daxisyzz - Tumblr blog

daxisyzz · 9 days ago

Text

All other recs are included in a separate post, I just had too many good Bucky reads to keep them in the same spot!

My Recs 📚

*updated as I find good reads*

───────────────────────────────

✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | 🔞 smut | ✪ g's star reads

✧.* Jackass by (@aquaticmercy) ✪ ⤷ Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. ✧.*Patron of Saint Nightmares by (@aquaticmercy) ✪ ⤷ Bucky needs to go on a mission, so he asks the rest of the team to take care of his girl. ✧.* More to Love by (@aquaticmercy) ✪ ⤷ Bucky marries you, someone who shows love through food. When his body changes, you show him he’s cared for no matter what. ⚠︎ Like he means it by (@marvelstoriesepic) ✪ ⤷ You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you. ✧.* Jackass by (@aquaticmercy) ✪ ⤷ Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why. ˚꩜｡ Dog Tags by (@marvelwitchergilmore) ✪ ⤷ Bucky is looking for his Dog Tags, and you just so happen to have them. ✧.* Change your mind by (@marvelstoriesepic) ⤷ Natasha drags you to an NYU baseball game. And despite yourself, one player catches your attention. ✧.* Smitten by (@aquaticmercy) ⤷ Sam finally meets Bucky’s girlfriend, though you’re not who he thinks you are. 🔞 Don't Touch the Tech Girl by (@aquaticmercy) ⤷ Sam told Bucky that you, his new tech engineer, was off-limits. But that just makes Bucky want you more. ⚠︎ Small Circles by (@aquaticmercy) ⤷ Bucky Barnes is still getting used to modern dating… and hates that you have to work with your exes. ⚠︎ Powdered Sugar by (@marvelstoriesepic) ⤷ Your friend group is having a night out at the local carnival. Bucky is his charming self and you are tired of pretending it doesn’t affect you. ✧.* Of All Things by (@eclipsedechoesofmywords) ⤷ When Bucky gets a new haircut, you find yourself struggling to keep your composure—and your thoughts—under control. ⚠︎ The Void by (@buckybabble) ⤷ Bucky Barnes rescues you from the Void after you are sucked into your worst traumas. ✧.* Friday Night by (@ilovolderman) ⤷ You end up sitting next to Bucky in a casual team dinner. ✧.* The Match by (@ilovolderman) ⤷ While secretly dating You, Bucky gets roped into a dating app by Sam. ˚꩜｡ You Said What? by (@ilovolderman) ⤷ You accidentally call Bucky babe during a mission briefing in front of the whole team. ✧.*Everything's Just Perfect by (@ama3003) ⤷ You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you. ⚠︎ Only safe with you by (@daxisyzz) ⤷ Bucky Barnes finds himself the sole anchor for a traumatized Y/n after being kidnapped and psychologically tortured by Hydra. ✧.* Alone in this shitty world by (@starktonyx) ⤷ After Yelena’s sudden outburst, the group scatters around the streets of New York. And, as if this wasn’t already the weirdest day of your life, you find yourself reaching to comfort the last person you ever thought you'd feel sorry for, John Walker. And Bucky is as confused as you are. ✧.*Patron of Saint Nightmares by (@aquaticmercy) ✪ ⤷ Bucky needs to go on a mission, so he asks the rest of the team to take care of his girl. ✧.* electric touch by (@mcrdvcks) ⤷ You technically aren't a member of the New Avengers, but you live at the Watchtower and help the team out during missions. The most interesting part? Bucky seems to have a crush on you, the quiet, brooding, mysterious woman. ⚠︎ A Thousand Times Before by (@marvelstoriesepic) ⤷ Bucky travels to an alternate universe for the sake of a mission. But he doesn’t expect to come face to face with a version of you that loves him, completely and openly. Back in his own world, he is left with a truth he can’t keep to himself anymore. ✧.* State of Denial by (@marvelwitchergilmore) ⤷ When Bucky gets sick, you take care of him. 🔞 the quiet side of thunder by (@fawniswriting) ⤷ When a visit to his office leaves you shaken, Bucky is determined to take care of you. 🔞 You're the Glue by (@barnes-babydoll) ⤷ After a mission goes horribly wrong, the team ends up stewing in their own anger on the car ride home. You try to lighten the mood, but instead it makes everyone angrier. When you're down, Bucky’s there to comfort you.

#thank you for including me with these other amazing writers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

494 notes · View notes

daxisyzz · 9 days ago

Text

One dance ౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆

Pairings: mafia!best man!Bucky Barnes x moh!Reader, bride!Natasha Romanoff x groom!Steve Rogers

Summary: Your best friend Natasha is marrying a man whose world you don’t understand. At her extravagant wedding, you’re just trying to blend in — until a pair of blue eyes finds you from across the aisle. James Buchanan Barnes, Steve’s right hand, watches you like you don’t belong here… and maybe like you do.

Word count: 3.2k+

Warnings and tags: Mafia au, bestman x maid of honor, slow burn (but with instant attraction), tension and flirting, mentions of criminal activity, power dynamics, implied violence, mentions of alcohol.

A/n: Heyy! I'm back. But not really. I'm still kind of in that hiatus. This is for my 1k followers celebration!! Thank you all for being so kind and liking my stories and following me. I really had to write this for you guys, I couldn’t leave you guys hanging.

This is my first time writing mafia!bucky so please cut some slack😅. Anyways enjoy <3

Header made by me, divider: @enchanthings

And yet all your eyes could focus on was her. Natasha, radiant in ivory, her hand steady in Steve Rogers’ grasp as they faced the priest. You stood to the side, bouquet held loosely at your waist, chin lifted with quiet strength. You weren’t scared, even if everything about the setting warned you to be.

The petals scattered along the stone aisle shifted with the wind, delicate against the stark perfection of the Roman-style courtyard. Everything about this wedding screamed opulence: the marble columns, the low hum of strings echoing beneath the archways, the armed men in expensive suits pretending to be guests.

You were here for her.

So when you felt it — a tightening in your chest, like someone had just stepped into your space without moving an inch — you tried to ignore it.

But curiosity won.

Your gaze slid subtly across the stage.

And froze.

A man stood near the groom. Not in the usual sleek, designer sense of every other guest, but in a way that felt... still. Coiled. Sharp.

Mid-thirties, maybe. Short dark hair swept back. Black suit tailored to a body that could do more than just fill it out. His stance was patient, but there was an intensity in his posture that spoke of violence, barely caged. His eyes were on you.

Not glancing. Not skimming. Pinned.

You turned away, heart skipping. Your fingers curled tighter around the stems of your bouquet. Ignoring his gaze.

Across the stage, Bucky Barnes tilted his head slightly.

He hadn't meant to look at you. Not at first. But the moment he did — the moment your dress caught in the breeze and your eyes flicked up like you felt him — he couldn’t stop.

He’d never seen someone like you in this world. You didn’t move like the others. Didn’t scan the perimeter. Didn’t flirt or flaunt or pretend. You were strong without posturing. Present, not performative.

And stunning.

You looked at Natasha the way Bucky once looked at Steve. Like loyalty was oxygen. Like you'd die on a hill no one else would climb for her.

And he couldn’t stop watching you.

Not because of the dress, though God, that dress was doing something dangerous to his focus. It was the way you wore it—like it was for no one. Like you didn’t need it to be seen.

You laughed softly when Nat whispered something in your ear, and Bucky watched your nose wrinkle, the quick tilt of your head, the way you elbowed her back just enough to be affectionate and mildly threatening. And that’s when it hit him—You were real in a world where everything felt carefully arranged.

And it messed with him.

Bucky had been around women who knew what he was. Who leaned in because of it. They touched his wrist with manicured fingers, eyes flicking toward the men who nodded when he entered a room. They liked the suit, the danger, the command.

But you didn’t even look at him that way. Not once.

And that unfamiliar absence of attention had his mind spinning more than any brazen stare ever could.

You were magnetic, and you didn’t even know it.

The kind of woman a man like him shouldn’t touch. The kind of woman a man like him might ruin just by being close. But he couldn’t look away.

He didn’t know your name yet. But he already knew the way you moved through a crowd—like you were grounded when everyone else was performing their power. He saw it in the way you stepped aside so an older staff member could pass with a tray, offering a thank-you with a smile that didn’t feel obligatory.

You didn’t know the weight of the room you were standing in. Didn’t flinch when a groomsman slipped a pistol under his tailored jacket before walkingup the stage.

And maybe that’s what caught him hardest of all—You were the softest thing in a brutal place. And yet, somehow, you belonged.

Not because you were like them. Because you weren’t.

And Bucky… Bucky had spent a lifetime wading through the grey trying to remember what light looked like. And suddenly, there you were.

His fingers twitched at his side. He needed to know your name.

The officiant’s voice broke gently over the hush of the courtyard.

“You may now exchange your vows.”

It was a beautiful day. Warm sun, soft breeze, flowers draped in tasteful whites and greens. The kind of wedding only one can dream of.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—beneath all the tulle and champagne flutes—was off.

Not wrong exactly. Just… off.

Too still. Too controlled. Like the calm before a storm that never quite hits.

You felt it in the way no one spoke above a murmur. In the way the servers moved too carefully. In the way certain men—broad, suited, eyes like glass—stood just outside the hedges, pretending to look at the sky.

It was subtle. Quiet. Like a layer of glass laid over everything.

And maybe no one else noticed. Maybe no one else cared.

But you weren’t used to weddings feeling like chessboards.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your grip on the bouquet, eyes drifting instinctively toward Natasha. She looked radiant. Focused. At peace, somehow.

You were proud of her. Happy for her. Still, your fingers tightened just a little around the stems.

And then you looked up. Across the aisle. Across the altar. To him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You’d heard the name whispered hours before—low and clipped, like it came with a warning.

You hadn’t meant to look again, but something in your chest had stirred the second the officiant spoke, and now your gaze found him before your brain could offer a reason.

He stood just behind Steve, dark suit crisp, jaw set, eyes steady. He didn’t flinch when you met his gaze. Didn’t pretend he wasn’t already looking. He just… watched.

Not like a man trying to get your attention. Like a man who already had it, and was curious what you’d do with it. It wasn’t predatory. Wasn’t even overtly flirtatious. It was calm. Measured. Quietly certain.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because the longer he held your gaze, the more the world around you blurred. The vows, the guests, the champagne bubbles catching light. All of it dulled under the weight of his eyes. Your mouth went dry.

You glanced away quickly, heat creeping up your throat. Forced yourself to focus on Natasha, who was reading now—soft and honest, her voice dipping slightly when she looked at Steve.

You wanted to be there. Grounded. Focused. But that strange feeling hadn’t left your body.

Like you’d stepped into something delicate without realizing it. A web. A trap.

Or maybe something else entirely. Something watching you from across the stage, with eyes like frost and fire and far too much patience.

Inside the estate, everything was warm light and shadows. Chandeliers threw gold across crystal glasses and polished floors. Laughter clinked like cutlery, elegant and practiced, and you kept close to Natasha during photos and speeches.

But you knew he was still watching. And he was. From the far end of the ballroom, Bucky leaned against a pillar, eyes trained on the way you smiled politely at men you clearly didn’t want to talk to. He saw how you scanned the room before moving — not in fear, but instinct.

He noticed how you tilted your glass to avoid lipstick on the rim, how you crossed one arm protectively over your stomach during a toast.

You weren’t from this world. But you were built to survive in it.

He wanted to speak to you. But not with an entourage watching. Not with loaded glances and Steve’s subtle smirks behind his whiskey glass.

So he waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

You slipped out onto the terrace sometime before sunset, heels clicking softly against the stone. The evening air was cooler now, brushing against your skin like a secret. You leaned forward on the carved railing, glass still half-full in your hand, letting yourself breathe for the first time all day.

You were proud of Natasha. You were. She looked happy. Really happy.But something about all of this made your instincts hum.

Still, you weren’t scared.

Not until you felt it again. That pull. Like gravity shifting in your direction.

“You always this graceful, or is it just a ruse?”

You straightened slowly, your hand still resting on the stone. And there he was.

Up close.

You didn’t let your expression give anything away. Not the way his voice felt like it slipped down your spine or how good he looked when the setting sun caught the sharp edge of his jaw.

“You always this forward,” you asked, tilting your head, “or is this just for me?”

His mouth curved. “Just for you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m trying to fix that,” he said, stepping forward, slow and unbothered. “I’m Bucky.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.” He smirked. “Smart girl.”

You sipped your drink, letting him watch your mouth. “You’re used to women falling at your feet, huh?”

“I’m used to women trying,” he replied, gaze lazy, voice low. “But I’ve never had one look at me like you do.”

Your brow arched. “And how do I look at you?”

“Like you’re not impressed.” His smile widened. “It’s messing with my head a little.”

You gave him a slow once-over. “Maybe I just have high standards.”

He laughed — warm, surprised. “Yeah. I figured that out the second I saw you walk down that aisle.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I almost missed the vows,” he added, a little more under his breath. “You in that dress? Christ.”

You weren’t the blushing type, but the heat at the back of your neck betrayed you. You turned slightly, so he couldn’t see the full effect. “Do lines like that actually work for you?”

“They’re not lines if I mean them,” he said simply. “And trust me, sweetheart — I mean it.”

Sweetheart. You hated how good it sounded coming from him.

You set your glass down on the ledge. “Is hovering on balconies your thing when you see someone who might bite?”

He grinned — sharp, teeth barely showing, but his eyes never left yours. “I like the ones who bite. Means they won’t break.”

“You testing me?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. The distance between you disappeared in a breath. “I already know you’d pass.”

You stared up at him, a little dizzy from the nearness, from the quiet confidence in his voice — like he could command a room with a whisper and not even break a sweat.

Your lips parted. “Maybe you’re the one getting tested.”

“Maybe I like that.”

A beat passed. The silence between you wasn’t awkward — it was charged. Like a string stretched taut between two hands.

He offered his hand. “Dance with me.”

You looked at it. Then at him. “I’m not one of your girls.”

“I know.”

“I don’t say yes just because I’m supposed to.”

His head dipped slightly, smile almost reverent. “Say yes because you want to.”

You let your gaze drift from his eyes to his mouth, slow and deliberate. “You planning to behave?”

“I’m planning to make it hard for you to walk away,” he said, eyes dark. “Is that misbehaving?”

Your laugh was quiet but real. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Your heart thumped, traitorous. But your feet moved anyway.

The ballroom was dimmer now, the chandeliers above casting golden puddles of light that flickered with every movement. The guests were beginning to drift back from the courtyard, taking their champagne glasses with them, filling the room again.

You stepped onto the floor with him, letting him draw you in, one hand slipping to your waist with practised ease, the other curling around yours with surprising gentleness. He smelled like cedar and cold air. His frame was broad, immovable, like someone built to shield or destroy, depending on the moment.

Your chest brushed his. Not quite touching, but close enough that you felt the tension in the space between you like a live wire.

It was quiet between you for a beat too long.

Then, as he turned you with precision, he murmured, “You don’t move like the others.”

Your brow lifted slightly. “Is that your opener?”

“No,” he said, tone thoughtful. “It’s just an observation.”

You tilted your head. “And how exactly do I move?”

“Like you’re not trying to be seen,” he said. “That’s what makes it hard not to look at you.”

Your breath stilled. Just slightly.

He was good. Not rehearsed. Not charming in that empty way most men were at weddings. This felt… specific. Like he actually meant it.

And God help you, your stomach tightened in response.

“You practice that?” you said, playing it cool.

He leaned in slightly, his voice a breath away from your cheek. “Do I seem like I need to?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Because just then, you felt it. A shift. In the air. In the room.

You couldn’t explain it — the sudden hush beneath the music. The subtle way conversations lulled. How, one by one, eyes began to flick your way.

You didn’t know these people. But you weren’t stupid.

The tuxedoed men near the back wall? The ones who hadn’t touched a drink all night? The ones scanning the room like it was a chessboard and they were waiting for a piece to move? They were watching you.

No—him.

No. You both.

You swallowed, trying not to let it show on your face.

“What is this?” you said under your breath. “Why are they—”

“They’re not used to seeing me dance,” Bucky said simply.

You looked up at him sharply. “And why’s that?”

His mouth quirked, not a full smile. “Because I don’t.”

You wanted to step back. But his hand was still at your waist, steady, unrushed. Like you weren’t going anywhere unless you wanted to. And maybe… you didn’t.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you?”

“I’m just the best man,” he said, gaze steady. “Same as you’re just the maid of honor.”

“That’s not what this feels like.”

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

He spun you smoothly, letting your hand glide along his shoulder as you turned, then caught you again just as the beat shifted. The world tilted slightly with it.

Your voice dropped. “They’re watching us.”

“They always watch me.” His voice was calm. Controlled.

Your heart thudded, unsteady now. He dipped his head closer. His lips almost brushed your ear. “I know what I look like. I know what I do. But I don’t lie. And I don’t pretend.”

You turned your face to meet his, close enough now that your breath mingled.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said.

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I haven’t looked at anyone else all night.”

You blinked. Heat spread across your cheeks.

The song wound down, notes growing softer, slower. But neither of you moved.

The rest of the room blurred at the edges — glittering laughter, clinking glasses, the soft swell of music — all of it dimmed like someone had lowered the volume just for you two.

He was still watching you, his gaze a little too steady to be casual. A little too fond.

You arched a brow. “You always stare at people like that? Must be my lucky night.”

“Just you,” he said easily. “The others flinch.”

You bit back a smile. “Charming.”

“Dangerous,” he corrected with a half-smile, voice low and smooth. “Apparently.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know. So far, you’ve been more polite than the cake guy.”

That startled a quiet laugh from him — real and unguarded. You felt the sound vibrate in the air between you, felt it in your chest a little too much.

“Didn’t peg you for funny,” he said, eyes still locked on yours.

You gave him a mock-hurt look. “Wow. I was so close to letting you buy me a drink.”

“I don’t want to buy you a drink.”

“No?” you asked, feigning offense. “Then what do you want?”

He dipped his head slightly. Close. Confident. “Another dance. At least.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it. Traitor.

But your voice stayed cool. “Careful. I might say yes just to make the room stare harder.”

“They already are,” he murmured. “Let ‘em.”

You glanced over his shoulder — caught the way the dark-suited men near the walls were still watching. Sharp eyes. Stiff postures. Definitely not here for the shrimp cocktail.

“Friends of yours?” you asked, like you weren’t studying their positions out of the corner of your eye.

“Colleagues,” he said, like that answered everything. “Mostly bored. One of them bet I wouldn’t get a dance.”

“And now?”

“Now he owes me dinner.”

You tried not to smile again but failed. “And what do I get?”

He tilted his head slightly, like he was considering it.

“My attention. For as long as you want it.”

You blinked, surprised by the weight of that answer.

The music shifted, and the spell thinned just a little. But he was still close, still watching you like you were a puzzle he didn’t mind spending the rest of the night figuring out.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Not fully. But for the first time all day, you weren’t pretending.

And neither was he.

From the corner of the ballroom, Natasha watched you spin beneath the golden light — dress swaying like spilled silk, your laughter trailing just above the music.

And across from you, solid and still and terrifyingly transfixed, was Bucky Barnes.

Steve’s best man. The one with blood on his hands and ice in his veins — except, somehow, not right now. Not with you.

His touch was careful, precise, like he didn’t trust his own strength. Like holding you too tightly might break something neither of you could name yet.

But his eyes — God, his eyes were anything but careful. They tracked every movement you made. Drank you in like a man who hadn’t seen softness in years. Like you were light in a world that had long stopped being kind.

And you — you didn’t even know.

You didn’t know what kind of room you’d wandered into. What kind of empire you were dancing in the center of. You didn’t recognize the glances, the nods, the silent tension that cracked like static between the suits lining the walls.

You didn’t see the way conversations stopped when Bucky looked at you. How no one dared step in.

But maybe that was the beautiful part. Because you moved through the chaos like it wasn’t chaos at all. Like you weren’t surrounded by criminals in tuxedos. Like the man holding you had never ordered a hit or buried a body at 3 a.m.

You laughed in his space. Teased him. Challenged him.

Natasha smiled to herself, slow and sure. Her fingers curled around the stem of her glass.

You had no idea what you were walking into.

But Bucky? Bucky already knew.

And she could see it written in the way his hand lingered at your waist. In the way he leaned in when you whispered something that made him smile.

He wasn’t going to let you walk back out.

Thank you for reading!! Like and reblog np. See you soon. I'll be lingering around in my blog even if I don't post anything 😙

This belongs to @daxisyzz don't copy or steal my work.

1K notes · View notes

daxisyzz · 10 days ago

Text

5K notes · View notes

daxisyzz · 12 days ago

Text

One dance ౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆

Pairings: mafia!best man!Bucky Barnes x moh!Reader, bride!Natasha Romanoff x groom!Steve Rogers

Word count: 3.2k+

This is my first time writing mafia!bucky so please cut some slack😅. Anyways enjoy <3

Header made by me, divider: @enchanthings

You were here for her.

So when you felt it — a tightening in your chest, like someone had just stepped into your space without moving an inch — you tried to ignore it.

But curiosity won.

Your gaze slid subtly across the stage.

And froze.

A man stood near the groom. Not in the usual sleek, designer sense of every other guest, but in a way that felt... still. Coiled. Sharp.

Not glancing. Not skimming. Pinned.

You turned away, heart skipping. Your fingers curled tighter around the stems of your bouquet. Ignoring his gaze.

Across the stage, Bucky Barnes tilted his head slightly.

He hadn't meant to look at you. Not at first. But the moment he did — the moment your dress caught in the breeze and your eyes flicked up like you felt him — he couldn’t stop.

And stunning.

You looked at Natasha the way Bucky once looked at Steve. Like loyalty was oxygen. Like you'd die on a hill no one else would climb for her.

And he couldn’t stop watching you.

Not because of the dress, though God, that dress was doing something dangerous to his focus. It was the way you wore it—like it was for no one. Like you didn’t need it to be seen.

And it messed with him.

But you didn’t even look at him that way. Not once.

And that unfamiliar absence of attention had his mind spinning more than any brazen stare ever could.

You were magnetic, and you didn’t even know it.

The kind of woman a man like him shouldn’t touch. The kind of woman a man like him might ruin just by being close. But he couldn’t look away.

You didn’t know the weight of the room you were standing in. Didn’t flinch when a groomsman slipped a pistol under his tailored jacket before walkingup the stage.

And maybe that’s what caught him hardest of all—You were the softest thing in a brutal place. And yet, somehow, you belonged.

Not because you were like them. Because you weren’t.

And Bucky… Bucky had spent a lifetime wading through the grey trying to remember what light looked like. And suddenly, there you were.

His fingers twitched at his side. He needed to know your name.

The officiant’s voice broke gently over the hush of the courtyard.

“You may now exchange your vows.”

It was a beautiful day. Warm sun, soft breeze, flowers draped in tasteful whites and greens. The kind of wedding only one can dream of.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—beneath all the tulle and champagne flutes—was off.

Not wrong exactly. Just… off.

Too still. Too controlled. Like the calm before a storm that never quite hits.

It was subtle. Quiet. Like a layer of glass laid over everything.

And maybe no one else noticed. Maybe no one else cared.

But you weren’t used to weddings feeling like chessboards.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your grip on the bouquet, eyes drifting instinctively toward Natasha. She looked radiant. Focused. At peace, somehow.

You were proud of her. Happy for her. Still, your fingers tightened just a little around the stems.

And then you looked up. Across the aisle. Across the altar. To him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You’d heard the name whispered hours before—low and clipped, like it came with a warning.

You hadn’t meant to look again, but something in your chest had stirred the second the officiant spoke, and now your gaze found him before your brain could offer a reason.

He stood just behind Steve, dark suit crisp, jaw set, eyes steady. He didn’t flinch when you met his gaze. Didn’t pretend he wasn’t already looking. He just… watched.

And somehow, that was worse.

You glanced away quickly, heat creeping up your throat. Forced yourself to focus on Natasha, who was reading now—soft and honest, her voice dipping slightly when she looked at Steve.

You wanted to be there. Grounded. Focused. But that strange feeling hadn’t left your body.

Like you’d stepped into something delicate without realizing it. A web. A trap.

Or maybe something else entirely. Something watching you from across the stage, with eyes like frost and fire and far too much patience.

He noticed how you tilted your glass to avoid lipstick on the rim, how you crossed one arm protectively over your stomach during a toast.

You weren’t from this world. But you were built to survive in it.

He wanted to speak to you. But not with an entourage watching. Not with loaded glances and Steve’s subtle smirks behind his whiskey glass.

So he waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

You were proud of Natasha. You were. She looked happy. Really happy.But something about all of this made your instincts hum.

Still, you weren’t scared.

Not until you felt it again. That pull. Like gravity shifting in your direction.

“You always this graceful, or is it just a ruse?”

You straightened slowly, your hand still resting on the stone. And there he was.

Up close.

You didn’t let your expression give anything away. Not the way his voice felt like it slipped down your spine or how good he looked when the setting sun caught the sharp edge of his jaw.

“You always this forward,” you asked, tilting your head, “or is this just for me?”

His mouth curved. “Just for you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m trying to fix that,” he said, stepping forward, slow and unbothered. “I’m Bucky.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.” He smirked. “Smart girl.”

You sipped your drink, letting him watch your mouth. “You’re used to women falling at your feet, huh?”

“I’m used to women trying,” he replied, gaze lazy, voice low. “But I’ve never had one look at me like you do.”

Your brow arched. “And how do I look at you?”

“Like you’re not impressed.” His smile widened. “It’s messing with my head a little.”

You gave him a slow once-over. “Maybe I just have high standards.”

He laughed — warm, surprised. “Yeah. I figured that out the second I saw you walk down that aisle.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I almost missed the vows,” he added, a little more under his breath. “You in that dress? Christ.”

You weren’t the blushing type, but the heat at the back of your neck betrayed you. You turned slightly, so he couldn’t see the full effect. “Do lines like that actually work for you?”

“They’re not lines if I mean them,” he said simply. “And trust me, sweetheart — I mean it.”

Sweetheart. You hated how good it sounded coming from him.

You set your glass down on the ledge. “Is hovering on balconies your thing when you see someone who might bite?”

He grinned — sharp, teeth barely showing, but his eyes never left yours. “I like the ones who bite. Means they won’t break.”

“You testing me?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. The distance between you disappeared in a breath. “I already know you’d pass.”

You stared up at him, a little dizzy from the nearness, from the quiet confidence in his voice — like he could command a room with a whisper and not even break a sweat.

Your lips parted. “Maybe you’re the one getting tested.”

“Maybe I like that.”

A beat passed. The silence between you wasn’t awkward — it was charged. Like a string stretched taut between two hands.

He offered his hand. “Dance with me.”

You looked at it. Then at him. “I’m not one of your girls.”

“I know.”

“I don’t say yes just because I’m supposed to.”

His head dipped slightly, smile almost reverent. “Say yes because you want to.”

You let your gaze drift from his eyes to his mouth, slow and deliberate. “You planning to behave?”

“I’m planning to make it hard for you to walk away,” he said, eyes dark. “Is that misbehaving?”

Your laugh was quiet but real. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Your heart thumped, traitorous. But your feet moved anyway.

Your chest brushed his. Not quite touching, but close enough that you felt the tension in the space between you like a live wire.

It was quiet between you for a beat too long.

Then, as he turned you with precision, he murmured, “You don’t move like the others.”

Your brow lifted slightly. “Is that your opener?”

“No,” he said, tone thoughtful. “It’s just an observation.”

You tilted your head. “And how exactly do I move?”

“Like you’re not trying to be seen,” he said. “That’s what makes it hard not to look at you.”

Your breath stilled. Just slightly.

He was good. Not rehearsed. Not charming in that empty way most men were at weddings. This felt… specific. Like he actually meant it.

And God help you, your stomach tightened in response.

“You practice that?” you said, playing it cool.

He leaned in slightly, his voice a breath away from your cheek. “Do I seem like I need to?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Because just then, you felt it. A shift. In the air. In the room.

You couldn’t explain it — the sudden hush beneath the music. The subtle way conversations lulled. How, one by one, eyes began to flick your way.

You didn’t know these people. But you weren’t stupid.

No—him.

No. You both.

You swallowed, trying not to let it show on your face.

“What is this?” you said under your breath. “Why are they—”

“They’re not used to seeing me dance,” Bucky said simply.

You looked up at him sharply. “And why’s that?”

His mouth quirked, not a full smile. “Because I don’t.”

You wanted to step back. But his hand was still at your waist, steady, unrushed. Like you weren’t going anywhere unless you wanted to. And maybe… you didn’t.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you?”

“I’m just the best man,” he said, gaze steady. “Same as you’re just the maid of honor.”

“That’s not what this feels like.”

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

He spun you smoothly, letting your hand glide along his shoulder as you turned, then caught you again just as the beat shifted. The world tilted slightly with it.

Your voice dropped. “They’re watching us.”

“They always watch me.” His voice was calm. Controlled.

Your heart thudded, unsteady now. He dipped his head closer. His lips almost brushed your ear. “I know what I look like. I know what I do. But I don’t lie. And I don’t pretend.”

You turned your face to meet his, close enough now that your breath mingled.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said.

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I haven’t looked at anyone else all night.”

You blinked. Heat spread across your cheeks.

The song wound down, notes growing softer, slower. But neither of you moved.

The rest of the room blurred at the edges — glittering laughter, clinking glasses, the soft swell of music — all of it dimmed like someone had lowered the volume just for you two.

He was still watching you, his gaze a little too steady to be casual. A little too fond.

You arched a brow. “You always stare at people like that? Must be my lucky night.”

“Just you,” he said easily. “The others flinch.”

You bit back a smile. “Charming.”

“Dangerous,” he corrected with a half-smile, voice low and smooth. “Apparently.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know. So far, you’ve been more polite than the cake guy.”

That startled a quiet laugh from him — real and unguarded. You felt the sound vibrate in the air between you, felt it in your chest a little too much.

“Didn’t peg you for funny,” he said, eyes still locked on yours.

You gave him a mock-hurt look. “Wow. I was so close to letting you buy me a drink.”

“I don’t want to buy you a drink.”

“No?” you asked, feigning offense. “Then what do you want?”

He dipped his head slightly. Close. Confident. “Another dance. At least.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it. Traitor.

But your voice stayed cool. “Careful. I might say yes just to make the room stare harder.”

“They already are,” he murmured. “Let ‘em.”

You glanced over his shoulder — caught the way the dark-suited men near the walls were still watching. Sharp eyes. Stiff postures. Definitely not here for the shrimp cocktail.

“Friends of yours?” you asked, like you weren’t studying their positions out of the corner of your eye.

“Colleagues,” he said, like that answered everything. “Mostly bored. One of them bet I wouldn’t get a dance.”

“And now?”

“Now he owes me dinner.”

You tried not to smile again but failed. “And what do I get?”

He tilted his head slightly, like he was considering it.

“My attention. For as long as you want it.”

You blinked, surprised by the weight of that answer.

The music shifted, and the spell thinned just a little. But he was still close, still watching you like you were a puzzle he didn’t mind spending the rest of the night figuring out.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Not fully. But for the first time all day, you weren’t pretending.

And neither was he.

From the corner of the ballroom, Natasha watched you spin beneath the golden light — dress swaying like spilled silk, your laughter trailing just above the music.

And across from you, solid and still and terrifyingly transfixed, was Bucky Barnes.

Steve’s best man. The one with blood on his hands and ice in his veins — except, somehow, not right now. Not with you.

His touch was careful, precise, like he didn’t trust his own strength. Like holding you too tightly might break something neither of you could name yet.

And you — you didn’t even know.

You didn’t see the way conversations stopped when Bucky looked at you. How no one dared step in.

You laughed in his space. Teased him. Challenged him.

Natasha smiled to herself, slow and sure. Her fingers curled around the stem of her glass.

You had no idea what you were walking into.

But Bucky? Bucky already knew.

And she could see it written in the way his hand lingered at your waist. In the way he leaned in when you whispered something that made him smile.

He wasn’t going to let you walk back out.

Thank you for reading!! Like and reblog np. See you soon. I'll be lingering around in my blog even if I don't post anything 😙

This belongs to @daxisyzz don't copy or steal my work.

#bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #mafia!bucky #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #mob!bucky x reader #mob!au #mafia au #mob!bucky #mob!steve rogers #mafia!steve rogers

1K notes · View notes