears himself ask, happy that you move to take up the previously empty spot next to him at the bar.
Your smile brightens, and your scent is coloured with amusement briefly as you cock your head at him in between hailing down the busy barman. Bucky waits for you to seemingly give up before intervening, his much larger presence bringing the staff towards the two of you at the far end of the bar in a matter of seconds. You throw him a thankful look, and once you’ve ordered, Bucky does too, waving you off as he passes his cash over the counter to cover the both of you.
“I live in New York too, remember?” you reply at last to his question, and Bucky cringes internally, because, yes, now that he’s not shocked by your appearance here, he does in fact remember. You don’t seem to be interested in teasing him much over it, even after he mumbles an apology in his glass.
A strangely comfortable silence falls between you for a moment as you accept your drink from the returning bartender, smiling and thanking him kindly.
Bucky had first met you in Louisiana, at Sarah Wilson’s home. You’d grown up in Delacroix, had been lifelong friends with both the Wilson siblings, and though you now lived and worked in New York, you seemed to take every opportunity you could to return south. Bucky completely understood. He did too.
The Wilson’s had become family to him, and both Sam and Sarah had shuffled around, making space for him in their family, creating tight bonds that would never quite replace those of his own family, but had become something special and unique all of their own. Bucky was protective of them, slipping easily into the role of alpha, especially if Sam couldn’t be around. It had made him wary of folks he didn’t know when they came around Sarah and the boys, but right from the first time he’d met you, he knew you were to be trusted.
In a way you seemed to mirror his own place as an adopted member of the Wilson clan, and maybe that’s why out of the many friends and neighbours he’d been introduced to the past few years, you were the only one who he’d really paid attention to.
That wasn’t to say you’d become close, Bucky still kept himself to himself for the most part, but you’d somehow become a constant for him whenever he returned to Louisiana, so much so that if you couldn’t make it for whatever reason, things felt off.
But he’d only ever seen you in Louisiana.
Despite the both of you living in the same city, Bucky had never really given much thought to you actually being around, somewhere out there.
“So… what are you doing here?” you ask playfully once you’ve taken a good sip of your cocktail and turned to face him again. Bucky tries not to let his eyes drop to where he’s desperate to give you a proper once-over. You were wearing ripped jeans and a silky black lace top that framed your cleavage all too well.
“I, uh…” he blinks his gaze away from you, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. He’d thought he’d hidden his mood fairly well, but either he must have tripped up, or you know him far better than he’d realised, because your hand is back on his arm a second later, your expression now painted with worry.
“Are you alright? You seem…” you trail off, not needing to finish. Bucky shoots you an apologetic glance and downs the rest of his drink quickly. When you take your hand back a moment later, he has to forcibly stop himself from frowning.
“Yeah. Sorry, I’m…” he hesitates for a second longer, and really, he’s not quite sure when he became this comfortable with you.
So, Bucky tells you.
He tells you of his week long struggle, how he’d thought he’d been infected with something on his last mission only for his doctor to turn around and explain to him the truth, what he needed to do, and why that had led him to being here tonight, holding up the end of the bar in a club he was completely out of place in.
He’s glad your concern doesn’t turn into full on pity or worry, he knows deep down that really wouldn’t have helped anything. Instead you listen carefully, your demeanour gradually shifting to one of wry understanding, and when he’s done, you mimic him by downing the remainder of your drink with a solemn nod.
“I know it’s not exactly the same, but I do understand,” you tell him with a slight wince. Bucky tips his chin at you in a silent question, and you roll your eyes a little, moving in a little closer.
“My ex and I broke up three years ago and I haven’t exactly been playing the field since… it gets to you,” you say with a playful nudge to his arm and a soft chuckle.
Bucky nods once, but finds himself looking away from you with a grimace at the thought of you feeling… lonely, in that way.
“It’s so disruptive. I’ll be fine one day, and the next it’s like suddenly all I can think about is–” you cut yourself off and shake your head, another amused smile pulling at your lips.
Bucky hails the bartender and gestures for another round, but acknowledges you with a deep grunt.
“I’m one-hundred and nine years old. I should be able to go for more than three minutes without thinking about sex,” he snarls into his new drink when it arrives, before quickly finishing this one too. He’d turned away from you subconsciously now to face the bar, though predictably his focus remains trained on the space beside him.
You shift on your feet, tipping back your head and letting out a small chortle.
“We’ve been talking for at least three minutes and you seem to have managed it just fine,” you say playfully, shrugging your shoulders.
Bucky snorts.
“I absolutely haven’t,” he replies immediately and without much thought. It’s only when your scent colours with surprise that he realises exactly what he’s told you.
Bucky feels his mouth go dry as he straightens, turning back to face you once again, his mind beginning to race with early alarms of panic.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” the words stumble from his lips, his frown back in full force now as he stresses over the disrespect he’s worried you may have felt.
You blink at him, and the surprise seems to wipe from both your face and your aura. You shake your head at him, at his apology, and take another sip of your drink. Bucky watches you keenly for several moments, his shoulders squaring again when you carefully adjust to face him even more.
“It’s okay, Bucky, really,” you say, your tone indecipherable, but you seem unable to hold his eye contact now.
“Besides, you know me, I’m familiar. It’s only natural,” you continue after a beat, meeting his gaze for a few seconds before letting it swing back around at anything but him.
Bucky swallows thickly.
Despite your assurances, he can’t help but berate himself.
He watches as you take another sip of your drink, but this time as you replace it back on the bar, your demeanour shifts to something he can’t quite pick out.
“I mean hell, if we both need to get laid, why not someone you already know?” you say slowly, carefully, voice full of feigned casual-ness, and at last you lift your eyes to meet his again.
Bucky blinks as he processes your words, not bothering to push down his own surprise at your apparent suggestion.
“I– I’m not sure that’s a good idea–” he begins, even as his gaze briefly drops to the exposed skin of your neck and up again, but you cut him off.
“Buck, were you really going to take a stranger home tonight?” you ask bluntly, a little more confident and a little too knowing. It’s not really a question, either.
You both already know the answer.
“Besides,” You lean in a little closer to him then, close enough that he can clearly smell your perfume on your neck, and when he can’t help but look down at you, his eyes drop even lower for just a second.
“You’d be doing me a favour, really.”
—
Bucky pushes open his apartment door, holding it for you as you step past him and into the dimly lit entryway.
You seemed quiet now, though not anxious. The tension had only grown on the trip back to his place from the club, and Bucky isn’t so sure he knows what to do with it anymore.
He helps you with your coat, and you both shuffle about for a moment kicking your shoes off before Bucky turns away from you briefly to lock his door, and tries to use the spare seconds to figure out how to break the silence.
When he turns to face you again, he finds you staring, the feeling in his chest only growing when he takes in the desire painted clearly across your scent.
Even so, he remains still when you step towards him, your hands reaching out to skim over his forearms, up and to his shoulders, making flesh and vibranium alike tingle at the sensation.
He can’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this. Touched solely for the tenderness of it, for the pleasure or if. Your fingertips move appreciatively over his shoulders and up behind his neck as you step even closer, and Bucky breaks his stillness to let his own hands come to rest at your waist, an invitation for you to come into his space fully, helped along by the barest hint of a tug.
He’s glad you’d made the first move, if only because it gives him the certainty to take the lead properly, like his brain had been begging him to do since you’d sidled up to him at the bar.
Bucky leans down to brush his nose against yours, relishing in the way your eyes flutter shut at the contact, relieved to see he’s not the only one affected by the need for intimacy. He surprises himself when he slips his hand higher up your back, pressing you against him further, but is rewarded when you shift your chin upwards ever so slightly, a silent demand to hurry up, or a subconscious request. Either way, he certainly doesn’t have the self-control to make you wait any longer.
Bucky dips his lips to yours without hesitation, and feels his whole body light up immediately. If he’d thought he could read you before, now he felt like he could tell exactly what you were thinking, your bodies simultaneously falling into step with one another as your kiss becomes more heated.
You can’t help but moan against his mouth when his hands start gripping and pulling at your clothes, and you do your best to keep up, even when you begin to stumble back together further into his apartment.
Your back finds a mattress just as your jeans are tugged from your legs, and for a moment as you’re parted you watch as Bucky shrugs quickly out of his shirt and deftly pulls apart his belt, his own pants shoved away and discarded beyond the edge of the bed.
Wordlessly you move in tandem further up the bed as Bucky follows you down to the plush surface, his body somehow feeling even better now that his weight was on top of you. You hadn’t exactly gone into detail earlier when you’d told Bucky that you sympathised with his problem, but the truth is, you think you understand a little too well.
You’d always been an omega who craved physicality, but these last few years had been rough on you, knowing what it was like to fall into place with an alpha, and then suddenly no longer have that… well, like you’d said; it gets to you.
You’d dabbled with seeing others here and there but nothing really clicked like it was supposed to, like it was right now as Bucky gently knees your legs apart and settles between them. Your brain turns to mush. Mushier than it already was, and you don’t even try to stop yourself from gripping onto him tighter, or from letting your thigh wrap around his.
He grunts a little, but drops himself fully to meet you chest to chest, held up only by his forearms now caged around your head and you feel consumed by him already. He kisses you again, and reaches down to wrap his arm around your leg, hoisting it even higher so that it curls fully around his hip, holding it there as he begins to grind against you.
You’re panting even before he enters you, slowly, but all at once in a way that makes your back arch off the bed and your hips twist up to try and meet him even closer. You find yourself enamoured with the way his face drops into the crook of your neck, and he flexes his hips ever so slightly, driving himself deeper. You can feel for yourself how tight you are, how much he was stretching you open around him, and you appreciate the way he doesn’t feel the need to pause everything to check on you. It was always nice when an alpha did, of course, but the primal part of your brain relishes in the fact Bucky seems satisfied that you’ll take him regardless.
His first proper thrust levels you completely, and you find yourself scrambling to grab hold of him as your brain seems to boot up again right as he gives you another, and another until he’s setting a relentless pace. You’d always had an inkling Bucky was a fairly old-fashioned, take-control kind of alpha, and you’re vindicated in the best way possible when he swoops up your free thigh to bring it equal with your other, digging his own knees more intently into the mattress, before proceeding to fuck you even deeper.
Bucky seemed to be in his own little world right now, and you honestly don’t blame him after his eighty year dry spell. He was still fucking you within an inch of your life, and you’re fully prepared to take care of yourself in the meantime. Blindly you reach a shaking hand between you to begin rubbing quick circles over your clit, already feeling yourself start to pull closer to the edge when you feel the man above you growl deeply in his chest.
Without ever stopping driving into you, he shifts his weight to his right hand, dragging his left away from your thigh to shove aside the hand you have between you, replacing your fingers and your movements with his own. In your surprise you find yourself gripping his wrist as his fingers deftly begin to work you over frantically, somehow matching perfectly your own pace and pressure until he has you keening.
You can’t help but gasp breathlessly when the coil building in you begins to tighten, your nails biting into the skin of his wrist as you grip him even firmer than before.
“Fuck– f-fuck,” your voice tumbles weakly out of you as your eyes screw shut, but you still feel when Bucky drops his face back down to yours, nose nudging at your own like he’d done earlier and somehow you know that just like he was earlier, he was watching you now, too.
“Come on, come on ‘mega,” his voice is raw and rough, his breath hot on your cheek, words drawing out a whine from you.
God, when was the last time an alpha had called you ‘omega’ while fucking you? It’s inherently territorial and possessive in a way that you’re unprepared for, and the second he utters it again, throaty and gruff, you’re gone, head tipping back, fingers grasping desperately at his skin while he fucks you through, captures your lips again and swallows your sounds.
Your body shakes and quivers beneath him, but his weight stops you moving too much, at least until he’s suddenly pulling away from you. You’ve barely let out a gasp of disapproval before he’s got you face-down, ass-up in the pillows, the warmth of his body hardly leaving yours as he drapes himself over your back, fucking back into you quickly in this new position.
Vaguely you feel a flash of your previous vindication, but it fades pretty fast when he starts moving again. One of his hands lays flat against your back, slipping along your skin until it’s splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing you down, making you practically drool. His other grips lightly at your hip, and daring to disrupt his rhythm, you blindly reach back for him, feeling the way his hips stutter and his pressure on you lifts as you grab at his hand. You don’t have much range of movement, but you tug on his wrist before motioning to the back of your neck.
You can almost picture Bucky’s expression as he realises what you want, but the image is wiped from your mind when the pressure between your shoulders returns a little harder now, and a second hand wraps itself around the back of your neck. You shudder subconsciously at the feeling, biting into your lower lip as he picks up his tempo once more.
This time when you reach out to rub your clit, he doesn’t stop you. You can tell that he’s close now, but you tumble over the edge before him, triggering his own release. You think your eyes roll back when he begins gently squeezing the back of your neck as he gives you several final deep thrusts, and at last you feel both your bodies sag in relief.
Exhaustion fills your limbs with lead, and expands your chest with a deeply satiated feeling that you haven’t had in a long, long time. Distantly, you feel Bucky pull back from you, and you wait as he slips away for a wash cloth.
You wonder if he realises that he’s humming low and comfortingly as he wipes a warm cloth over your skin, cleaning you up diligently. He does it again when your knee gives as he helps you up so he can pull back his covers. His hand tightens around your arm, but he guides you under the sheets wordlessly, following behind you closely.
You shift a little to get comfortable, and the last thing you feel before you drop off completely, is Bucky wrapping himself around you, and his soothing hum as you settle.
#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes/you#bucky barnes/yn#bucky barnes x yn#alpha!bucky x omega!reader#alpha!bucky
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Rain on the Window (NSFW)
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Words: 1,239
Summary: A lazy, rainy autumn morning in bed.
Warnings: kinda dom!Reader, vaginal sex, unprotected sex
Written for an Angel Patron request
---
Bucky wakes to Y/N snuggled tight against his chest and the sound of rain on the bedroom window. He hums softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and turning into her.
“Mornin’,” she mumbles, breath warm against his bare skin.
“Morning.”
Bucky stretches his legs, rolling his ankles. Y/N yawns and nuzzles closer.
“Gotta let me up, doll.”
“Why?” she almost whines.
“‘Cause I have to pee,” he chuckles.
She pouts but lets him up. Bucky makes the trip to the bathroom as quick as possible, wincing at the feeling of cold hardwood underfoot. When he emerges from the bathroom, the sight of Y/N all snuggled up in their bed draws him right back in.
“What’s the plan for the day?” Bucky asks as he crawls back under the covers and kisses the top of her head. It takes him a moment to get situated again and he considers getting his prosthetic from its case on top of the dresser but he doesn’t really feel like wearing it right now.
“Mmm staying in bed.”
He laughs softly. “You’re adorable. We can’t stay in bed all day.”
“We can definitely do our best.”
“Yeah?” He rubs his palm up and down her arm where she’s thrown it over his middle. “What if I had something to do today?”
She hums thoughtfully and shifts up the bed to put her face level with his. As she does, her knee slides between his thighs. Her fingers trail up his chest, his neck, to cup his jaw. His breath hitches and his morning wood perks up again as heat sparks down his spine.
“Let me give you a reason to stay, then.”
When her lips finally meet his, a moan breaks free from his chest before he can stop it. He feels her smile in response.
"Eager," sbe teases.
Before Bucky can respond, she’s fitting herself across his thighs. Her body curls over his and his hand finds the small of her back.
"Y/N."
"Yeah." She presses her nose to his cheek. Her breath is already coming quick against his skin.
Bucky kisses her again and lets himself get lost in the warmth of her body above his, one of her hands in his hair and the other tracing patterns down his side. When her fingers find his waistband and slip underneath, he can’t help the instinctive grind of his hips up against her. She grins. Her hand twists to curl around the waistband and push his pants down. Bucky lifts his hips to help her work them down to his thighs.
“Good morning,” she coos as her hand wraps around his cock.
He whines and thrusts into the circle of her fingers. Her free hand shifts to press against his collarbone. She’s not really pinning him down, he could overpower her in a heartbeat if he really wanted to, but the illusion of being trapped beneath her has his cock blurting precum onto his belly.
Y/N hums softly to herself as she rubs her thumb over his slit. He jerks into the touch and she makes a soothing sound, leaning in to kiss him again.
“Gonna ride you,” she says. “But you gotta get me ready.”
Bucky is more than happy to do so. She lifts off him long enough to strip, pajamas thrown to the floor where Bucky’s going to trip over them later but it will definitely be worth it. When Y/N settles across his hips once again, her slick folds press against the base of his cock and Bucky grabs at her thigh.
“C’mon, big guy. Gonna leave me hanging?”
Bucky shakes his head and draws a deep breath to steady himself. Y/N looks impossibly smug as she leans down to nuzzle against his cheek. She lifts off his cock as she does, leaving room for Bucky to fit his hand between their bodies.
She’s so slick, opening easily around the first finger he presses against her entrance. He rubs his thumb over her clit and curls his finger to find that sweet spot he knows she likes. She’s already making the prettiest little noises and he’s barely done anything.
It’s a good thing Tony didn’t skimp on the sound proofing in the compound because Bucky knows for a fact that Steve’s bed shares a wall with theirs and he’s a light sleeper.
“Oh, fuck,” Y/N moans when Bucky carefully presses a second finger into her.
“Good?”
“Very.”
She rolls her hips down onto his hand, urging his fingers deeper and Bucky obliges. He’s focusing more on getting her ready for him now but she definitely doesn’t seem to mind based on the sounds she’s making.
“Fuck me,” she gasps against his cheek, half gone already.
That’s all Bucky needs. He pulls his fingers free and guides his cock to her entrance. She’s sinfully hot when he presses inside - finally - and he echoes her groan of pleasure.
“So fucking good.” Her fingers dig into his shoulders, little stings of pleasure-pain zipping down Bucky’s spine. She pauses when he’s all the way in to breathe and adjust. “God, Buck, that’s -”
She cuts off with a whimper when Bucky rolls his hips carefully. He’s just testing the waters but the shift of her body, moving with his thrusts, tells him he can keep it up. Slow at first, easing her into it. He can’t see her face, so he’s relying on the lovely noises she’s making and the movements of her body to tell him when he does something right.
“Oh, my god, right there.”
Like that.
Y/N is picking up the pace now, bouncing in his hold where he’s looped his arm around her waist, and the angle is just right if her increasingly unintelligible attempts at words are any sign. He’s never been with a girl as noisy as Y/N and the sounds she makes, the little gasps and whines and choked off words, go right to his cock.
He can feel his balls drawing up tight but he wants her to cum first. He forces himself to breathe and hold himself back from that edge.
When Y/N starts trembling and twitching, Bucky knows to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. Pre-serum, his thighs would be burning with the effort of matching Y/N’s eager thrusts in exactly the way she wants every time, but now his body is just thrumming with the energy coming off Y/N in waves. Her breasts are sticking to his chest with her sweat and he can feel the quick thump-thump-thump of her heartbeat where his nose is pressed just behind the point of her jaw.
“Bucky, Buck, I -”
He knows it’s coming before she tries to tell him, her body already seizing up above him. She spasms and clenches and cries out a little too loudly in his ear and that’s it for him. He’s following her right over the edge.
--
Bucky catches his breath first. He carefully lifts Y/N’s hips, slipping his softening cock free of her body and grimacing at the dribble of cum that follows. Y/N makes a displeased sound.
“Shhh,” Bucky murmurs, kissing her cheek and sliding his hand up the sweaty line of her spine. She sighs and settles deeper into his embrace.
The room is quiet, the sound of rain on the window audible once more over the sound of Y/N’s breathing.
---
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#my writing#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes/reader#marvel#marvel fanfiction#mcu fanfiction
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Leave the Light on | Bucky Barnes x Reader
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Possibly gender neutral, I don’t think I used anything to make it Fem but apologies if I did!)
Summary: Where Bucky figures out that you are the light in his life, the person he needs to help him through his darkest days.
Warnings: angst baby!! Small fluff (dig deep but it’s there), depressed bucky, mentions of injuries, mentions of death, hurt/comfort maybe?
Word Count: 1.1k
A/N: I was driving home and the song ‘Leave a light on’ came on and suddenly inspired. I also can’t seem to stop writing depressed and sad Bucky, but in my defense, he is soft, and I need to look after him. Please enjoy. I have half edited it, apologises if there’s any mistakes.
Some days were harder than others. Bucky had found out the hard way. Some days, he was fine. The darkness that seemed to swallow him was kept at bay; his mind relaxed as much as it could with all the shit going on in there.
Some days it was like today. Where the darkness swallowed him hole. Where nothing seemed to go for him. Where the day never seemed to end. Where the memories seeped back in, leaving him feeling guilt and shame.
The mission hadn’t gone well. His body ached from the fight between Sam, Walker, and himself. The feelings from seeing Walker bludgeon someone with the shield was still fresh in his mind.
Steve would hate it.
But Steve wasn’t around anymore.
Bucky huffed as he shoved his hands into his jacket after hitching his bag up on his shoulder. He resented Steve for what he did, leaving him alone. But then again, he could understand. He would’ve done the same for you.
You.
It wasn’t long after Steve had left and Bucky had found himself lost, mentally he had no idea what was going in. He had healed a lot when he was in Wakanda, Steve would visit often, and they had reminisced about what they had missed and what could’ve been.
But after Thanos, Bucky was gone for five years, and Steve seemed a different man again. He felt like it was Hydra all over again, where he lost time and memories.
This time, he lost Steve.
Bucky had found that he needed coping methods, which is how he stumbled into you. You had a little bookshop that always stayed open late, and Bucky had always loved to get lost in a book when he was overwhelmed.
He found himself coming back once a week, that turned into a couple of times and then it seemed he lived their outside of work. It wasn’t till after a couple of months that he finally asked you out and the rest was history.
He notedly lived more at your apartment than his own, he preferred it that way. He couldn’t bear to be in the barren apartment of his anymore, not after being in yours for so long. The pictures and quotes on the walls, the candles, the floor to ceiling bookshelves full of new and old books. The way it always smelled like you. The handmade blankets you had from your neighbour.
He couldn’t leave.
He had also found that the only way he could feel better after nightmares and long missions was seeing you. Holding you. Feeling you. He just needed you at this point.
After the first few times he had rocked up to your apartment, gone midnight, covered in a thin layer of sweat, or littered with small cuts and bruises, you had promised that you would always leave a light on.
It was after a particularly bad nightmare, where Bucky had barely closed his eye before he woke up screaming, his neighbours banging on his wall, telling him to shut up. He woke up to darkness in his apartment, his heart racing. He didn’t think twice as he left his apartment, practically running.
Bucky had arrived at your apartment, barely dressed, shaking. His eyes were glazed over, his skin clammy. His breathing fast. You didn’t need him to say anything as you pulled him into your apartment. You held him all night long. It took one hour for his breathing to steady, another two for him to stop shaking. He had eventually fallen asleep listening to the soft beating of your heart.
After that night, you had promised him that you would leave a light on for him. That the light would always stay on, day and night so that he could see it. You had gone out the very next day and brought a led candle to place in your window, you checked the batteries daily and always left it on.
Bucky stopped walking, looking up at your window. He wanted to smile but he couldn’t. The candle was on, flickering against the dark backdrop of your apartment. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve someone like you, what he did to be able to love someone like you.
That stupid, cheap candle meant so much to him. It meant that you were willing to be with him, through the dark times that he was having. Through the past that still haunted him on a daily basis.
He took a deep breath before letting himself into the building and climbing the stairs to your apartment. He had gotten a spare key from you a month ago, it was attached to the keychains that you had brought him . He let himself in, inhaling your scent.
He was home.
He dumped his bag on the floor and hung his jacket up, wincing. He gently shut the door, trying not to wake you up. He had already spotted you, curled up on the couch. You were wearing one of his t-shirts, curled up in one of the many blankets in the apartment, the tv was on, but the volume was quiet.
It was like you had a sixth sense for him, as he started to make your way over to him, you nose crinkled, your eyebrows furrowed, your eye fluttering open. As soon as you spotted him a soft smile spread across your face. It was like your whole face lit up.
You stumbled to your feet, forgoing the blankets, and falling into Buckys arms. He bite back a wince as he just wanted to hold you, be with you. He pulls you in closer, burying his face in your hair. “God I missed you.”
“I miss you too,” you mumble into his chest, inhaling his rich smell. “Tough mission? I can tell. Come on, let’s go to bed.”
You let Bucky go although it take him a second longer to let his arms to fall to his side. He nods as he watches you turn around, grabbing your phone and drink, you walk over to the bedroom, looking over at him, smiling.
Buckys eye gaze over at the candle, a warmth spreading through him. He tore his gaze away, his eyes finding you. Standing there, your hand held out to him, his t-shirt resting on the middle of your thigh.
Smiling.
You smile was like sunshine. You brightened up his day, every time you spotted him there was this smile that spread across your face. Your eyes would light up. You looked at him with complete adoration. He loved that look.
“Come on slow poke,” you call out, beckoning him.
Although he loved the candle and what it meant. It was you that was the light in his life. It was you he looked to when he was at the darkest points in his life, it was you that lit up the road to salvation.
You were his light, and he was never going to let you go.
#bucky barnes#marvel fic#bucky barnes fanfic#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky imagine#bucky x you#sebastian stan#bucky barnes x yn#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes angst#marvel fluff#marvel angst#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky angst#bucky fluff#angst#fluff#fanfiction
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Once Upon A Blue Moon Pt. One
With the chaos of the Flag Smashers and the fear of new super soldiers behind him, Bucky Barnes finds himself loathed to admit that he might be missing something. After a fateful run-in with a pushy Alpha female in Target and less than gentile coaxing from his "coworker" Sam, he might be headed in the right direction.
Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader
Word Count: 2,009
Warnings: language, a/b/o dynamics, canon violence (mention)
A/N: This is mostly Bucky and how we get the ball rolling. Our reader comes in next chapter and… Bucky might not be prepared.
Once Upon A Blue Moon Masterlist
Bucky hid the grunt and wince as he opened the door to his apatment. He let Sam inside first. All the fighting tonight left it’s mark with sore muscles and the bruises to match. Their tangle with the Flag Smashers wasn’t an easy fight, nor the hours of debrief afterwords. With a snort he tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter before shedding his jacket, irritated just listening to Walker run his mouth.
“Man, who’s your decorator,” Sam quipped standing in the living room. The boots of his suit thumping heavily against the wooden floor, goggles dangled from his fingers as he surveyed the room.
Maybe it was cause he was tired, but a genuine chuckle slipped out of him before going to the fridge as Sam inspected the sparse conditions of his apartment. If he noticed the pillow and blanket neatly folded beside the lone chair in the living room Sam didn’t comment on it.
Instead when Bucky pulled his head from the fridge holding two beers between his fingers Sam was sizing up the enormous ninety inch television against the wall.
Sam whistled long and low with an ear to ear grin and a smirk on his lips, “Whoever they are, tell em they’ve got some taste.”
“You know I don't have a decorator,” Bucky scoffed, opening both beers and tossing the caps into the sink with a clink.
“Ever think about hiring someone?” The suggestion fell from Sam's lips as he took the offered beer from Bucky’s hand. “Could put a little personality into this place. You don’t even have a plant.”
Bucky snorted before sucking down almost half the bottle, “Don’t need a plant.”
Sam gave him a wiry grin as he unsnapped the strap below his chin, beginning to shed the shit and vibranium jet pack, “You gotta have something.”
Bucky couldn’t help but roll his eyes before draining the remainder of his beer.
Grunting as he set the pack onto the floor, Sam rubbed at his sore muscles with a grimace, "Shit, my shoulder is killing me.”
Without missing a beat Bucky produced an industrial size bottle of generic painkillers from the cabinet beside the coffee maker. Clunking it down with a slight rattle onto the counter in front of Sam. The man blinked at the large white bottle briefly before dragging his dazed eyes to the alpha who simply shrugged.
Opening the cap and shaking out a couple of tablets Sam snorted with laughter, “Never would have guessed you’d have this on hand.”
Leaning into the fridge Bucky reached for another beer and cracked the cap with a hiss, “I still get aches and pains like anyone else, Samuel.” Bucky downed half the bottle again in record time, barely feeling the buzz of alcohol in his system before continuing, “I’ve got a soaker tub and salt if you need it. But, you fall asleep in my tub and I’m letting you drown.”
With a barking laugh Sam propped the shield up on the floor against a wall, “I might have to take you up on that.”
The two men were quiet for a moment, Bucky’s eyes locked on that old symbol of hope in the world, “As heavy as you thought it was?”
Taking another draught from his bottle Sam shrugged one shoulder, “Nah. It’s carrying your ass that’s got me aching though.”
As exasperated as Bucky felt with the little jibe he couldn’t help but laugh in spite of it all. Tonight was a long night and without a doubt, by tomorrow the world would be echoing with the news of its new Capitan America.
With that thought Bucky watched Sam move around the empty space of his apartment, the majority of his new suit danging as he idly flipped through an old motorcycle magazine delivered to his box by accident. The tightness in his chest wasn’t there, instead, a sense of ease settled into him and for the briefest of moments, Bucky was going to bask in it.
Across the room Sam yawned loudly, making Bucky bite back his own in response. Disappearing into the bedroom briefly, he returned with a pair of sweats and a clean shirt, holding them out for Sam to take. “You can take the bed,” Bucky said with a brief nod behind him. “Stay as long as you need before heading back to Delacroix.”
Looking down at the neatly folded clothes in his hands, Sam noted the price tags dangling from their edges. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“Thought you knew by now, I don't sleep.”
Sam stared at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before shaking his head and relenting against the stubborn alpha, “Alright man. I’ll take a shower and figure out what to do with the suit in the morning.”
The man paused after entering the bedroom, taking note of the perfectly made bed with not a divot or dent. Then glanced back out the doorway to the lone chair in the living room with a scowl, “You need to think about getting a couch or something. I’m not coming for a visit up here to watch you sleep on the floor and let me take your bed.”
Bucky watched him disappear into the ensuite with a frown before glancing around his apartment. The chair and end table with some thrift store lamps on it was left behind by the previous tenant. The single piece of art on the wall, a sickly sun faded-looking piece with a few dings in its canvas he’d never paid that much attention to, and the television sitting against the brick wall.
Back in Romania, he’d only had what he needed to survive, but even there little slips of his personality had broken through. It was the same in Wakanda, he’d only had things he could get through meager means. An empty college dorm had more personality than this.
Scrunching his nose briefly Bucky shoved it out of his mind. He had bigger things to worry about than what his apartment looked like. Grabbing a fist full of ibuprofen and a bottle of water from the fridge, Bucky downed the contents, crinkling the bottle as he drank. The sound of Sam's off-key crooning of Marvin Gaye comes from the bathroom in between occasional groans and grunts of pain.
Going to his jacket Bucky fished the tiny notebook out of the pocket. Flipping through the pages to the all too familiar list of names. With a frown Bucky’s thumb briefly traces over the page before he takes another swig of his beer, leaning heavily on the counter. He had bigger things on his mind right now than decorating.
Two days later Sam had the suit back on and they stood on the roof of Bucky’s building. The two of them slept like the dead for nearly a day and a half, waking to the sound of Sam trying to fry an egg on his stove and smelling smoke. The two of them ended up ordering food from the Chinese place down the street Bucky didn’t even know existed as they fell back into old routines.
Peastone crunched under Bucky’s feet as he stood near the edge of the roof and looked down briefly as Sam strapped the goggles to his face.
“Come down to Louie and visit,” Sam said, adjusting the strap. “Sara said something about having a cookout now that we’re back in business again and got the boat going. It’s going to be a good time.”
“I will,” Bucky affirmed with a nod and half smile. He’d been warring about telling Sam his plans briefly before he’d fallen asleep. “There's some stuff I have to do first, but I’ll be down.”
“More amends?”
Bucky didn’t answer immediately, “Yeah, that, and think about hiring a decorator.”
Sam barked with laughter, slapping Bucky in the arm briefly with a cheerful and understanding smile. “Take care of yourself man.”
“I will.”
Vibrainium wings clicked, sliding out into full spread as Sam saluted him with two fingers and jumped off the roof, soaring into the sky and slowly out of sight.
He was making progress.
Standing in the middle of Target, Bucky stared at the line of pillows. Completely intimidated and at a loss with where to even start. It had been a few weeks since Sam went home and he was more than halfway through his amends list.
But after his confrontation with Yori, Bucky could feel himself backsliding. He didn't want to admit just how heavy he'd been feeling. Sleep troubles weren't new, but the progress he'd made felt erased. Maybe a new pillow or a blanket could quell the ache he couldn't ignore. Maybe it would help him focus.
Truthfully he could go down to Louisiana and beat Sam's ass for pointing out something so obvious now. Nothing in the apartment really belonged to him.
Gingerly his fingers traced over the edges of pillows and blankets. The different textures, colors, and patterns a complete assault on his senses before he snatched his hand away with a scowl and bit back a growl.
This was stupid.
He was being stupid.
Scowling a little Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and began pacing down the aisle with a huff. A flash of blue made him stop dead in his tracks, his eyes flashing to the shelf of blankets, something bristling inside of him briefly before he found himself reaching out again. The strangely familiar cotton twill was rought under his finger, but soft memories began to stir in the back of his mind.
“Excuse me,” someone chimed from beside him.
Pulling back, Bucky looked down at the woman beside him. She smiled up at him, politeness pouring out of every surface, “Hello, I couldn’t help but notice that you seem a little…lost.”
Bucky snorted, rounding on the woman and felt his shoulders rise, “I’m not–”
“Please,” the woman snorted with a heavy eye roll and wave of her hand. “Spare me the alpha denial routine. I know an overwhelmed alpha when I see one, just wanted to give you this since it might help.”
He paused for a moment, taking in the way she leant against her cart, belly heavily pregnant in flats and a pair of leggings. Bucky took the card sparing it a brief glance, “You are reporter?”
She snorted, “Worse, I’m a best friend.” Reaching forward she tapped on the card a couple of times, “This is for a friend of mine. She’s a comfort Omega. Specializes in working with post break up Alphas and moves. If you’re having a hard time picking out a pillow she’ll be bale to help you figure out what you need. Work in your budget, all the good stuff.”
Swallowing hard Bucky narrowed his eyes at the woman in front of him, “I’m not interested.”
The affirmation sounded hollow even to his own ears.
For the briefest of moments her eyes softened, shifting her stance a little and fixing him with the stern motherly gaze that Bucky hadn’t seen in decades, “From one Alpha to another, you need the help. Any Alpha that stands staring at throw pillows for twenty minutes needs more than a little help. Just, give her a call. Help yourself a little.”
With that she turned, pushing her nearly full cart away and deeper into the store.
Standing still Bucky watched her turn the corner and vanish, the business card still clutched in his hand. Blue Moon Comforts Inc. Luxury Comfort to fit your lifestyle. There was a name and telephone number at the bottom along with the phrase, Call for a free consultation.
Grumbling a little Bucky pocketed the card, his eyes lingering on the shelved blanket once more before scoffing, pulling out his phone and dialing the number.
#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes/reader#bucky barnes/you#bucky barnes/yn#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#james bucky buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#bucky fanfic#bucky fluff#avengers#mcu#marvel#tfaws
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Golden Brown
Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader & Sam Wilson/reader
-Female coded reader
Word count: 800+
Warnings/disclaimer: Smut; penetration. That's really it lol. General reference to a poly relationship. Also maybe skip if you lactose or gluten free🤡
A/N: .....It's just smut lol. People asked for Anotha One to 'Grey' so here ya go.
Summary: Late night snack turns into a late night snack.
~*As always, be Nice to me I'm delicate*~
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
It's late.
Too late to be eating anything at all, but you can't sleep. This grilled cheese though, it'll fix you.
Even pulled the fancy cheese out of the fridge, the expensive ones you have to slice yourself and put it on some of the sexy bread Sam brought home yesterday. The fresh loaves with soft pillowy insides and a gorgeous crusty outside that you have to squeeze each time you get it.
If you love yourself you butter both sides of the bread.
You find a small pan and place it over the hob, letting it click a few times waiting for the flames to appear. After beginning to arrange the cheeses precisely on the bread you notice movement coming from around the corner.
Bucky still somewhat sleepily walking into the kitchen, catching you red handed at the stove after 2am. You freeze for just a moment, fully prepared for a halfhearted lecture about 'already not getting enough sleep', but decide to continue preparing your not quite breakfast anyway.
Silently he places a slightly cool metal hand on the small of your back before carefully wrapping it around you under your shirt, pressing the pads of his fingers firmly against your stomach. Resting his face against your shoulder, you feel him studying your movements for a beat before watching him turn the burner you meant to use off.
You shift slightly, turning to look at him inquisitively. After a firm squeeze of each of your shoulders he steps aside and lightly pushes into the centre of your chest with a single finger, suggesting you backwards into the kitchen island with a soft thud. Resting his forehead gently against yours Bucky reaches down, hoisting you up onto the counter. You stare back at him, he hasn't said a word yet as he tugs against your waistband. You lean back onto your palms lifting your hips up slightly for him to remove the bottoms. He takes your chin in his hand, pulling on your bottom lip exposing your tongue to him. Gently he massages it with his thumb, soaking it thoroughly before reaching down to coat himself with your saliva. He takes you by the knee, staring almost flatly back at you waiting for that first gasp to escape your lips as he slides inside. Your eyes flutter just a little, it's been a while since he felt so inclined... he grabs rough handfuls of flesh on your hips and pulls you flush against him with a groan. You wrap an arm around his shoulders to brace yourself, burying your free hand in his hair as you both rock into the island. Soft groans and whimpers fill the dimly lit kitchen for what feels like an hour when you feel a soft finger being dragged along your arm.
Sam silently leans against the island next to you, Bucky doesn't seem to notice, or couldn't care less if he does. Sam tenderly pushes the hair out of your face and squeezes the apple of your cheek with a soft smirk. You feel your face get hot; embarrassed isn't the right word for the feeling you get seeing one of your boyfriends still look at you so fondly while the other one rails you in the kitchen in front of him in the middle of the night. Your eyes follow him as Sam walks over to the stove and clicks the fire back on.
Bucky feels your focus shift off him and pushes you flat onto your back, the cold surface just a bit exhilarating. He pulls you all but into his lap, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. He kisses your stomach before reaching up to your tongue again, more desperate this time, almost frantic. He uses that thumb to gingerly massage your clit as he drills into you. He groans deep in his chest and you hear a soft sizzle coming from behind him but you're too far along to concentrate on anything else now. Your back arches and the world goes silent as Bucky pushes you over, his hand still feels determined to make you black out. You take several deep ragged breaths while struggling to grab his wrist and make him stop. Sam reaches over into a cabinet to pull down your favourite plate and you hear the burner click again. Bucky grips both hips and buries himself into you with a single raspy:
"Fuck..."
You whimper to the feeling of him twitching inside. Sam walks around the island behind you placing your food and a damp cloth off to the side. Rolling your head back to look at him you see that same soft smirk. He wipes the sweat off your forehead and places a heavy palm on the center of your chest, watching you breath for a minute as Bucky carefully exits you. He squeezes your thigh and gives you a knowing look; One you still can't explain to anybody else, before taking a bite of your sandwich and leaving you to collect yourself. After lifting yourself up into your elbows Sam gives your shoulder a light squeeze as he swiftly follows after him, you immediately hear whispered bickering in the hallway. Grabbing the cloth you side eye your almost perfect grilled cheese, suddenly not very hungry anymore...
Read Grey here
#fan fiction#one shot#smut#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#marvel au#Sam Wilson#sam wilson x reader#bucky barnes/reader#sam wilson/reader#sam wilson fluff#bucky barnes smut#grilled cheese
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