#mob!daddy!bucky | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gutsby · 2 years ago

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License to Kill

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marital bliss becomes a bloody massacre within hours of your wedding. Bucky has run the gamut of organized crime from gunrunning to public extortion, but an attempt on your life is a whole different ballgame. A honeymoon-turned-manhunt has Bucky out for blood.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Semi-public sex. Beefy, mob boss Bucky really wants to give you a baby. Praise kink. Size kink. Facefucking. Sex on a private jet. Attempted murder. Arms trafficking. Guerrilla warfare.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Dividers by the lovely @saradika 💞

Any postnuptial banquet was bound to be the talk of Santorini when a groom arrived beaten half to death.

At least that was what you’d told yourself, what had plagued your mind for hours before the start of brunch, and what Bucky presently refused to acknowledge with so much as a bat of his eye or a word spoken in between.

“You worry too much,” he said as he sheathed himself inside you for the third time that morning.

Bucky seized your throat in one hand and tilted your chin to make sure you were capable of eye contact while he fucked you in front of the mirror. It didn’t seem to bother him at all that the face in his own reflection was bruised, bloodied, and sewn up like a patchwork quilt behind you.

Hazards of the job, he’d said.

Three masked assailants breaking into your villa the first night of honeymooning? Customary. Being yanked out of bed and made to kneel as your husband took the beating of a lifetime just minutes after consummating your marriage? More common than you would think.

Bucky hadn’t even blinked when he got pistol whipped by a gold-plated Beretta. Didn’t flinch when he was held to a wall and pummeled like a freestanding punch bag.

Almost smiled when he took a hard right hook to the nose and felt a torrent of blood flood out of his nostrils.

If anyone were to be accused of behaving too calmly in a home invasion, it would be Bucky Barnes. It seemed as though he’d seen this all before and had no qualms about getting the shit kicked out of him every now and then. Why he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to fight back was still beyond your comprehension, though.

At length, he tightened his grip on your neck and tried to smile, his upper lip slashed in two and bruised a grim, violet hue.

“Who’s my girl?” he murmured an inch from your ear.

You whined when he delivered a particularly hard thrust, both of your hands flying to the mirror to steady yourself as he pounded you from behind.

“I-I am,” you whimpered.

The stretch was still something you were getting used to, but now Bucky knew just how to spread you open without making it hurt. He’d glide a thick finger between your folds, slide it down to your clit, and leave it there as long as you’d let him, rubbing quick circles while you bucked and moaned under his touch. And, in spite of all his cuts and bruises, your husband made sure to kiss your shoulder every now and then to let you know he still loved you—even if he was fucking you like he didn’t.

Bucky trailed his lips behind your ear and watched you writhe in time with every stroke he gave. Pressed his face close to yours, watched a desperate, fucked-out expression take over your features, and smiled to himself knowing that no one but him got to see you like this.

“Who likes getting stuffed full of this cock?” he taunted.

“I do.”

“Who loves making daddy feel this good?”

“I do.”

He never thought the sound of your vows could be repeated out loud in such an obscene way—his sweet bride bent in half with a thick, throbbing cock wedged between her legs—but he loved it nonetheless.

Bucky was rutting his hips at a breakneck pace and holding your head to the mirror like he’d never let go. Your climax was quickly coming close into view, and you felt your toes curl in the hardwood floor beneath them.

Suddenly, the chirp of a ringtone diverted your attention.

Bucky brought his phone to his ear as he continued to pound you mercilessly.

“Yeah, Steve?”

The mob boss’s business never took a break, it seemed.

“So what?”

“Yeah, no, I heard you the first time.”

“Well, I’m plowing my wife right now, can it wait?”

Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment at Bucky’s blunt choice of words. You saw his brow pinch behind you, his thrusts getting faster and sloppier, and in spite of the distraction, you sensed he was getting close too.

You yourself were right on the brink. Your gaze met Bucky’s in the mirror with a soft, pleading look, and before you knew it, your husband was bidding an abrupt farewell to his friend and chucking his phone to the side.

“Ready to cum for me, honey?”

You whimpered and nodded.

“Alright then,” Bucky said with a near-expectant look, weaving the fingers of one hand into your hair and pulling it back, tight, “Cum all over daddy’s cock.”

With a shriek you feared might carry throughout the whole banquet hall, you finally reached your peak and released around Bucky’s length, tears springing to your eyes as you closed them tight and moaned his name.

And, ever the cheeky fuck, Bucky leaned right in and kissed the sides of your face to collect all the moisture he could—‘Shit, honey, you taste as good as you look’—while he smirked. Would’ve grinned even bigger if he wasn’t so overcome with pleasure; but, as it was, he couldn’t keep from blowing his load just seconds after the last spasms of your orgasm. Bucky leaned over your torso and squeezed your body tight to his, fucking his cum deep inside you as far as it could possibly go.

For a few, dizzying moments, the man’s mind wandered to more primal thoughts of making it stick, knocking you up, and Bucky had to clench his jaw hard to suppress the groans that were threatening to spill through his teeth. Every time he fucked you, it was like something just clicked; he couldn’t rid the thought of giving you a baby.

But no, for now, the two of you were still on wedding time; before you could jet off to your real honeymoon destination—someplace in the Caribbean, if Bucky remembered correctly—your mother had insisted that you host one post-wedding event that day: a brunch.

Naturally, that meant you were obliged to serve a four-course meal on the terrace of the Canaves Oia Hotel.

The mother of the bride had been one hell of a staunch advocate for keeping this wedding party going as long as possible, and who was Bucky to tell her no? He reasoned he would have plenty of time to get you pregnant after all the wedding festivities had ended, so he didn’t mind.

At present, you tugged your panties and your dress back into place with a wince.

“I think you displaced my cervix, James.”

Bucky couldn’t deny he felt the smallest twinge of pride seeing you walk a little funny to collect the rest of your belongings and attempt to freshen up. It also gave him the perfect excuse to scoop you back up in his arms and pretend to be apologetic about your present dilemma.

“Did I really?” he asked as you giggled and tried to swat him away, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Like hell you are.”

With Bucky still draped over your body, proffering his apologies again and again as he assailed your face with tiny kisses, you’d barely made it two feet toward the door before you collapsed against a table and almost toppled a centerpiece. The pair of you would be expected outside any minute now, where the rest of your post-wedding party was likely trickling in and wondering where the hell the bride and groom had gone, but Bucky seemed adamant on keeping you to himself a little while longer.

That was until the back exit swung on its hinges and a familiar, frazzled groomsman stumbled in.

“Can you horndogs hurry the hell up?!”

So Sam had heard you after all.

You just might’ve blushed if you weren’t being pushed out the door a second later, the hurried, chiding tone of your husband’s friend ringing low in your ears.

“Your old man’s ready to hit the roof,” he mumbled to Bucky, “Won’t start drinking until you two show face.”

“Probably still thinks my bride escaped in the middle of the night,” Bucky mused, flitting a look to you.

The man behind rolled his eyes and continued to usher you both outside. Sam Wilson knew exactly what had happened last night; he’d been the one to bring in the cavalry to save you both from imminent death, after all.

As you had come to find out, Sam wasn’t just a friend of your husband’s but also a close associate of sorts—the kind that would wait in the wings and do whatever it took to keep Bucky safe. When the wait staff at the villa hadn’t been able to reach you for room service delivery last night, reporting some ‘strange sounds’ inside, Mr. Wilson had sprung into action. Called the rest of your husband’s entourage and was up to your room in minutes, where they’d dealt a swift, and final, blow to your attackers. You hadn’t asked many questions after—just thanked him. Profusely.

“You look like hell,” the man observed with a sidelong glance in his friend’s direction.

“Really? I feel great,” Bucky replied.

The three of you weaved through a crowd of partygoers—every single one of whom, without exception, stopped and stared at your husband’s mangled face as he passed—and you started to chew the inside of your cheek. People were gawking, talking amongst themselves as they wondered aloud what the hell could’ve happened to the groom overnight. You felt their stares turn to you in a mixture of pity and reproach, and you wanted to hide.

“Ja-ames!” a sing-song voice trilled across the way.

You, Bucky, and Sam all stopped in your tracks to regard the duo that was making their swift approach over.

Bucky’s mom and dad.

As the older couple drew near, you half-expected to see them take on the same wan, horror-stricken look worn by all those around you, but to your surprise, they didn’t.

In fact, they didn’t bat an eyelid. Seeing their son’s face all gnarled and bloody barely even registered.

“Good, you’re here! The photographers just arrived.” Bucky’s mother swept you into her arms for a brief embrace before shooting her son a frown. Your husband, in turn, offered her an apologetic peck on the cheek.

“Sorry, ma. We got caught up,” he said.

“Sure looks like it.”

That came from the elder Mr. Barnes, who had stopped to give his son a quick once-over. He looked amused.

“Get in a fight with a grizzly last night?” he quipped.

“Three, actually,” Sam answered for Bucky, who was already grinning from ear-to-ear—or as much as his facial lacerations would allow him.

You saw father and son exchange a brief, knowing look, before it was extinguished just as fast as it had come. Clearly, some sort of understanding had passed between them, and the old patriarch seemed pleased. Proud, even. You couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“The bruising shouldn’t be too hard to edit out of the wedding pictures,” Bucky’s mother turned to you as she started to lead the group away, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s those damn lesions on his face that always give us trouble.”

She spoke so coolly about the trauma done to her son it damn near chilled you to the bone. You never thought the wife of a mobster would be oblivious to all the violence, but to talk as though this were just another day in the life as far as brutal beatings went was a little unnerving.

You strolled along and silently wondered what the fuck was wrong with this family. Then you realized, slowly, that this was your family now. Your stomach twisted.

When you got to the garden where the photographers were stationed, you saw your parents waiting, enrapt.

And, in a matter of seconds, you watched their expressions morph from exuberance to confusion to outright trepidation. Your father was quick to look away, but your mother clearly couldn’t be bothered to stop ogling Bucky’s gruesome appearance. She forced a tight-lipped smile at the very last second and stretched her arms out to you as the five of you approached.

“You’re glowing, my dear.”

She hugged you and, over your shoulder, tried to mask a discomfited look.

Your mother and father exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the group but seemed loath to linger on Bucky for more than a minute. Like they couldn’t quite tell whether the honeymoon beatdown was fair game for discussion.

“Places, people!”

The photographers were lined up like a flock of paparazzi. Each standing, crouching, squatting with their cameras in their hands, trying to get just the right angle.

The person in charge quickly busied herself with directing and adjusting every one of your positions before the pictures were taken. Telling Bucky’s father to straighten his tie, your mother to brighten her smile, the bride to tilt her shoulders just a little bit more, and Bucky, would you please stop groping your wife?

That last command had come from his mother, actually. Bucky had been palming your ass above your dress, and his mom couldn’t stand the thought of one camera capturing such crude behavior.

“My hand slipped,” Bucky retorted, much to the amusement of a few photographers.

You and his mother gave him identical admonitory looks, but it was you who was close enough to say something.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak, though, an odd sense stopped you on a dime.

There was a warmth. In your panties. Then a slow and silent oozing sensation. You squeezed your thighs tight together and, instinctively, lowered your hand to your stomach, as if that would have any chance of stopping it.

A smirk tugged at Bucky’s lips just as the lead photographer told you all to smile and hold it.

“My cum dripping out already?” he whispered, low as he’d ever spoken but still too loud for you to bear. His parents were literally standing right there.

“Shut. Up.” You replied through gritted, smiling teeth.

“Chin to me, Mrs. Barnes,” the lady in charge called out.

You did as you were told, and Bucky’s hand on your side pressed the flesh ever so slightly.

A series of shuttering sounds, then another directive.

“Think it’ll stay in your panties?” Bucky managed delicately under his breath.

You didn’t respond. At length, his seed was seeping out of your underwear. You bared an even brighter smile for the cameras and tried not to flinch when he squeezed you again.

“Feel it sliding down your thighs?”

“Eyes forward, Mr. Barnes. Head up, and—here, please.”

The man could barely peel his gaze, much less his hands, from your body. He stroked your hip with his thumb. Then, without warning, that same hand slid down to your rear and pushed into the fabric. You sucked in a breath.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave,” you hissed, and from the corner of your eye you could’ve sworn you saw your mother turn her head.

Unfortunately for you, your husband would do no such thing. He just moved his hand even lower down your back and brushed the space around that spot with the tips of his fingers. You felt a shiver pass over you, along with a whole legion of goosebumps spreading fast across the skin.

If you weren’t on camera and surrounded by family, you probably would’ve liked to smack him upside the head.

As the cameras continued to fire away, Bucky’s touch trailed down to the outline of your panties through your dress and started rubbing small circles over the area.

“Now just the bride and groom!”

The rest of your family members stepped to the side, and it was only you and Bucky before the cameras now. Still smiling like bright, shiny dolls and communicating like ventriloquists, your lips barely moved as you spoke.

“How ‘bout I push it back in?”

“Barnes, I will kill you.”

“Now kiss!”

At the direction of the lead photographer, you kissed your husband and felt a mixture of lust, hate, and love swell up inside of you. When you pulled apart, it was the latter of these three that was searing hot in your veins.

“I love you,” Bucky murmured with a grin.

“I love you, too.”

The rest of the morning passed away in much the same fashion—being pulled from place to place, person to person, while your filthy-minded husband kept whispering in your ear all the depraved things he was planning to do to you once he got you alone. It was romantic, in a way; just terrible for your poor panties.

You reluctantly mingled and laughed with some of the most boring people you thought you’d ever met in your life—though perhaps you were a touch too horny to make a fair appraisal—and gradually, family and friends pulled you and Bucky further and further apart until you were just being carted around like show dogs and forced to hold the same conversation over and over again.

“You look stunning.”

“Buck’s a lucky guy, I’ll tell you that.”

“Are you planning on having kids any time soon?”

You just smiled, nodded, and didn’t have the guts to tell them that Bucky’s baby batter was baking inside you right now. That would’ve been a fun one to watch the reactions from your uptight, intrusive relatives, though.

And speaking of Bucky, where the fuck had he gone?

Just twenty minutes ago he’d sworn he would have you bent over one of the hotel balconies overlooking the Aegean Sea, and now he was nowhere to be found.

Your parents were currently preoccupied with their second helpings of spanakopita, your in-laws draining mojitos like water, and Sam, like Bucky, completely MIA. No one else had seen hide nor hair of your husband in a little while, and frankly, your legs were growing tired of looking.

You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Bucky sitting a ways away on the terrace with Sam and Steve huddled on either side of him. They looked to be deep in discussion.

Steve, Stevie, Rogers, or, simply, your husband’s second in command, seemed strangely out of sorts as he clenched a fist and said something close to Bucky’s face.

You decided to let the three of them hash it out and to take a rain check on that balcony rendezvous for now.

At any rate, a pack of Pall Malls was calling your name.

You would fully concede this was a filthy habit you never should have started—like most fun things in life—but the reprieve of a nicotine buzz was too tempting to refuse. You grabbed your clutch and took off toward the far end of the lawn, set for a small alcove apart from the party.

You slipped the lighter and cigarettes from your bag as you walked. The scent of pure salt and sea foam greeted your senses as soon as you drew close to the spot—less than a stone’s throw away from the ocean.

Your hands had jammed the cancer stick in your mouth before your mind could make a single word of protest. You brought the lighter to life in your right palm and raised the flame to your cigarette until the end was lit.

Then you inhaled. Exhaled. Hoped no one would see you. You fanned the smoke from your face every so often.

You’d taken up residence on a bench just shy of the beach, and finally, you could stretch your legs and rest.

Maybe indulge in some disgusting thoughts about your husband while you were at it.

If you’d told yourself just twenty-four hours ago that your mind and body would be on the fritz craving Bucky’s touch, you wouldn’t have believed it. If someone had said sex, and cumming around someone you loved, was a worthwhile experience, you probably would’ve told them they were full of shit. But here you were, splayed out on a bench by the shoreline thinking of nothing but the way your husband’s cock felt inside you. Feeling his seed dried on your thigh and aching for a fourth helping.

You felt pathetic. Maybe you were.

In any case, you didn’t really care.

You brought the near-spent cigarette up to your lips for the last couple puffs. When you’d plucked it back out, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

Bucky! Your lust-addled brain all but squealed.

You turned much quicker than you meant and nearly jumped in your skin to see who was standing there.

A grinning, bright-eyed blond.

In a panic, you flicked your cigarette over your shoulder and forced a smile.

“Hi.”

“Howdy.”

Okay, John Wayne, what the fuck? The man sounded, and looked, like something straight out of a western film.

“No need to stop on my account,” he tipped his chin toward the cigarette on the ground, “I won’t snitch.”

His smile took on a shade of condescension, but the face seemed friendly enough. Then, to your surprise, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved something small and silver from it. He held it out to you.

“Courtesy of your husband,” he said.

You frowned. A flask?

“It’s not even noon,” you answered.

“Bucky wanted me to relay the message that your mom invited a boatload more folks, and it don’t seem they’re fixin’ to leave anytime soon. Said you might need this.”

Gingerly, you accepted the gift and unscrewed the cap. You almost gagged when you got a whiff of pure vodka.

“Fuckin’ A,” you coughed, “What’s this, nail polish remover?”

“Stolichnaya. Can’t talk shit until you’ve tried it.”

Your eyes were still watering from the pungent stench of 80 proof spirits when you saw the man’s outstretched arm again—this time, to shake your hand.

“Joey, by the way.”

You shook his hand and introduced yourself as well, blinking back a few tears.

“You’re a friend of my husband’s?” you asked.

“From the service, yeah. We go way back.”

You couldn’t help but raise both brows in question.

“The service,” you repeated.

“Russian Armed Forces,” Joey smiled.

And when the hell did Bucky plan on telling you he was a former foreign operative? You stared at the man before you in a medley of confusion and disbelief. Surely the thick Southern drawl had to mean he was joking.

“Sorry—I thought you knew,” he said sheepishly.

Your husband’s old comrade seemed genuinely contrite, blushing a shade of pink as he turned his gaze from you. You quickly regained your composure and flashed him a smile, insisting it was fine, just surprising to you is all.

“Perks of arranged marriage,” you said, “We’re wed for life and I don’t even know the guy’s job title.”

That earned a laugh from the tall, gaunt figure in front of you. His features visibly relaxed, and he wasn’t smiling so smugly anymore. He motioned toward the bench.

“You mind?”

“Not at all.”

You fished for a cigarette as Joey sat down beside you. When he’d taken a seat, you offered it to him, and he politely accepted.

With time, the two of you got to smoking and joking around with a little more ease. You didn’t normally get to see that happen—rarely seizing the opportunity to make friends of near-strangers—but this weekend had already presented a bevy of firsts. What harm could a quick smoke break with Bucky’s old friend possibly do?

You found the man to be quick-witted and charming, if not marred by the slightest stain of conceit under the surface. He was objectively handsome: all cool, clean features with an unblemished demeanor and a set of brown eyes so light they almost appeared the color of honey in the sun. The only imperfection to be detected was a skewed, razor-thin scar on his chin. You weren’t ashamed to admit he might’ve been your type maybe four or five years, and several degrees of naïveté, earlier. But you had Bucky now; not even the most sublime, finely-chiseled Adonis could set your sights off of him.

You continued to smoke and shoot the shit.

“So you’re a Puritan, then?” Joey said at length.

“Huh?” You leaned back to stretch.

“You haven’t touched that flask.”

You glanced down at the silver canteen between you. You picked it up.

“Haven’t been into straight liquor since college,” you shrugged.

“But it’s your wedding weekend,” Joey smirked, “Think it says somewhere in the rule book you’ve gotta be hammered the whole time.”

“Does it? I must’ve missed that one,” you hummed.

Rather than answer you verbally, Bucky’s old friend opted to snag the flask from your fingers and unscrew the top himself. Made an unusually bold move and took your chin in his other hand.

“Open.”

“No!”

You bared a tight smile to be polite, but inside, you were more than a little put off by his behavior. Maybe this was some stupid rite of passage into their ‘brotherhood.’ You had to assume he was just being friendly.

“C’mon. Quit bitchin’ and open up,” he chuckled, pinching your face even tighter.

That left an even more sour taste in your mouth. You jerked your head to the left and were just about to inform the man it’d cost him nothing to fuck off and stay off, when a voice broke out through the foliage behind you.

“Honey? Hon, you there?”

Immediate relief at hearing your husband’s voice.

You craned your neck to look around.

“I’m here, Bucky!” You waved an arm to try and get his attention, wherever he was.

It took him a second, but shortly, he appeared on the other side of some trees. He had a stern, if not slightly sallow, look on his face as he made his way over.

You turned back to Joey but found that he’d vanished. Your eyes scanned the beach, the lawn, even the bushes behind you and couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere. All that was left was the flask.

“Bucky, I just—”

“We need to go,” your husband cut in.

His narrowed, steely gaze sent a jolt of apprehension through you.

“Go wh—”

“Now, baby, please. I’ll tell you in the car.”

Your face dropped.

“We’re leaving?”

Shortly, Steve trotted over. Bleak as you’d ever seen him with his hands balled in fists at his sides. And a deep-set scowl.

“Whole fuckin’ swarm of ‘em now,” he pronounced.

Bucky didn’t wait to hear another word. He just grabbed your hand and joined his friend sprinting back up the lawn. You could barely keep apace with their steps and, still clinging to Bucky, almost tripped and stumbled.

“Get the fuck up,” Steve spat.

You tensed. For a second, your feet scarcely moved of their own accord as you trailed behind Bucky and felt a stabbing feeling in your gut. Bucky’s best man had surely been a little rough around the edges before, but never this needlessly cruel. What did you do?

Your husband delivered an uncharacteristically gruff shove to the man’s shoulder and made sure he felt it.

“Don’t you start this shit again,” he said, “Lay off.”

Steve ignored him entirely and took the lead around the hotel’s perimeter. You glanced to the throngs of partygoers still scattered along the veranda and saw similar looks of disquiet and alarm all around.

Just when a dozen different questions of what was going on, where were they taking you, and why the fuck did everyone look so afraid bubbled to the tip of your tongue, a thunderous sound brought you to a standstill.

At the opposite end of the plaza, a cluster of tents, tables, and catering stations all splintered apart in a single, headlong explosion. A bright red column of fire shot up toward the sky, and following its ascent rose a wave of shrill and horrified screams alongside it. A barrage of gunfire rained over the crowd, and before you could even spare a look toward its source, Bucky yanked you flat on the ground. Your hands and knees were shredded across pavement, had less than a second to register the pain, and were shortly made to snake along concrete and glass toward the garden down below.

You crawled, then crouched, then bounded down the lawn following Bucky and Steve like a bat out of hell. Another explosion sounded nearby—this time much closer, sending a shower of flames sailing through the air and all over—and whole droves of people just dropped. Facedown in the grass and covered in glass. Bucky clamped your hand in his own with a force that could’ve snapped it in two, but you didn’t blink. All of your senses were kicked into overdrive and focalized, unflinching, on the sight of more carnage than you could comprehend.

“Here!” Steve called presently.

He caught sight of a jet black sedan at the edge of the lawn and held a hand up to Bucky. A set of keys were promptly pelted into his grasp, and the three of you closed in on the car, quick, without another word.

Bucky tore the back door open and practically flung you inside. He primed himself to climb in right after, when a set of footsteps and a shout held him locked in place.

“Hangar’s clear.”

Sam, by the sound of it.

He jumped in shotgun while Steve seized the wheel. Bucky hadn’t gotten the back door so much as halfway shut before the engine roared to life and the car lurched ahead. Not thinking, you grabbed hold of a seatbelt, but Bucky was quick to pull you in and jerk you down.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting then, but it certainly wasn’t your husband’s weight crushing you from above as he pinned you to the floor of the car.

This wasn’t the seamless, smart exit that the heroes of the action-packed stories always had. Bucky didn’t hold you tight in his arms or cradle your head to his chest. He just draped the weight of his whole body over yours and begged you strenuously not to move or make a sound. By the looks of it, too, the car was tearing up the turf of the lawn and anything else that happened to cross its path; there was no rhyme or reason to Steve’s driving, it seemed, just frantic desperation and a will not to die.

Minutes, seconds, sights, and sounds—or what little of the world you could grasp from your cowered position—all bled together in a haze. Your pulse leapt and throbbed between your ears, and little more could be heard above that sound apart from the thrum of Bucky’s own heart, the thunder of gunfire, and the wail of sirens, coming low and faint and far too late to make much difference now.

You pressed your nose to the floor and got a dizzying whiff of nylon and bleach. Would’ve like to retch but gritted your teeth instead, lying in silence and wondering without humor if the splinters, the soot, or the blood would be hardest to wash out of your white satin dress.

The price of admission to board Bucky’s Boeing 787 came surprisingly cheap: just sit back and be ‘pregnant.’

You’d been flanked by medics as soon as you arrived at the hangar—a place tucked away just a few short miles from the hotel, where Bucky kept his aircraft for speedy escapes, apparently—and had been carried onto a jet. You didn’t squirm or protest, just hung limply in their arms and let them tend to you however they needed.

After all, you looked like fucking Carrie White on prom night: coated in blood and stiff as a board. Sitting with a thousand-yard stare and a frozen, muted expression as you tried, and failed, to process what had just happened.

You watched Bucky kneel down in front of you and hardly saw him at all. You sensed him stroke your hair but felt it from a place somewhere far outside your body. Bizarre was an understatement. All you could do was blink.

“It’s not— not her blood, is it?” your husband stammered, gesturing toward your dress.

“Some of it,” one nurse answered quietly.

Aw, hell. Bucky squatted on the floor and slotted himself between your knees, trying to get as close as possible so he could make you say something, even just see him. One of the attendants raised a warning look and placed a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off in a second.

“She’s not looking at me,” Bucky’s lip visibly trembled as he drew you closer, “Honey, I’m here— I’m right h—”

“She’s in shock.” Another voice came flatly.

Sure, shock works. In truth, your mind was floating somewhere even higher than the 43,000 feet the plane had ascended, and your brain had gone as soft as a clump of cotton candy in the rain. You couldn’t speak, but you could think in bits and pieces. You blinked again.

“She looks like death warmed over.”

Thank you, Steve.

Off to the side in a plush, leather seat of his own, the man nursed a scotch on the rocks and frowned. Bucky didn’t have the strength to throw a punch or a pillow at his head and instead said only to shut the fuck up, man.

Your husband turned to the nurses again.

“She’s pregnant.”

I beg your finest pardon? You blinked a bit harder.

“No, she’s not, Buck,” Sam said from down the aisle.

“Well, she could be,” Bucky chided, “We’ve been going at it like rabbits since the—”

“Fuck’s sake,” Steve slapped a palm over his forehead. If you weren’t currently balls-deep in a state of mental disarray you probably would’ve done the same.

Bucky had made sure to tell all medical personnel aboard the plane that you were—or very well could be—carrying his child, so would you please take all precautionary measures possible? She’s my wife. You suspected if the doctors and nurses weren’t all on Bucky’s payroll they probably would’ve rolled their eyes and reminded him that all you needed were stitches, dressings, and extra fluids. And no, Mr. Barnes, your wife probably isn’t pregnant, even if you think your sperm is ‘built different’ than most.

“She’ll be fine either way,” the medic on your left said, stifling a chuckle. Wondering if the man had ever taken a sex ed class in his years of prudish, private education.

Bucky wasn’t convinced. Against all physicians’ wishes, he climbed up beside you in the seat and pulled you into his lap with both arms wrapped around your waist.

By turns, the world was coming back into focus for you. You met Bucky’s gaze for the first time, and the man looked overjoyed.

“See? See? She’s back.” Bucky squeezed your hip—and immediately released it when you winced.

“Mind the bandages, Mr. Barnes.”

Your caregivers pro tempore shot your husband a couple wry looks as they packed their supplies and started to leave, getting the sense that their boss wasn’t going to stop badgering them, or you, anytime soon. That worked just fine for Bucky, because then he would get to hold you any way that he liked, as long as you’d let him.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as thrilled.

Sam watched the medics’ departure with a wary look.

“She probably needs to rest, Bucky,” the latter said, careful with his words.

Bucky’s eyes never strayed from yours.

“She’s okay, Sam. She’s good.” Perhaps speaking more to himself than anyone else. Steve shifted in his seat.

In your periphery, Mr. Wilson was approaching with a glass in his hand. You turned your head, and Bucky accepted the cup of water for you.

“Feelin’ alright?” Sam asked.

You tried to nod, but your husband was already cradling your head like a baby, urging you to take your first sip.

A spate of water splashed down the front of your dress. You shot Bucky a look as he hastily tried to dry it.

“She’s not a child, Barnes,” Steve muttered.

“Should probably keep that elevated,” Sam cut in, nodding toward your swollen ankle, “We’ll get some ice.”

Sam tilted his head again, this time to motion to Steve. His friend pretended not to see him, and then Bucky was back on his feet, keen as ever,

“I’ll go.”

He kissed the top of your head and assured you he’d be right back. He’d just started off toward the door, when Sam hesitated. He flitted a quick look between you and Steve and looked like he wanted to say something, but Bucky was already ushering him out of the room.

When you turned to Steve, you understood why.

The man had you pinned with a stare that could’ve killed you ten times over, fisting his drink in a white-knuckled grip.

You watched him right back. Tried hard not to blink.

“Something wrong?”

You weren’t sure how you’d even mustered the strength to speak. Steve just brought it out of you, you figured.

“You tell me.” Tone dripping with disdain.

You raked your gaze over the man for a second, finding him dressed head-to-toe in his three piece suit—muddied with blood here and there, but still no worse for wear than you’d seen him an hour or two ago. It was that frown you couldn’t shake.

What had you done to piss him off so much? Shit in his cornflakes? Step on his toe? Had he seen you with Joey and jumped to the worst possible conclusion? You sincerely couldn’t make sense of the man’s indignation, so you wanted to ask him directly; before you could, though, Steve was interjecting, at length,

“We should’ve left you to die with the rest of your family.”

Your jaw slackened a bit.

“What?”

“You, your mother, your two-timing shitstain of a father. Every one of you should’ve stayed there to rot.”

Never mind the fact that he’d just wished you dead to your face—what did he mean about your parents?

“But they’re coming with us. Bucky said,” you managed.

“He did?” Steve grinned humorlessly, “He lied, doll. Your folks are probably bound and gagged at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

That sent the first real wave of fear pulsing through you. You slowly rose to your feet but, feeling yourself restrained by the makeshift IV line stuck in your skin, you stopped. You plucked the needle out of your arm.

“What are you talking about?”

You drew closer to Steve, who only sat back and sipped his scotch with amusement.

“What? That wasn’t part of the plan?” he quirked a brow, “Didn’t think anyone would dare lay a finger on your precious, self-righteous fucking family—”

You hardly even noticed you’d swatted Steve’s drink out of his hand until the glass went shattering on the floor. You blinked and raised a shaky, bruised finger about an inch from his face.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Your jaw was clenched so tight you had to speak through your teeth.

Steve was beaming.

The door to the room flew open, and Bucky and Sam strolled in with their ice packs and pillows. They stopped when they saw the glass on the floor and your figure looming over Steve.

“You picked a real spitfire, Buck,” the blond called out, his hands raised in surrender as he smiled up at you.

Bucky seemed more surprised that you were able to stand, much less take that menacing stance over his friend, and he quickly tried to guide you back to your seat. You wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where are my parents?” You tried to shake your husband off as Steve’s grin grew even bigger.

“They’re fine, honey. Sit down, please,” Bucky mumbled.

“No! He said they were dead!” you shot back, eyes never leaving the smug, smirking face that seemed to be enthralled by the spectacle in front of him.

“Why don’t you tell her, Buck? Girl deserves to know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Sam uttered quietly.

“Tell me what?”

“It’s nothing, your parents are fine,” Bucky seemed pensive now, gaze scanning the ceiling for a second as he tried to collect his thoughts. You shoved his hands off.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me, James,” you said, diverting your attention to glare up at him, “What’s going on?”

“Either she’s a world-class actress or she really doesn’t have the first clue about this. Enlighten her.” Steve seemed a little more serene as he unscrewed a bottle of Talisker and reached for a second glass. You would’ve liked to knock back one or two—or ten—yourself.

You turned on your heels to face Bucky. At the moment, he seemed torn between imparting a death black stare on Steve and a placating, apologetic one to you. The tips of his ears were tinged pink.

“Baby—” He reached for you, but you pulled back.

“No.”

You wouldn’t ask him again. Your husband was wounded by the sight of your recoil—and perhaps by some painful truths he’d be compelled to share as well—and he wrung his hands. Started to chew the inside of his cheek.

Sam snagged the scotch and made a heavy pour.

“Why’d you marry him?” Steve said suddenly.

Bucky’s face dropped; you raised a brow in question. Before your husband could stop you, you answered,

“Because my dad was in debt.”

“For what?”

You paused.

“Real estate. Gambling. Fuck if I know.”

Steve nodded. Ignored Bucky’s sharp, reproachful gaze.

“And how much money did he owe?” he asked.

“Steve,” Sam warned.

“Four, five million—more than he could ever repay.”

This time, it was Steve to raise both brows as he mulled over your response. He almost looked surprised.

“You’re forced to marry a man just to settle a debt and you don’t even know the price that tight little body’s paying?” he scoffed.

His words hadn’t hung in the air for much longer than a second before Bucky decked him, shoving him square in the chest and sending him stumbling back a couple steps. A splash of whiskey was quick to join the bloodstains adorning Steve’s tux, and the pile of broken glass on the floor grew even bigger. The man hardly flinched when Bucky shoved his head to the end table.

“Say it again.” Your husband sounded dispassionate as ever. Like this was something he was used to doing.

“She should’ve known!” Steve snapped anyway.

You shared a brief look with Sam but found his expression inscrutable. He kicked a few shards of glass with the toe of his shoe.

“I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate,” you grumbled, “They were going to kill my father if we didn’t settle it, so I wasn’t all that interested in knowing how much money my A1 cunt was gonna cost Bucky. Personally.”

If he could go low, you would go lower. Fuck him.

You saw Steve grin through a freshly busted lip and straighten himself back into a seated position. He wiped the blood with the pad of his thumb while Bucky seemed to contemplate swinging again. The look in your eye cautioned him against it.

“Fair enough,” Steve conceded. He stopped to consider his words—ones that wouldn’t prompt Bucky to punch him directly in the throat—and looked to you, curious,

“Why would the mob kill him over a few million dollars?”

You shrugged.

“He’s a real estate broker. They probably knew he couldn’t fork over that kind of cash.”

Something akin to a stifled chuckle and a cough sounded from Sam, while Steve outright broke out laughing. Even Bucky’s expression softened a little as he rubbed his knuckles and paced closer to you.

“What?” you spat, “Did I say something funny?”

Sam shook his head slowly, starting, “I don’t think—”

“Your daddy’s a fucking gunrunner, sugar,” Steve wheezed, “Head of a multinational arms trafficking syndicate—motherfucker is not selling houses.”

Your insides churned with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion, but you couldn’t let them see that. When Bucky reached for your hand, you yanked it back again.

“And how the fuck would you know?” you said to Steve.

“We work with him. Used to work for him, at one point,” Sam answered.

“And the man is horseshit at business”—Steve paused to see if Bucky had shot him a warning look but found your husband far too concerned with capturing your attention—“He was $90 million in the hole when Bucky came to the rescue.”

“James?” You finally turned to him.

“And your daddy didn’t even owe the money to Bucky, he owed it to HYDRA,” Steve sneered.

“James,” you pressed again.

You couldn’t understand why your husband refused to speak—going as deadpan and radio silent as the night before. He stood there and watched you with a rigid, inflexible gaze.

“HYDRA as in— the Russian mob?” you asked him.

“No, the Girl Scouts,” Steve huffed, “Yes, the mob.”

“Schröder’s boys. Your dad’s been in business with them for years—owed them a lot of money,” Sam added.

“And your dad and Bucky’s dad have been friends even longer. So Bucky figured he’d do yours a favor and pay the debt himself.” Steve seemed eager to tell this story.

All the while, the hue of Bucky’s cheeks grew even deeper—like he didn’t want this coming to light. He sensed you wouldn’t stand down until you’d heard the whole ugly truth, though, so he held your gaze and watched you grow more repulsed by the second.

“Then why’d he need me? Just another bartering chip?” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, “A pawn?”

“A peace offering,” Bucky said quietly.

Steve and Sam finally clammed up long enough to let him speak, but your husband seemed taciturn as ever.

“Your father didn’t owe me anything. I would’ve paid his debt and left it at that, but he insisted I— that we marry. He wanted an alliance no subsequent financial incentive could disrupt. He would take the money I gave him, pay HYDRA, and bow out of any future dealings with them. Our marriage was supposed to guarantee that.”

Bucky spoke slow, like every word was a labored breath. Hardly the same could be said for his friends.

“That was until your dipshit weapons dealer daddy decided he’d have his cake and eat it too. Struck an even sweeter deal with HYDRA and played in our faces,” Steve said.

“At the direction of Mr. Schröder, your father tried to intercept a shipment bound for one of Bucky’s warehouses in Brooklyn,” Sam continued, “Only problem is he fucked up the execution and cost Schröder a dozen men and tens of millions of dollars in artillery and blow.”

“So Schröder paid him a visit today,” Bucky muttered.

Without realizing it, you found yourself sinking into the nearest seat and bringing a hand to lay flat on your stomach. You felt sick. More than woozy, truthfully. Your head was spinning and your stomach was twisting something terrible, as if you’d just ingested cyanide.

Fuck, did you need a drink.

You couldn’t look at Bucky or Steve or Sam any longer.

You reached for your clutch and pulled out Joey’s flask.

And, bloodlusting mobsters and outlaws be damned, the Russians knew how to make the hell out of some vodka. A single sniff of the stuff told you this was exactly what you would need to cope with your current situation.

“So you think I had something to do with the new HYDRA deal?” you asked, “You honestly th—FUCK!”

Bucky lunged for the flask in your hand before you could take a single pull. He snatched it away in the blink of an eye and shot you a look.

“Liquor? For our baby?” he barked.

You audibly groaned and were just about to tell him that his understanding of human reproduction was a crock of shit when you stopped. You saw his expression change.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky asked, suddenly pale.

“You, dumbass!”

“Me?”

Bucky was presently passing the flask around to his friends, who were eyeing a spot on the bottom of the container with shared looks of alarm.

“Your friend gave it to me earlier saying that you wanted me to have it,” you said.

All three men looked up at once.

“What friend?” Sam asked.

“Joey,” you answered, “Bucky’s friend from the army.”

If it were possible for your husband to get any paler his skin might’ve turned the color of cottage cheese. His eyes were wide with fear.

Then he was hurrying to your side. Taking your hand.

“What friend from the army? What’d he look like?”

You were still scanning Bucky’s face, trying to make sense of the apprehension etched into his features, when you managed,

“I-I dunno. Blond. Light brown eyes.”

“Tall fella?” Steve asked.

“Very.”

“Have a German accent?” Sam pressed.

“No, a real thick Southern accent,” you shook your head. It didn’t occur to you then that it could’ve been fake.

You were about to turn your attention back to Bucky, brow still knit in confusion, when a vague memory crossed your mind. You looked up at Sam and Steve.

“He had a—” You tapped your chin lightly, “—a little scar right here.”

You would’ve thought you’d just announced you had a bomb strapped to your ass the way the three men reacted. Each wore identical looks of disbelief and muted horror, exchanging looks between themselves as if they’d just discovered the Atlantic Ocean—and found the Loch Ness Monster lurking somewhere underneath.

Bucky looked the worst out of all of them. His face had drained of all expression and color as he stared at you.

“Joey?” he intoned feebly.

“Yes,” you answered—feeling ineffectual, even dense, for not catching on to what the rest of them had discovered.

Fortunately, Sam wouldn’t let you wallow in ignorance.

“Johann Schröder,” he supplied in a second, “The man you were talking to was Mr. Schröder, head of HYDRA.”

Steve held the flask in his grasp for you to see the bottom, where a skull with six tentacles was engraved. Then he tipped the canister into a glass he’d taken in his other hand and watched a frothy pink liquid spill out.

“Looks to be a serum of his,” Steve said, hollow as you’d ever heard him, “Kind of like…roofies.”

“You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” Sam asked.

“Nuh-uh. Bucky showed up right as he was trying to, uh— to pour it in my mouth.”

A beat of silence gripped the room.

Bucky looked like he might burst a blood vessel, or someone’s skull. Or both.

Still, he wouldn’t speak to you.

The inside of your head was throbbing.

You almost preferred the ruthless, irate glint in Steve’s eye when he’d suspected you of being a traitor the first time around; this cloyingly sympathetic gaze he was giving you now had to be the most maddening thing. He and Sam both looked on at you like you were a victim. Like you were something to be pitied, or coddled, or left to the capable hands of your husband—a motherfucker who couldn’t even speak so much as a syllable to you.

You felt a pressure build, then swell, then peak between your temples, and you wanted to wince but couldn’t stand the thought of looking weak in front of them.

Then your nose started to bleed.

That, at least, woke Bucky from his reverie as he fumbled around for a napkin and helped you to your feet. He looped an arm around your waist and led you off to the bathroom, his grip tightening on your frame with every step you took.

In two minutes flat, you were flooded with fifteen feet of toilet paper and tissues. Bucky cupped the back of your head in one of his broad, warm palms and kept it plastered there as he instructed you to hold it, honey, hang on, I can grab a few extra rolls right here and guided you toward a private area at the back of the plane.

You could scarcely see above the bunched up wads of Charmin Ultra Strong pressed close to your nose, but you trusted Bucky wouldn’t lead you astray. You felt the welcome touch of a bed underneath you, and then your husband was helping you settle in amongst the pillows and the blankets and the rose petals that had been scattered around before—not entirely appropriate now, but a nice touch nonetheless—and slipping your shoes off your feet. You felt his hand graze your ankle, and then he was saying he’d be right back with those ice packs.

You reached for his hand before he could leave.

“I don’t want it,” you said, your voice slightly muffled by the tissues, “Want you to talk to me, James.”

Bucky’s brow pinched inward. He kneeled down in front of you, where you were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I am— I’m talking to you right now, honey, I—”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky wiped his hand down his face and shook his head. Like he was trying to rid himself of a thought.

“I don’t want to talk about HYDRA. Or your father,” he said simply.

“Why not?”

“You’re not in the right place to hear it.”

You plucked the toilet paper away from your face long enough to give him a stern glare.

“We’re on a plane. Fleeing Greece. After you got curb-stomped in our honeymoon suite, our post-wedding brunch was bombed by the Russian mob, I was almost drugged by their leader, and my parents are probably as good as dead, if not being held for ransom, as we speak. Please tell me a better place to have this conversation.”

Bucky was left stumped for a second. Then he slowly rose back to his feet.

“Okay.”

Infuriating.

“Okay?” you snapped, “We could’ve died five times today and all you can say is okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fuck this guy. You wiped your nose and stood up too.

Bucky tried to nudge you back onto the bed, wary of the ever-growing number of bumps, bruises, and nosebleeds afflicting your body. He tensed when you nudged him right back.

“I need to see my family,” You stood firm, “As soon as we land wherever it is we’re going, I’m on the first flight back to New York—or wherever they are.”

You dabbed at your nose once more and looked up at him.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky returned.

“What? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Yes, I will.”

The worst part was he wasn’t even smug about it. Just calm and self-assured. You flung your tissues to the side and threw your hands up in exasperation, feeling the need to step away from him and start pacing the room. The man’s reticence was grating on your nerves.

“Why bother, Buck?” you snorted, “It’s not like I’m even your wife, really. I’m just a peace offering that you get to bend over and fuck every now and then, right?”

You turned to make your first circuit around the foot of the bed but were shortly met with the expanse of Bucky’s chest. You looked up to find him frowning.

“Don’t say that again,” he glowered down at you.

Unlike most times before, you didn’t flinch. When he reached for your wrists, you didn’t let him win.

“I’m not your wife,” you repeated, “We may be playing the most fucked up game of mob charades, but this is not a real marriage.”

You ignored Bucky’s evident desire to grab hold of something of yours and side-stepped easily, expanding the gap between you two as much as you could. It was almost amusing to see him not in control for once, and floundering to recover what semblance of it he could.

“You are my wife,” he insisted, frown growing deeper as you crept along the edge of the room, “Everything I do now is for you—it’s not a goddamn game to me.”

“You used me for some Machiavellian marriage ploy! That is the definition of a game, James!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” Bucky said, “But I love you.”

“You met me yesterday, motherfucker!”

You could feel another bloody nose rising in your bones. You turned around, swiped your lip with the back of your hand and were surprised to see nothing there. You waited for the bleeding to start back up again. When you turned, Bucky had closed the distance between you and was holding something in his hand.

Before you could protest, he was smoothing the thing over your face—apparently he’d grabbed a washcloth and dampened it—and laced his fingers through the hair at the back of your head. He held you firmly as he blotted the blood.

“Is it so hard to believe that I love you?” he asked quietly.

He was trying hard to placate you, but his actions were having just the opposite effect. You let him wipe the blood from your face but watched him begrudgingly.

“You want someone to control, Bucky,” you said, “Love is not a power play that you get to manipulate at will.”

Bucky blinked, trying to conjure up a response as he daubed the skin with a little more force. You weren’t finished.

“You look at me and see a victim. Someone you need to watch over— who can’t take care of themse—”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? That’s not what a ‘good little wife’ is to you?” you retorted.

At last, Bucky tossed the hand towel to the side and ran a hand through his hair. He stepped toward the dresser, shrugging off his suit jacket.

“That’s a— a bit I do when I’m horny. I don’t actually want you subservient to me,” he muttered as he looked around for a hanger. Finally, he just draped the coat over the back of a chair and sighed.

“So holding me hostage from my family is a bit, too?” you quizzed.

“To keep you safe from the people who tried to kill them. I’m sorry I don’t want to see you butchered because of me,” Bucky returned with just as much biting sarcasm.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You despised the indignation in your tone but couldn’t help it. These thoughts had been brewing inside your skull for hours. You watched Bucky struggle to undo his bow tie—just like the night before—and, again, your brain barely registered the action before you were reaching for the garment and tugging at the fabric to loosen it yourself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, brow furrowed.

“Last night,” you yanked harder than you meant to. The knot just got tighter, “And today. Tonight. You’re as still as the fucking grave and won’t say a word when something bad is happening. You just let it happen.”

You tried to pry your fingers through the tie but found it stiff as ever. You groaned inwardly.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky objected.

“You’re doing it right now! You wouldn’t tell me about HYDRA, or my father, or the guy who could’ve— hurt me. You didn’t say a word of that to me, and you expect me to believe we’re in this together? That you’re trying to keep me safe? You couldn’t even—” you paused to pull at that stupid tie your husband had tangled about four times over, finally feeling it give way a little—“couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck when those men broke in last night and almost killed us!”

Just as you freed the silk from its knot, Bucky seized your wrist. Shoved your hand off of his collar.

“I had to do that,” he snapped.

He threw his tie to the floor and started to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. The sight of his broad, veiny forearms were only visible to you for a second before he headed toward the closet, peeling off bits and pieces of his ensemble as he walked.

“You didn’t do anything, Bucky! You just sat there and got the shit beat out of you for no fucking reason! You didn’t even try to fight back.”

Bucky had just muscled his way out of the confines of his dress shirt, leaving him in a tight, plain white tee. He turned to you with what seemed like the most pointed look of disdain.

“You think I wanted to do that?!” he barked. Suddenly facing you head-on, skin flushed a shade just shy of crimson.

“You were too chickenshit. Didn’t wanna get your hands dirty, so you let Sam do it for you,” you seethed.

Your husband looked as though he wanted to put his fist through a wall and pummel it several times over. Seemed like he did, anyway. In truth, he didn’t move—just watched you with the most cruel, unflinching gaze as he clenched his jaw.

“I’m chickenshit?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Coward,” you spat.

“Too much of a coward to keep you safe?”

“Precisely.”

At long last, you saw Bucky smile. It was the tightest, most humorless grin that had ever crossed his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless. He raised a hand over your head and bracketed his arm against the wall so he was leaning over you. Not meant to intimidate per se, but the sight of that smirk was unnerving, to say the least.

“Did you hear what language they spoke?” he asked, voice unbearably low as he drew his face closer to yours.

“It sounded like—”

“Russian, that’s right,” Bucky cut in, “Do you know what they said to me when they pulled us to the floor?”

You swallowed and said nothing. Bucky’s breaths were fanning hot across your cheeks, sending waves of a strange sensation all throughout your body—you weren’t sure if you were meant to be aroused or scared shitless.

“They told me, ‘If you move, we’ll kill her,’” Bucky deadpanned as he began to trace the wallpaper beside your head with a single, bloodied finger, “‘If you fight, we’ll dismember her and set fire to every piece of her body in front of you.’ Or something to that effect.”

The repetition of their words seared your veins like a legion of flames. You could picture them saying it. Grabbing hold of Bucky’s head by the roots of his hair and beating him over and over and over, threatening your life if he made a single move to stop it.

“Bucky—” you started.

“I know they meant it, too. HYDRA operatives make good on their promises if they really set out to harm someone.”

Your husband’s grin had transformed into something more of a crooked, downcast grimace, just baring his teeth as he tried not to lose his composure. Guilt flooded his face.

“I know I should’ve told you then. And after. I should’ve told you about your father as soon as Steve’s informant told us. I just—” Bucky stopped to swallow; he couldn’t meet your gaze—“I didn’t want that hanging over your head. Not after everything that happened last night.”

It was like a blade had just twisted in your stomach. Your throat ached. You wanted to touch him but were almost too scared to ask. He looked so fragile.

“I am a coward. And controlling. Probably the most chickenshit, overbearing son of a bitch you could’ve been unfortunate enough to marry.” For a moment, Bucky’s gaze flickered to yours, and you saw a blooming red hue around the blues of his irises, “But that’s not how I’m supposed to love you—or going to love you.”

You weren’t sure how to reply; you tried raising a hand to his cheek, just to touch the skin, but decided against it.

“I’ve been a shit husband, fake or not. I’m sorry.”

Fake husband maybe, but the look on his face was intractably authentic. Palpable. He blinked as though trying to clear the warm and heady feelings from his expression—suddenly not wanting you to see the shades of his emotions painted there—and focused instead on a few stray strands of hair that had blown over your face. He got very invested in those, all of a sudden.

While your husband stroked the corners of your face and fixed his gaze away from yours, you felt the smallest prick of warmth spark within you. Bucky looked soft and serene and sincere in his apology, defenseless now as he grazed his knuckles over your cheek and said it again,

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

He paired his apology with a rapid succession of little kisses pressed to your forehead, moving his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

You wanted to touch him, too. You almost felt as though you didn’t know how.

So you stood there and accepted his affections and tried to nod your head when he asked if you were alright, were you hurting any, baby? You leaned into the gentle pressure of his fingertips taking stock of every cut and bruise you’d sustained over the course of that day, watched Bucky’s brow furrow with each new discovery, and tried not to let his touch stray far down your body.

You wanted to be the one with your hands on him—now more than ever.

When Bucky’s hand trailed over your chin, you tilted your head just slightly to kiss it. Your husband didn’t think much of it, just smiling down as tender as he always did, when your lips really grazed over the skin. You pressed a kiss to his finger and wordlessly urged him to move it further. Now it was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for what to do as you took the tip of his thumb between your lips and suckled it, gently.

“Honey,” he let out a sigh, half-encouragement and half-warning—what were you trying to do?

You glided your mouth down his finger so half of his thumb was enveloped inside. You sucked it again.

“You can’t…” Bucky maintained feebly, eyes briefly scouring all the cuts and bruises across your skin. He didn’t want to see you strain yourself any further.

But whatever pain this might cause was ancillary to you; you curled your tongue around the digit and moaned lightly.

The taste of one finger alone was enough to send you into a frenzy. That and the fact that he had been so open and honest and attentive to your needs made every bone in your body want to jump his. Something about a man taking accountability for his actions and communicating them in a way that didn’t intimidate or belittle you was refreshing. Sexy, almost. Admittedly, the bar for mob boss husbands was hovering somewhere deep in hell, but you admired Bucky’s efforts all the same.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and smiled.

“You worry too much, Mr. Barnes.”

The echo of his words from earlier—the ones he’d said as he was railing you against a mirror—made Bucky’s cock twitch. His gaze trailed down to the sheen of saliva on your lip, and he almost folded on the spot. He swallowed.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, bunny,” he murmured as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and peered up at him.

“Hurt me how?”

You really hadn’t meant to sound like such a tease when you’d said it, but it was hard not to come across that way when you were watching him like that.

And sinking to your knees, with your eyes glued on his.

Bucky sucked in a breath as you kneeled between his feet and nudged the seam of his pants with your nose. He felt so big against your face, you almost couldn’t fathom how he’d fit inside of you the night before. You were amazed how quickly he’d gotten hard—as if the two of you weren’t just having a heart-to-heart a second ago—and you felt your own arousal pool in your panties.

“You know I don’t mind if it hurts. Love the way you stretch me out anyhow,” you continued, and tried not to smirk as you imagined a dozen filthy images from last night flash before Bucky’s mind.

You heard him stifle a groan when you ghosted your lips over the bulge in his pants and felt him swell even more. Your mouth watered at the sound, the sensation, the raw anticipation of what was to come and knowing that you got to dictate what happened. You undid the button and the zip of his pants and damn near drooled at the sight.

Even confined to his boxers, Bucky looked fucking huge.

Suddenly, you began to understand how needy he had been the night before when he’d first wedged his face between your legs and gotten a taste of you. You hadn’t so much as sampled an inch of his cock, and you were already aching to swallow him whole.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bucky grunted as he planted a hand on the wall in front of him. You kissed the outline of his clothed erection and earned a full-throated groan.

Well, that makes two of us, you wanted to say but were too busy palming him through his boxers to utter a word. Soaking in the sight of him with every sweet, soft groan he made and wanting to be the reason for even more.

“Can I take you in my mouth, daddy?” you asked softly.

Bucky flattened his palm against the wall and nodded. Beyond words as you worked him out of his boxers.

For one, fleeting moment, you almost wanted to walk back your big talk when his cock sprung out of the fabric. You really hadn’t seen his length at all last night—too busy having it stuffed inside your cunt to get a good look—but holy shit was it an intimidating sight. You weren’t sure if it was just the nerves of this being your first time giving head or if Bucky truly was that massive, but you felt your courage start to crumble before your eyes.

My husband is hung like a fucking horse and I’ve never fit anything bigger than a couple fingers in my mouth. This should go well.

Bucky was evidently so turned on that he didn’t notice the apprehension in your expression. After all, you were moving your lips down his cock and seizing the base of him with what looked like excitement.

Should I…lick it first?

It seemed you would have to learn all of this on the job. You stuck your tongue out and ran it up the length of his shaft.

When Bucky groaned in response, you sensed that that was okay. You pressed a few kisses on the underside of his member and scrambled to think of what else to do.

“Fuck, baby,” your husband let out the most guttural sound as you squeezed his length in your hand. Then, to your surprise, he seized a fistful of your hair between his fingers and rutted his hips, pushing the head of himself against your lips, “Take me in your mouth.”

You heard the Kill Bill sirens blare between your ears but said nothing. You could do this—you’d be fine.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and Bucky gripped your hair even tighter. Let out a deep, satisfied moan like this was exactly what he needed. You liked that noise and wanted to take him even further.

What you didn’t expect was four more inches shoved inside your mouth before you could stop to take a breath.

The whole girth of his cock made a sharp intrusion, causing your cheeks to stretch and hollow out around him. The head of his member barely grazed the back of your throat, and still, you gagged. And not only gagged but choked, as though someone had just tried to scrub your tonsils with a fine-bristle toothbrush. Unfortunately for you, Bucky’s dick did not taste like spearmint.

He pulled his cock out as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“Sorry. Shit, sorry.” Bucky blinked twice to get out of that blissed-out headspace and shot you a sheepish look.

The man had rarely been obliged to slow down or take five when his old, ever-changing flavors of the night sucked him off before—most blew him without trouble. But you, kneeling there batting your lashes through a few more tears than expected, seemed uncertain. Even half of his shaft made for a tight fit in your mouth, Bucky thought with some guilty feelings of arousal. He watched you wipe your chin with the back of your hand and frown.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the top of your head.

Suddenly, the frown was turned in his direction.

You raised a brow.

“Why? That all you got, Barnes?”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle—and grunt, a little—when you grabbed the base of his cock and brought it down to your swollen pout. His hand instinctively moved back to the wall.

“Honey, are you s—”

He stopped the second you rubbed him up and down and pressed a kiss on the most sensitive skin.

“My mouth isn’t made of paper mâché. You can fuck it a little harder than that,” you said, running your touch down his length while holding his gaze. You looked eager.

Before Bucky could respond, you took the tip of his cock between your lips. Flattened your tongue and glided your mouth down as far as it could go before your cheeks started to hurt—then bobbed your head even further. One of your husband’s hands made a fist in your hair while the other scraped the wall, and you could tell it was taking some serious effort not to rut his hips out of habit.

Be gentle, be gentle, your dick barely fits in her mouth—

“—fucking hell you feel good,” he groaned.

Bucky took one look and could have cum on the spot.

It was one thing to feel you licking and sucking and stretching to accommodate his length, and another thing entirely to see you knelt in front of him with the world’s sweetest gaze, mouth stuffed full of his cock and eyes all but rolling back at the overwhelming sensation. You’d nearly made it all the way to the short tufts of hair on his lower abdomen—and looked so pretty doing it.

Bucky fucking loved it. And you. And fucking you, your face, any place he could fit himself, quite frankly. He stared down at you struggling to take his cock and felt a strange new wave of desire pulsing through his body.

“You like that, doll? Like when daddy fucks that slutty little mouth of yours?”

“Barely fits but you take it so well, bunny.”

“My good little wife and her pretty fucking mouth—likes sucking daddy’s cock however deep he needs it, huh?”

You liked it more than the air in your lungs, to be honest. Only problem was you couldn’t quite speak your mind with your mouth full of Bucky, so you had only to nod. Your husband groaned when you hummed along his length and bobbed your head to answer ‘yes.’ He saw you try not to gag and decided to thrust a little deeper.

He watched his cock drag back and forth along your tongue and took hold of your hair like a vice, fucking your face until your chin and cheeks were drenched with spit. Every now and then he’d pull his cock out just long enough to ask how bad you wanted him in your mouth, how desperate you were to taste him again, and every time you’d answer a little more sweetly and incoherently than before, eyes glazed with desire and mouth open for more.

You were amazed you’d lasted as long as you had—how quickly you’d devolved into this pliable, doe-eyed cocksleeve for Bucky and how keenly you desired to please him even more. It felt pornographic and lewd and somehow still loving as he plowed in and out of your mouth and sang your praises like no man had before.

Above you, Bucky was aching for release but adamant that he wouldn’t cum down your throat—not yet, at least.

His mind was alight with those pesky, primal thoughts again, and every time he watched you swallow him whole, he just wanted to fuck his cum someplace else.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was smitten or simply dominated by carnal desire; all he knew was that he wanted to give you his babies.

Lots and lots of babies.

A hundred or more, if he had it his way.

Again, you barely had a chance to take a fresh breath before Bucky threw you onto the bed. You’d just tried to steady yourself in a semi-seated position when the man shoved you back in the pillows and slotted himself between your legs, pupils blown wide with hunger.

In a blink, you were flipped onto your stomach with your ass yanked high in the air. Back made to arch, toes about to curl, you closed your eyes and sank your teeth into the sheets, moments away from begging your husband to fuck you right then and there, but Bucky had other plans. He seized the hair at the crown of your head and jerked your head to face forward.

The first thing to greet you was your own reflection—in a floor-to-ceiling mirror at the foot of the bed—followed by Bucky’s broad form steadying behind you. You watched him wet his lips, furrow his brow, and use one careful hand to guide the head of his cock to your entrance. Completely piqued with arousal as you were, weeping beads of desire from that place between your legs, you almost wanted to buck your hips and fuck him yourself.

You refrained.

Bucky pressed the tip of himself to your clit and met your gaze in the mirror when you let out a whimper.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” he asked, tone suddenly dropped to that of a stoic.

“Mean what?”

It took an unbelievable amount of willpower to fight the moan in your throat when Bucky dragged his cock down the seam of your cunt and rubbed every hot, throbbing inch of himself in the slickness between your folds. You were quick to take the sheets in your hands and squeeze as tight as you could—you wouldn’t let him win that easy.

“When you said you weren’t my wife. Did you mean it?” Bucky was coating himself now, rolling his hips back and forth while you seized the white linens for dear life.

“No. I didn’t,” you said through your teeth. Your eyelids fluttered with the feel of him circling your sensitive hole.

“Do you want to be my wife?” Bucky had to have known it was an asinine question, but he asked it all the same.

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I do. Now will you just fuck me already?”

In response, and as if to make a mockery of your request, Bucky just pressed the head of his cock inside you and watched you close in the mirror—daring your hips to move back another inch.

“What else do you want to be, doll?”

To say your mind was an empty slate bare of anything but the desire to be fucked was an understatement. You fumbled to find words.

“Your wife, your girl— that’s it, Bucky.”

Your husband nudged his cock a little deeper.

“A good girl?” he hummed.

“Yes, daddy,” you cried and clenched around him.

Bucky stayed where he was and stretched your wet, aching hole with just his tip, making the world’s most shallow thrusts as he flattened his hand on your back and made sure it stayed arched while he teased you.

At this point, you didn’t care what the man saw or heard. You fought with your hips and whined into the sheets.

“Bucky!”

“Wanna be my obedient little cockslut?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“My bunny?”

“Yes, James.” Your cheeks were enflamed, almost hot to the touch.

Bucky suddenly drove himself inside you all the way to the hilt. He squeezed your hip in one hand and with the other slipped a finger between your folds to rub vicious, tight circles against your clit as you bucked and moaned beneath his touch.

“How about a momma?” he pressed, almost too low to be heard, “Wanna be that, too?”

His hips fell into a quick and easy rhythm against your ass, stretching you wide and filling you up almost seamlessly. Your mind was too consumed with pleasure and him to think much else, but barely, you managed,

“W-what?”

Bucky delivered a thrust that knocked the breath from your chest, leaning down to rub your clit even harder.

“Do you want to be a mommy? Have me fill you up and put my baby inside you?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking—what the fuck? Your toes curled as a new jolt of pleasure shot through you, and your gaze locked with Bucky’s in the mirror. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“No— James, we’re not, shit—” you stopped to take a breath as he fucked you rough from behind, smirking the whole time, “We’re not ready for that.”

“Look pretty…ready to me,” Bucky stifled a groan when you squeezed around him and made obscene little noises sliding up and down his cock. He watched the way your pretty, wet pussy stretched and swallowed him down to the base and imagined it dripping with his cum. He snapped his hips against your ass even faster.

It wasn’t clear just who was more overcome with desire—both of you blissed out and fuckdrunk as you’d ever been—and then Bucky flipped you onto your back.

He wanted to see your face as he fucked you slow this time, lips hovering mere inches from your own as he dragged his cock gently in and out of you.

“James,” you breathed, digging your heels in his back with a wordless plea to speed up, baby, please.

In truth, you just knew what would happen if Bucky had the advantage of slow and soft sex with a mouth lowered close to your ear. How he’d shower you with kisses and bring you right to the edge, rolling his hips against your body with strings of sweet praises flowing fast off his tongue.

“Just one, honey,” he mumbled, lips grazing the edge of your jaw, “One baby and I promise we’ll be done.”

Yeah fucking right, you wanted to return with a roll of your eyes but felt your insides churn as he grazed that spot.

“Can you do that for me, doll?” he eased his dick back and forth and snaked a hand between your bodies until his palm was laying flat on your stomach, “Fit my baby in there?”

You couldn’t deny the feelings of pleasure were heightened to no end when he rubbed the heel of his palm into your tummy and continued to rut into you. That feeling of fullness, the delicate nudge against your most sensitive place, paired with the warmth of Bucky’s hand on your lower abdomen, was as close to euphoric as you’d ever felt before orgasm, and it wasn’t hard to tell from the way your body responded. Bucky worked his touch even deeper and watched you writhe beneath him.

“My sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing that spot, “You’d look so pretty all swole up down here, don’t you think?”

Fucking hell, this guy was good. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shake your head.

“Someone…tried to kill us…twice in the last twenty four hours,” you managed between labored breaths. Trying not to whimper when the head of Bucky’s cock kissed your cervix and you felt him bottom out inside you.

Balls deep and enamored with the expression on your face, Bucky laid a kiss on your forehead and smiled.

“I’ll take Schröder’s life with my own two hands if it means keeping you—” he paused to press his palm even firmer on your stomach, “—and our child safe, honey.”

You wanted to believe him. You sincerely hoped your husband could make good on his promise—even if it meant delivering an agonizing, bloody death to a man you barely knew—but you sensed deep down that there were no guarantees in the world Bucky Barnes inhabited. From what little you’d seen in the last day and a half, it had become clear as ever that there were no certainties; no promise of tomorrow, much less a probability that things would pan out exactly as you planned. Add to that a living, breathing child between you two, and the prospects for a safe, secure, and peaceful future were small. Infinitesimally so, in the grand scheme of things.

“No, Bucky,” you finally opened your eyes to find his tender gaze watching over you. Still moving his hips gently, still blanketing your body with his own, “That’s entirely just— just irresponsible. You know it would be.”

“Making a child together?” Bucky seemed wounded saying the words.

And, in spite of the serious turn your conversation had taken, you could see and feel with the growing pace of your breaths that both of you were close. You wanted more than anything to repair that muted, injured look in his eyes, but then Bucky was blinking it away, to the best of his abilities, and lowering his head back down to yours to impart a soft barrage of kisses along your skin. He resumed before you could even think to speak again.

“Okay. No, you’re right. It’s your choice, my love,” he murmured against your cheek, getting back into the more deliberate rhythm of his thrusts before. He stayed there holding his body and his lips as close to yours as possible, and when you felt tempted to say something again, you found the sound drowned by a cresting wave of pleasure.

Your legs tightened around Bucky’s sides, and your head fell back on the bed. You felt Bucky’s drop right beside you, turned just slightly to graze his lips against your ear.

“Gonna cum for me, doll?”

You nodded.

“So close, Bucky,” you breathed, a tremor passing over your thighs as they squeezed him even tighter.

You felt your husband’s hand move from your belly to a place just below it—taking care to bring the pad of his thumb to that wet, aching bundle of nerves—and started drawing circles. Your back arched from the bed, into him, and the coil of pleasure in your lower half swelled.

“Good girl,” Bucky growled, “Good fuckin’ girl, taking me so well.”

The praises and gentle circuits of his thumb continued as he fucked you harder into the bed and panted against your skin. Increasing the speed of his thrusts before catching your mouth in a sloppy kiss, body sinking into yours.

“Gonna make a mess of this cock, huh? Show daddy just how much you love it?”

You whined in response, feeling your muscles start to ache from how hard your legs were wrapped around him. Bucky invaded your mouth with his tongue, kissing and licking and craving your taste as he fucked you stupid—and begged for your release.

“Cum for daddy, honey, I know you got it. Let daddy feel it, baby, please.”

A couple more snaps of his hips and you gave him just that: a hot, cascading ripple of bliss spreading all throughout your body, sending your mind in spirals and every muscle under your command a tense, throbbing mess. You swallowed a scream and took a bite of Bucky’s shoulder instead, causing the man above you to grin and fuck you harder.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled with an audible hint of pride.

The smile only started to waver when his own release was coming close. Suddenly, his grip was moving to your hip and pinning you down to the bed, brows pinching in and breaths starting to hitch.

“Honey— honey,” he said, voice strained, “Baby, you— you gotta let go of your— ah, fuck.”

Still riding out the highs of your orgasm, you hardly even noticed how tight you were holding him with your legs, and shortly, this raised issues for Bucky, who was trying like hell to heed your wishes and not cum inside you.

“Baby, let go, I gotta—”

He probably could’ve fought to shake you off a little harder, been a bit more adamant about his efforts, but you looked so comfortable and lithe and sweet beneath his frame, so blissed out and happy to be taking his strokes, Bucky almost had to pinch himself to rouse his lust-addled brain to action and remind himself that this was how babies are made, man, get the fuck off of her.

Bucky let out a long, strangled groan as the ropes of cum left his body before he could think, or move, fast enough.

He hastily pushed your legs away and pulled out, but not before painting your walls with a good portion of his load. His hand fell to his cock and started jerking the rest of it out over your stomach, body washing with pleasure.

Vaguely, thoughts of babies and ballgames and neat white picket fences crossed his mind, but those views were fleeting; he remembered what you’d told him and forced himself back to earth, dropping a quick, apologetic kiss to the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve pulled out quicker,” Bucky panted against your neck.

You stroked his bicep and shook your head.

“You’re fine. I kinda had you down like a boa constrictor for a second,” you breathed and shared a weary laugh.

Before you knew it, Bucky was sliding off the bed and shuffling toward the bathroom in search of a towel. You prodded the warm, gooey mess on your belly with your finger and raised an eyebrow. Curious, and only slightly worried.

Bucky had been hitting it raw for a day now—surely one more half-load of his wouldn’t get you pregnant, right?

Fortunately, you didn’t have much longer to ponder that thought because a trill of a ringtone sounded from the nightstand.

A phone call? At 45,000 feet?

“Just the intercom,” Bucky called out, “Probably Steve about to start complaining that we fuck too loud.”

Huh. You stared at the trimline-looking telephone on the table and let it ring. Then the sound stopped.

“You think they could hear us?” you asked.

Bucky had just wet a washcloth under the sink and was rifling through the cabinets for something else.

“Hope so,” he said with a shrug, “You know I’d never miss a chance to let ‘em know I took a trip to poundtown—”

“Please never say that again,” you groaned, closing your eyes in sudden fear of what Steve and Sam may or may not have just been made privy to outside of the room.

You were just about to speak up again—perhaps to tell your husband there would be an indefinite travel ban to poundtown if he didn’t hurry the fuck up with that towel—when the intercom’s jarring peal started up once more.

Fuck this. Ignoring the sticky-sweet puddle of love still painted on your stomach, you sat up and crawled over to the phone and ripped it off the hook.

“Barnes residence,” you announced without ceremony. Then, imagining how smug Steve was probably looking on the other end of that line, you decided to be crass and add, “Bucky Barnes is very busy laying pipe on his wife right now, but if you could leave your name and number, he’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible!”

You heard the caller burst out laughing, and you smiled to yourself. Pleased to have made an otherwise moody and brooding Steve Rogers crack at one of your jokes, you were just about to hang up when the caller cut in.

Bucky was returning with your towel in hand, lips curled in the faintest of smirks at hearing your crude declaration, when he stopped at the foot of the bed.

He saw the smile fall from your face, and his did, too.

From the other end of the line, a soft and familiar Southern drawl crawled out of the phone’s receiver.

“Sure thing, doll. Tell him it’s Joey Schröder calling.”

Taglist: @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut

(If I missed anyone or tagged improperly, please let me know! This is my first rodeo taglist)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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buckysslut · 4 months ago

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𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐩. 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬

TW: PORN LINKS!! [PART TWO] three four

[photo] just bucky and his girl

bucky loves watching your tits bounce

you need him raw

bucky hates when you tease him

mob!bucky spanking you because you were a brat

[photo] what mob!bucky likes coming home to

bucky is a munch

bucky trying to fit as many of his metal fingers in you as possible

he has huge loads

you should’ve known better than to tease him

the kind of videos you send titty-loving bucky while he’s at work

[photo] you wanted to act like daddy’s little whore, you can get it in writing

Tags: @chrisevansleftnipple , @homiesexual-or-homosexual , @httpsells , @avengemepercy , @raikan624 , @multiversefanfics , @majulians-groupie ' @maryevm , @grilledcheesewithjalapeno , @yaboyguzma69

#tw p.links #twt links #p links #twt p links #twitter links #p. links #bucky barnes #bucky barnes p links #bucky barne twt links #marvel p. links #marvel p links #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #buckysslut #250 followers!!

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delicatebarness · 1 year ago

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but daddy i love him | chapter one

Summary: Your father begins to worry about your connection to Bucky, again under your twin's influence.

Warnings: This story contains themes of secrecy, forbidden romance, and familiar conflict. High School/Mob AU. - Also, a lot of what happens in this series will be done while the characters are underage, for example, alcohol and drug consumption.

Word Count: 1508

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Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: I thought it was fitting that he still called her Sunshine. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

The marble floors of your family’s estate were cold against your feet as you made your way to your father’s office. The grandeur of the house, with the high ceilings and opulent decor, made it feel more like a fortress than a home, a constant heavy air of unease.

As you stood before the massive oak door, you knocked softly before stepping inside. Sat behind his large mahogany desk, the weight of your father’s presence filled the room. His sharp eyes met yours, and he motioned for you to sit.

“Morning, Daddy,” you greeted, forcing a sweet smile as you settled into the chair opposite him.

“Morning, Princess,” he replied, his voice gruff but affectionate. “I need to talk to you about some… concerns, Peter has come to me about.”

Tilting your head, you feigned innocence. “Concerns? About what, Daddy?”

“About you and James Barnes.” He leaned forward, his gaze penetrating. “He is convinced something is going on between you two.”

Letting out a light laugh, you shook your head. “Petey is always so suspicious. Bucky is like another brother to me, you know that.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He said he has been watching you two closely, says he’s seen things that make him think otherwise.”

Leaning in, you played the sweet and innocent ‘daddy’s girl’ card. Battling your lashes slightly. “Daddy, you said no boys, so there are no boys. And, I’ve always done what you asked. Bucky’s just Steve’s friend, and someone who looks out for me because Steve asked him to. That’s all.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced, however, his gaze softened nonetheless. “I need to be sure, Princess. Peter’s convinced there’s more to it.”

Reaching across the desk, you placed your hand over him. “You’ve always trusted me, haven’t you? I’d never do anything to break that trust. You know how Peter is, Daddy, he just likes to stir up trouble.”

The tension eased from his shoulder as he sighed. “I know. It’s just… I worry about you. This world isn’t kind, men aren’t kind, and I want to keep you safe.”

“I know, Daddy,” you softly sighed, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “And I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about with Bucky.”

Finally relenting, he nodded. “Alright. But, be careful. If I find out otherwise…”

“You won’t,” you assured him with a bright smile. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Princess,” he said, his tone tender. “Now, go on. I don’t pay for that school just for you to be late.”

Relieved, you left his office. Your heart raced as you made your way toward the front door. The encounter had been too close for comfort.

Back at school, the usual hum of student chatter filled the air as you navigated the hallways. Classes came and went by in a blur, your mind replayed the tense conversation with your father. The warning was clear: you needed to be more careful than ever.

You and Bucky managed to find a moment alone as lunch approached. The abandoned art room was your sanctuary during school hours, a place where Peter and his suspicions couldn’t find you. The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open, and Bucky slipped in behind you, locking it with a soft click.

Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you as his lips met yours in a desperate kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pressed against him, the intensity of the moment erasing all thoughts of caution. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer as if the space between you was unbearable.

The kiss grew more heated as he lay you down against one of the desks, his lips trailing down your neck, making your heart race. You tugged at his shirt, needing to feel him closer, the urgency between you both palpable. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, and you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in.

Your breaths mingled, the room filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and the soft rustle of clothes. You could feel his heart pounding as hard as yours, the need and desire between you both electric. His hand slid under your blouse, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

Just as you were about to lose yourself completely in the moment, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. You both froze, reality crashing back in. With a reluctant sigh, Bucky pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“It’s so hard to stay away from you,” Bucky whispered, his breath warm against your skin. His grip tightened around you for a moment before he let go, helping you off the desk. “Tonight is going to be difficult.”

You both straightened your clothes. The air thickened with unspoken longing and the weight of the evening’s challenges. The charity gala, organized by your father, was an annual event attended by New York’s elite. Every year since you and Bucky started, it felt like a daunting obstacle course.

Your gaze never left his as he adjusted his tie with a sigh. “I know,” you murmured, your voice laced with frustration. “But we can’t avoid it. My father’s gala is not something we can skip.”

He nodded, and you tried to steady your racing heart. “We’ll have to be extra careful,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper. He reached out, brushing his thumb just under your lip, fixing your messy lipstick. “I’ll keep my distance, no slipping up tonight.”

You watched his jaw tense, his gaze flickering toward the door as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment. “At least… until we can find a moment alone.”

As you descended the sweeping staircase, the soft glow of chandeliers reflected off your gown. The delicate fabric trailed behind you like a waterfall of midnight blue silk, it whispered against the marble flooring. Voices and laughter filled the ballroom as you entered. The air was thick with the scent of roses and the symphony of polite greetings, the tinkling of glasses, and the soft music from the orchestra.

Your gaze swept around the room, searching for Bucky amidst the sea of familiar faces. Standing near the bar, you found him, flanked by a few of your father’s associates. His posture was relaxed, a composed expression and drink in hand.

“Looking stunning tonight, Sunshine,” Bucky remarked quietly as you approached, his eyes flashed with admiration before he sipped his drink, masking his emotions with practiced ease.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smirk, a rush of warmth coursing through you as he averted his gaze. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

Bucky chuckled, glancing over at Steve and Peter who were engrossed in conversation with another guest. “Trying to blend in,” he murmured, shifting on his feet as you called over the bartender. “It’s tricky when your father’s watching.”

You nodded knowingly, familial expectations loomed over moments like these. “Peter’s in his head, again,” you sighed, scanning the room discreetly as the bartender placed your drink down. “We’ll find a moment, though.” As you took a sip of your drink, you sent Bucky a wink as you began walking away, mingling with the other guests.

Later in the evening, the music from the orchestra swelled and the dance floor filled with couples, you stood alone near the edge of the room, nursing a drink. Bucky approached, his steps purposeful yet discreet.

“I spoke to your father,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I asked if I could have the honor of a dance with you.”

Your heart skipping a beat at his words. “And… what did he say?”

A small, almost mischievous smile tugged at his lips. “He agreed, but… only for one song, and he’s keeping an eye on us.”

Glancing across the room, a smile spread across your lips as you spotted your father watching from a distance. His gaze was stern and protective. “Of course he is,” you murmured, amusement and exasperation in your tone.

Bucky extended his hand towards you. “May I have our annual, one song, Sunshine?” he asked, genuine warmth filling his voice.

You nodded, placing your hand in his, a spark of electricity coursing through you from the contact. He led you onto the dance floor.

As you swayed to the music, Bucky’s hand lay firmly on your waist. Despite the watchful eyes of your father, brothers, and the guests, the connect between you two was undeniable.

“You’re breathtaking,” You whispered, your grip tightening on his shoulders. “It’s touture having to pretend we’re just friends.”

“I know,” he whispered back, his lips close to your ear. “One day we won’t need to.” he promised softly.

The dance ended too soon, and as you pulled away, your father’s gaze burned into you. Bucky gave your hand a final, lingering squeeze before letting go. With that, you returned to the swirl of social interactions. Your heart raced knowing that despite the obstacles, your bond was unbreakable.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#but daddy i love him series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #but daddy i love him #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #high school au #mob au

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barnesonly · 5 days ago

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Illegal

mob!bucky barnes x fbi!reader

summary: You’re an FBI agent sent undercover to get close to the most dangerous mob boss in the city. But the deeper you go, the harder it gets to remember which side you’re really on.

word count: 9k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! for all the tags/warnings, please check series masterlist since it may contain spoilers.

Chapter Eight — “Years” | Previous | Next

Three years later, the house was quieter—but never for long.

Toys littered the corners of the living room. Crayon drawings curled on the fridge. There was a teddy bear with a stitched-up arm that never left the foot of the bed. And in the nursery—now a proper bedroom—a tiny voice sang to herself as she built towers out of blocks, chattering to a stuffed rabbit with one ear slightly chewed.

You stood in the kitchen, barefoot, a hand curled around your mug.

Three years.

Sometimes it still caught you off guard, how fast it had gone. How slow, too. How much had changed, and how much hadn’t.

You still loved him. That part never faded—not really. Not in the sleepless nights or the quiet holidays or the birthdays with just three candles and a cake you decorated yourself. You’d fought for him, back then. Tried to hold on to what you had. But James… he didn’t change his mind.

And you couldn’t blame him anymore.

He was still in the States, wrapped up in that world you’d never belonged to—but he came. God, he came. Every month, sometimes more if he could manage. He called almost every night. Knew the names of her stuffed animals, what books she liked best, how she liked her apple slices cut.

He loved her. You never doubted that.

And Becca loved him too—in that all-consuming, unconditional way only little kids could. She’d race across the room when he walked through the door, arms outstretched, shouting “Daddy!” with her whole heart.

He’d lift her up every time like he’d never been gone.

You didn’t resent him for it.

But sometimes, when the house went quiet at night—when you stepped on a toy in the hallway and didn’t have anyone to whisper about it to—you still missed him. Missed what could’ve been.

It got late. Rain tapped gently against the windowpane, soft and steady, and the lamp on the bedside table cast a golden glow over the room.

Rebecca’s hair was damp from her bath, curls sticking to her forehead as she lay curled beneath her blanket—her plush rabbit tucked tightly under one arm, thumb in her mouth like she only did when she was especially tired or thinking too hard.

You smoothed her hair back gently, watching her eyelids grow heavier by the second.

And then—quietly, as if she wasn’t sure she was supposed to say it—

“I miss Dad.”

You felt your chest tighten, but you didn’t let it show. You just smiled gently and tucked the blanket a little higher under her chin.

“I know, sweetie,” you murmured, brushing a kiss over her temple. “But he’s gonna visit us soon. Just a couple more sleeps.”

She blinked slowly. “Why’s he always away?…”

Your hand stilled for a second.

“It’s just…” you began, careful, your voice barely above a whisper, “he’s got work there. Important work.”

There was a little pause.

“But…” she whispered, brows pinching in that way that always reminded you of him, “can’t we go visit him? Like he visits us sometimes?”

You swallowed. “It’s not that easy, Becca.”

“But—Why?… That’s not fair.”

You looked at her then—so small, so smart, so soft-hearted. She wasn’t old enough to understand what happened. That you couldn’t just go back to USA, or what it meant for a man like James to spend his nights making enemies instead of memories. She just knew he loved her. That he wasn’t here. And that part hurt.

You curled a strand of her hair gently behind her ear. “Because the place he works… it’s not really meant for kids”

She frowned. “Not even if I hold your hand really tight?”

That nearly broke you. You leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers, trying to steady your breath.

“I wish it were that simple,” you whispered. “But even when he’s far away, Daddy loves you so much. You know that, right?”

She nodded, eyes glassy now.

“And you’ll see him soon. Just a few more sleeps.”

“…Okay,” she murmured.

You stayed there a moment longer—until her breathing slowed, thumb slipping from her mouth, the rabbit hugged tight to her chest.

Then, quietly, you turned out the lamp and closed the door behind you.

And for a moment, you just stood there. Hand resting on the knob. Letting the hush settle around you like dust.

God, she was so much like him.

The older she got, the clearer it became—not just in the way her hair curled dark and thick around her face, or how those storm-colored eyes locked onto yours when she was trying to understand something, deep and serious and far too grown for three years old.

It was everything.

The furrow of her brow when she was concentrating. The tilt of her head when she didn’t believe what you were saying. The silence she sat in when she didn’t know how to say what she felt—but felt it all the same. Loud. Heavy. Whole.

She was her father’s daughter in every way.

You saw it the ways she was acting. In how she got quiet when she was hurting. In the way she didn’t give affection freely—but when she did, it meant everything.

Rebecca wasn’t just yours.

She was his.

And no matter how much time passed, how many nights he spent an ocean away, that truth stayed carved into her—down to the bone.

It made your heart ache and swell at once. Because you loved them both. With everything you had. And you weren’t sure which was harder.

Missing him.

Or seeing him every day in her face.

You exhaled softly through your nose, blinking down the burn in your eyes. Then you pulled your phone from your pocket, thumb hovering for a moment over the screen before you tapped his name.

It rang once. Twice. He answered on the third.

“Hey,” came James’s voice, rough and low like he’d just stepped away from something loud. “Can’t talk long. I’m in the middle of… something.”

You nodded instinctively, even though he couldn’t see you. “Right. Sorry. I just…”

Your hand rested on the wall beside you, steadying yourself like the call had tilted your balance somehow.

“I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Rebecca was asking about you again.”

James was quiet on the other end. For a second, you weren’t sure if he was still there.

“She okay?”

“She misses you,” you said gently. “She asked if we could visit this time. Said it’s not fair you’re always the one coming here.”

You heard a faint exhale, like he was trying to keep himself from reacting too much. Like maybe he’d heard that same thought in his own head a thousand times.

“I tried to explain it to her,” you added, softer now. “But I think… she’s starting to feel it more. That you’re not around all the time.”

Another pause.

“I know.” He said quietly.

You waited, let the silence stretch. Let it ask the question you couldn’t push past your lips.

Finally, you said, “Did you get your plane tickets yet? You said you were coming next week.”

A rustle on his end. Distant voices. The sound of a door closing.

“Not yet,” he admitted. “I want to, I just—I was busy.”

Of course he was. You could hear it in his voice—worn, tense, distant in a way that wasn’t unkind but still felt like a locked door between you.

“Okay,” you murmured, pressing your thumb to your brow. “I get it.”

“I’ll let you know when I book,” he said after a beat. “Tell Becca I love her, alright?”

You nodded, voice thick in your throat. “I will.”

“I’ll try to call her tomorrow. When I’m home.”

You didn’t answer right away. For a moment, all you could do was hold the phone tighter, press it a little closer to your cheek like it made a difference. Like it could close the gap between you.

“Okay,” you finally said. But it came out small. Frail, even. You cleared your throat. “She’ll like that. She misses your bedtime stories.”

James gave a soft huff—half a laugh, half a sigh. “She always wants the one with cats.”

“She does,” you whispered, smiling faintly despite the ache. “But you have to do the voice.”

“I always do the voice.”

You laughed gently, the sound catching in your throat before fading into quiet again.

“I wish you could’ve seen her tonight,” you murmured. “She was so tired she nearly fell asleep in her soup. And when I tucked her to bed she asked me about you, and—god, James, I didn’t know what to say. I told her it’s not that easy but… how much longer can I keep saying that?”

You didn’t mean for it to sound like pressure. You weren’t trying to guilt him. You just—needed to say it out loud. Somewhere in the middle of all this limbo.

James was silent again. But not the kind of silence that meant he didn’t care. You could feel it. The weight of it. Like he was holding his breath on the other end.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” you said quietly. “I know you never asked for—this life, this distance, the back-and-forth. But… she’s three, James. And she’s starting to understand. She’s asking real questions. She’s feeling it… and she needs you here.”

“I think about that every day,” he said, voice rough now. “Don’t think I don’t. I know I’m not there enough. I know she deserves more.”

A quiet sigh followed, static brushing against the line. You could picture him then—hand running through his hair, jaw clenched, the weight of it all pressing heavy on his shoulders even from thousands of miles away.

You closed your eyes.

“Let’s talk about it when you visit,” you murmured. “In person.”

Another pause. Then a soft, tired, “Yeah… okay.”

It wasn’t a solution. Not yet. But it was something. You nodded to yourself, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Okay then,” you said quietly. “I won’t interrupt your work. Goodnight, James.”

“Night.”

You hung up before you could change your mind. You stared at the black screen of your phone for a long time after the call ended.

And then… came the part you hated most. The part where you sat in the quiet with your stupid, stubborn feelings.

Because—it had been years now. Years since you broke up. Years since he made it clear that whatever the two of you had was over. And still, every time he called… every time he visited… every time his eyes lingered just a second too long—

You hoped.

God, you still hoped.

You hoped something had changed. That maybe he’d come back this time and realize he missed you. That he’d hold your daughter, watch her laugh, and suddenly remember the way your hand once felt in his. That he’d see the life you’d built here, and want to be part of it—really be part of it.

You hoped there was still a flicker left.

Of his love.

Or at least the ashes of it—something you could blow on, quietly, gently, desperately, until it sparked again.

But he never gave you more than the barest warmth. Just enough to keep the embers from dying. Never enough to set anything alight again.

And still, you waited.

You knew you should have moved on.

God, it was stupid. Reckless, even, to still hold onto hope like this after everything—but the truth was, you just couldn’t love anyone else.

You tried. You really did.

There was this one guy at the job you’d gotten here—technically the job Mike had pulled some strings to get you. Secretary at the town’s police department. It was… different from anything you’d ever done before. But it was steady. Comfy. Quiet. Nothing much ever happened here in this sleepy English town, and honestly, that was exactly what you’d needed.

You only worked part-time—between nursery drop-offs, Rebecca’s appointments, and just… being her mother. But you liked it. Filing, scheduling, the faint buzz of chatter in the halls, the hum of the kettle always boiling in the breakroom. It wasn’t thrilling, but it was safe.

And yeah—there was that guy.

He was nice. Charming, even. Handsome in a clean, boyish kind of way. Always made sure to ask how your day was. Brought you a coffee once when he saw you come in looking tired. Clearly testing the waters. And for a moment—a brief one—you wondered if maybe that was it. Maybe this was the start of something new. Maybe your heart was finally ready.

But it wasn’t.

Because he wasn’t James.

He didn’t feel like James.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t picture him standing in your kitchen holding your daughter, couldn’t hear his voice reading bedtime stories, couldn’t see his shadow walking down the hall of your home.

He wasn’t him.

And you couldn’t let yourself fall for someone who wasn’t James.

———

It was Saturday morning.

The sun had finally decided to show itself after a week of endless grey, its soft gold spilling across the kitchen tiles as you rinsed out the cereal bowls and set them aside. Rebecca had finished her breakfast with that usual toddler stubbornness—half talking, half eating, milk on her chin and crumbs in her dark curls—and now she was hunched over her coloring book, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.

You dried your hands and sat down beside her at the table, watching as she carefully filled in the lines of a cat wearing sunglasses.

“Good job, baby,” you said softly, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

She didn’t look up, too focused, but after a second she said—completely unprompted, in that innocent, matter-of-fact way that always hit you right in the chest.

“One day, I wanna be a detective like you used to be, Mommy.”

You blinked. There was a beat of silence as you stared at her, lips parted, heart stalling in your chest—and then, a startled little laugh almost slipped from you. You bit it back, pressing your hand to your mouth to stifle it.

Detective.

“Yeah…” you murmured under your breath, glancing toward the window, letting your voice carry softly where she wouldn’t really catch it. “Your daddy’s gonna love that.”

Rebecca kept coloring—fiercely determined now, her little brow furrowed, crayons scattered everywhere. You reached over and gently turned the page so the spiral binding wouldn’t dig into her arm, and she glanced up at you with those big, steel-blue eyes.

“Did I do the sky right?” she asked, holding up the page.

You tilted your head. “You made it purple.”

“It’s sunset,” she said very seriously.

You smiled. “Then it’s perfect.”

She beamed at that, her tiny chest puffing with pride, and leaned against your side without saying anything else. You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, letting her warm weight settle into you.

For a while, the world just quieted—no rushing, no worrying. Just the sound of crayon on paper, your heartbeat steady beneath her cheek, the distant hum of a neighbor’s lawn mower through the open window. Her fingers were sticky from juice, her hair smelled faintly of strawberries, and when she sighed contentedly, it was the kind of sound that made you want to cry a little.

“I love you, Mommy,” she mumbled.

Your throat tightened. You kissed the crown of her head.

“I love you more, baby.”

Because even though you’d been scared—terrified, really—when you first found out you were pregnant… Even though your hands shook through every ultrasound appointment, and you cried yourself to sleep more nights than not…

Even though you had royally fucked up everything in your life before she came along…

You were a good mother.

You knew that. Because you always tried. Always got back up. Always did your best for her—even when it didn’t feel like enough.

You still remembered like yesterday the moment they laid her on your chest—messy and red and screaming like her lungs were built to wage war against the world. She’d been small, but not delicate. She had dark hair already, and you swore, even then, you could see James in the shape of her tiny mouth.

You remembered how you cried when you held her. Not because of the pain. Not even because you were overwhelmed. But because somehow, somehow, despite all your guilt and failures and heartbreak, she looked up at you like you were her whole world.

Especially that first night in the hospital, when everything felt so fragile—your body sore, your nerves frayed to threads, and your tiny daughter sleeping in the bassinet beside you, wrapped in pink and too precious to be real. You’d stared at your phone for an hour before calling him. Hands trembling. Voice barely a whisper.

“She’s here.”

And he’d come.

God, he came.

Not instantly but he booked the first flight possible. He’d planned to be there when it happened, but Becca… well, she decided to come a little early—and still—he burst into that hospital room like he hadn’t breathed the whole way there. He looked exhausted, rumpled from the flight, eyes glassy and red-rimmed, holding a stuffed bear. And when he saw her—when his eyes landed on the bundle beside your bed—he just froze.

For a moment, you thought he might break apart right there. But then he walked forward. Slow, careful steps, like she might vanish if he moved too fast.

“She’s…” he started, then stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “She’s beautiful.”

You’d nodded, throat tight.

He bent over her bassinet. Just stood there for the longest time, staring at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. His hand trembled as he reached in—fingertips brushing her impossibly tiny fist.

And then—he cried.

Silent at first. Then a shudder, a sniff, and tears slipping down his cheeks unchecked. You’d never seen James cry like that. Not even when everything between you had fallen apart.

But there he was, seeing his daughter, choking on a breath like the weight of her was finally too much.

You hadn’t said anything. Just reached for his hand.

And he held yours like a lifeline. Like even though you weren’t his anymore, maybe… maybe you’d always share this one sacred thing.

And you’d spiraled after that. Of course you had. You hadn’t slept. You’d panicked over every fever, every rash, every cry that lasted too long. You’d second-guessed yourself constantly. You’d missed James so much after he eventually had to go back to the States. You thought your heart might actually stop.

But god—those early months were still the best time of your life.

Waking up with her curled into your side, warm and soft and safe. Rocking her at 2 a.m. in the glow of the kitchen light, whispering lullabies through your tears. Watching her grow—her first laugh, her first steps, the first time she called you mama.

It had been chaos. Exhausting. Beautiful. Everything.

And now… she was three. Bright and talkative and stubborn as hell. And still the only part of your life that ever truly felt right.

———

A week later, it was the kind of gray-skied morning that smelled like rain, the air heavy with the scent of damp stone and the faint sweetness of the flowers Rebecca had insisted on watering three times the day before.

You were just finishing folding laundry in the living room when you heard the knock. Three quick taps—your heart stilled at the rhythm. Familiar. Certain.

You wiped your hands on your shirt, whispering over your shoulder, “Becca, stay here, okay?” but she was already sprinting toward the door in socked feet, hair wild from her morning braid coming loose.

You reached it first.

And there he was.

James stood on your doorstep, travel-worn but smiling, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and his dark coat soaked at the shoulders. His beard was a little longer, his hair messy from the wind, and god—his eyes were the same. That steel blue. That ache you hadn’t quite learned to live without.

He didn’t have to say a word before Rebecca squealed, “Daddy!” and threw herself into his arms.

He dropped his bag without thinking, catching her in one smooth motion and lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing at all. His laugh cracked through the air, rough and breathless and full of something that made your throat sting.

“Hey, peanut,” he murmured, pressing his face into her shoulder. “Missed you so much.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him like he was a lifeline.

You stepped aside to let them in, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying. He caught your eyes briefly as he carried her inside, and maybe it was nothing—but god, it felt like everything.

“Hey,” he said to you softly, as she babbled something about her coloring book and the cookies you let her have after breakfast.

“Hi,” you whispered back, lips barely moving.

He smiled.

James had barely set foot inside before Rebecca launched into a chaotic, breathless monologue. Still in his arms, she bounced with excitement, words tumbling out faster than either of you could process.

“We made cookies yesterday! But Mommy said we can’t have too many or I’ll turn into a cookie—but I didn’t! I only had two, I swear! And—and I drew a big picture of a cat but then I made it pink because pink cats are cooler, and also I have new socks with bunnies on them, wait—do you wanna see them?!”

James looked like he was trying desperately not to laugh, his eyes crinkling, lips parted in pure wonder as he nodded seriously. “Pink cats? No way… And I definitely need to see those bunny socks.”

Rebecca squealed and immediately squirmed out of his arms, running off toward the hallway, yelling, “Don’t move! I’m gonna show you everything!”

You let out a soft laugh as you shut the door behind him, shaking your head. “She’s been vibrating all morning. Couldn’t wait till you show up.”

James smiled, eyes still lingering on the path Rebecca had disappeared down. “Yeah?” he said, voice low, fond.

“Yeah,” you said gently. “She hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

He blinked like he was swallowing that down. “I—missed her. So much.”

You didn’t say anything to that. You didn’t need to.

The house felt warmer now, fuller somehow. Like it had been missing something you couldn’t name until this exact moment.

And in the distance, Rebecca’s voice rang out again. „Okay but also— Daddy you HAVE to see the sticker I put on my toy box. It’s a shark! But it has a crown!”

James chuckled. “I’m coming, peanut.”

And he looked back at you for just a second—soft, grateful, something like apology written in the corners of his tired eyes—before following after her.

———

The sun had dipped low by the time dinner was cleared from the table, the quiet golden light slanting through the windows, painting long shadows on the floor. James was sitting cross-legged on the rug now, Rebecca curled into his lap with a picture book spread open in front of them.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, watching the two of them with a kind of ache you’d grown used to.

He read to her slowly, with voices and sound effects—making her giggle so hard she had to lean back against his chest, clutching her belly.

“Do it again!” she gasped.

“The silly voice?” he asked.

“Nooo, the cow noise! The moooo!”

James gave a very dramatic moo, loud and mournful and ridiculous, and Rebecca erupted into another fit of laughter. She clapped her hands, then turned her face up to look at him. “You’re funny, Daddy.”

“You think so?” he said, smiling down at her.

“The funniest,” she nodded solemnly, then reached up and touched his stubble with her small fingers. “You look a little like a bear. But a nice one.”

James laughed. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

You bit your lip, heart too full. You should’ve looked away, given them space, but you couldn’t—not when the image was so perfect. He was in his jeans and old navy sweater, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his arm wrapped around her little back like it was second nature. Rebecca didn’t even shift. She just leaned into him like she belonged there.

She did.

He looked up suddenly, catching your gaze. For a second, neither of you said anything.

You gave him the smallest smile. “She doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else.”

James glanced down at her, resting his chin lightly against her hair. “She’s got the best laugh I’ve ever heard.”

And he didn’t say it, but you could hear the rest of it anyway.

I’m sorry I miss so much of it.

I wish things were different.

I wish I could stay.

Rebecca yawned and snuggled deeper into his arms.

“She’s gonna fall asleep right here,” he said softly, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

You smiled from the doorway, voice gentle. “Yeah, I think it’s time for bed, Becca.”

She yawned again, one of those big, dramatic ones that scrunched up her whole face, then nodded with sleepy determination. “Okay… but Daddy has to carry me.”

James chuckled low in his chest. “Well, I guess that’s the rule then, huh?”

She nodded again, already halfway asleep.

He stood slowly, careful not to jostle her too much as her small arms looped lazily around his neck. Her head dropped to his shoulder like it belonged there.

He lowered her gently onto the bed, moving with a softness you still weren’t used to seeing on him—and yet it fit so perfectly now. Like it had always been there, hidden under layers of shadow and time.

He pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it under her chin the way she liked. She blinked sleepily up at him, a little smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“G’night, Daddy…”

“Goodnight, peanut,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

Rebecca stirred slightly, her voice a breathy murmur. “Can you stay till I fall asleep?”

James smiled, soft and immediate. “Sure, sweetheart. Daddy will stay.”

You nodded quietly from the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the moment. “I’ll… I’ll just go make some tea,” you whispered, your hand lingering on the doorframe before you gently pulled it closed behind you.

You made your way to the kitchen. The kettle was already half-filled. You moved on instinct, like your body knew the motions before your mind caught up. Tea for two.

You were just reaching for the mugs when you saw it. His phone, abandoned on the kitchen table. Buzzing and lighting up.

Sharon ❤️

Calling…

You froze.

Everything in you screamed not to look. That it wasn’t your place. That it was probably nothing.

But you looked anyway.

The name.

The heart.

Your stomach turned.

Who the fuck was Sharon?

And why the hell did she have a heart next to her name?

Was he…?

Was he seeing someone?

The kettle began to boil, but you didn’t move. You stood there, staring at the screen like it had punched you in the gut.

God.

You knew it had been a long time.

You knew he had every right to move on.

You weren’t together. Hadn’t been in years. He had a whole separate life back in the States, and you weren’t part of it anymore—not really. Not in the way you ached to be.

But still.

Still, the sight of her name—Sharon—and that stupid little heart beside it made something inside you collapse. A sharp, ugly twist in your chest, like your ribs were caving in around your lungs. Like something had just been torn out of you by the roots.

You gripped the edge of the counter.

You felt sick.

Because you hadn’t moved on. You hadn’t even tried to really, not in the way that mattered. You’d told yourself you were waiting. Told yourself the timing wasn’t right, that maybe someday he’d look at you again like he used to.

And now…?

Now he had Sharon.

With a heart.

Was she kind to him? Did she make him laugh the way you used to? Did she know how he liked his coffee in the morning? Did she hold him at night, when he couldn’t sleep?

Was she the reason he never came back to you?

You blinked hard, the kettle screaming behind you now, steam pouring up in angry clouds, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

You were so fucking stupid.

You’d spent all this time loving him in silence, clinging to every glance, every visit, every call like they meant more than they did. Like he was yours still—deep down, maybe just buried beneath the damage.

But he wasn’t.

Maybe he hadn’t been for a long, long time.

Eventually, you reached out and turned the stove off. The whistle of the kettle faded into a low hiss before silence took over the kitchen again.

You moved on autopilot. Mug. Tea bags. The clink of the spoon against ceramic. Your hands were steady, but only because you’d spent years teaching them how to be. Inside, your mind was still stuck on Sharon. Stuck on what it meant. What it ruined.

You stirred too long, staring at the tea swirling in the cup like it might tell you what to do. It didn’t.

You pasted on some semblance of normal when you heard the floor creak behind you.

“I’m guessing she’s out?” you asked, not turning yet.

“Like a light,” James said, his voice soft.

You let out a quiet breath. He came closer, leaned against the other side of the counter. He looked tired. Warm. Familiar in a way that made everything ache a little worse.

Then, gently, “You said we should talk. In person.”

You swallowed.

Right. That.

You were the one who suggested it—when he called last week. That it was better to talk face to face. And now here you were.

James’s voice was calm, but there was something underneath it—something strained. Like he’d rehearsed this in his head a thousand times and still wasn’t sure if it would land right.

“Listen. I’ve been thinking about it… and…” he paused, rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, “maybe it’s time for you to go back to the States.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked at you, steady. “Well… it’s been years. Maybe you can call that… friend of yours.”

“Mike?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

James’s jaw tightened for a second, just a flicker. “Well, you said he got promoted. That he’s more in charge now. Maybe he could do something.”

“It’s not that simple, James.”

“Why not?”

You stared at him. “Because it isn’t. Do you even know what you’re asking for? Do you seriously expect me to drop everything and go back to the States? After I started a new life here? After you told me to leave in the first place?”

His eyes flickered, but you didn’t stop.

“It’s not just me now. It’s Becca. She’s got a life here. Friends. A routine. A world she understands.”

“I know,” he said, quieter now. “But she’s three. The older she gets, the harder it’ll be. And then you’ll never go back home.”

“Home?” you let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “James, I can’t just go back there and you know that.”

“I’m not saying you have to drop everything and leave this town immediately,” he said. “But maybe… talk with… Mike,” his lips twitched as If he was disgusted by the name. „Ask if you can come to the States at least for a short visit now.”

“A visit?” you echoed, your voice dull. “You want me to ask Mike if I can come to the States for a visit?”

James nodded slowly. “Just for a little while. Just to… see how it feels. How Becca takes it. Maybe you’ll see it’s not as impossible as you think.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to swallow down the knot rising in your throat. “How it feels? James, do you even hear yourself?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you—those tired, quiet eyes that had once held every promise in the world.

“You told me to leave,” you said again, softer now. “You told me it was safer if I left, if I stayed away. You didn’t want me there. And now, after all this time, you think we should just… go back? Like what, like nothing ever happened?”

“I didn’t want you to go because I stopped caring,” he muttered. “I did it because it was the only way to protect you.”

You looked away, blinking hard. “Well, congratulations. You protected us. We’re miles away, but we’re safe.”

James flinched like you’d slapped him.

And god, maybe that wasn’t fair. But you were spiraling. That phone call. That name. That fucking heart.

“And now what?” you said, setting your mug down with a dull clink. “Now you want us to what—get packed up and dragged back across the ocean? Start over again in some little apartment while you visit on weekends and call when you’re not busy with killing people?”

“That’s not what I want,” he said, sharp, finally cracking through his calm. “I want you to have options. I want Becca to know her country, her family—”

“Her family?” you cut in. “Her family is you and me. And you’ve already decided that we’re not a ‘we’ anymore.”

The words hung there, brittle and ugly and true.

James looked at you like he wanted to say something else—anything else. But he didn’t. Just rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded once.

“I just thought… it might be worth talking about,” he said, voice low. “That’s all.”

“I don’t understand,” he said after a long pause, his brows knitting together, voice low but edged with frustration. “I thought you’d want this. That you’d like to come back. You keep talking about missing the States, so why not come back?”

You didn’t even look at him.

Because he was right. God, he was right.

You did want that. You wanted it so badly your chest ached with it. You wanted to go home—not just to your country but to the life you thought you’d have. The one where you didn’t cry yourself to sleep, didn’t flinch every time Rebecca asked why Daddy didn’t stay longer. The one where your little girl got to grow up with two parents and without just their shared duty.

You’d love to come back.

You’d love for Becca to know her roots, to see her dad more than once every few weeks—if circumstances allowed.

You’d love to live close enough that James could show up whenever he wanted to.

You’d love it all.

But you couldn’t say any of that. Not now. Not with that name still burned into the back of your eyelids.

Sharon.

So instead, you stared down at your mug like it held answers. The tea was cold now, forgotten. Just like every version of your life where you still believed you’d end up in his arms again.

“Yeah,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “I miss home.”

James leaned in a little, searching your face. “Then why—”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your eyes dropped to the steamless tea. You couldn’t look at him. Not when your chest was this tight. Not when every part of you was begging him to just lie.

But you asked anyway. Quietly. Almost like you didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Are you seeing someone…?”

Silence.

You still didn’t look up—but you felt it. The way his shoulders shifted. The way his breath caught for just a second before he exhaled like he couldn’t believe you’d asked that.

He didn’t answer right away. And that said everything.

Your throat burned.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. Almost guilty. “Yeah, I am.”

You couldn’t hold it back this time. Your vision blurred, your chest ached, and you cursed yourself for being this fucking soft—for still loving him like this.

You blinked fast, tried to keep it in, but your lip trembled anyway.

James saw it. Of course he did.

His face fell, brows pinched with something like guilt or regret. He stepped forward, voice soft—pleading.

“Please… it’s been so long…”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh, your hands were trembling. Then you turned to him—finally looked at him, eyes glassy and cheeks warm.

You shook your head. “I know,” you whispered. “God, I know. And I still—” You stopped yourself.

Because how pathetic could one person be? Still in love. Still waiting. Still holding on like a fool.

“I wanted to tell you…” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, voice low like he was afraid to say it too loud. Like maybe if he did, it would break you.

Too late, you thought. It already had.

You swallowed, chest rising with the ache swelling inside you. Then you glanced away, nodding slowly, lips pressed together to keep them from shaking.

“I get it,” you whispered.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to protest—but what could he say?

And god, god—you wanted to move on too. You wanted to be free of this weight that crushed your ribs every time he left. You wanted to look at someone else and not feel like you were betraying a ghost of something that used to be beautiful. But you couldn’t. Because no matter how much time passed, your heart was still tethered to him like it didn’t know how to beat without the echo of his.

James tilted his head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You don’t seem like it.”

You let out a bitter, humorless laugh—sharp and dry. It scratched your throat on the way out.

God, it hurt. You didn’t want to be this person. But here you were, again, bleeding in front of him.

He watched you for a moment longer. “Is this why you don’t wanna go back?” he asked, quieter now. “Because… I’ve…found someone?”

The question made your lungs contract. You looked down, hands tightening around the mug, knuckles pale from the grip. You knew it was unfair. You knew it.

But you couldn’t help it.

You couldn’t picture him with someone else. You didn’t want to. Not holding someone else’s hand. Not kissing someone else’s mouth.

And still, you didn’t say a word.

“…Are you jealous?” he asked finally. The words were soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer.

“No.” You answered quickly. Too quickly. “I just—”

And fuck, you broke.

Your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat and it shattered, ragged and helpless, before the words even made it out.

“God, I just—” your voice cracked. “I’d been hoping for years—not weeks, not months but years—that something would change. That I would get back your trust. That you would look at me the way you used to. That you would love me again.”

Your eyes stung, vision swimming. You shook your head, almost angry at yourself for spilling it all now, like this.

“That you’d notice what I’m doing for you,” you whispered. “That I’m raising our daughter basically on my own, hoping every damn day that it will be enough for you. That I will be enough.”

You pressed your fist to your mouth, trying to hold yourself together, but it was useless now. The ache you’d kept locked in your chest for years was cracking open, spilling out across the kitchen tiles like a wound.

James didn’t move at first. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel the shift in the air between you—like something had broken open and now neither of you knew how to close it again.

“Hey…” he said softly. Barely more than a breath.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You were trying to hold the last fraying thread of your composure together.

But then you felt him near—his hand hovering before it finally touched your arm, tentative, gentle. Like he was afraid you’d flinch.

“You were always enough,” he said quietly.

You shook your head, tears slipping past your lashes. “Then why did you never give me a chance?”

His mouth opened, but for a second, nothing came. His brow pulled together, and you could see the guilt in the lines around his eyes, in the way he swallowed like it physically hurt.

“You know why.” he said, quiet but firm.

You let out a bitter breath, eyes darting away as you rolled them—not in annoyance, but in sadness. “Yeah. I know. Because I lied. Because I kept things from you. Because I made mistakes. We all know the story.”

His silence was confirmation enough, and it burned.

“You act like I didn’t pay the price for that, James.” Your voice shook, even as you tried to keep it steady. “You think I didn’t suffer for what I did?”

“You think suffering makes it okay?” he shot back, tone sharper now. “You think that makes it better?”

“I think it should mean something!” you snapped, stepping back, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t hurt you on purpose. I was scared! And I was trying to protect us.”

“And instead you broke us,” he muttered.

Your mouth parted, breath catching.

He sighed the moment he said it, rubbing his face like he already regretted it. “Fuck. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” you cut in. “And maybe you’re right. But you don’t get to come back here, sit at my table, tuck our daughter into bed like it’s all fine, and then throw that at me like I haven’t spent every day trying to fix it.”

“Fuck, I know that!” he suddenly snapped, and it startled you—not because he was loud, but because his voice broke. “But I can’t fucking forget what you did—and you know what’s the worst part of it?”

His eyes burned into yours.

“That I still fucking love you.”

You froze.

The words landed like a punch to your chest, knocking the breath out of you. Your heart stalled, then raced, and your lips parted but nothing came out—not a breath, not a sound.

“Whenever I see you,” he went on, his voice trembling now, raw and cracked at the edges, “I think about what we had. And how I know it could never be the same. I see you in everything. I see you so much in Rebecca and I just—” he shook his head helplessly, blinking fast. “I just know I’ll never stop loving you, no matter how much I try. It’s there. It’s deep inside me. Rotting more and more every fucking day.”

His hands trembled as they hung at his sides, clenched fists loosening like he was trying to let go but didn’t know how.

“But I still can’t trust you or forgive you,” he choked out. “I want to. I swear to God, I want to. But I can’t.”

He turned away for a second like he couldn’t bear the weight of your gaze, then looked back—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed.

“So it’s easier to move on,” he said, and it sounded like a confession. A curse. “To be with someone else and pretend that it’s enough.”

He breathed out a bitter, broken laugh. “Because loving you—it’s fucking killing me.”

You were frozen.

Your brain tried to catch up, but it couldn’t. After all this time—years—of silence, of distance, of him dodging every question, shutting every door… he’d finally said it.

He still loved you.

Your heart was pounding, but your limbs didn’t move. You just stared at him like he was someone you’d never seen before. Someone with your James’s voice and eyes and broken edges, but a stranger all the same.

“…James,” you managed at last. Your voice was barely there. It slipped past your lips like a breath, fragile, desperate.

You took a step toward him but he moved back. Like the distance between you was something he had to protect. Like getting too close might ruin everything.

“I’m happy with her,” he said suddenly, too fast. Too practiced.

You blinked. His tone was flat. It scraped.

“I’m happy,” he repeated. “She… she understands me. Helps me with my work. That’s how we met. And she supports me.”

There was a smile on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Didn’t come near them.

And something in you—something quiet and long-suffering—shattered.

Because even now, after everything, he was still choosing something false. Something easier. He was still choosing someone else.

He was still choosing not you.

Your throat tightened. You stared at him, blinking through the weight in your chest, the ringing in your ears.

He was lying. You could hear it in the quiet tremble of his voice, in the way he couldn’t look you in the eye for more than a second at a time. In the way he said “I’m happy” like it was a fact he had to recite, over and over again, just to make it true.

“That’s not real,” you said softly. Not cruel. Just honest. “What you have with her… it’s not real.”

His jaw clenched. He looked away again.

“You don’t get to say that,” he muttered.

“I do,” you replied. “Because I know what it looks like when you’re really happy.” You took another step forward, even if he flinched a little this time. “I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it with you. And this… this isn’t that.”

His eyes flashed up to yours, sharp and vulnerable all at once. “You think I don’t know that?” he asked. “You think I don’t know it’s not the same?”

“Then why?” Your voice cracked. “Why keep pretending?”

“Because it’s safe,” he barked. “Because it’s simple. Because she doesn’t hurt me just by being in the same room.”

Your lips parted.

“And you do,” he said, softer now, shaking his head. “You walk in and everything comes back. All of it. The pain. The good parts. The need. I see you and I feel like I’m drowning.”

Your breath hitched. Your whole body went cold, even as your heart burned in your chest.

“So what?” you said quietly. “So you push me away because it’s easier? Because it’s safe?”

His head snapped toward you, and you saw it instantly—how close to unraveling he was. His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was low, rough.

“I push you away because I can’t do this,” he said. “Because I can’t fucking trust you.”

Your breath caught.

“I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried,” James went on, his voice rising. “But it doesn’t go away. That feeling—like the floor just gave out from under me. Like I don’t even know who the hell you were, who you are.”

“I never lied about how I felt—”

“Didn’t you?” he snapped, stepping closer. “Because I look back at everything now and I question all of it. The night you came to my club, our first date, the mornings after you stayed at my place. Every promise. I don’t know if any of it was real. And that’s what’s fucking killing me.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came.

He kept going, bitter now, breathless. “You think when I come here and see you with Becca it’s comforting?” He laughed, broken. “No. It feels like a goddamn fever dream. Like some life I imagined but never really had. I look at you, and sometimes—sometimes I almost believe it again. But then it hits me. What you did. What you hid. And it all unravels.” his voice broke. „And then I realize how much I missed. I look at Rebecca, and I think about how you took this life away from us.”

“I was scared,” you choked out. “I made a mistake, I’ve been trying to get you to understand that for almost four fucking years now.”

“No. You chose it.” His voice cracked. “You chose to keep it from me. And the worst part is that I would’ve stayed. I would’ve fought like hell for us if you just came to me and told me the truth.”

You flinched.

“What do you expect me to do? Pretend it never happened? Raise our daughter with a woman I can’t look at without remembering how much it hurt? How much I still don’t know what to believe?” he asked.

“I’ve never stopped trying, James,” you whispered.

He exhaled harshly. “And I’ve never stopped hurting.”

His hands trembled at his sides. He looked at you like he hated that he still cared. Like the weight of loving you was a stone he could never put down.

“I want to trust you,” he admitted, quieter now. “I really fucking do. But I don’t know how to start again. I don’t know how to let you back in without losing the last bit of myself I’ve got left.”

Your throat closed. Your eyes burned.

“I think you’re a coward, James.”

The words slipped out low, tight, shaking. And they hit their mark.

His entire body stilled—like you’d slapped him. His eyes went cold.

“What did you just say?” he asked, voice dangerously quiet.

You didn’t back down. Couldn’t. Not now.

“I think you’re hiding behind your pain because it’s easier than taking a risk again. You’re scared. Scared to even try and forgive me because then you’d have to admit that maybe what we had was real. That it still is.”

His jaw clenched, that muscle ticking. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“I will,” you snapped, voice rising. “Because I lived with the guilt. I’ve begged, I’ve waited, I’ve changed. And you? You punish me for not being perfect, like that somehow makes you the better person.”

“I am not the better person!” he barked, stepping toward you. “I’m the fucking wreck you made. You broke something in me, and now you want me to forget that because it’s convenient for you? Because now you’re ready?”

“It’s been years, James—”

“Exactly! And I relive it every day.” His voice cracked. “Every damn time I look at you, I think, ‘How could she? How could she lie and still say she loved me?’ And then I think, ‘What kind of fool must I be to still love her back?’”

You were both breathing hard now. The air between you thick and sharp.

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wild with frustration. “You want me to come back? To be a family? What then? You gonna keep waiting for me to snap out of it and forgive you like none of it happened?”

“I want you to stop running away from it! To stop pretending,” you shouted.

James shook his head, like you didn’t get it—like you never would.

“I’m moving on. There’s a difference,” he said, voice low.

You let out a huff full of disbelief.

His eyes snapped back to yours, narrowing. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you challenged, folding your arms across your chest even though your hands were trembling.

“Mock it. Undermine it. Like I haven’t spent years trying to get over what you did—trying to build a life with someone who’s not a liar.”

Your voice dropped, sharp and aching. “I’m not mocking it. I’m saying it’s not real.”

“Oh, but you would know, right?” he shot back, his voice rising. “Because you’re the expert in real and fake now?”

You flinched. And he saw it.

Your throat tightened as his words echoed in the space between you, but you forced yourself to speak—your voice trembling, raw.

“Why can’t you see what I’ve done?” you snapped, the edge in your voice not anger, but desperation. “Why can’t you see that I’ve sacrificed everything to try and make this right? That I came here, that I gave up everything I knew—my job, my entire life—to give Becca a good life? To give you a reason to trust me again?”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he was holding something back.

“I’ve spent three years raising our daughter practically on my own,” you continued, your voice splintering. “And not just raising her—I’m trying to do it right. I’m trying to teach her love, and trust, and hope, even when I’m barely holding it together myself.”

Still, nothing from him. Just that guarded look, that stoic silence that used to make you feel safe and now only made you feel shut out.

“This—this whole life here—it’s not the one I wanted, James. But it’s the one I chose for you. Because I thought maybe if I just proved it… if I just kept showing it… you’d see me. You’d see what I’m doing, what I’m trying to be.”

He exhaled, sharp and heavy, like he was trying not to break apart. Like he was tired of having this same fight—but it never actually ended.

“This is part of being a good mother,” you said, voice trembling now. “This—staying here, doing the hard thing, carrying the weight. I’ve been bleeding for years trying to fix what I broke.”

„Well maybe you shouldn’t have tried!” he raised his voice again „Maybe you—”

“Mommy…?”

The word was small. Soft But it split the air like lightning.

You both froze, heads whipping toward the doorway.

Rebecca stood there in the dim light, one foot tucked slightly behind the other, her rabbit half-dragging on the floor. Her hair was mussed, cheeks pink with sleep. She rubbed one eye clumsily with the back of her hand.

“Why are you so loud…?” she murmured, confused. Still too sleepy to be scared—but almost.

You were at her side in a heartbeat, crouching down and gathering her into your arms before the tears on your face could register as anything more than a glimmer in the dark.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, sweetie,” you whispered into her hair, holding her close. “I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to wake you. Let’s get you back to bed, okay?…”

She nodded faintly against your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your neck, rabbit squished between you both. You didn’t dare look back at James. Couldn’t. Your entire body was focused on keeping steady, on keeping soft, on keeping Rebecca from seeing how broken you really felt.

How broken both of you felt.

Chapter Nine… 💸

series tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you—you’re crossed out—it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @muchwita @its-in-the-woods @taqmari @opheliabbarnes @rabknowstheend @pineapplechuncks @infinitepersuasion @sweetestharley @adalvsseb @miss-chuchu @nandanandada @globetrotter28 @whorunthemfworld-girls @madlyinlovewmattmurd0ck @ruexj282 @xamapolax @bloodmocha @castawaycreature @wakemeornot @lilylilyyyyyy @rue963 @miirasarchive @fleurenoir @figtreesandmoonlight @steph88x @starstruck-cowgirl @okaytrashpanda @lovely-seb @sinistersnakey @bananaminn @readscreamrepeat @yes-ilovetowrite @g0back2bed @jbuckybarnesimp @zombi3-girlz @paristheonewhoreads @justagirlcalledaddie @lovinqbella @thriving-n-jiving @lumpypoll @avivarougestan @wickedfun9 @borkybawnes @levisungjingwoo2099 @gilly903 @akiyhara @obsessed-oops @luvwithau @wildflowersandvibranium

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buckyalpine · 9 months ago

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Warnings: 18+ dub con, smut, Dark Bucky, breeding kinks. I want some Dark twin Bucky. Jealous twin Bucky. Manipulative, sexy, mob boss twisted Bucky. His brother James is everything good, everything wholesome, everything perfect. James had everything in life, the nicest house, a respectable job, the sweetest wife. Oh, how sweet his wife was.

Bucky couldn’t care less for the perfect reputation his brother had nor did he care for the money, he had so much more. More power. More control. The only thing his brother had that he wanted for himself was you. His brother didn't value or care for you for what you were worth, always working, focused on business, leaving you in the large house all by yourself. Bucky would have never. Not if he had you.

Loving, gentle, soft as silk.

Pure, untainted, everything he wasn't.

He had to have you.

"Babydoll"

You smiled hearing your husband enter your shared bedroom as you got out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around yourself before going to greet him. He sat at the edge of the bed with a knowing smirk, shamelessly eyeing you up and down like he always did, your cheeks heating up under his watchful stare. You loved how much he adored you. He strode over, humming at the scent of your body wash, his nose trailing up the column of your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his hands wandering to the edge of your towel.

"Miss me, baby?" He pulled it off, letting it pool to the floor leaving you bare before him, picking you up and laying on on the mattress, you were so perfect, pliant, he could already smell your arousal, your nipples pebbled against the cold air begging for his warm mouth.

"moy kotenok" He purred, nipping at your earlobe, your brows knitting in confusion, he never spoke Russian to you, only his brother-

“James?” You squeak, your heart starting to beat rapidly, blood running cold. This wasn’t your husband. You tried to scramble away, cover yourself but he grabbed your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. You then noticed the dark ink that peekd beneath his shirt, his telltale silver chain slipping out and dangling above your face. Your husband only wore his wedding ring, you tried so hard, unable to move his heavy body off you.

"Bucky-Bucky get off, what are you doing-

"Taking what should be mine, kotenok, showing you what being loved by a real man is like" He crawled off you, thighs spread wide kneeling in front of you. "He doesn't know what you deserve printsessa"

He shoved your legs apart, holding them from squirming, your twitching pearl amusing him. "S'been long, hasn't it, you say you don't want me but that swollen button says otherwise, what if I-"

He spits onto your clit making you cry out, a rough calloused thumb coming down to flick it to his hearts content. Your body jolted at the sensation, it was wrong, so wrong, God it had been so fucking long...

No.

"Bucky st-stop" You hiccupped as he moved faster, he could see your slick dampening the sheets, his idiot brother didn't know what he was missing.

"Why would I do that, hm? Look at how your body responds to me, you want this. Gonna get you so pregnant, bunny” Bucky smirked, giving his thick bulge a squeeze, making a show of shamelessly palming his erection. “Y’wouldnt even know who the daddy is”

He doesn't waste a second pulling his cock out, grinning at the way your cunt welcomes him home despite your futile protests. You scratch at him between moans of pleasure, your legs wrapping around his tapered waist. He pounds into you with purpose, he wants his child in your belly, he couldn't wait to see his brother dote on you not knowing any better.

He got harder thinking about your breasts leaking with milk as you got bigger, milk to feed his baby, milk to feed him. He'd find a way.

"Gonna put my child in you printsessa, give you my baby, show you where a man puts his cum, you'll take it won't you bunny, such a good housewife"

"No-No you-you can't oh God!" Your body shudders as pleasure and guilt washes over you, clinging onto him for dear life as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"That's right, cum for me, he can't make you cum like I can, don't think I haven't heard you with him, look at you, just a slutty little mess, you smell of sex kitten"

He intends on making the biggest mess in your pussy, needing it to drip onto the sheets you sleep in. You'd stay wrapped up in his essence while it leaked out of you, his sperm exactly where it needed to be, right in your belly-

"Get ready kitten, get ready to take it, fuck-squeezing me so good, tell me you want it, I know you do, m'gonna cum so hard for you princess, just for you, all this-fuck-do you feel it, s'all for you, SHIITTT" He roared, pumping you with the stutter of his hips, the headboard slamming against the wall as he emptied himself, shamelessly moaning into your neck.

The next 9 months would be interesting.

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buckysleftbicep · 3 months ago

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daddy's got a gun 𐙚 b.b

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, dub-con, choking, slapping, spitting, oral sex (m rec), overstimulation, degradation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, bucky manhandling you, lots of filthiness (please read the warnings)

summary: you never meant to cross a man like bucky barnes, he is cold-blooded, ruthless, he always takes what he wants and no amount of fight can drown out the way you end up begging for more. based on this request!

word count: 2.2k

a/n: hi! so this fic is unhinged and its probably an excuse for me to write explicit smut. it may not be for everyone, so please read the warnings! thank you and stay safe guys!

You didn’t see his men coming.

One second, you were walking back from the corner store with your hoodie pulled up and headphones tucked in. The next, the world turned black—hands over your mouth, your limbs yanked, twisted, a sharp sting to your neck and then absolutely nothing.

Now, you're here.

Laid out like some broken thing on black silk sheets in a room too luxurious for a prison, the mattress is soft and the air smells faintly like leather and tobacco. There are no bars on the windows—just thick glass and silence.

And him.

Bucky Barnes.

The name you'd only ever heard whispered, the kind of man your mother warned you about, dangerous, merciless. The type who didn’t just ruin lives—he erased them.

The Mob King of New York, ruthless killer and collector.

And now, your captor, standing in the shadows like he owned the world, watching you with those cold, unreadable steel blue eyes, as if he already knew exactly how and when, you'd break.

You don’t get it, do you?” His voice drips from the shadows at the foot of the bed, a low, rumbling threat that coils around your spine. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, one of his arms littered with black ink—tattoos that lick upward like fire and sin, the other cold, gleaming black and gold. They hadn’t been lying about his arm. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.

“You belong to me now.”

Your breath catches and you flinch when he takes a step closer, the floorboards creaking under his boots. He notices, of course he does.

It only makes him smile, slow and sharp like a predator’s grin that promises nothing but ruin.

“Fucking gorgeous when you’re scared,” Bucky murmurs, running his tongue along the seam of his teeth like he’s savouring the moment. “Don’t look away, sweetheart. You’re gonna learn what happens when you disobey.”

The room feels smaller with each second. It was warm, suffocating, cloaked in shadows that flicker from the low amber light. You back up on the mattress, limbs trembling, but it’s no use. Bucky reaches for your ankle, and with deliberate slowness, drags you toward him. The silk sheets slide beneath your skin, your oversized hoodie riding up your thighs, panties exposed to the chill and to his hungry gaze.

You writhe with reflexive panic, but that only makes him grin.

“Still got some fight in you?” he muses, tilting his head. “Good. Breaking you will be so much more fun.”

The slap comes out of nowhere, his palm cracks across your face, hot and mean. You gasp, stunned, pain blooming like fire under your skin. But Bucky doesn’t let you recover. A strong hand grips your throat, firm, not enough to choke but enough to silence. His thumb presses under your chin, tilting your head so you face him.

“You look real pretty with my mark on your face,” he growls. “Slap you again, you’ll probably cum.”

“Fuck you,” you bite, voice cracking. Your tears betray you, slipping down hot and shameful.

He chuckles, low and dangerous.

Then he spits—right onto your tongue.

You gag on instinct, trying to turn your head, but his metal hand grips your hair tight, keeping you in place.

“That’s more like it,” he snarls, tightening his grip. “Open that pretty mouth, doll. Let me see what else you’re good for.”

The sound of his belt unbuckling slices through the air. Panic sets your blood racing. You try to squirm away, but he’s faster. His metal fingers curl into your hair, dragging you up until your neck arches painfully. You’re forced to look up at him—towering, hard, cock heavy and leaking as he fists it in one hand.

“I’ll make you beg for it,” he promises, voice like gravel wrapped in silk.

You shake your head violently, desperate, nails digging into his thighs in a last-ditch effort to shove him away but it only earns you another slap, harder than before. The sting rings in your ears, your skin screaming where his palm landed.

“You think I haven’t broken girls tougher than you?” he breathes, leaning closer, his breath hot against your lips. “But you, fuck, princess, you’re gonna be perfect.”

His fingers squeeze your cheeks until your lips part. You don’t mean to open your mouth, but your body gives in under pressure.

Bucky takes the invitation and he doesn’t ease in.

His cock fills your mouth in one brutal thrust, the thick head slamming against the back of your throat, choking you instantly. You gag around him, reflexive and helpless, eyes going wide as your body jerks. Your scratch at his hips, instinct, defiance, but it only makes him groan, a low, guttural sound that rumbles from his chest like thunder.

“That’s it, fuckin’ choke on it,” he pants, the praise laced with cruelty. His hips roll forward, shallow and deliberate, feeding you more with each thrust. “Good girl. Such a good fuckin’ girl when you stop thinking.”

You can’t breathe, hell you can’t even think. The stretch is brutal, your jaw aches already, and he’s not stopping. His cock is thick, heavy, sliding deeper every time, turning your throat into his own personal toy, your tears fall freely now, your lashes soaked, spit slipping past the corners of your lips, trailing down your chin. He watches every second of it—eyes dark and ravenous as he fucks your mouth like it’s nothing more than a means to get off.

“You were made for this,” he growls, metal fingers fisting tighter in your hair. “Made for me.”

Then suddenly, he yanks back, cock dragging wetly from your mouth. You collapse forward, gasping, coughing, strings of saliva still connecting you to him. Your throat feels ruined, your lips swollen, your chest heaving as you suck in air like you’ve surfaced from drowning. Spit drips from your chin to the sheets below, and still—you can taste him.

Hot, bitter and lingering.

“There she is,” he murmurs, voice mockingly sweet as he strokes a thumb across your wet cheek. “Didn’t expect to get owned tonight, huh?”

You glare up at him through tear-blurred lashes, the taste of him thick and awful on your tongue. Your voice comes out hoarse, broken. “You won’t get away with this,” you rasp.

“Oh, doll,” he breathes, leaning in close. His tongue drags slowly along the curve of your throat, savouring your shiver. “I already did.”

He smiles then, slow, dangerous almost as if he’s enjoying your unraveling.

And when he licks his lips, eyes locked on your swollen mouth, you know he’s not nearly done with you.

Bucky flips you over with terrifying ease, a single hand curling in the back of your hoodie like you're weightless. He rips it off in one violent motion, fabric tearing under the force, discarded somewhere across the room. Your panties don’t even stand a chance, his metal hand grabs and shreds them in two, the ruined lace tossed aside like it never mattered.

You try to twist away, but it’s useless. He’s already there, gripping your hips like he owns them, spreading your legs with a casual shove of his knee. The cool air hits your slick folds, and you flinch, a fresh wave of shame crashing over you. Your body’s betrayed you, soaked through, dripping for the man who just threw you around like a ragdoll.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” he groans, dragging two thick fingers through your arousal, spreading it messily over your folds. “Fought me like hell, but this cunt?” He swipes over your clit and watches you twitch. “It’s beggin’ for me. You feel that?”

“No,” you whisper, trembling. You don’t want to feel it, the burn, the need, but your body shivers under his touch, thighs twitching when his fingers sink inside you with a cruel, slow thrust.

“That’s biology, princess,” he growls near your ear, fingers curling deep and just right. “Your body knows what it needs. And it’s me.”

You sob, the sound cracking from your throat, raw and real. His other hand wraps around your neck from behind, dragging you upright until your back slams against his solid chest. You can feel the ridges of his dog tags against your spine, his cock heavy and hot, grinding against your ass as he finger-fucks you in slow, devastating circles.

“I could make you cum like this,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your ear, “with just these fingers. Could have you trembling and soaked, beggin’ me to fill you.”

He doesn’t stop. He keeps working you, just right, circling, pressing, sliding inside you like he knows your body better than you do. And maybe he does. Because your thighs are shaking, your head lolling back on his shoulder as that humiliating pressure builds.

“But I won’t,” he whispers darkly. “Not yet. Not until you beg.”

You won’t. You swear you won’t. But when your hips buck against his hand, chasing more, when that soft, needy moan slips out before you can bite it back, his mouth curls into a grin against your skin.

“There it is,” he purrs. “That sweet, filthy little sound I’ve been waiting for.”

And then he stops.

Just like that, fingers gone, heat gone. Your cunt clenches at nothing, throbbing and aching with need, and the whine that escapes your lips is pitiful and humiliating.

“No,” you gasp, hips rocking desperately. “No, don’t stop-”

“No?” he mocks, hand gripping your jaw, turning your face so close to his you can taste his breath. “You want more, sweetheart?”

You're silent, too ashamed, too wrecked to answer, but your body says it all.

His palm cracks hard against your soaked pussy, and you scream.

“Use your fuckin’ words.”

“…Please,” you whisper, voice shaking.

He groans, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, soaking it in your slick, teasing your entrance until your whole body trembles.

“Please what?”

“…Please… fuck me.”

Bucky’s growl is low, vicious and primal.

“There she is. My good little slut.”

Then he slams into you, no warning, no mercy. His cock drives deep in one savage thrust, splitting you open around him. The scream that rips from your throat is ragged and raw, muffled by the sheets as your arms give out. His hips smack against your ass, loud and obscene, and then he’s moving, brutal and relentless.

“Fuck,” he grunts, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. “Tight little hole. Fuckin’ made for me.”

You sob into the mattress, your body caught between unbearable pain and something dark, twisted, devastatingly good. Your pussy stretches around him, gripping him tight, sucking him in with every thrust. And Bucky feels it, hell he’s fucking you like he’s claiming you, destroying you, owning every inch of your ruined body.

“You feel that?” he pants against your ear, voice hoarse. “Feel how your cunt clings to me? You like it. Filthy little slut, your body knows who owns it now.”

You want to deny it. God, you try. But the moans won’t stop, spilling from your lips like confessions. And your body was shaking, clenching and needy.

“You’re close,” he growls, burying himself deeper. “Gonna cum on my cock like the fuckin’ whore you swore you weren’t?”

“No don’t-” you choke, but the orgasm is building fast, cruel and unforgiving.

Then his fingers are there again, working your clit, rubbing in tight, merciless circles and the pressure breaks.

It hits you like a fucking freight train, your body seizes, your walls clench around him, and your scream is pure, brutal surrender. You cum hard, soaking him as you collapse beneath him.

“That’s it,” he snarls, fucking you through it. “Fucking cum for me, slut.”

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow. He keeps driving into you, deeper, rougher, pushing you past the edge until your moans turn to wrecked sobs.

“Too much, please it’s too much-” you cry, voice gone and tears welling up in your eyes, unsure of just how much more you could take.

“No,” Bucky growls, hand tightening on your throat. “You’ll take it. You’re mine.”

His hips slam into you like a battering ram, over and over, and the sounds wet, brutal and carnal, fill the room. He’s panting now, groaning above you as he ruts into you like an animal.

“Bet you’ll be thankin’ me by the end of the week,” he hisses, every thrust sharp and punishing. “You’ll crawl into my lap, beggin’ for it like a good little cockdrunk slut.”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe, all you know is the sharp ache where he stretches you, the burn in your thighs, the unbearable heat coiling in your belly again.

Then with one final thrust, Bucky slams deep and stills, groaning loud and wrecked as he spills inside you, cock twitching, his cum spilling hot and thick.

His hand tightens just enough on your throat to make you see stars as he holds you there, buried deep, until he’s drained and shaking.

And when Bucky finally pulls out, slow and deliberate, his cum oozes from your swollen, overstimulated pussy, hot and shameful between your legs.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Mine now,” he whispers.

And you know he’s right.

Your body trembles, used and ruined, his cum leaking from your sore pussy, trickling down your thighs.

He lets you fall, and you collapse onto the sheets, face-down, broken and sobbing.

And then, his lips brush your temple, gentle and almost loving.

“You did so good for me, doll,” he murmurs, voice like velvet. “So fuckin’ good.”

You shiver, swallowing hard.

“You’ll see,” Bucky whispers. “You’ll love me by the end.”

And the worst part?

Some broken part of you believes he’s right.

a/n: hi! i hope you liked it! if you did, please drop a comment or a reblog, i would really appreciate it!

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

Note

Navy! You keep feeding us. May I ask what you're working on? 🥺

I do what I can, nonnie. ❤️ As far as what I'm working on, I still have stuff to share for my Trick or Treat Nonsense throughout October.

I have an angst with a happy ending mob!Bucky one-shot over 10k that I just need beta read.

Working on sugar daddy!Andy.

And some other stuff on the horizon. Hope everyone enjoys!

Love and thanks. ❤️

#navybrat answers #writer ask #future fics #mob!bucky barnes #sugar daddy!andy barber #navy's trick or treat nonsense #sweet nonnie #sending love ❤️#asks are always appreciated

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sinner-as-saint · 2 years ago

Text

run for your life

Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: He was away from the city for a while, chasing after some bastards who betrayed him. But the traitors were no longer breathing now and Bucky Barnes was finally able to come home to the city he ruled. Mostly, he was excited to come back and see his girl again. However when he got to the strip club where you worked as a waitress, he didn’t find you there. They told him you didn’t work there anymore. No one knew where you went, or why you left. Nobody even knew your real name. Now it was up to him to search the whole wide world to find a nameless girl – one he was obsessively, mindlessly in love with.

Themes: slight stalker!bucky, possessive!bucky, mild degrading kink, smut, FLUFF, opposite aesthetics, mild daddy kink (nicknames only), cosy little town vibes

a/n: some fluffy mob!bucky to end the year <3 Thank you so much for always supporting my silly little fics. Merry Christmas my darlings, and happy New Year!! See you soon ;)

He didn't know where exactly he would end up locating you, but finding you in a cosy, small, coastal town in the south of France was not on his list.

You being the owner of a gourmet bakery was not on his list either. Bucky was confused, surprised, but mostly confused. How did this happen? At first, when Sam came to deliver him the news of your location that morning, Bucky didn’t believe him. Had Sam not been Bucky’s oldest, most loyal friend Bucky would’ve never believed him at all.

“I’m gonna need you to stop being a dumbass and go find this girl!” Sam, ever the voice of reason yelled at Bucky who had been drowning in his sorrows. “It’s been months, and I can’t keep covering for your ass. I have my own shit to do, my own men to command.” He used that cool, authoritative voice of his. “Pull yourself together, Buck. Go find her.”

Sam was right. Of course he was. He always was. And it had really been months since that damned night…

—

Bucky couldn’t wait to get out of his plane the moment it landed. It was late at night, but the perfect time to go to the club. He had missed it. Well, not the whole club really. Bucky had missed you.

He had a… special connection with you. His girl. His only girl. His favourite girl.

This time, he thought, he would do whatever he can to solidify whatever was happening between the two of you. Maybe he’d even get you to go on a real date with him. Maybe that would lead to something more. He was smiling to himself just thinking about it.

He often thought back to the night you met. He was at the club after a long day of being the dark ruler he was. All he wanted was a drink and a pretty woman on his lap. That’s when he found you.

Right as he walked in, you caught his eye. Walking around serving drinks, wearing a little see-through red dress that brought every man you walked past to his knees.

Once he got to his booth, Bucky called you over. You walked towards him sheepishly.

“I’ve never seen you around here before, beautiful.” He said, patting his thigh. He noticed the way you hesitated. Must be new, he thought.

You carefully perched on his lap, holding your empty metal tray to your chest. Bucky smirked as he looked at it, like you were putting a makeshift barrier between the two of you. When you remained quiet and squirmy, Bucky spoke up again.

“Come on, babygirl. Talk to me, it’s okay.” He whispered at his nuzzled your neck. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely, then I might.”

His warm breath against your skin tickled. You chuckled as you pulled away to look at him. “Um, I’m just a waitress. I’m not supposed to…” You trailed off. Both of you were aware of the no-contact ‘rule’. But there was a natural, unexplainable spark there that neither of you could ignore.

“Hmm,” His chest rumbled. “How about we go somewhere private?” He whispered into your ear and noticed the way you shivered.

You hung your head, clutching your metal tray. “Waitresses aren’t supposed to go into the VIP rooms, sir.” You said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear you above the sensual music.

Bucky smirked. Then leaned in and whispered, “I suppose I can bend the rules a little given I co-own the club.”

You froze and went to stand up immediately, already apologising but he wrapped his arm around your waist, keeping you on his lap.

“It’s okay, babygirl. You’re not in trouble, I promise.”

The two of you ended up in one of the VIP rooms. Nothing happened, you just kissed and talked and kissed some more. Bucky promised to come back. And he did. For months. Again and again and each time he did, you were drawn to him like he was gravity from the very moment he walked into the room.

And that night he landed after being away for weeks, he expected you to run right into his arms the moment he’d enter the club like you always did. He even got you a nice little gift to make up for the time that he’d been away. It was a rare, red diamond choker. He could already imagine how it would look around your neck. Like a brand. His.

But then he got to the club. And he noticed everyone was avoiding his eyes almost anxiously. And his girl was nowhere to be seen. He searched for you in the main area for a while, then even searched the VIP rooms, vowing to commit horrible crimes if he ever found you in there with another man.

But no.

He called Sam, who co-owned the club, and Sam had no idea who he was talking about. Bucky asked the staff members, and one bartender finally told him that you’d resigned a few weeks ago. And no one knew where you went. He asked for your full name, but no one knew that either.

Not even Sam. “I didn’t even know we had a new waitress, Buck. I have more important shit to worry about.” He’d said, adding to the burning sensation in Bucky’s chest.

“She left me.”

Sam had no idea what his best friend was babbling about. And during the many months that followed, Bucky was a mess. A mess like Sam had never seen before. Frantically scanning country after country, searching for a girl with no name. He was in love, and he wasn’t giving up. He would find his girl come what may.

—

But now Bucky knew where you were.

And he was more confused than ever. He had even more questions.

Bucky spent a whole week in that little town. Watching you, learning your routine, observing and questioning. He disguised himself as a local and always kept his distance even though his hands itched to touch you.

At first he was bothered by how you were fine with living the same day everyday. Your routine seemed boring at first, but the more he watched, the more he realised it was sort of therapeutic. The normality of it all.

He rented an apartment on the other side of the street from your bakery, and he spent hours watching you.

You lived right above the bakery. A quaint apartment, with flower pots all around the french windows. Sometimes when you forgot to turn the lights off at night, Bucky spent the whole night spying on you, counting your breaths as you slept on your couch in front of the TV.

You’d wake up at the crack of dawn, then you’d feed your dogs. He noticed you had two. Lazy, both of them. Then you’d get downstairs and within half an hour, the cool air that entered his apartment carried the smell of the sea and baked goods.

All he wanted was to cross the cobblestone street and drag you to his bed, demand answers while fucking some sense into you. But the more he watched you, the more his anger diminished. Temporarily.

The genuine smile on your face as you served your loyal customers all day, especially the ones who always came early in the morning on their way to work. The occasional sound of your voice or your laughter that slipped past whenever someone didn’t close the door right. The sound of children squealing and laughing whenever you gave away leftover baked goods or donuts in the evenings. How you knew almost everyone by name. How sometimes you invited neighbours over for wine nights. How you went on little walks in late, cool evenings, forcing your lazy pets to walk but then ending up having to carry them on the way back. They were spoiled, he realised. He hated to admit that he was jealous of the damned dogs who got so much of your attention while he starved for it.

He wasn’t angry by the end of that first week of spying, he was just hurting. How dare you live a whole new life without him? How dare you laugh and seem like you don’t miss him? He’d just spent months looking for you and here you were, just going about your day like you didn’t care? Like none of those nights you’d spent together mattered?

Meanwhile he was shaking just reminiscing the way your touch felt across his skin. He remembered the first time the two of you crossed that line in one of the VIP rooms…

You were wearing that red dress again. Fucking tease, he hissed each time you moved or squirmed on his lap.

“Baby, please,” He groaned. “Just… let me touch you. Daddy will make you feel good, so good babygirl, I promise.” He pleaded, hands caressing your soft, warm thighs.

You shook your head, popping another one of those chocolates he brought you into your mouth and sucking your fingers after. Torturing him.

“We can’t,” You insisted, with nothing but mischief in your eyes as you looked at him. “You made these rules yourself, remember?” You chuckled when he groaned again when you straddled him properly.

“I don’t give a shit about rules.” He hissed, nuzzling your neck. Slowly, he kissed up and down your neck. “I just wanna taste you. That’s it. Just a taste.”

That’s how he found himself on his knees, face in between your thighs. His skilled tongue making you whine and whimper as you tugged on his hair. Bucky hummed in appreciation the more he tasted you.

“Come on daddy’s face, baby…”

That’s it.

Bucky decided he would go see you the next morning. He would drag you back home if he had to, but he wouldn’t spend another day without you. Who did you think you were? No one just tosses him aside like this. He’d remind you who he was and then you’d both go home right away.

—

Bucky woke up to a thunderstorm. Weather around here was unpredictable. He got out of bed and immediately looked outside to find your bakery empty. No customers in sight because of the heavy rain, lightning and thunder. The golden light was on though.

He decided it was time to go have a talk with you. He promised not to lose his temper. He would go in there calmly, talk it out with you. Ask you what the fuck you are doing here, and then he’d take you home.

But that ended up not happening.

Bucky crossed the slippery cobblestone street, walked into your comforting, sweet smelling bakery and froze. He froze right there at the entrance.

As did you. Standing there behind the wooden counter, oven mittens in your hand and apron in another, you stared at Bucky with nothing but pure shock and surprise on your face. A thousand thoughts, mainly questions, crossed your mind.

What is he doing here? How did he find you? Why is he dressed casually like a local, wearing soft colours instead of his usual suits? How long has he been here? What is he doing here?

You let out a little gasp. “Bucky?”

Wrong move, apparently. Because his demeanour changed in a nanosecond. His calm and collected-ness was forgotten instantly. Jaws clenched, with a murderous look in his eyes, he walked closer, more like charged at you, and around the counter before you could even get a word out.

He had you pinned to the nearest wall before you could process it all. Knocking down a framed picture in the process. Towering above you, he looked like he was beyond pissed.

“Bucky, I—,”

“Shut up.” He hissed, voice cold with bitterness and anger. He watched how you shivered when he pinned your wrists to the wall on either side of your head. “Shut the fuck up.”

He leaned closer, chest pressing against yours leaving no space in between. He closed his eyes and sighed for a moment, trying his hardest to see reason but he was angry. So angry he couldn’t think.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He spoke with such a low voice that you trembled against him, causing him to tighten his grip around your wrists, surely bruising them. You didn’t care.

You winced, “I can explain.” Fuck, you’d missed him too. It had been months since you last saw him. He was just as handsome as you remembered. His hair was a little longer now, his beard a little thicker. But he made your heart race just the same. “Please Bucky,” You whispered, “let me explain everything to you.”

“No.” He growled before pressing his mouth to yours, angrily. Like he wanted his kiss to hurt. And it did.

His rough facial hair scratched your skin, his teeth nibbled on and bit your lips. His hands damn near crushed your wrists in his strong grip. And he didn’t give you even the briefest second to breathe. He kissed you just like how he imagined he would do once he found you. Ravenously. Pouring everything he felt into it. Desperation, anger, hurt, obsession. He couldn’t get enough.

“Bucky…” You gasped against his lips when he finally pulled away. Breathing fast, you tried to get a look at him but he just seemed even more angry.

“Turn around,” He mumbled, forcing you to turn around anyway. Fuck, the sight of you in that long, flowy, sundress was doing things to him. He was never this bothered when you used to parade around in your little see-through dresses, but somehow the sight of you in this pink, floral dress was making him act like a caveman.

His movements were rash and angry. He almost tore your dress off of you while he shoved his rough hand in between your legs and touched you where you desperately wanted him to. You whined and trembled against the cool wall when he slid a finger in, fucking you with it while he hissed into your ear.

“I should punish you for what you did to me,” His deep voice made his chest rumble against your back. “I should tie you up and fuck you however I want.”

Your dress was partially off, bunched and only hanging on around your waist. Being so dishevelled made this even dirtier. You were moaning by now, hoping the heavy rain would blur your actions from anyone who walked by the shop. Or god forbid, walk in.

“How dare you think you can just leave me?” He demanded, sliding another finger inside you and making your body come alive.

You were embarrassingly wet at this point, and the sounds your body made as he finger-fucked you were lewd. But you couldn’t get enough.

More, more, more. You mentally chanted.

Bucky wasn’t having the silent treatment, so he smacked your thigh to get your attention. You yelped. Your skin stung as he smacked it again, on the same spot. Harder this time. You cried out even louder as he kept taunting you. “Answer me, you fucking brat!” His lips brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke. “Why did you leave me?”

You cried as he kept fucking you with his fingers you even as you came. His fingers sliding in and out with ease now. The sounds you made were wanton. “You… you left first.” You tried to argue. But failed miserably.

He chuckled in that dark and dangerous way of his. “I left for work.” He said, “And I promised you I’d be back.” He reached deeper inside you, curling his fingers just enough to make you mutter incoherent things. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Please, please, please…” You begged. “Please I need to come, Bucky please.”

“Oh?” He chuckled again, slowing down his movements purposely. “No one touched you, huh?” He playfully bit on your exposed shoulder. “You’re so fucking wet it’s dripping down my hand, babygirl.” He boasted. “Is it because no one has touched you these past few months? Hmm?”

“Yes…” You had tears streaming down your face, and you nodded breathlessly. “Please…”

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

“I’m gonna teach you what happens to people who think they can run from me, babygirl.” He growled as he pushed his cock into you, making you cry out loud as he stretched you out.

After months of not having him, right now he felt huge inside you. Just like that, memories of nights spent with him came flooding back in. You moaned as his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it in sync with his thrusts.

His hand gripped you by the hips, holding you against him as he sped up into you, fucking you like he hated you. Like it was punishment. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and licked, and bit on your skin as he fucked into you relentlessly, earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls.

“Did you think I’d never find you?” He asked, fucking into you. “I bet you thought you’d gotten rid of me, hmm?”

You’d missed him too. He could tell by the way you were starting to clench around him already. Bucky nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how good he felt inside you.

“See, it didn’t have to be like this, baby…” he mumbled angrily against your skin while he fucked you like an animal, “I could be nice and gentle with your body, but you just had to be a fucking brat and leave me with no warning.” He spat, growling in your ear as he pounded into you, your chest slamming into the wall with each thrust. It hurt in the best way.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. Your legs started to shake as he quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly.

The pleasure, the pain, the heat of him… was too much and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

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

His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls, moaning out loud when he felt your walls pulsating violently around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He came while biting down hard on your shoulder. So hard that even you cried out, still coming down from your high as you felt him spill deep inside you.

That bite on your shoulder hurt. And like a chain reaction, everything began to hurt. Having him here hurt. Memories of being with him in the city, in the dark rooms of that club hurt. Realising how fast your life changed hurt.

You didn’t realise you were sobbing quietly until you heard Bucky apologising profusely. Suddenly no longer angry. No longer feeling betrayed.

“Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry.” He kissed that sore spot softly, his bite mark on your shoulder repeatedly as he wrapped his arms around you, securing you in the comfort of his embrace. “I don’t know what came over me, babygirl. I’m so sorry, please look at me. Hey, hey,” He pulled away and turned you so you faced him, still with tears in your eyes. “Babygirl, I’m so sorry.” He whispered, wiping your tears away, then kissing your face repeatedly.

You remained like that for a few minutes. Arms wrapped around one another, standing there against that wall while it rained like hell outside. Bucky didn’t stop apologising.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been an animal like this with you, I—,”

You cut him off finally, “Shh, it’s okay.” You pulled away from his warm chest to look up at him. “I needed this.” You said, sniffling as you gently cupped his rough cheek, caressing his face with your thumb. “I needed you like this.”

He just hugged you close again, kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry.” He apologised one final time. “I’ll listen, I promise. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

You smiled faintly at him. “Then I should lock up down here and we can go upstairs. I don’t want to scare my neighbours by risking them finding us like this.” You looked down at your partially torn dress and Bucky’s unbuttoned trousers.

Much to your surprise, Bucky said, “You go ahead, I’ll close and lock up.”

You frowned at him even as you desperately tried to get the top of your sundress to cover your chest. “You wouldn’t know how to…” You trailed off as realisation set in. He was a calculated, smart man. He didn’t just apparate on your doorstep with no planning. “You’ve been watching me.” You stated, raising an eyebrow at him.

Bucky gave you a rare, guilty look.

You sighed and shook your head. “I guess I chose this life by getting involved with you.” You gave him a faint smile. “Alright then, lock it. Leave the key in the little basket by the door.” You started walking towards the stairs, then turned around again and said, “Make sure the windows are properly locked too, because of the rain and stuff.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded.

You smirked at him.

With that you took the stairs and Bucky watched you go with a fond smile on his face. No one ever ordered him around. He hated it. But coming from you, he quite liked it.

Bucky chuckled at himself because never in his life had he ever imagined he would one day be closing up a bakery in a small town, all for the woman he’s obsessively in love with. But he didn’t mind it one bit.

After following your instructions and double checking the windows, he made his way upstairs as well. Again, he didn’t know what he expected your place to look like – and all that spying only allowed him glimpses of your apartment – but he never expected your space to look so…

Pink. With occasional gold accents. Pale pink couch, the one you often fell asleep on while watching TV, and fluffy white pillows and rugs to go with. Paintings hanging on even paler pink walls. The kitchen he couldn’t quite see but he assumed it’d have to be all white. Pink dog beds, with fluffy balls of brown fur sleeping on them – wearing pink collars no less.

He couldn’t see your bedroom from the living room given the door was closed but given the pink, fluffy robe and socks you wore he could imagine just how pink it must be.

“It’s so girly.” He commented, as if surprised. Maybe he was a little. After all, he knew you as the seductive goddess he met almost every night at the club. He never realised that it was all just a show, that it was all just a persona at work. In a way, stepping into your space felt so intimate. He liked it.

You chuckled. “Coquette, please.” You corrected as you handed him a glass of red wine while he took a seat beside you. He did look a little out of place in your apartment, a dark and broody man like him. But then again, he was here and that’s all that mattered.

He turned to look at you and couldn’t resist holding your hand and pulling you onto his lap again. “Come here,” He said, “I’ve missed you.”

As you straddled his lap, your robe exposed some of your shoulder and Bucky saw the very noticeable bite mark he left on you. He grimaced when he saw it. He placed his wine glass to the side and traced the bite mark with his thumb carefully.

“I’m sorry, babygirl.” He whispered, leaning in to nuzzle your neck and kiss the bite mark. And breathe in your scent. Fuck, he’d missed it so much. “You smell a little different. Fruitier.”

You giggled when his hair tickled your skin. “I made blueberry compote earlier this morning. Perhaps that’s why.”

You could feel him smiling against your skin. Then he pulled away to look at you. His hands shamelessly slid under your robe, eager to touch your skin. Relishing it this time, not in a feral hurry like he was earlier. He seemed visibly calmer too.

“We used to spend hours like this at the club, remember?” He spoke, and immediately you were overwhelmed with nostalgia.

Hours, days, weeks, months. Some days back then you would wake up in the morning already excited to see Bucky in the evening. And it wasn’t because it was all sexual. So many nights all you two did was drink, laugh and talk about everything. He once told you that apart from Sam, you were his only real friend.

Bucky kissed you, breaking you out of your reverie surely thinking of the past as well. It was a slow, gentle kiss. It was consuming you. His hands caressed your thighs which were still a little sore from earlier. You winced in pain when he massaged the spot where he spanked you.

Bucky pulled away from the kiss, apologising again as he kissed down your chin. “I’m sorry, babygirl.”

You smiled at him after taking a sip of your wine. “Stop pretending as if we were always vanilla or that this is scandalous in any way shape or form.” You chuckled as you leaned in to whisper in his ear, “We both know this was nothing compared to how we used to be.”

Bucky smiled, a little sadly. “I missed you.” He repeated. “Tell me,” He said, “Tell me everything.”

You finished your wine. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you start working at the club?” He caught the look of sadness that suddenly appeared on your face upon hearing the question.

“I… I had to drop out of uni because my grandparents fell sick.” You explained. “Mom and dad were travelling for work at the time, and I was the only one who could take care of grandma and grandpa. The treatments and all ended up costing a little more than what we had so I needed a job that paid well, I also needed one that would allow me to be flexible with my time so I could take care of my grandparents.”

Bucky nodded, “Hence the club.”

You nodded in confirmation.

“Your parents never intervened? So you could finish your education?” He questioned.

“No.” You said, almost emotionless. “When they found out what I was doing, where I was working to earn the extra money we needed… they kind of disowned me. And vowed to never talk to me again.” You chuckled, humourlessly.

“They don’t deserve you.” Bucky said quickly, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you close. “You were so brave baby, I wish you would’ve told me all of this.”

You slid your fingers into his hair and massaged his scalp gently. “You were already taking care of me.” You said, “You mended my heart a little each night when I saw you.”

“I wish I could’ve done more.” He kissed along your collarbones, then froze again as if he remembered something. “I almost forgot,” He said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a sleek black box. “I got you something.” Then clarified, “Well, I got you this months ago. I would’ve given it to you had you not run away from me.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “I didn’t run from you, I–,”

He cut you off with a finger on your lips. “Tell me about that part in a minute,” He opened the slender black box to reveal the red diamond choker inside. “I had this made for you.” He watched your face intently.

“Bucky…” You hesitantly reached for it, running your fingers over the beauty of it. It was a simple design. Elegant, timeless. Way too expensive. “I can’t take this,” You began protesting, “It’s too much.”

Bucky made a face and said, “Oh shut up.” He was already clasping it around your neck before you could protest any further. “It’s a gift from daddy,” He whispered against the corner of your lips. “You deserve it, babygirl.”

When he pulled away to look at you, his heart almost broke again at the sight of the tears in your eyes.

“What is it?” He asked, wiping your tears away for the second time today. “Is it that ugly?”

You laughed through the tears. “No, it’s the prettiest thing I own.” You sniffled. “The only piece of real jewellery in fact.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Remind me to get you a whole collection.” Bucky pulled you closer and kissed you deeply.

Then it turned into something more and by the time the afternoon rolled around, the two of you had lost count how many times you’d made love on your pink couch. Slow touches and cuddles, and soft kisses always resulted in the two of you fucking again.

—

In the late afternoon, while snacking on random things Bucky realised you still hadn’t explained how you ended up here.

“Grandma and grandpa’s bakery.” You explained, watching the rain pour outside. “They left it to me. They died within weeks of each other,” You said with a melancholic smile on your face, “I always knew that would happen. They loved each other too much to live without one another for too long.”

You turned to look at Bucky who pulled you onto his lap again and held you as tightly as possible. You weren’t crying this time, but being held felt nice.

You continued, “I had funerals to plan, I had to pack up my life and move all the way here, I had to take on the responsibility of the bakery and renovate this apartment. And you were already gone at the time so…” You sighed. “I didn’t know if I should leave a note or not. I didn’t know if you were actually coming back or–,”

“I would never abandon you. I thought you knew that.” Bucky said, a little annoyed at that. “I made you a promise, did you not–,”

You couldn’t help but argue, “Yeah well, I didn’t know if what we had was real enough for you to come back to.”

Bucky frowned. “Baby…”

You gave him a small smile, and pressed your forehead against his, rubbing your noses together. “I know now. It is.”

When you finally pulled away from his addicting embrace you said, “I’m gonna get started on dinner. You can shower in there,” You pointed at your bedroom door as you got up from the couch. Bucky tried to grab you again but you pulled away laughing. “The weather is clearing up, we can have dinner outside on the patio.”

You threw him a wink and made your way into the kitchen.

Bucky finally got up and walked into your bedroom. Just as he imagined, the place was all white, gold, and pink. He actually laughed when he walked into the bathroom and found it pale pink as well. He’d grown to love it too by now.

–

You were busy at the stove, making your best seafood pasta, when you felt strong arms wrapping around you from behind.

“How’d you like my bedroom?” You asked, smirking already as you pictured him in your very girly space.

“It’s very pink. The bed looks comfy,” He whispered into your ear, “I’m gonna fuck you in it later.”

You chuckled and passed him another glass of wine. As you turned to face him again, you couldn’t help but laugh out loud. There he was, one of the scariest men you knew, standing in your grandma-core kitchen, wearing a fluffy white robe with pink clouds on it.

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Oh don’t comment on it. I can already hear Sam laughing his ass off and he’s not even here.”

You laughed even harder before you kissed his cheek. “It suits you.” You said. Then you handed him a couple of plates and pointed at the patio which could be seen from the kitchen window, “Can you set the table?”

He finished his wine and then mumbled on his way out like a grumpy old man, “First close the bakery, now set the table,” He shouted from outside, “You know, if this whole thing was your elaborate plan to hire me as your domestic helper, you could’ve just asked, babygirl.”

You laughed at him from inside the kitchen. You shook your head as you watched him. Wearing your fluffy robe, setting the small table on your patio. The view of the ocean from that patio was to die for, and the setting sun was just sublime. The golden lights you’d hung above the cute little dining area added to the cosy atmosphere. Now with the weather a lot nicer than it was hours ago, you could hear the small town coming alive again. Voice and laughter, children cycling down the cobblestone.

And Bucky. Bucky was here too. Winking at you from the patio. And you thought your life had ended when your parents disowned you. You scoffed at the thought. Then you thanked whatever god was listening for bringing Bucky back to you.

—

During dinner, Bucky filled you in on what he was up to while you were gone. And you did the same. One bottle of wine turned into two, then you and Bucky laughed at random things while you did the dishes.

Then you found yourselves in your bed. And like he promised, Bucky made love to you there as well.

His muscular body hovered above yours. He looked down at you with nothing but love and desire in his eyes as you undid the ridiculous robe to let his cock out. He was hard already.

“Think I like you a lot in this robe.” You teased.

Bucky laughed before leaning in for a kiss again. He nibbled along your skin, from your mouth to your neck as he parted your legs and slid into you.

You gasped as your walls welcomed him perfectly. He was nice and snug inside you, stretching you out in a way that had you whining and whimpering under him in no time.

Bucky laced your fingers together and pinned both your hands above your head on your pink covers as he sped up into you. Your eyes rolled back once he started moving in and out of you. Taking his sweet time, loving the way his warm skin rubbed against yours.

He leaned in and kissed your lips again, groaning and panting against your lips as he fucked you slowly. “I love you.” He breathed against your mouth. “So fucking much.” He kissed along your skin and moaned into your ear as he sped up. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“Oh Buck,” You smiled up at him, “I love you.”

“You’re mine.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss you as he made you come again.

“And you’re mine.”

—

You woke up some time in the middle of the night, thirsty after all that wine from earlier. But the moment you sat up to get out of bed, Bucky woke up too. Asking in his groggy voice, which you had never heard before but concluded that it was kind of hot, “Where are you going? What is it?”

You smiled and kissed his forehead while getting out of bed, “Just thirsty. I’ll be right back.”

Bucky got up after you, getting out of bed as well. “I’m coming too.” He said, “I worry this girly room might engulf me if you leave me here alone.” He joked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he followed you out and into the kitchen.

Truth is, he didn’t want to be apart from you for even a second.

You handed him a glass of cold water while you put some water to boil to make tea. Some green tea should put the two of you right back to sleep, you thought.

So there you were in your cosy kitchen, wrapped in a soft blanket. Bucky leaned against the counter watching you. He was shirtless, just in some white, cotton pyjama pants that you lent him. They didn’t fit him at all but something about him in your clothes made him seem adorable.

You were both quiet. But you could feel Bucky thinking. He looked like he was trying to find the right way to ask you something. You didn’t know what. But he had that little frown on his forehead. You wanted to kiss it away.

“What is it?” You asked.

Bucky avoided your eyes, choosing to stare at the floor instead as he asked, “Do you think… I mean, would you ever come back home?”

Ah. The few moments of silence which followed were heavy. You didn’t like how that question put some kind of metaphorical distance between the two of you.

So you took a few steps and leaned into him. You placed your hands on his muscular, toned chest and said, “This is home, for me.” You gave him the truth. “That city was never home now that I think about it.” You smiled faintly, “The only good part was you.”

Bucky nodded. “So,” He began, then stopped to clear his throat and spoke again, “You won’t ever leave this place?”

You slid your hands up across his skin, feeling the warm, strong muscles underneath your palm. You traced his collar bones, then his neck and finally cupped his face in your hands. He wrapped his arms loosely around your middle.

“I love it here, Bucky.” You stated. “It’s quiet, and peaceful. It looks boring at first but it’s what I’ve always wanted.” You said. “Plus my grandparents left me this, it’s all I have of them.” You paused for a while, hating that look of hurt in his ocean blue eyes. “I won’t leave. This is my home now.”

Bucky was quiet. Even his breathing was slow.

You let go of him, took a step back and said, “Maybe you should head back.” It felt like the words sliced you from the inside. It hurt to even utter them. “You have a life there.” You gave him a sad smile. Followed by a faint chuckle. “Unless you want to take up fishing then I’m afraid there’s nothing for you here.”

He scoffed. “There’s you.” He said as if that was more than enough.

“Bucky.” You warned.

He shook his head, then reached for his phone which he’d forgotten in the kitchen earlier tonight. “Sam will probably fly out here to beat me up when I tell him.” He spoke, none of what he said made sense to you though.

“What are you–,”

“And he’ll have to work twice as much. But he’ll do great, I know. He’s Sam after all, strongest man I know.” Bucky carried on, ignoring your questions as he typed away on his phone. “I’ll do as much as I can from here, maybe fly back to the city once or twice a year to show my face.”

“Bucky,” You warned again, “What are you talking—,”

Bucky continued, cutting you off each time you tried to get a word in. “I’ll have to call my people, actually I have a lot of phone calls to make if–,”

You cut him off this time, stepping closer to him again and grabbing him by his broad shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky gave you a lovesick smile. “Well if you’re not going back to the city, neither am I.” He answered. You froze. He continued. “I’ll have to buy us a bigger home somewhere around here. We’ll keep the apartment and bakery of course, but maybe we could use some staff to help with maintenance and to keep the bakery running.”

He made a mental, makeshift plan while you had silent tears streaming down your face.

He continued, “We’ll get you back in uni, whichever one you want and whichever offers distance learning because there’s no way I’m letting you live on some campus away from me.” He paused, then said, “I’ll have to actually take up fishing. Maybe I’ll buy a few boats, you know I always wanted to be a yacht broker.” He sounded almost… hopeful. “Retirement sounds nice.”

You sniffled. “Buck…”

Bucky kept talking while he gently caressed your back. “I’ll have to learn French,” He groaned, “At this grown age.” He added. “I’ll have to know what's a chocolate croissant and what’s a pain au chocolat if I want to occasionally help out with the bakery. I can’t be uncultured while my wife is this connoisseur, you know? The locals will laugh at me.”

“Wife?” You questioned through tears and a faint, barely there smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Baby, I’m wearing your clothes, sleeping in your girly room, eating off of your floral plates.” He explained, “If you don’t marry me, I will lose my reputation.” He joked.

You laughed, and sobbed as you threw your arms around him, hugging him as tightly as you could.

“You don’t have to do this.” You spoke through tears. Your heart felt so full, you didn’t know how to handle a man like Bucky changing the course of his life for you. All for you.

Bucky hugged you back, kissing the top of your head. “I want to.” He said, “I have to. Otherwise you’ll run away again.” He teased.

You laughed quietly. “I won’t.” You said firmly.

“Good,” He sighed, squeezing you tightly in his arms before letting go. “Now I have to tell Sam.” He looked genuinely worried.

You giggled, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Tell him in the morning.” You whispered, your hands already trailing down to the waistband of the pyjama pants.

Bucky chuckled before leaning in to kiss you, deeply. “Okay baby,” He whispered, forgetting everything else as he got lost in you all over again.

He made love to you right there in the kitchen, sliding in between your legs as you sat on the edge of the counter. Slow and gentle. Kissing you softly, making a mess of you as he made you come over and over and over again. Whispering against your heated skin, your wet, open mouth, “You’re mine…”

“All yours,” You answered, holding him tightly. Your nails scratching down his back, your skin burning in all the best ways as his beard scratched it each time he kissed you.

This time, he made you a different promise.

“If you chose to run again, you better run for your life and pray I never find you, babygirl…” He whispered into your ear as he slid inside you again. His cock made it hard for you to focus on anything else but you tried your hardest to hear him out. “Because I won’t be this kind if I ever have to hunt for you again.”

You laughed, but ended up moaning as he bit down on your other shoulder this time. Marking you as his again.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader

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klaus-littlestwolf · 1 year ago

Text

Mafia!Bucky’s Girl gets Arrested

Mafia!Bucky’s Girl Arrested Moodboard

Warning:Police Brutality, DD/LG dynamics and Daddy Kink, Protective Bucky and Mafia!Bucky (which is its own warning)

She always knew that it was a possibility but it never really crossed her mind as something that was going to happen. Ever since getting with her Mob Boss boyfriend, the man who had decided she belonged to him the second he set eyes on her and stalked her relentlessly until she finally agreed to be his girl, she had almost always been right by his side.

Bucky knew that Y/n was as loyal as they come and he didn’t doubt her love for him or her dedication for even a second, but he still didn’t want her out of his sight. There are plenty of men out there who want to hurt James Barnes and he refuses to see his Princess be a victim of an idiot with a vendetta or to even see an ounce of pain on her perfect face.

This day however, it was unavoidable.

Bucky had a delivery that needed to be picked up and he had to oversee it personally, something he wouldn’t bring his girl along for and so he gave her a Black Amex that he had just for her and dropped her off at her favorite outlet. He knew that she could shop around there for hours and that she gladly would until he picked her up later that evening.

‘Stay in public Princess, don’t go anywhere outside of this outlet, understand?’ Bucky warned, opening her car door and helping her out.

‘Yes Buck, I promise I will stay here. You know I’ll shop for a few outfits before ending up in the bookstore for the rest of the time.’ She teased making the notoriously angry Mob Boss smile. He had recently cleared out an entire bedroom in his mansion and lined it with wall to wall bookshelves so that she could have her own perfect reading room. She was fixing it up exactly how she wanted to make it perfect and was spending a lot of his money to give herself a library, apparently needing 1000 books before it actually counted as one (not that he minded spending money on her, especially not for something that made her so happy and often inspired new things to try in the bedroom thanks to her Dark Romance books).

‘That’s where I will pick you up, okay? I’ll text you when I’m finished and you meet me here, okay?’

‘Yes Daddy.’ She teased, knowing how much he loved it when she called him that as she pulled him down to her by his suit jacket and pressed her lips to his. ‘You’d better make sure you’re done all your work by the time you pick me up because you’re all mine for the next 2 days.’

‘Yes ma’am. I promised you a nice, quiet weekend just the two of us and I meant it.’ With all the extra time Bucky had been working after one of his biggest allies was arrested, he needed to make it up to his Princess and he had sworn that after the delivery he was all hers for the entire weekend. ‘I’ll see you soon Babygirl.’ With that he kissed her nose and hopped back into the car, leaving his girl to shop for the afternoon.

Y/n spent about 2 hours in her favorite stores getting several outfits and even stopping to pick up a few new lingerie sets that she knew her Daddy would love before entering the bookstore. By the time she had been there for an hour she had purchased 11 books and could be found sitting in a chair by the window with a hot chocolate and a muffin, reading to her hearts content. And that is exactly where they found her.

‘Y/n L/n?’ Y/n looked up to see a small women with her hair pulled into a ponytail holding a badge out to her and couldn’t help the confused look on her face.

‘Um…can I help you officer?’ She couldn’t help her confusion, she hadn’t done anything to warrant being spoken to by the police.

‘Get up!’ The man beside her barked, pulling out handcuffs and yanking her up from her chair causing her to cry out, the scalding hot drink spilling on her hand as she was moved violently.

‘Ow! What the fuck?! You can’t treat people like this! I haven’t done anything wrong, and even if I had you didn’t even give me a chance to comply! Ow!’ The cuffs went on painfully tight as her arm was twisted at an odd angle.

‘Hey, you can’t treat her like that!’ A barista spoke up, phone in hand and recording the interaction.

‘Mind your business unless you would like to join her!’ The man barked, his partner staying quiet.

‘Okay, you need to grab my stuff at least, I have bags there. Hello?! So not only are you violent, you’re deaf and stupid, good to know.’ She groaned.

‘We’ll hold your things in the back. You come and get them whenever you can.’ The same barista said, following with her phone as she was dragged out.

‘Thank you. My boyfriend will be by looking for me when I don’t answer him, my phone is in one of the bags! I-the least you can do is let me make sure my stuff is taken care off asshole!’ The next thing Y/n knew she was slammed against the police car, her face suffering the brunt of the hit as it collided.

‘Y/n L/n, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ The women spoke, reading her her rights as she was put into the car. ‘Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?’

‘Do I also have the right to not have your boorish partner throw me around like I’m his red headed step child? I don’t think that was in there. I’m not saying anything to you, and I haven’t done a single thing wrong.’

‘Sweetie, you’ve been doin’ shit wrong since you said “yes” to a date with James Barnes.’ The asshole spoke, starting the car and driving away from the bookstore.

‘Oh, now I understand. You don’t have shit on my boyfriend who you think is some kind of criminal for some unknown reason and so because you’re so shit at your job you violently arrest his innocent girlfriend. Gotcha.’

‘You ain’t been innocent since you started suckin’ his cock. You know it, he buys you pretty things and you stick your tongue out. You’re an expensive whore and nothing more-‘

‘That’s enough Tanner!’ His partner snapped and she listened to them argue about Bucky while trying to get feeling back into her arms and hands that she was leaning on with her knees pressed painfully to the cage between the front and back seat, all the while blood was leaking down her face and onto her sundress. It was sad, this was one of Bucky’s favorites, she only wore it because she knew he was supposed to pick her up to start their long weekend together.

She was led into the precinct pretty easily before walking through the bullpen and seeing multiple cops that she knew Bucky employed. She pushed down the instinct to smile knowing that they wouldn’t get ahold of Bucky or Steve tonight but also knowing someone would call Andy. She had met Andy several times and loved Steve’s twin brother dearly, knowing that if anything ever happened that Andy Barber would be the one getting her out of it. He had taken his wife’s name in law school to get away from his “criminal” last name of Rogers and yet he still represented them as he knew he always would.

‘Sit here, I’ll get something to wipe off your face-‘

‘No thank you, I’ll stay like this. I don’t need your help.’ Y/n told the women who looked at her sideways. ‘I’ll wait until I’m out of here and my lawyer can see the state that 2 police officers put me in just to arrest a women who was perfectly cooperative. He’s going to have a field day with your department.’ She glared, now seemingly pissed off herself, slapping a folder in front of her and opening it to show her pictures of her and Bucky together. One was him helping her out of the car, one was them walking into a premier, her boyfriends arm around her waist possessively as it was in every single picture they had.

‘Seems like he’s pretty taken with you.’ Y/n raised her eyebrows, not willing to say anything about Bucky what so ever. ‘Just like he was with this girl, and this one-‘ she showed pictures of two other girls with Bucky from before they were together. Bucky and Y/n had had the “Ex’s Talk” and they were both honest about past relationships but the thing that sealed it for Y/n right now was that seeing Bucky with these women, he didn’t hold them like he held her. It wasn’t even close to the same and if ever there was doubt that she would rat on her man (which there wasn’t) there sure as fuck wasn’t any now. ‘Let us help you get away from him, he’s a bad man. He’s killed people, God only knows how many of them.’

‘Oh My God!’ Y/n exclaimed, looking at one of the pictures and while the cop seemed to think she was getting through for a single second she was quickly proved wrong. ‘I was having a really bad hair day. Do you think we could get rid of this one? I just look awful.’

‘You’re not taking this seriously at all.’

‘No, and I’m not going to. You assaulted me, violently dragged me in here and now you’re questioning me about my boyfriend like he’s some kind of criminal! He is the sweetest man alive and he would never hurt anyone, now, I’m not going to be saying anything else without my lawyer.’ Her partner scoffed as he stood by the door watching this go on.

‘Yeah, we’ll see how quickly we get around to calling him.’ He laughed and Y/n just rolled her eyes.

‘He’ll be here soon enough.’ She mumbled.

‘What was that?! What are you mumbling you little bitch, if you think for one fucking minute that we give a shit about that murderers whore you’re wrong, and he ain’t gonna save you either! We’ll let you sit in here for days and guess what? Eventually you’re gonna give him up! Just to see daylight again!’ The officer raged before pulling his partner out and slamming the door shut, all lights but one going out and leaving Y/n in almost complete darkness.

She couldn’t tell you how long she sat there in the dark, quiet room just staring at the window mirror. It felt like hours by the time the door opened again and the lights were thrown on making her squint as her eyes adjusted to the harsh brightness. Y/n could hear a familiar voice screaming and the look of apprehension on the women’s face was fantastic after her treatment.

Suddenly a man who looked way too much like Steve stormed in and took in Y/n’s appearance. ‘Jesus! She’s fucking bloody, you have got to be fucking with me if you think this is alright Captain! Uncuff her this instant!’ Andy demanded and the large cop gave him an angry look before doing as he was told, the “discreet” look from his Captain being enough to spur him into action. ‘Are you alright Miss. L/n? Do we need to go to the ER?’ He offered but she shook her head.

‘No Andy, they offered to wash the blood off, I just wanted you to see where they had slammed me into their car.’ He nodded, making a gesture that told her to be quiet and tell him everything somewhere else.

‘I’m taking my client home. I will expect the recording of this interrogation, all of it, every second, to be sent to my office by morning. If even one second is off I won’t stop until this precinct is a fucking In-n-Out burger! Now fuck off!’ Andy took Y/n’s hand and pulled her along gently, not wanting to hurt her anymore than she already was. ‘You did well, I want to take a few pictures of you to have it documented, then we’ll get you cleaned up.’ She nodded along as they exited the building and moved to his car where he took pictures of her face at every angle as well as her bruised wrists and burned hand.

They had just gotten into the car when Andy’s phone began ringing Bucky’s tone and he put it on Speaker immediately. ‘Andy! She’s Gone! You Need To Get Her Back Andy! I Can’t-‘

‘Boss! It’s okay! I got her, I got a call from Officer Bowers when they walked her in.’ She nodded along.

‘He called right away, I saw a few cops that recognized me and the looks on their faces were priceless.’ She joked, hoping to pull a laugh from Bucky but it did not happen.

‘Princess! Are you okay? I swear to God, if they hurt you-‘

‘It’s okay Daddy. Stay at the bookstore, Andy’s dropping me off there, he wants to talk to the barista who recorded my arrest. She was nice, she promised to hold all my bags until you got there.’ She realized as she heard her Daddy’s voice how badly she had just wanted to fall into his arms and cry herself to sleep.

‘Okay Babygirl, I’ll get your stuff into the car. Get her here Andy, now!’ Her Daddy demanded before hanging up the phone, clearly upset.

It took another 10 minutes to get to the store and the second Y/n crossed the threshold she was grabbed and pulled into Bucky’s arms. He was warm and strong, just like every time he held her but this time she needed him to hold her like he never had before as she felt her mind sink back to that small, regressed place that she didn’t go to very often and it was like her Daddy physically felt it happen as her mind receded back into her safe space.

‘Daddy’s here Babygirl. Your Daddy’s got you, not a thing to worry about.’ He swore, not even caring about the fact that he’s in public as he lifted his girl into his arms and cradled her like an infant. ‘Daddy’s gonna take you home now Baby, gonna go home and get you in your jammies, and all snuggled up in the blankies.’ Bucky turned and walked back out the door from where Y/n had just come, Steve promptly opening the back door and letting his boss climb in before going back to start the SUV. ‘Is my Baby hungry? Daddy has food being made right now for my Princess’ dinner.’

‘So hungry!’ She groaned, clutching to his suit jacket and nuzzling close to his warm body.

‘We’re gonna get you all fed and snuggly warm in our bed baby, don’t you worry. I love you so much, Daddy is gonna make sure those awful cops are taken care of…do you want to talk about it?’ She pouted in response and he brushed his fingers through her hair to comfort her.

‘They were all rough and mean. Showed me pictures of us and pictures of you with your other girlfriends to make me talk bad about you.’ Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes.

‘Clearly they’re morons if they thought my Princess would turn on me.’ He chuckled at the absurdity of the idea. He knew how loyal his girl was, and he knew that (despite the fact that he would never let it happen) she would have gone to jail and kept quiet the whole time. ‘Don’t worry baby, this whole week is all about Daddy loving on you. Okay? You’re gonna be sick of my hugs by the end ‘cause I’ve rescheduled all of my meetings and appointments. It’s all about you now.’

‘Could never be sick of you, Daddy. I love you so much!’ She swore, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his heavy scent. As always he smelled like peppermint and his cologne which was very earthy and smoky which he knew his Babygirl loved, however after having been working tonight she could also smell gunpowder which would have made her ask questions and worry if she weren’t completely at the mercy of her regression right now.

Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead for several seconds as Steve pulled up the driveway and finally parked outside of the cabin style mansion in the woods. Her Daddy knew it was her favorite one of his houses to spend time at which is why he picked it for the weekend before extending it to the entire week after watching her arrest video and the interrogation video that Andy sent him just before they got to the bookstore. Some of her comments genuinely made him chuckle, and he was so proud to hear her defense of him and wonderful acting as she could have really convinced people that her boyfriend was just a sweet business man being targeted by the police maliciously. However after seeing how they treated her, Bucky knew that she would be needing his love and comfort, hating to hear that they had called her a whore and tried to make her think that he was just using her for her body.

As they laid in bed that night after her Daddy had fed her dinner and given her a bath filled with bubbles and sweet smelling bath salts he held her tightly to his chest, caressing her bare thigh as she snuggled him in her panties and one of his Henley’s (which was his favorite outfit to see her in of all time, including both fancy dresses or lingerie).

‘You know that your Daddy loves you more than anything else in this world, don’t you Princess?’

‘Mmhmm…’ she mumbled, half asleep already, Bucky’s ability to make her feel safe and comfortable enough to sleep so quickly being a subject of great pride for him.

‘And you know that you’re not a whore…I mean, sometimes I enjoy it when you’re Daddy’s good little whore but…you know you are so much more than that to me, right?’ She nodded into his chest subtly and he momentarily wondered if she even knew what he was saying.

‘Not a whore. Just Daddy’s whore…I love you Daddy.’

‘I love you too Princess. You sleep now, you can be Daddy’s good little whore in the morning…’ he promised, hearing her little moan and kissing her head before pulling the covers around her tighter, allowing himself to drift off to sleep with his Baby safe in his arms.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

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