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notroosterbradshaw · 1 year

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Stay the Night

here’s some old-school Bucky in Wakanda smut. I didn’t think I’d publish Bucky stuff here, yet here we are. Hope you enjoy x

18+, smut, fluff. It's just you and Bucky in Wakanda while the team is away. He tends to his flock, you wish he tended to you.

“Today is the literal meaning of ‘hotter than Hades’,” you announced as you collapsed less than gracefully on a broken tree log as Bucky Barnes shot you a look over his shoulder, sweat protruding from every pore in his tanned, muscular form, a tendril of long, dark hair falling into his glassy blue eyes from the loose ponytail behind his head.

Jesus, a man should never look that damn good, you thought, fanning yourself with your shirt, the material sticking to your drenched skin. Thank god the heat hid your blush.

“Bored?” he asked, scooping up a hay bail and loosening it for the goats he tended to munch on.

“Radio silence,” you replied. “I kind of feel like I’m in the way of the locals when I can’t contact the team. I haven’t heard from Nat, Sam or Steve in a few days. I am pretty useless at times like this.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky said, pointing at the water bottle you had parked beside you. “You brought water. I assume that’s why you’re out here in the midday sun,” he teased as you tossed it to him and he caught it easily with his right hand, twisting the cap off and guzzling the cool refreshment.

Every movement was pure sex, you sighed quietly as his throat bobbed, water falling from the creases of his lips and down his chin. Life seemed much fairer before Bucky Barnes.

“Thanks, Buck,” you rolled your eyes as he finished the bottle easily, crushing it in his palm and laughing at you, walking back to hand it to you.

“No, no,” he nudged your boot with his. “Thank you,” he went back to stacking and distributing hay as you said a quiet goodbye and told him you’d see him later.

You hated when the team was away.

While you’d made some friends in Wakanda, you were still finding your way and mostly felt in the way of working alongside the Wakandan defence and communications teams. They used a lot more sophisticated tech than Stark had ever provided you and you’d never admit it out loud, the tech was somewhat confusing at times, thanks to its gross advancement over what you were used to.

You’d always be thankful for T’Challa and his family for taking you into the palace grounds, a necessity, T’Challa explained. It was beyond amazing and his lovely mother, Ramonda, fussed over you to ensure you were comfortable at all times. It was nice to feel so welcome, but so lonely without your family.

Steve, Nat and Sam had left days ago. Wanda and Vis were off the radar (lie, you knew they were having some kind of rendezvous in Europe and had no intentions of interrupting whatever was or had developed between them).

That left Bucky.

After he’d been woken from cryo, Shuri had run every test known to man on him to assist in the removal of the trigger words, he’d gratefully taken up residence away from the hustle and bustle of the wondrous city and hauled his ass out to the farmlands, simply requesting the peace, privacy and quiet. For the first time in over 100 years, he was able to be his own man without fear of retribution. Sure, the dark memories flickered occasionally, but the words would never hurt him again.

He enjoyed the serenity in the sounds of nature, with the exception of an iPod that Sam had gifted to get him up to speed on more modern music than the 1940’s bops Bucky was more accustomed to –

You sighed, hearing the knock at the door, interrupting the reverie of mindless TV. It was late, too late for guests. After dinner, you’d showered and retired to your PJ’s – your threadbare, well-worn Yankees shirt (your first souvenir of New York City when SHIELD moved you there years earlier regardless of your disinterest in baseball) and loose PJ pants. “Coming,” you replied, pushing yourself up to open the door, surprised to see Bucky on the other side - cleaned up, void of sweat and dust in lazy sweat pants and a white t-shirt. A casual Bucky Barnes. This new development was not helping your crush. Not in the slightest. “Hey. You lost?” you teased lightly.

He showed you a bottle of Glenfidditch and you chuckled a little, moving from the way to let him in. Closing the door behind him, you leaned back against it, a little confused about his visit as Bucky simply didn’t visit anyone aside from Steve or Shuri. You only visited Bucky occasionally to make sure he wasn’t segregating himself, but he did usually prefer his own company when Steve wasn’t around.

“Got ice?” he asked, going to the kitchenette for a couple of tumblers.

“I don’t actually – if I’m going to drink aged whiskey, I’ll be doing it properly.”

“Ooh,” Bucky cooed, a small grin growing on his lips. “A woman after my own heart.”

“Blame Steve – a few years back when we all moved to the Tower… fuck, just after Ultron maybe? Steve brought out a bottle of this stuff and I’ve been a convert ever since. He said you guys would destroy bottles together.”

“Well, he did. I would drink responsibly though I didn’t know at the time I could put them back as well as Steve could with the serum running through my veins,” he said, bringing the glasses to the coffee table, cracking the top and pouring you each a glass. “Are you gonna join me or hang out by the door?”

“Sorry,” your face flushed as you skittered over and sat at the other end of the couch. He handed you a glass and gave you gentle ‘cheers’ before you sat in silence for a while, enjoying the smooth amber liquid. “…Bucky, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I dunno – you seemed a bit forlorn today. Thought I’d try and be a friend,” he shrugged. “You’ve been pretty accommodating to me since we got here. I guess I could repay the favour even if you’re only checking in on me for Steve. And you’ve got air conditioning,” he tossed in the joke to try and lighten the mood.

“Steve didn’t ask me to keep tabs on you,” you admitted.

“Oh,” Bucky said, sipping his whiskey and easing back on the couch. “Do you like it out here?”

You chewed your lip, dropping your eyes to the glass. “I mean, it’s a hellova lot better than being shipped out to The Raft,” you admitted as he stifled a chuckle.

“True.”

“If I’m going to be on the run for associating with the team, it might as well be in one of the most securest places on the planet.”

“You chose well,” Bucky agreed.

“Would have been stupid for me not to take it. I owe T’Challa, and Steve, a lot.”

“They’re good men.”

“Absolutely.”

Silence overtook the room again though there was no discomfort with it.

“Thanks for havin’ a drink with me,” Bucky said as he polished off his glass. “It’s getting late,” he got to his feet.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he said with a gentle shrug, collecting his tumbler.

“You’re not imposing. It’s nice to have the company, to be honest,” you confessed.

“'Nother glass then?”

“Definitely,” you said, hoping not to appear too eager. Bucky gave a small nod and poured again.

“I know I’m not much of a talker,” he told you as you sat and cradled your glass close to your chest.

“I just enjoy the company regardless of noise levels,” you shrugged. “It’s different when the team is here, but when they aren’t…”

“When they aren’t?” he pressed.

“I have too much time with my thoughts.”

He raised a glass. “I hear that.”

Your glass joined his. “Why are you in the farmlands then and not in the palace?”

He nodded slowly as you hoped you hadn’t overstepped the mark. Blame the first glass of booze – less than tipsy you would never ask such a question. “Just tryin’ to earn my keep – least I can do since T’Challa is harbouring an international war criminal, assassin, murderer – ”

You gave a gentle laugh. “He’s not harbouring you.”

“Protecting me then,” Bucky corrected himself.

“Maybe protecting you,” you admitted, agreeing.

You both continued a polite conversation, mostly about Steve and the team before you both started dozing at your respective ends of the couch. “I should really head out now,” Bucky said.

“Stay, it’s a million degrees out there.”

He gave you an incredulous look that told you he knew what you were saying, but staying was still a terrible idea. Suddenly overwhelmed, you realised it completely sounded like a blatant invite for sex. It wasn’t, you thought. Was it?

Trying telling your libido that.

“If you stay on your side of the bed, Bucky, and I stay on mine, we won’t have any issues,” you try to regain your composure.

“Are you completely sure?” he looked about as convinced as you thought you were.

“My God, it’s sleep,” you told him. “I would never deny you, of all people, Bucky, sleep.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

“It’s far too hot to stay out there overnight. Enjoy a night’s sleep in the air con,” you joked. “If you enjoy sleeping in comfy climates, hey, you might even move in here.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

You blinked a few times, not catching his tease. “Yeah, like here, the palace.”

He laughed. “Okay.”

“Oh, you thought in here. With me,” you barked a laugh, getting off the couch and heading for the bed, Bucky following a safe distance away. You stifled your discomfort with snark, “Oh, darling,” you leaned forward to cup Bucky’s stubbly chin. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

“Oh darlin’, don’t fall for me so quickly. It’ll only end in heartbreak,” he mocked in return. You laughed incredulously, thinking to yourself, ‘too fuckin’ late, buddy’ and moving to your side of the King bed and pulling the pillows towards yourself.

“If you’re truly concerned, here. Build a pillow wall with me. Put that hay bailin’ practice to good use.”

He sighed with a gentle smile, he was thoroughly enjoying this cheeky banter you’d suddenly worked into your conversation and helped you build the Great Wall of pillows.

“Perfect,” you said, fixing the last pillow in place.

“That is an impressive pillow wall,” Bucky concluded, stifling a laugh. “Failsafe.”

“Make yourself comfy,” you told him, laying back as he pulled off his soft cotton t-shirt and folded it, placing it neatly on the bedside table next to him, a habit he’d picked up in military training in the 40s and never really lost it, no matter what control he was under, you imagined.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he told you. “It is a lot nicer inside than out.”

“Told you,” you replied with a chuckle, raising a fist to him over the wall.

“What is that?” he chucked.

“My knuckles? You’ve never knocked ‘knuckles’ with someone? A fist bump?”

He laughed louder. “No, I’ve never fist-bumped.”

“Then hit my knuckles with yours,” you instructed as Bucky did as he was told. Still confused for a second, his hand met yours gently before opening and clutching your wrist in his warm, rough-skinned hand and bringing your open hand to his lips. The rules of the pillow wall were suddenly crumbling before you. Destroyed so easily.

“You need to behave,” you told him, suddenly very nervous.

“I’m finding it so hard. We’re here and I know it’s not just me that is feeling this, sugar,” he continued kissing to your wrist and moving towards your inner elbow as he got to his knees. Your body betrayed you as goose pimples shot up and down your spine and you found yourself sitting up opposite him. “All I wanna do is compromise this pillow wall.”

You could cut the tension in the cool room with a knife as your eyes burned into his. Chewing his lip, he made no secret of his intentions as he licked his mouth and walloped the pillow wall away.

Suddenly there was no divide and you were looking at each like they were your last meals. “Can I kiss you?” he asked shyly.

“If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you,” you retorted as he skimmed across the sheets to you and pulled your body flush to his. He sunk his fingers into your hair and pulled your face to his, leaving a small kiss on your waiting lips.

“Is that okay?” he asked, almost afraid.

“More,” you demanded as a reply. There was nothing forgiving about it – you were suddenly craving him – his mouth, his touch, his body, his scent and he was surrounding you in a way no other person had before.

He moved back a little. “One minute – I gotta explain…” he breathed gently. “This is kind of my first time being intimate in a long time. I know this,” he looked at his left shoulder, ashamed. “I know it’s not sexy. And if you don’t want to be with me because of it - ”

You grasped his face in your hands, forcing his eyes to meet yours and kissed him lightly. “Believe me when I say I do not care, Bucky. I know you do but I need you to know, this changes nothing for me.”

“I’ve imagined this so many times with you, pleasing you and now we’re here, I just…” his soft Brooklyn accent rumbled. “I just imagined it as me. The old me.”

Your head spun – he felt the same way? Jesus Christ, assassin school taught him surely how to fool you into believing he barely knew you existed.

“Well, I only know this, Bucky – I’m pretty crazy about you.”

His eyes flickered. Maybe it was emotion, you weren’t sure.

“You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

This time, he blushed.

“So maybe, you should just lay back,” you said, helping guide him to do so, his head settling amongst the remains of the disastrous pillow wall and you kissed him, he moaned just loud enough to hear. “And we have a good time, okay?”

He nodded, nervously. “Okay.”

“Now, relax,” you said, unsure where your confidence was coming from but you knew he needed you to lead him and you were going to treat him right. He deserved this – you, and all of you. All for him.

You ungracefully tossed the sheets from the bed, they’d just be getting in the way and crawled towards Bucky’s feet, grabbing the loose elasticised ankles and pulling at them, the sweats he wore drawn from his slender hips, descending his powerful thighs and calves before you disregarded them all together, leaving him solely in boxer briefs. Calvin Klein, how so very rude.

And dear, if your mouth didn’t water at the surprise he poorly hid in them.

Kissing his ankle and working your lips up the inside of his legs, tickling behind his knee, he shuddered. He shuddered hard. “Fuck,” he muttered. You smiled against his skin, lips moving again, your hands massaging his powerful thighs. Stopping at his waist, you crept onto his lap and pulled away your shirt. Bucky sighed, his hand reaching out to touch you. You leaned closer to him as his arm skirted around you, pulling your body flush to his to kiss you, your tongue tracing his full lips as he enthusiastically opened his mouth for your tongues to meet. His hand scalded your skin as he groped at you lightly, cascaded your side and tangled into your hair, deepening the kiss as his hips started to move beneath your body, his cock needing the friction.

You paused and raised a finger to him. He raised a confused eyebrow as you scampered off him to lose your sweats, no panties underneath. You didn’t let him get a good, long look at you before you moved to rid him of his boxers, hard cock free and you gave him a few encouraging pumps, his eyes rolling back. “Sweet Jesus,” he begged for mercy. “Please.”

“Please?” you raised a teasing eyebrow and sat on your knees between his muscular thighs. He was asking you to go down on him. You’d never felt so willing before to please a man as you were for to do for Bucky.

“Please,” he tried again as you could see this man didn’t need to be teased, he just needed to be wanted. Adored. Loved.

“Okay. Okay, now you sit back, Barnes. And you let me take care of the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he tucked his arm behind his head, licking his lips as you took him in your palms before an encouraging kiss to the head and taking him into your mouth. “Dear God,” he managed to say through groans. His hand found your hair again, pushing your hair from your face to see what he thought was the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen work over his body. “Baby, that is so good. So hot,” he encouraged, clutching roughly but not enough to hurt, just enough to spur you on. You continued your ministrations for a few minutes more before he guided you away from him, gasping. “Baby, stop. I’ll come.”

You blinked at him. “That’s okay,” you promised. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

He grinned at you. “I’m sure you can. But I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he admitted shyly.

“Oh,” you gave a gentle nod. “I thought I was doing something wrong.”

He shook his head, alarmed. “God, no. You were a little too good at what you were doing,” he reassured you. “Get up here,” he pulled you to his face to meet him for a lingering kiss. “You could kill a man with that mouth.”

“I doubt that,” you got suddenly shy, burying your blushing face in his neck as he guided your face back to his.

“Don’t get bashful now, sweetheart,” he gazed at you like you were about the best damn thing he’d ever seen. You didn’t know how or why, but the look turned you on more than any act prior to right then. You just wanted to make him happy, release him, and feel him come apart under your hands. “I have an admission to make, and fuck, I hope this doesn’t come across as shitty…” he said quietly.

“What’s that?” you asked, suddenly feeling very exposed regardless of you lack of clothing.

“Uhh… I don’t know, logistically, how I make this work without you on toppa me, baby. I’m sorry, I don’t want to crush you if something goes wrong,” he looked as though he wanted the bed to eat him whole.

And why, you don’t know. But his admission gave you the confidence you didn’t expect. “Is this you suggesting I ride you?” you gave a small giggle as he chewed his lip.

“Lil’ bit, yeah. I know that sounds so goddamn selfish – ”

“Giving me the power over you makes you selfish?”

“Well, it takes away a fair amount of effort,” he reasoned. “And you know, I wanna show you what I can do…” his voice trailed off, timidly.

And suddenly you understood. This wasn’t just about a missing limb – this was the pain and terror from all those years ago. The raw, never-ending trauma of Bucky’s initial testing, falling from the train in the Alps. Losing his arm seemed so minute in all of it. Years of physical and mental abuse, and psychological torment at the hands of HYDRA, of the Soviets, whoever was the highest bidder for The Winter Soldier.

This was touch, connection, feeling wanted and adored – oh, how needed to Bucky understand how much you wanted to be the person to help him.

You tutted him and inhaled, gently cupping his cheek, choosing compassion. “Relax, handsome, lay back and enjoy,” you instructed as he nodded slightly and wrapped his scorching hand around your ribs. It was such a simple act, but it turned you on so much. It felt possessive, wanted. “I want to make you feel so fucking good – will you let me?”

You don’t know why you asked, but you knew you needed to hear him tell you he wanted this too. “Yes,” he nodded shyly. “Hell yes.”

“Okay,” you leaned down to kiss him, reached between your bodies and in your warm hands, adjusted your body on his. Viewing Bucky as he felt you sheath your body around his was as good as it could ever get – his plumb lips drawn into his gleaming white teeth, his bright blue eyes hidden behind his long lashes. Giving him some time to adjust, just like you were to his size encouraged you as he lightly raised his hips in hopes for you to move. “You good?” you asked again.

“Better than, amazing,” he told you, gripping your hip and your body slowly started to move above him. “Jesus Christ,” he uttered, raising his eyes to look at you.

Taking his hand and linking your fingers as you relaxed and stopped trying to ensure his good time (it appeared ensured) and sinking into feeling so good yourself, you moved your hips more, craving Bucky deeper, hoping to find that elusive little spot to make you explode.

“Touch yourself?” he pleaded quietly. “Please, sugar?”

Appeasing him happily, he watched your free hand creep down your body and open yourself up to where your bodies met, your fingers putting on a show as you toyed with yourself just for his dark, lust-filled eyes. Your body tightened under the pressure and Bucky’s pleasured grunts and curses was certainly on the rise. His hand relinquished yours as he clutched onto your ass, forcing you rougher into him, his tempo speeding up and urging you to do the same from the friction his body caused yours.

“God, you feel so good. So wet, so warm,” he muttered, his breathing deepening as his hips haphazardly fired into you. “Are you close?” he asked desperately. You were, you so fucking were, you realised, his simple question bringing you even closer. You nodded as you pressed harder against your clit, desperate for your own release and of course, his.

He needs this, you reminded yourself. You needed this. “Fuck, yes,” you replied as he used his abs to sit up, suddenly so much deeper into you as you looked at each other face to face, chest to chest and Bucky kissed you. He kissed you with those beautiful lips and a tongue that knew exactly how you wanted to be kissed as he moaned into your mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist and took a nipple into your mouth as you started to come – that was the move, the special way to push you over the edge. Realising this, Bucky grinned and looked at you, using those pearly whites to chew lightly and you were coming. Coming so hard that you felt like you might have seen stars as he let out a litany of curses and came hard too.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Bucky breathed, chest heaving as he rolled onto his back, taking your body down with him, keeping you wrapped in his embrace and softening inside you. Bucky Barnes liked to cuddle, you realised.

“Holy shit,” you managed to say as you tried to settle your breathing. “That was fantastic.”

“Really?” he asked bashfully. He looked you in the eye and begged you weren’t lying to him. You nodded and tenderly kissed him. “Good,” he gave a small, shy smile and suddenly appeared so boyish. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have the thank me,” you told him. “Trust me, I’m just glad you stayed.”

“Fuck, me too,” he laughed. “Me too.”

Hearing your phone beep, you shot up through the heaviness across your chest and halted you. Bucky’s body subdued you – the body heat he exhumed was hot and stifling. He groaned, pulling you back down to him.

“They’ll call back,” he muttered. “Sleep.”

“It’s the team,” you whispered back. He breathed heavily, reaching out for the phone for you reluctantly and putting it in your hands. Relief washed through you. The team, including Wanda and Vis, were returning to Wakanda imminently. “Did you sleep okay?”

Yawning, Bucky slightly freed you from his grasp. “You weren’t wrong about sleeping comfortably – I mean, I don’t deserve to, but it was the most relaxing sleep I’ve had in years.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Bucky. Truly.”

He soothingly kissed your naked shoulder. “Thank you for last night.”

“I just hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“So much,” he breathed against your skin, rolling you to your back and lightly pining your body under his. You loved the feel of his weight on your body. You would come to crave it. Addicted and all in less than 12 hours. You’d fallen so hard, so fast. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you couldn’t lie. Bucky’s body was made for a multitude of sins and loving on a woman? The top. He kissed each eyelid that fluttered closed under his touch, the tip of your nose, his mouth travelling through your throat to your décolletage. “Behave…” you teased, your fingers lacing into his long, dark, loose waves.

He laughed into your skin. “Okay,” he nudged your knees apart, his hips meeting yours. He felt as if he was flying – he’d never imagined the confidence he felt, that you’d given to him. Or how you could have destroyed it by rejecting him. The power you had over him was stifling. That was a hellova lot scarier than what was to eventually come.

“What did I say?”

“You told me to behave.”

“And what did you do?”

“The exact opposite,” he admitted. “I just can’t seem to keep my mitts offa you. You’ve opened the floodgates, sugar. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again.”

Your phone beeping incessantly now, you found yourself in a world where only you and Bucky ceased to exist. The rest of the world could wait another hour.

#make me regret posting this 😬#bucky with the good hair #bucky fluff #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky angst #white wolf #notroosterbradshaw #reposting from another life #if this bombs I’m deleting it

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 2 months

Note

Heyyy I absolutely love your work!! Could I request a drabble of Bucky being completely smitten with the reader or a headcanon when the reader is sick??? Merci beaucoup mademoiselle🫶💖

Two Floors

PAIRINGS: 40's!James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

WARNINGS: FLUFF, angst (if you squint), mentions of not haveing enough money

WORD COUNT: 1,759 (got carried away lol)

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

“Oh c’mon doll, can’t leave a poor man hangin’,” he says as he runs to catch up with you. You roll your eyes as he comes to walk along side you.

“Buchanan, I told you to go annoy Rogers instead. I have much more important things to do,” you bite in his direction as you make your way through the streets of Brooklyn.

Graduating high school, a month ago with your best friends, Bucky and Steve, was something your dreamed of when you met the two boys the first time your moved into the old apartment complex.

Since then, the three of you have become inseparable.

But something eats away at your heart, a painful piece of emotion that just slowly chews away at your peace.

“You got a job already?” Bucky asks as he slides his hands into his pockets. You adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder and nod your head, “just a small secretary job at the library. Enough to earn something until I finally decided what I wanna do with my life.”

Bucky laughs and lets out a low whistle, “still that ‘always need to know whay my future is’ type o’ girl, yeah?” You shake your head and slap his arm, “quit it, Buchanan. Or I’m telling Winnie your being an ass.”

Bucky rubs his arm, a little sore from your slap. “My ma trusts you more than the Lord himself,” Bucky comments, the loosely swinging his arm over your shoulder.

You doesn’t push it away.

“That’s because I don’t go bring random girls back home and make them scream my name in the middle of the night,” you smirk as you reveal you know of his nightly activities.

Bucky stops, forcing her stop. The look on his face is horrific and you snort and slap his chest at his reaction. “How’d you-,” he starts, but you continue to laugh.

“Becca tells me everything, Buchanan,” you wink at him before you start walking again. He breaks out of his reverie and jogs to catch up with you, “doll, it ain’t like that.”

You laugh and shake your head, “do I look like I care who you mess around with, Buchanan?” He pauses and shakes his head, it looks like to you he’s a bit upset, “no, you don’t”

You were about to say something else, but something caught your eye.

You stop and gasp as you walk towards the window of the shop.

The great glass pane with the large painted letters on it does not stop you from viewing the contents inside of the store.

The dainty little locket sits at the back of the display, hiding behind all the extravagant jewels. You know that the owner would’ve expected people to look at the jewels.

But the locket, it hangs lovingly from a thin gold chain. The oval case rests just in between the collarbone.

You think it’s the most beautiful piece you’ve ever seen.

Bucky see’s you view the locket and how in awe you are in as you frame a picture of it in your mind.

“Why don’t you get it,” Bucky suggests, nodding at the piece of jewellry. You let out a sad laugh, “because it costs more than our parents’ rent combined, Buchanan.”

You bite your lip while still looking at the necklace, “a girl could dream.”

You sigh and pull away, “let’s go.”

------- The Rogers’, the Barnes’ and your parents all stand in front of you as they sing ‘Happy Birthday’ for the eighteenth time in your life.

After they finish the song, out of key, you drag the simple knife down the cake, and they start cheering.

Your mother cuts up slices and hands it to everyone, you get up from the dining table and smooth out the wrinkles of the emerald green cotton dress your mother sewed for you.

The dad’s gather as they converse about the lastest sports, the mom’s are in the kitchen laughing as the cook dinner. Steve, Bucky, Rebecca and you sit in the living room.

You go against the opinions of Steve’s and Bucky’s as they complain about how high school was the worst time of their life.

“Look guys, you can’t say that,” you chastise them softly, “Becca, you’re in your junior year. It’s one of the best times you’ll ever experience.”

Becca nods, as Steve shakes his head to Bucky and Bucky mouths a ‘No’ in Becca’s direction.

“Buchanan,” you throw the couch pillow at him.

-------

“Hey, can I come in?” Bucky knocks on the window of your bedroom.

The party was over, and you’re parents went out to have a quick little dinner. They were upset because they didn’t want to leave you on your special day, but you knew how hard they’ve been working, and they didn’t have time to themselves. So you pushed them out the door and yelled a ‘have a great time’.

Bucky crouches on metal ridges that is your fire escape, waiting for your permission to enter your room.

You jump out of bed and raise your window a bit higher so he can fit in. “Are you out of your mind, Buchanan?” You whisper-yell at him.

He shrugs, “what? I live two floors above your doll, nothing to be worried about.” The wink he throws you way, makes you roll your eyes.

But there’s a place in your heart where it instantly becomes warm.

Because, even if Bucky was a player at times, he still caught your heart.

You did roll your eyes at his antics. But your smile was true from how playful he is.

You’d say ‘Quit it, Buchanan’, but in your mind you’d always whisper a ‘Don’t ever stop’.

You knew you were falling for Bucky, but you always forced those feelings down.

Because you knew, he won’t feel the same.

“What needed my attention so badly, that you had climb down to get here,” you cross your arms and narrow you’re eyes at him.

He smirks and sits on your bed, “well, I haven’t given you my present yet.”

You freeze.

You’re also confused.

“What? Of course you did, your family gifted me the Aesop Fable set,” you say as you walk to stand in front of him.

You vividly remember getting the gift, because it was something you have been telling Becca about for so long. And you squealed when you opened their present

But Bucky shakes his head, “no doll. They gave you, their gift. I haven’t given you mine.”

You pause, and you swear your heart starts beating a little faster.

“What”? You whisper, because you know you voice will crack if you spoke louder.

He pats the space next to him, “sit down, doll.”

You gulp and go sit down next to him, you obediently place you hands on your thighs as you wait for the next part.

Bucky gives a smile. But it’s different, you have never seen this look on Bucky before. The softness of his eyes, the way his cheeks are slightly flushed, the little crinkles at the corners of his lips as he maintains that smile.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny box.

The box looked like it was originally used to store a single chocolate ball, but the lettering on it worn out and the edges are a bit jagged.

You look at bucky with confusion, “what is thi-.”

He interrupts you, “just open it f’me, doll.”

And you do.

“Bucky, no.”

The locket stares back up at you, the gold glints under the light of your room.

“You-you can’t be serious, thi-this has to be a joke,” you turn to face him with tears lining your eyes. You heart has never beaten so fast in your entire life.

Bucky’s grin widens and nods, “got it this morning, just for you.” He says your name so softly that you think it might break if he said it to harshly.

You wrap your arms around his neck and push your head against his shoulder as you whisper your million ‘thank you’s’.

Bucky chuckles and rubs your back, “anything for you, doll.”

“Why, why me? Why this?” you shake your head against him.

“Because I gotta tell the girl, who lives two floors below me, that I’m in love with her,” Bucky pulls back and cups the back of your neck.

You gasp softly and furrow your brows at him, your shock so evident on your face.

“Gotta tell her that I’ve been after her since the day she moved into this building,” Bucky leans in and you follow.

How have you been so daft to not see this?

You close your eyes and stop until you’re a hair width’s away from Bucky’s lips.

“Gotta tell her how much I’ve been dreamin’ about her, and how she’s the only thing on my mind,” Bucky whispers, and you feel his breath hits your lips.

He softly places his lips on yours, and you move your hands to cup his face. You both move your lips in tandem to the other, as you try to feel more of one another.

He pulls away breathlessly and you follow suit.

“I’ve been meaning to do that for a long time, doll,” he chuckles and leans in to place soft kisses on your jaw.

You giggle and whisper a ‘me too’.

Bucky takes the locket from your hands and starts to put it on for you.

He soon as he done, he leans back and sees how beautifully the necklace sits just above the dip of your collarbone.

“Open it up,” he nods at the locket. You smile and follow his orders, you gasp as you see a picture of your seventeenth birthday, with the Rogers’ and Barnes’, at Coney Island. And the other side had a picture of you and Bucky at Prom.

You didn’t have a date, well you did but he stood you up. So Bucky stepped in and became your man for the night.

You look up at him and have no words to say.

“I-,” you start but can’t finish your sentence.

“I know, doll. I know,” he smiles. “Been saving those tiny pictures for a while, but it was worth it,” he leans in and presses his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes and relish this feeling that hangs in the air.

The feeling that you have been wanting to feel for so long now, it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

“Hmm, doll,” he whispers back.

“I love you.”

“I love you, doll.”

💌💌💌

OMG! MY FIRST EVER ANON!!

HELLO NONNIE!!!

Love this ask, I've always had this idea in mind, but never really knew how to write it.

I guess this is just a messy way of writing it lol.

I hope this is what you were looking for nonnie!!!

Lemme know what you lovelies think!!

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes fic

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jobean12-blog · 9 months

Text

Love in Lace

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 858

Summary: Some days Bucky works long, hard hours taking care of 'business' and you always know the best way to help him wind down.

Author's Note: Just because I love him so! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: sweet, softness and s-ex-i-ne-ss, Bucky is definitely d-o-mish here but we love it 😁

Steve walks out the door with a nod Bucky’s way and a smile yours. After the door closes, Bucky pulls you close, kissing your forehead on a long and drawn-out exhale. With another tug he has you in his lap and wraps his arms around you.

“Want to sit out on the balcony? See if we can find any stars?

You whisper the words into his skin, kissing along his throat before you find his lips as your fingers mindlessly toy with the open buttons of his collared shirt and the loose tie around his neck.

“I’ll grab the wine…” he says, sighing happily. “Think I’ve earned it today.”

“You earn it every day,” you tell him as you take his face between your hands and pepper it with soft kisses.

His contented hums come between his attempts to capture your lips but when you pull away he pouts.

“I’m going to put on my jammies! I’ll meet you out there in five!”

He squeezes you tighter against his chest making it impossible for you to leave his arms. You giggle and snuggle into his embrace.

“Or we can just stay here.”

“How about I just carry you out there so I don’t have to let go,” he murmurs as he buries his face in your neck.

“I’ll be quick I promise,” you assure him.

“You better be doll face,” he relents, releasing you. “But if you take too long, I’m coming to get you!”

He wiggles his fingers enticingly with a wicked smile. You rush off to the bedroom and dig through your drawer. Shuffling things around, you see a flash of lace and pull out a teddy you’d recently bought but never worn.

You pause with the delicate lace in your hands, mulling over an idea. Maybe this is just what he needs after a long day of business.

Slipping your clothes off, you change into the teddy and check your figure in the mirror. You wait, knowing Bucky will be back in no time when you don’t show up by the balcony.

You hear his bare feet on the carpet and you turn to see him standing in the doorway.

“It’s been more than five minu…” he simpers, but his voice tapers off into a groan as soon as he lays eyes on you. “Oh fuck doll.”

“What do you think of my new jammies?” you ask, doing a little twirl.

“Fucking hell baby doll,” he says, his eyes wide and his jaw slightly slack. “You look sexy as fuck. Do another twirl for me.”

He spins his finger around as his eyes darken.

You do another, this time a slow circle so he can take in every inch of you and when you look over your shoulder, wanting to see his reaction, he’s stalking toward you.

He grabs you and you expect him to shred the lace and throw you onto the bed. Instead, he wraps his large hand around the back of your neck and slides his thumb across your jaw, pressing it just under your chin until your eyes meet his.

As he stares in awe he drags you closer, dipping his head and running his nose over your skin.

“You tease me…and I love it,” he whispers in your ear, running a gentle finger along the edge of the lace at your cleavage. He smiles as goosebumps break out along your skin.

He roughly grinds his hips against you but his touch is reverent as he slips his finger under the slim strap at your shoulder.

“Do you like it?” you ask, looking up from under your lashes and smoothing his loose tie between your fingers.

“Like?” he asks, lifting one strap and easing it off your shoulder.

His fingertips trace down your arm and he shakes his head.

“No. I fucking love it and I’m going to fuck you in it, this sexy little lingerie that has me so hard for you.”

You whimper and tremble in his arms, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

“Yes Bucky. Please. Do it. Now!”

He steps back, his tie slipping from your fingers and resting against the bare skin of his chest, now exposed with the open buttons of his shirt.

“Doll,” he warns. “You know better than that. Who’s in charge here?”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “You are.”

“There’s my good girl. Now get on the bed, on your knees and face down.”

You hurry to do as he says and you feel him move behind you, his presence filling all your senses.

He runs a gentle, intimate hand over your ass cheek, so soft, almost like a whisper.

“Look at you. You’re soaked and I’ve barely touched you.”

With a soft kiss to your skin he moves downward, bringing his mouth closer to where you need him but when you lift your ass more, tempting and taunting him, he stops and the next thing you feel is the hard smack of his hand.

“I know what you want doll, and I’ll give it to you, but when I’m ready. Until then, I’m going to take my time.”

@book-dragon-13 @goldylions @hiddles-rose @sebstanwhore @littleseasiren @kmc1989 @randomfandompenguin @hallecarey1

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #mob!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #mob au #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan

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sarahowritesostucky · 2 months

Text

📖"Hydra Sanatorium"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word count: 4608

Tags: a/b/o, medical institutionalization, cognitive disability, made up kinky medical things, diapers, catheters, enemas, non-con medical procedures, restraints, forced wetting, hurt/comfort, humiliation, kind!Careworker Steve, bratty!Patient Bucky, alpha Steve, omega bucky, dry humping, forced orgasm, masturbation, implied self harm, orgasm therapy, age difference (19/30s), omorashi

Summary: Bucky is a troubled teen coping with the traumatic transformation of late-onset omega puberty. Steve's the care worker who's been developing too much of an attachment.

Wait! I think I missed a previous chapter! Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Persistent Genital Arousal

Previously:

This may be (and hopefully is) Bucky's last day as a Hydra patient, but that doesn't mean he won't have some group classes and therapies left to attend with the other boys in his cohort that afternoon and evening. Steve will just have to find a way to fill his own time, leave Bucky to his schedule, and hang in there while he gets the ball rolling to secure Bucky's release into his custody.

That afternoon, Steve completes a plethora of paperwork. He submits his recommendation for Bucky’s care, fills out a formal application for custody, and hands in his letter of resignation to Raynor.

He’s completely transparent with her about his intentions, and Christina isn’t just fair in her response: she seems downright pleased. She does call him a traitor for leaving Hydra, but she’s smirking when she says it, so Steve knows he’ll still be getting a stellar reference from her.

He is officially quitting, but Bucky’s still a patient on-ward—with all the services afforded one—for at least the next twenty-four hours. So to avoid interrupting his scheduled therapies and groups, Steve tries to keep himself busy, closing out his cases and saying goodbye to some of his more friendly coworkers. Hydra Sanatorium might not be the nicest or the most well-funded place, but for a county-run institution it’s always done the best it can with what it has for the people who come through its halls. Lord knows Steve has. After five years of working there, doing his best to help the people that he could, Steve hopes he made some sort of a difference. In one case, at least, he knows he has.

Later in the day, he goes looking for Bucky and finds him with the rest of his cohort in the soft room. A lot of the boys are napping, the rest of them engaged in various stimming activities. Steve doesn’t immediately spot Bucky, but the room attendant points him towards one of the nesting pods. When Steve pokes his head through the little circular opening into the cave-like space, sure enough there his boy is: nestled amongst an impressive collection of blankets, throws and pillows.

Inside it smells heavenly, Bucky’s scent built up in the air. All sexually mature omegas experience something called persistent genital arousal, or PGA. It can be more debilitating for some, and it’s definitely more intense at certain points of their cycles, but in general Steve’s heard it described as a low-level thrum of arousal—like what one might feel from touching themselves idly from over their underwear while watching mediocre porn. Essentially, omegas really do always have sex on the brain.

The resultant smell they give off is, of course, one easy identifying marker for any omega out in public, and Bucky is no exception. The nesting pod is already thick with his scent, sweet and cloying, and Steve finds himself breathing in deeply to get more of it as he crawls inside. He smiles when Bucky’s sleepy eyes peek open and register his presence. The boy is beautiful. “Hey,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky lets loose a huge yawn and stretches with a lazy smile, his hair all floofed in different directions and his eyes nothing but puffy, squinty slits. “Stteeeve,” he hums, reaching for him with grabby hands. “Mmm. C’mere.”

How could he ever resist? Steve crawls over and settles next to him, pulling their bodies close together. “Hey you.”

Bucky’s already purring as he wriggles up against him. “Mmm. Hi.” He shoves his face into Steve’s chest and rubs his cheek against his pec, scenting him. “I took’a nap.”

“I can see that.” Steve’s mood is already in the stratosphere, because he’s suffused with Bucky’s scent: happy, safe, content—and yes, mildly aroused—omega. It’s infectious, making Steve’s body respond with all of those same feelings and more. There’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, tucked into a tiny, warm nesting space with his omega.

“His” omega, because Steve’s already started thinking of him that way. The transition feels almost seamless, feels natural, like maybe Bucky was his long before he knew it. He rumbles in his chest to match the boy’s purr and holds him close. “Missed you,” he murmurs, speaking against the softness of his hair. “How’s your day been?”

They’ve only been apart for a few hours, but after the intensity of their morning together, Steve hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Bucky’s wellbeing all day, even though he knows he’d left him in a good place, mentally. He’d made sure to bring him down from the high of their sensory session, had tenderly changed him and dressed him in warm, soft clothes, checked that his body’s lingering confusion from the therapy wasn’t anything that was going to cause him discomfort or distress during the day. He’d personally escorted him to his life skills group, kissing him on the cheek and promising to find him later, even watching from the doorway for a few long minutes until he could be certain that Bucky was relaxed and taking to the company of others well.

Now, in the safe confines of the nest, Steve kisses his hair again. “Good?”

Bucky does a happy little wiggle. “Mmm, good,” he mumbles, still seeking contact through the way he rubs himself against Steve’s body. “Missed you.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, like he’s stubbornly trying to dig himself a space inside of Steve. It’s adorable. Steve smiles and rubs his back. “Me too, Honey. I’ve been getting a lot of things sorted out, so that I can take care of you after today. If you want.”

Bucky peeks up at him. “‘If I want?’”

“Yeah.” He knows that this is a talk they need to have, now that Bucky’s sober and fully back in his head. Steve doesn’t think there’s a high chance that Bucky’s going to change his mind, but they still have to discuss it. Because Steve would be a bad person—and a garbage Alpha support—if he didn’t give him the chance to decide for himself now.

And he’s going to have to tell Bucky about the castration issue. As much as Steve hates it, he can’t deny the sheer medical facts. It’ll help Bucky. His body produces too much testosterone as it is, his testes given too much time to develop before he finally presented. They’ve always known that the elevated hormones are part of what contributes to Bucky’s aggression and his struggles. Steve takes a deep breath and forces composure into his voice. “So, my boss asked me to put in my recommendation for you.”

“Recommendation for what?”

“Um, since your folks signed over custody, the state is in charge of you now until you turn twenty-five. That is, unless you find an alpha guardian to take care of you in a personal capacity. But you know, Hydra isn’t really … it’s more of an acute care facility, right? So even if you didn’t have an Alpha, you’d still have to go somewhere else, like a group home or a treatment facility that’s geared toward longer term stays. My boss asked me to submit my assessment of what your needs are and where you should go. It’s called an ongoing care plan.”

In his arms, Bucky tenses up. “My ongoing care?” he repeats, uncertain.

“Yeah Honey.” Steve tries to smile reassuringly. “There are lots of places where you could go to live other than with me, if you wanted. Nice places.”

Bucky’s face crumples in distress and he keens lowly. “But I … I mean, I thought …” His lip trembles. “You changed your mind? Don’t you want me?”

“What?” Steve’s heart sinks at the way Bucky’s looking at him—as if he’s just revoked a promise Bucky had been counting on. “Oh, Honey,” he mourns, pulling him in close again. He cradles his head and kisses over his hair in apology. “No, no bub. I do want you. I was just trying to be fair and give you all of your options. I didn’t want you to feel obligated. Didn’t want you to feel like you had to make that choice to go with me.”

It’s immediately obvious that his words calm Bucky down. The scent of distress dissipates as quickly as it had formed, and their dimly lit nesting pod is once again filled with nothing but cozy, happy omega pheromones. Bucky butts his head into Steve’s chest and grumbles at him for having scared him. “I always want to go with you, Steve. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Steve strokes his back. “Okay, okay. I understand.” His hands dip under the soft fabric of Bucky’s top, tracing up the vertebrae of his spine. It feels good to have the connection of their naked skin again. Steve hums and flushes, aware of his cock having a vague but growing interest. It’s all chubbed up in his briefs, tingling with a low level of arousal. And even though he has little intention of doing anything about it right now, it’s still nice to feel when he’s close to Bucky like this. He turns in towards him a little more, pressing him back and down into the nest with his bodyweight. The boy’s legs part for him on instinct and Steve hums, pleased. He slots his thigh between Bucky’s legs and tucks his face into his neck. “I just want to make you happy, Buck,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to do anything other than what you really want. And if it takes you time to figure that out, then you’re allowed to take your time.”

“Nooo, Steeeve. I want you to be my Alpha. I don’t need to take time. S’stupid.”

Steve scoffs fondly. “Oh yeah?” He searches out the slight swell of Bucky’s bonding glands beneath the skin, closes his lips over the spot, and sucks. Bucky gives a surprised little ‘meep!’ of a sound, then pretty much melts full-body into the blankets. Steve chuckles. “There’s a lot that comes with that, you know. Having an Alpha you’re bonded to is different than just what we do here.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Like you said before, in the bathroom when my tummy was full. You said you could be my for-real Alpha.”

Steve kisses where he’d sucked, the spot now pinked and swollen. “Do you know what that means?” he whispers. “To have a for-real Alpha?” Bucky shivers pleasantly in response to the question, but Steve’s not just asking to get him worked up over it. “Buck,” he prods gently. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Means you’d be in charge a’ me,” Bucky sighs, his scent shifting as he grows more aroused. Beneath Steve, he squirms purposefully against the weight of his body. “I’d live with you, right?”

“Yeah. You’d come live with me and I’d be in charge of you.” Steve nuzzles against him, not missing the way that Bucky’s breath catches in a tiny little sound of pleasure. “Hey now, you might not always like that.” He playfully nips his skin. “There might be times when you’re mad as a hornet at me. That won't change anything. I’ll still be your Alpha. You’ll still have to listen.”

“... Could I still call you Daddy?”

Steve groans and turns his face away from Bucky's neck while the omega giggles at his reaction. “Yeah, Buck. You could.”

“Mmm, and you’ll still call me bub?” he asks, looking up with shining eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. “I um … I kinda always liked that you called me that. Even back when I was new and mean to you and stuff.”

Steve smiles tenderly at him. “I know, bub. That’s why I always did.” He kisses him softly, just once, on the lips. The first time he’s ever let himself do so.

Bucky’s wide-eyed by the time Steve pulls back, looking like a whole new world of possibilities has just been opened up to him. “Oh, man,” he breathes. “Do we get to have sex whenever we want?”

Steve laughs, taken aback. “Buck,” he scolds, but he’s already dipping back down to kiss him again. “Yes. Though I do have to keep a day job, so you can’t go full-on nymphomaniac on me.” Bucky whines and Steve kisses back down to his neck and seals his lips over his tender glands to suck some more. “Mmm, you’re swollen here, Honey,” he murmurs, kissing the spot, thinking that he’ll have to check the kid’s chart to see if he’s nearing estrus. It’d make sense, given how reactive he’s been lately. And, oh god, they’ll definitely need birth control. Steve would love to breed Bucky up, but that’s not something they should take lightly. It’s too soon to pup him, not when so much else is in flux, and Steve still needs to tackle the castration issue with him. There’s a lot to be done. Everything is changing. Steve sucks hard on his glands in one, long pull.

“Oohh,” Bucky moans, both hands coming up to run through Steve’s hair. “Oh, S-steve. Mmm. That feels so good.” He hitches his leg up higher on Steve’s hip, rocking against him, and Steve indulges him by driving his thigh forward to give him more firmness to grind on. Bucky whimpers and jerks. “Oh!”

“Mm hm.” Steve gently scrapes his teeth over the swollen spot on his neck. “I’ll need to bond you, if you’re living in my household long term.”

Bucky whimpers and nods, hips shoving up harder at the feeling of the alpha’s mouth on his glands. “Okay,” he gasps. “Yeah, Steve, do it. I'm ready.” His fingers dig into Steve’s shoulders and he cranes his head further to the side, presenting himself for a bite.

Steve chuckles, the sound morphing into a groan at the end as he denies himself and moves his face away. “Mmm. Not right now, silly. You need to be in heat for that to stick.” He gives him a peck on the lips. “Besides, it’s supposed to be something special.”

“Special?”

“Mm hm.” It kind of breaks Steve’s heart that Bucky doesn’t know this, though he supposes the kid couldn’t possibly have had many positive exposures to A/o relationships, growing up with the family he did. Steve kisses him again, explaining, “We’ll make it nice. Relaxing. Bonding is something special we’ll do in private.” They may currently be sequestered in this dark little space, but Steve sure doesn’t count a communal nesting pod in a state-run Sanatorium to be the appropriate place for such an important, intimate act.

He crawls off of Bucky and moves over to the side, sitting up in the mounds of soft nesting materials with his back against the pod’s wall. “C’mere.”

Bucky happily crawls over to sit in his lap. He straddles him, and Steve’s hands settle at his hips. Steve smiles at the bright teal clothes the kid is wearing now. After their sensory session that morning, he’d helped Bucky to get changed, and teal pants with a tangerine top was what the omega had wanted to wear. “All these years of navy blue,” Steve teases. “And it was just you being stubborn, huh?”

Bucky huffs and squirms, but he doesn’t deny it. “I always liked the colorful ones. I just never picked ‘em because I … I didn’t want to be this way,” he admits softly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be just another omega. Dumb and drooling in my rainbow patterned sweatsuits.”

“Bucky,” Steve chides. “That’s not nice. The other boys on-ward don’t deserve that kind of talk, do they? ”

Bucky flushes and looks away. “No,” he mumbles. “M’sorry. Didn’t mean it.”

Steve sighs. Just because Bucky wants to be with him doesn’t mean that the kid’s suddenly going to be well-adjusted. He's got so much internalized omegaphobia from being raised by his asshole parents, it isn't even funny. Steve gives his waist a squeeze and tells him, “Hey: you’re still going to have to go to some therapy, bub. I hope you realize that. Just because you’re leaving here doesn’t mean there won’t be rules and discipline. It doesn’t mean you don’t still have issues you need to work on.”

Bucky grumps about that a little, but eventually he nods his head in understanding. “What rules?” he asks shyly. “‘Discipline’?”

“Mmhm. That mean consequences if you act up. I’ll never be harsh with you, Honey, but being someone’s Alpha also means correcting their misbehavior.”

“Like … like spanking?”

“It could be, yeah.” Steve personally believes in gentle domestic discipline for omegas, so long as it’s administered fairly. He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully. “How does that make you feel, hm? If you knew you might get spanked if you did wrong?”

Bucky squirms a little in his lap before he’ll admit, “I dunno. Maybe embarrassed but … kinda nice, too.”

Steve tilts his head to try and catch Bucky’s eyes. “Nice?” he prods.

“Yeah. Kinda.” Bucky pouts and shrugs. “I dunno. I guess it just, um … it makes it seem like you care about me. Like you’re enjoying takin’ care of me.”

Steve’s heart warms, and he kisses Bucky’s forehead. “I do, baby. I care about you a whole lot, okay?”

“Okay.” Bucky sits there thinking it over, sucking his lip into his mouth and releasing it repeatedly. “What are the rules gonna be?”

“Oh, well … I don't know them all yet, but we'll figure it out. Just be good in general, I guess. Don’t make messes, don’t be rude to people, listen to what I tell you to do. That sort of stuff. My place is in Flatbush, not too far from here. You’ll have to be good, stay there when I go to work. I’m looking at changing jobs, so we might have some time together to start off at first, but then you’ll need to mind yourself when I’m away.”

"I'll be good," Bucky promises, sounding adorably determined. It makes Steve smile.

"I know, bub." He strokes the side of Bucky’s head, running his fingers through the soft curls that he’s come to love so much. “We’ll make you an area in the apartment to nest up real nice, just the way you like it. And I can get some stimming tools if you need ‘em, for during the day. I don’t want to see you ignoring your needs like you have been.” At Bucky’s hips, he digs his fingers in meaningfully, crinkling the plastic of the diaper beneath. “And these,” he says, arching a knowing eyebrow when Bucky peeks up at him. “You still need to wear them.”

Bucky looks mortified, but he does eventually give a reluctant nod. “I know,” he grumbles. “I wasn’t gonna argue about it.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm mn.” He’s blushing and avoidant, bites his lip and tries to wiggle away, but stills when Steve holds fast. He sighs. “I mean I guess I don’t hate ‘em so much.”

“No?”

“Mmn. Not … not when it’s just in private,” he admits. “Sometimes they even make me feel kinda, I dunno, kinda safe. … And when you take care of me with ‘em. That part feels really good.”

Jesus. Steve grips him harder and rumbles deep in his chest, praising him for his honesty. “That’s good, Honey. That’s what they’re for.”

Bucky’s physical level of need for the diapers isn’t actually all that high. He has the same small, spastic bladder that most omegas do, and he suffers from the typical pattern of stress incontinence. Most of his wetting occurs when he’s upset, aroused, or asleep. He could feasibly attempt daily life without them, though accidents would happen. But beyond the practical, it’s the emotional impact of wetting that’s so huge for someone like Bucky. That’s why consistent diapering has always been part of his therapeutic program at Hydra. It’s one routine that Steve intends to maintain once he’s got Bucky home and living with him. “It’s nothing to be worried over,” he reminds gently. “Remember what we talked about?”

Bucky sniffles and nods. “... S’normal,” he recites, voice tiny. “Lots of omegas wear ‘em.”

“That’s right,” Steve praises. “And Alphas don’t care. We like taking care of you. We like seeing you feeling safe, and knowing when it feels good for you.” He sees the color rise in Bucky’s cheeks and hums knowingly. “It’s okay when you enjoy the feeling, bub. Like how you did this morning? That’s totally okay.” Bucky whines and squirms a little, and Steve shushes him. “Hey now: I mean it.”

He uses his grip on Bucky’s hips to rock him in his lap a little, and Bucky squeaks and grabs onto his shoulders, pushing into the motion reactively before he can shame himself out of it. Steve hums, pleased. He leans in and takes Bucky's mouth in another, coaxing kiss. That seems to be the key to disarming the boy. He moans and gives another uninhibited roll of his hips. He keeps going, grinding against Steve’s crotch and panting quietly.

Steve smiles and holds him while he rocks. Ever since he ducked into the nest, he’s been able to smell the general level of arousal that Bucky always carries with him. But now it’s heavier, the distinct scent of new slick and a more urgent sort of need coming to the forefront. All Steve’s talk of discipline and acceptance and care has gotten Bucky worked up. He hums encouragingly as the omega stims himself against his lap. “Aw, Sweetie. There you go. That feel good?”

“Ah, uh huh,” Bucky pants quietly, eyes going a little muzzy as he starts to lose focus. “Oh, Steve, ff-feels good, nnngh …”

“Good. That’s all I want, honey. Just want you to be happy and feel so good. Don’t need to worry about a thing, okay? Cause I’m your Alpha and I like you just like this. Rocking in my lap, doing what feels nice, just being a sweet n’ happy omega for me.”

Bucky chirps in a way that he rarely does, his hips juddering forward hard. “Oh! Steve I … I have to …” He squeaks and tosses forward, burying his face in Steve’s neck and whining plaintively.

Steve tuts and wraps his arms around him, still guiding him in the rocking motion. “What’s up, bub, huh? You have to go?”

Bucky nods fast against his shoulder. “Nnn! But, but …” He shakes his head back and forth, trying to fight it. “Nngh …”

“Okay, okay Honey. You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Steve wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and grabs him in a firm scruff. He slides it up into his hair and pulls, using his grip to guide him back a little. Bucky yelps and meets him with wide eyes. “Shhhh,” Steve hushes, shoving his other hand down inside the front of Bucky’s pants. Bucky’s eyes go even wider. “It’s okay, bub,” he soothes, hand cupping the bulk of the padding and rubbing. “I know you just don’t get it. And this is me showin’ you. Cause I’m gonna keep you right here, and I’m not moving my hand until you let go for me.”

Really, he’s sure he’ll have Bucky naked and straight up wetting in the middle of sex in the very near future, but for now this’ll do. They are still in the hospital, after all, and this is still a communal nesting pod they’re in. If nothing else, Steve knows that the orderlies would not appreciate the mess.

Bucky gulps in a huge shaky breath and nods frantically, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes as he gets overwhelmed. “Okay, okay,” he pants, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders fiercely while his squirming gets frantic. “Oh god, S-ssteve …”

Steve kisses his forehead, murmuring non stop praise and love at him. Finally, Bucky tenses up and goes stock still. “Theere it is,” Steve coaxes, jostling his hand as he feels the warmth start to spread. Bucky moans and loses control completely, going limp as a noodle against Steve’s front and panting as he loses control. “Good boy.” Steve keeps murmuring it against his skin, giving pulses on the swollen crotch of the diaper with one hand and petting up and down his back with the other. “Good boy. That’s my good boy, Bucky. So good.”

Bucky doesn’t go all embarrassed, after. He stays a little dazed, in his head, chirping and humming at Steve when he encourages him to come out of the nest. They walk together to the bathroom, and Bucky does speak on and off when prompted; little 'yeah's and 'no's' and ‘okay’s. So he’s not quite non-verbal, and he’s definitely not in a fugue or a fit of any sort. No. He’s just a soft, contented, aroused ball of very happy omega.

In the bathroom on the changing bed, Steve is hardly surprised to find a pool of slick and a chubbed up little cock underneath the diaper. “Would you look at that,” he chuckles, going about cleaning him up. Bucky starts to whimper afterwards as he’s lying there, clean but exposed and untouched. “Please,” he begs, proving that he can, in fact, speak. “Please Steve?”

“Of course, Honey.” He wasn’t planning on denying him, poor thing. Steve smooths his hands over Bucky’s inner thighs, right up to the crease of his groin. He brushes his fingers over his half hard penis, back and forth a few times, just teasing it lightly. “How do you want me to make you cum?” he asks, only anticipating that Bucky will either ask him to touch his cocklet or else use penetration. He is not prepared for the kid’s breathless request of,

“Suck me, please.”

He freezes, taken aback. Oral sex—giving or receiving—is not permitted between Alpha Supports and their patients on the ward. Steve’s not precisely sure why, when digital and device-aided penetration is done every single day, but at some point in history, some guy writing the rules drew the line at oral. Anything that could be easily twisted to gratify the Alpha support rather than the omega patient is strictly forbidden. Steve has actually never given head to an omega before—patient or otherwise.

But he’s suddenly, achingly hard at the thought of doing so. “Oh, Honey ...” he hedges. “I don't know if ...” He grimaces at the pleading look on Bucky’s face, the anxious, wanting pinch in his brow, and finds himself throwing all his reservations aside. Fuck it, he thinks. He’s been professional long enough. Bucky’s going to be his by this time tomorrow, anyways. “Okay, Baby,” he says, giving in and rubbing over the boy’s belly with one hand. “Okay. You want that? Want to feel Daddy’s mouth on your sweet prick?”

Bucky keens and nods, “Yeah, please.”

“You ask so sweet,” Steve praises, sinking down his body, trailing kisses from his neck to his chest, down to his belly and the base of the sweet little cocklet he’s got between his legs. Steve tells him how pretty it is as he kisses it, mouthing over the softness. It’s only half hard, never really getting rigid, but it's still more to play with than the average omega has. Steve pulls him into his mouth and sucks until he gets an orgasm out of him. Bucky shudders hugely, his little prick squirting a tiny bit of useless seminal fluid, but nothing more. Steve pulls off, rubbing his inner thighs soothingly as he comes down from it. “Good?” he asks.

Bucky shudders and nods, smiling dreamily. “Thank you, Alpha,” he breathes. “We can do that all the time?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, Honey. There’s nothing off limits anymore once I take you home with me. You can touch me and ask me to touch you any way you like. Whatever you’re curious about.” Steve is well aware that, outside of his treatment on-ward, Bucky is very sexually inexperienced. There’ll be a lot of firsts, once Steve brings him home.

Bucky's eyes have slipped closed, and Steve takes a moment to stare. He pets his belly, trailing his hand down to the boy’s wet little cock and further down to his balls. He plays with the soft skin, considering him. Bucky’s shrunk up some in the past three years, but he’s still bigger than he should be. Steve imagines what he’ll look like, after the procedure. There’ll be a bare space there, room to press and stimulate him. Steve's never had much of a preference with male omegas, finding both the little pocket of looser skin left after a castration and the tiny, coin purse sac of an intact omega to be attractive, in their own ways. But he can’t deny that he likes the aesthetics of a cut omega.

“Bucky?” he says softly. “There’s something I have to talk with you about, something we’re gonna have to do eventually. And I don’t want you to be scared, so hear me out, okay?” He waits until Bucky opens his eyes, a little wrinkle of worry forming between his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks.

Steve cups his sac and rubs it gently. “Here,” he murmurs. “You’ll need to have these removed, Sweetheart. Do you know about that?”

Bucky tenses. “What? N-no,” he looks pleadingly up at Steve. “Why?!”

“It’s something they’ve had written down in your chart for a while,” Steve admits. “I’ve avoided bringing it up until now. We had more short term parts of your treatment plan to work on, and I didn’t want to upset you. But I’m going to bond you, Sweetheart, and I gotta take care of you. This is what all your doctors have been recommending.”

Bucky keens miserably. “I don’t want to. Please. Please don’t make me.”

Steve hushes him, rubbing his belly and cupping his balls. “It’s such a simple procedure, Sweetheart. Lots of omegas are cut. Your body had a little too much time to develop. Remember how we talked about that?”

Bucky whimpers and nods uncertainly. “Y-yeah.”

“You’re bigger than most omegas down here,” Steve tells him gently. “Your body’s making hormones that you don’t need. It gets you all confused. That’s part of what makes you get so angry sometimes.”

Bucky whimpers. “Will it hurt?” he asks tearfully.

It’s such a naive question that it makes Steve’s heart ache. “No, Honey,” he soothes. “Not very much at all. You’ll just go to sleep while they do it. And then you’ll have nice pain medicine to keep you comfy while you heal. We’ll get you nested up at home. You’ll probably sleep a lot. You can watch movies and eat as much ice cream as you want,” he coaxes. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Bucky sniffles. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know, I know. It’s new and scary, but it’ll be so simple, I promise. I’ll be right there to take care of you, okay?”

Bucky sniffles for a few more minutes, but then he nods meekly, giving in. “Okay,” he whispers. “You’ll be with me the whole time?”

Steve bends down to kiss him. “The whole time,” he assures. “You’re such a good boy, Bucky. It’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to nod this time, and Steve rumbles low in his chest, pleased. “Good boy,” he praises. “Once you’re healed it’ll feel nice,” he promises. “You’ll have an easier time getting pleasure from here.” He touches Bucky’s hole gently, circling the rim. “Release will be easier.”

Bucky’s still nervous, Steve can smell it on him. But he calms down enough for Steve to get him in a fresh diaper and dressed again. He can hardly believe the conversation went the way it did. If Steve had attempted to talk about this during Bucky's last stay on-ward, he's nearly positive he would've had a meltdown on his hands. But Bucky accepted it so easily.

“So proud of you, bub,” he praises. “Come on. Let’s go get you some lunch, huh?”

By four fifty, he’s said goodnight to Bucky and promised to be back the very next day, when he’ll see him discharged from his stay on-ward and bring him home. He clocks out and takes the train to a specialty omega shop up in Queens, where, along with a bunch of nesting supplies, he purchases Bucky a nice collar to go home in. It’s pricey and has all the bells and whistles, from inflation features and removable D rings, to insertable scent chambers and a GPS locator. Steve figures he must really be giving off the 'new Alpha' vibe, because the saleswoman smiles at him indulgently and says “congratulations” as she’s ringing up his purchases.

"Oh. Thanks." He blushes and tries to keep a straight face, but can't help but wind up beaming anyway.

At home he takes the tags off all of the purchases and sets them aside tidy and ready for Bucky, excited about how the kid will react when he sees his new things and gets to experience someone taking care of him properly and spoiling him for the first time in his life.

Geez, Steve thinks, by tomorrow he’s going to have an omega living with him. He feels giddy about it. Even with knowing Bucky’s personal issues surrounding his designation, Steve still isn’t worried. He cares so deeply for Bucky, loves him even, at this point. And he knows that no matter what obstacles they may face going forward, this is the best thing that he could do for the omega.

He flits about the apartment that evening, full of nervous energy but in a fantastic mood. He shoots off a few emails, one to Sam, inquiring about job possibilities at Shield or other local private practices. Even if there isn’t a position available at Sam’s firm, Steve is still very confident in his ability to find a new job. He’s got excellent qualifications, and omega healthcare is a chronically understaffed field. He’ll have to give up the role of support Alpha, though. At least in a sexual capacity. It wouldn’t be fair to put Bucky through that, coming home each day smelling of other omegas. Steve couldn’t do that to him.

He tries to fill his evening up with distractions, but it’s hard. He surfs a few job boards half-assedly, scent marks the stuff he bought for Bucky, makes a microwave dinner that he can barely taste, and watches an episode of a show he’s been following. Nothing gets his mind off Bucky for long. He’s simply too elated and impatient for the next day to arrive. So when eleven P.M. rolls around and he’s still wired as fuck, he goes rooting through the medicine cabinet, downing four Benadryl tablets in an effort to get at least a modicum of sleep in for tomorrow.

Predictably, he wakes up earlier than usual. Rather than closing his eyes again until his alarm goes off, he forces himself to don sneakers and go for his usual morning run, pounding out a few extra miles because he’s got the time and because he needs to burn off some of this nervous energy. He goes back home, showers, changes. He heads for the Sanatorium with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a skip in his step.

God, he thinks as he keys into the hospital’s ground floor, the building really is ugly: very outdated, institutional, depressing. He’s gotten so used to it over the past five years. He’s glad that Bucky won’t ever have to come through its halls again.

Stanley isn’t at the security desk when he passes by, and Steve’s kind of glad, since for the first time in a long time he’s forgotten to grab their usual morning pastries. He leans through the security window and snatches his badge from the wall, heading for the elevators.

Raynor intercepts him at the double doors leading onto the ward, her mouth set in a grim line.

Instantly, Steve is on high alert, tension pulling through his body. “What happened?” he says, already panicking that something awful has happened to Bucky in the last sixteen hours. “Is he hurt?”

“No. His parents showed up. Come on.”

Steve’s guts sink and harden with dread, yet at the same time he doesn’t really have the chance to work himself into a true panic, because they’re on the move. Raynor marches straight to the conference room, inside of which they find a somber-faced orderly at the door, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes seated at the table, and Bucky huddled down over in the far corner, having a bit of a fit. Steve instantly recognizes it as another stress fugue, though thankfully it seems to be less severe than the one he’d found him in yesterday. He’s still got all his clothes on and he isn’t humping anything, so that’s a plus.

Steve hurries over and kneels down next to him. “Buck? Oh Buck, Sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m right here with you, Baby. Please don’t cry.”

Bucky’s huddled on the floor, tearfully rocking in place, one arm wrapped around his knees and the other hand up at his face, sucking two of his fingers. Steve wipes his cheeks and kisses his forehead, heartstricken at seeing him so upset. “Shh sh sh, Honey. It’s gonna be okay. I promise.” He remembers his backpack and slings it off his shoulder, unzipping it and dumping half its contents on the floor in search of the collar inside. He finds it and starts putting it on him, getting the buckle closed and the pressure points lined up with Bucky’s glands. “Can you get something for his mouth?” he tells the orderly at the door. The man nods with wide eyes and hurries out of the room. Steve finishes with the collar and fits the little air pump to its port, squeezing it until the pressure points in the lining have all inflated. Bucky’s breathing calms down considerably just from that. Steve rumbles low in his chest for him, giving him the sound of his Alpha’s approval. “Good boy,” he Voices, petting his face soothingly. “So good for me, bub.”

“Excuse me."

Steve looks back over his shoulder and meets George Barnes’ scowl with one of his own. “Be quiet,” he growls at him, making the man’s face go slack in sheer surprise. “Trust me, I’ll be right with you,” Steve grits. Turning back, he continues to murmur quiet, comforting words for Bucky to hear and latch onto; telling him how he’s right there and he’s not leaving, how he’s his Alpha and Bucky’s his omega and how they’re safe and good and everything is going to be just fine. Bucky whimpers and pushes himself closer to Steve, still crying sluggishly, but he’s non-verbal and even if he weren’t, he’s still got half his hand shoved into his mouth, his body’s reflexes in full gear as he tries to calm himself down.

Behind, Mrs. Barnes is complaining at her husband to “do something,” and Bucky registers her shrill voice and starts to rock a little harder. Steve winces as he sees the red indent of where Bucky’s started chewing on his fingers.

Luckily that’s when the orderly returns, and he hurries over to give Steve the suckling gag he’s brought. “Thanks,” Steve grunts, glad to see that the guy actually had the foresight to bring along a container of PheroGel for the thing. Steve exhales in relief and takes it from him. It'll help Bucky calm down. “Good thinking,” he mutters, maneuvering Bucky so that he can coax his hand away from his mouth and feed the rubber head of the gag past his lips instead. Bucky parts easily for it, accepting it with an anxious whine. “Shhh, there you go.” Steve velcros it in the back and checks the fit, then opens the valve and fills the chamber with the PheroGel.

Bucky makes a tiny, surprised sound when the taste reaches him, his cheeks hollowing as he returns to suckling instinctively. Steve smiles and encourages him. “That’s right. You just focus on that, okay?” He pets Bucky’s face and watches as he visibly calms down from the pressure of the collar and the feeling of something heavy and Alpha-scented in his mouth. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he soothes. “Just close your eyes and focus on how that feels. Can you do that for Alpha?” Bucky sniffles and nods tearfully, and Steve’s heart squeezes as he watches his eyelids start to droop closed. “Good boy,” he praises him once more. The gag is a slow suckle design, so Bucky should be able to keep using the pheromones to self-soothe while Steve works on dealing with the Barnes.

He’s enraged that they’re here at all. Steve fully intends to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Forcing himself to pull away from Bucky and stand, he’s stone faced by the time he turns around to face the Barnes. He walks over to stand across the conference table from them. They’re sitting side by side, but Steve doesn’t pull out a chair to join them. He locks his arms and leans with his hands braced on the back of a chair. “What are you doing here?” he says, letting his full displeasure come through in his voice.

For a second, both of the Barnes look a little bit intimidated. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last. George Barnes seems to recover some of his willpower and squares his shoulders to glower back at Steve. “We came to get him,” he snaps, sparing a disdainful glance towards the corner where Bucky is huddled. “We came to take him home and now they’re telling us we don’t have permission. ‘Permission’!”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s bullcrap. He’s our son!”

Steve smiles nastily at him. “Well unfortunately, Mr. Barnes, You signed paperwork relinquishing custody of him.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. That was only a few days ago! We’ve changed our minds, so you just get him packed up or, er …” he glances back over at Bucky and winces in disgust when he sees his son: collared and rocking and stimming with the sucker strapped over his mouth. “Just get him ready to go. Take that crap off him. We’ve found somewhere to put him, and he’s coming with us.”

“‘Put him’?” Steve repeats, frowning.

“Yeah.” George raises his chin defiantly, looking every bit the asshole that he is. “Found out he’s actually worth somethin’, even like this.” At ‘this’, he casts another disdainful look in Bucky’s direction. “Milking center up in New Rochelle takes cases like him. Said they’ll pay six grand up front.”

Steve sees red so fast, he has to hold on tighter to the chair for a few seconds. “What?” he says, the word coming out quietly only because he’s so breathlessly fucking mad. “Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

George Barnes’ snide expression is more than enough of an answer. “At least he’ll be useful, not a leech on society.”

In his head, Steve hears Bucky’s tearful, bitter words from two days ago:

“Just a waste of hardworking people’s tax dollars!”

An unpleasant groaning sound meets his ears, before he figures out that it’s his own hands, stressing and warping the plastic backing of the chair. He pulls them away and glowers across the table at the other man. A fucking milking center, he fumes, wanting to pick the chair up and put it straight through George Barnes’ smug fucking face.

Because Steve’s been to those places, has been called in to evaluate the omegas housed in their custody. He’s seen the warehouse-sized rooms: filled with rows and rows of omegas, fat and sedated, restrained to benches and hooked up to machines, bred and fed and watered and hosed down in place, like animals.

Christina steps in, probably because she can sense that her employee is about to unleash imminent violence on their visitors. “Unfortunately, the law is clear in this matter,” she tells Mr. Barnes, as no-nonsense here as she is in any other situation. “You signed all legal rights to James over four days ago and you no longer have any say in his care. The hospital has full custody of him, and we’ve already approved a long-term guardian for him.”

“What?” George Barnes stands abruptly from his chair, sending it rolling back to thunk against the wall in his haste. “What are you talking about? You can’t do that! I’ll … I’ll get a judge. There’s no way you can just—”

“There’s every way we ‘can just’,” Steve growls, unable to restrain himself from being unprofessional at this point. Fuck it. He doesn’t work at Hydra anymore, so unlike in times past where he’s been forced to make nice with less than stellar parents, now he can say exactly what he’s thinking. “You are a piece of shit, garbage human being, who shouldn’t be allowed to raise a fucking dog let alone a child. I think that you should leave now. In fact I strongly advise it. Forget about ever seeing Bucky again—because you never will—and just be grateful that you got away with the level of abuse that you did for so many years without ever being charged in a court of law.”

George Barnes opens his mouth, ostensibly to say something pissy, but before he can, Steve tacks on:

“Oh, and in fact you should be very grateful that you did sign those papers when you did. Because if you hadn’t? You’d best believe I’d be making sure you’d lose custody of all your children before you ever got him back. Now why don’t you pick your jaw up off the floor, help your wife heft her sloppy ass out of that chair, and leave this place before you’re thrown out?”

Of all things, it’s the comment about Mrs. Barnes’s weight that fuels George Barnes into action. He gets alarmingly red in the face, and it’s to the background noise of his wife’s insulted screeches that he starts to come towards Steve (presumably with the intention of hitting him). But before he can so much as round the end of the conference table, Stanley is bursting through the door.

“Hold it! Not another move, Buster!”

At Stanley’s back, Rumlow is standing with his taser gun drawn and pointed right over Stanley’s head. It’s that sight which seems to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention, and he pulls back from where he’d been approaching Steve, hands raised and gesturing for his wife to get up, too. “Alright, alright. We’re coming. Geez.”

“Sure you were.” Stanley sports his tough guy face, proud of himself, and ushers the Barnes into the hallway. Steve’s opinion of Rumlow inches marginally higher when he sees him hurriedly holster his weapon and step back, so that Stanley doesn’t realize he’d had a little bit of backup, there.

With the Barnes led away, Steve returns all of his attention to Bucky. The tension of this confrontation seems to have had surprisingly little impact on him, and Steve is especially pleased when he sees that the orderly had at some point managed to get both a blindfold and a pair of noise cancelling headphones on Bucky as well. With the positive stimulus of the collar and gag, he’s much calmer. Steve hurriedly takes the headphones and blindfold off, followed by the gag. “Hey, hey baby.” He’s petting all over Bucky’s face, trying to read his expression and scent the state he’s in now. He’s surprised when Bucky blinks a few times and then looks up at him with clear eyes.

“Steve,” he breathes.

“I’m here. It’s okay. You don’t have to go with them. You’re safe. You got your words back?”

Bucky blinks some more, looking between Steve and the place where his parents had been sitting at the conference table. “... They can’t take me, right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck. That’s right. They can’t. They legally can’t.”

Slowly, Bucky’s expression starts to brighten. He smiles. “But you can take me,” he says hopefully. “To live with you. Because you’re my Alpha now, right? And I’m your omega?”

Steve doesn’t even think of propriety, he just leans in and kisses Bucky straight on the mouth. Bucky’s lips are so soft, and he whimpers and responds so eagerly. Steve forces himself to pull back before he can get carried away. “Yeah, bub,” he says happily, trying not to get emotional in front of Raynor. “Yeah. You’re my omega now.”

In reality, they’ve probably got close to a half day’s worth of paperwork and consent-confirming counselling sessions ahead of them. But in the way that Bucky’s asking about? Yeah. They already belong to each other.

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starrykites · 2 years

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imagine your f/o wiping tears off your face and telling you that they will always be there for you.

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buckyscombatboots · 2 years

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Monstertober Day 8

Careful what you wish for 🕯

Pairing: Incubus!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Initial Somnophilia, dub con, kind of rape, insults/degrading language, biting, scratching, marking, mentions of blood, womb tattoo/sigil, dumbification, aphrodisiac, vibrator, p in v, overstimulation, cunnilingus, demon summoning, beefy!bucky, condescending!Bucky, dark!bucky, praise, fluff

Nicknames: Angel, Doll, sweetness

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: I’m so sorry this is late, I was extremely busy on Halloween with teacher training and university work. But this concludes Monstertober, I have some exciting things planned for November.

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

Candles…You look around your floor surrounded by heaps of softly glowing candles, their flames waning and brightening again and again as the flame danced in the draft of your room. “Check.” you murmured, casting your eyes back to the grimoire’s aged pages; squinting in the darkness of your room trying to see the faded ink more clearly “stupidly complicated pentagram that took me multiple attempts and almost two hours to draw. Check.” You huffed glaring down at the pentagram drawn in white chalk on your floor, the edges smudged ever so slightly from where you’d repeatedly rubbed it away, only to redraw it wrong again. “An offering.” The book had not specified the offering that you had to provide for the demon, it simply said offering in intricate calligraphy “,how very helpful.” Grumbling you crouched to your knees, placing the grimoire down and scooping up your pile of “offerings” depositing them at random in a small circle inside your pentagram. Your offerings, if you could even call them that, consisted of a some loose change you’d found under and behind furniture, some candies you had lying around from halloween that the children hadn’t taken, a lock of your hair and a deeply personal item—which was the only clear instruction in the list, and you had chosen your trusty pink vibrator. Looking at the pink vibe on the floor made you want to crawl out of your skin in embarrassment, but it made the most sense since it was very deeply personal.

You picked the book back up and seated yourself in the centre of the summoning circle, you could feel your heart rate spike as you glanced down at the page for the summoning words. Your hands shook, palms growing cold and sweaty as you began “Heed my call, hear my cry may it lead you to me from your realm far away. I command you to my side so that we may make a contract.” You bite down on your finger drawing blood and swipe it across the floor “See me now and let me see you.” You blow out the candles around you and wait. You gulp as you sit cross legged in the dark, waiting. The sound of your breathing and your blood rushing makes the silence unbearable.

Nothing happens.

After sitting there for five minutes, you climb to your feet defeated. Tears on your waterline as you throw the book to the floor and flop into bed. You felt so stupid for even thinking that something like that would work, you feel the full weight of your adrenaline rush crashing to ground as curl under your covers rocking yourself to sleep s you mentally prepare for the rent payment tomorrow.

The blown out candles relight simultaneously as he steps out of the red swirling portal “You called?” He looked down expecting to see the person who summoned him, but he found the chalk pentagram staring back at him. He bends down, picking up the book you’d thrown harshly to the floor with a frown. He dusts off the grimoire, tracing the embossing in the leather cover with his blackened fingers, turning down the heat of his brimstone skin so the book doesn't burn. From the corner of his eye he catches your body shifting under the covers. He sets the grimoire gently on your chest of drawers and pads over to your bed “Wake up my little sleeping Angel.” He whispers in a gravelly tone, forming an ‘o’ with his reddened lips and blowing a stream of cold air against your ear lobe making you stir. He seats himself on the edge of your bed trailing his hand across your sleeping form “You’re wearing too much for my liking. Let me help you with that.” He threw the covers off of you and turned you more on to your back so he could peel your baggy shirt off, moving as quiet as a mouse. You were left only in a pair of panties, your comfortable pair that you wore when you knew no one would be seeing them, Bucky smiled at them thumbing the fabric adoringly. He ran his fingers across the middle of your panties till a soaking crease was visible. “Already so horny for me, naughty little human.” Bucky pulled down your panties, taking them into his hand to see the clear, sticky proof of your arousal. He tossed the panties already able to smell the thick scent of your arousal, he knew he had to taste you. He dipped his head down, running his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of you. He decided there and then he was going to claim you as his. He sucked on his fingers, getting them wet, before inserting them inside of you. Your walls drew him in, clamping so tightly around his fingers that he could barely move them. His hardened cock twitched as he imagined sliding into you, pounding you awake watching as your pleasured cries turned into pleas for him to stop. He had to stop a wicked grin from spreading across his lips. “You’ve been neglected for so long, Pet. Bucky’s gonna change that don’t you worry sweetheart. Who would neglect such a pretty pussy, so fucking tight.” His fingers start to glide through your spasming walls as they adjust to the thickness of his fingers. He targets the spongy spot inside you, debaucherous wet sounds filing the sleepy silence of your room. He paused as a soft mewl left your lips, your body shifting and your fisted hands tightening their hold on your pillow. He continued his ministrations even as your eyes fluttered open and you finally came to, your pleasured babbling pausing. You stared, horrified at the man sitting at the edge of your bed. Your eyes travelled up to the black horns on his head that looked like a ram's horns then down his red eyed that even in the darkness stuck out like a sore thumb, they shone like road studs in headlights stealing your attention before he opened his mouth displaying sharp, white teeth “Thanks for summoning me, Angel. I can see why you needed an incubus. You seem to be very pent up, but I can fix that for you.” His deep melodic voice made the initial stress you felt drift far away. You gaze drops downwards following the muscle of his neck down to the imposing bulk of his shoulders and arms, the rise and fall of his burly chest becoming hypnotising as his scent reaches your nostrils a mix of myrrh and musk that has your head swimming making you completely forget what he said. The feel of his rough palm cupping your cheek anchors you “I said, thank you for summoning me, Angel.”

“I didn’t summon an incubus. You- You have the wrong house.”

“No need to be coy. It’s fine to need a bit of help.”

“No, I genuinely didn’t summon an incubus. I wanted to Summon a demon that could help me. I'm working two jobs, I’m exhausted, the cost of everything is rising and I just can’t anymore. I'm running myself into the ground. I must have summoned the wrong type of demon.”

“Ah, that's Ari’s department. I’d contact him, but he’s a bit busy with a few cultists. So I guess you’re stuck with me for the time being, but I can help you in a different way, Doll.” His other hand reaches to the side of him and heat floods your cheeks as your eyes lock on the pink vibrator he has between his fingers. He pops it into his mouth like a hard candy and sucks it a little before spitting it back into his palm, pressing the button to turn it on “Nice and ready for you.” He chides, slipping his fingers out of your tight heat replacing the emptiness with the warmed, whirling vibrator. You feel your stomach constrict in pleasure as he guides the pink bullet in further with his fingers, positioning it right against your sweet spot. Shooting you a knowing smile as you sob your walls fluttering around his fingers as you convulse “Such a good girl for me, coming all over my fingers.” Bucky coos taking the vibe out from inside you bringing it to the head of his weeping cock moaning as he rubs it against his precum leaking slit, pumping his length with his other ashen hand “Time for you to take me sweetness.” You try to scramble away from him but he was much quicker than you, sensing your fear before it had even registered inside your brain. His warm rough palm seized your thigh pulling you back in position.

“It won’t fit! You’re going to tear me in two. Please can you just forget I summoned you.”

“Oh, Doll, that’s not how this works. You summoned me, I have duties to fulfill and in exchange for said duties I get your soul. I’m not leaving, this will not be forgotten. Regardless, you need to breathe; I’m not going to ‘tear you in two’ that sigil on your womb will make sure of it and make it pleasurable whilst I do. So calm down for me, I don’t like it when humans make my job more difficult than it has to be so behave and you’ll be rewarded.” His threats wrapped up in a sweet tone making it seem as if he wasn’t patronising you. Despite this you began to calm down, wrapping your legs around his hips and controlling your breathing. Your eyes drifted down his muscular torso, focusing on the intricate tattoo like patterns on his skin to relax your mind. The tattoos brought you down to the deep ‘v’ line of his pelvis and back to his veiny member which he was prodding to your entrance. You were pulled out of the trace-like state that his prominent veins had put you in, as he bottomed out in you until your walls were stretched taut around his meaty shaft. He stays still until the burn subsides, watching as your eyes gain a hazy, spaced out glaze and your mouth drops open in an inaudible moan. He pulls out and thrusts so hard into you that your bed scoots under the force, the sound of skin slapping skin echos through your small room as Bucky snaps his hips into you pushing himself deeper and deeper each time, his movements are slow yet rough making you feel every inch of him as he fucks into your tight heat. A surge of heat spread all the way from your hips to the sole of your feet and the tips of your fingers, you felt almost drunk on pleasure, every single thrust of his hips renewing the heat. Your whole body tingles as he presses the vibrator to your clit “God!” You scream as your legs wrapped around his waist begin to shake.

“Oh no sweet little Angel, God isn’t here. In this room, right now, I am your God. You worship me. I give you pleasure.” He purrs, swirling the vibe on your pulsing pearl as he angles the tip of his cock to hit your sweet spot over an over, drawing the orgasm building inside of you to the surface making you cum with a whimpering cry.

The sound of your blood rushing in your ears filled your senses as you came down from your high, even as you came back to your senses you felt much more distanced from reality; your body felt as if it was submerged in a warm bath, and slowly but surely you were sinking below the water. Your break was cut short by Bucky continuing his thrusts, his hand pressing the vibrator to your now throbbing clit didn’t budge—he instead pushed down more harshly on your clit making your legs quake uncontrollably “Hnng! Please!” Was all you could force out before your tongue became useless, lolling out of your mouth. You came again with a shout, clawing Bucky’s back with your nails as you threw your head back into the pillow, your back arching even further into the air. You came so hard you forgot how to breathe, a heavy weight crushing your chest, as you slumped back into the mattress trying your hardest to breathe Bucky finally removed the vibe from your raw little nub. His palm flattened against your stomach where the sigil was placed rubbing a slow circle that set your nerves on fire, before he brought his hand up to the bulge in your stomach and pressed harshly with his thumb tearing a whimper from your throat.

“Fuck you can see me inside of you, Angel. I’m all up in your guts rearranging them. Turning you into the perfect little cock sleeve, gonna make sure I ruin you for any other man. Oh wait, you won't be taking any other man after me. Because; You. Belong. To. Me.” Her punctuated every word with a rough thrust, bashing your cervix which would usually hurt but whatever he did gave you a supreme, otherworldly amount of pleasure “the sigil is almost full, one more orgasm and my seed should be enough to fill it. Do you think you can take it?” He questions a small smile gracing his lips as he awaits your answer, but all you can do is mumble “So fucked out that you can’t even form a sentence, your heads probably so empty right now, my little fuck doll. It’s okay, you don’t need to think, Angel, let me do that for you; can’t expect a dumb little human like you who can’t even read the pages of a very clear, simple book correctly.” His hand slithers up your body towards your neck, wrapping around your throat before he starts to apply pressure—observing as your body begins to melt into the mattress. His thrusts continued and paired with the lack of oxygen bright flashes of white flicker across your vision. All your nerves began to thrum as you felt another orgasm coming, your wall clamped around him as you got closer to the edge. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, he released your neck allowing air to flow back into your lungs as he dipped his head down to your shoulder inking his teeth into your skin. The overwhelming sensations of lightheadedness, pleasure and pain threw your senses into orbit as you came your pussy squeezing his cock as you raked your nails across his back hard enough to draw blood. Bucky gave a few more weak, uncoordinated thrusts before he painted your insides with a wanton moan gripping the pillow hard enough for it to tear. You could barely comprehend your surroundings, you felt as if you were made of air and if Bucky let go of you you’d dissipate. Your heart hammered against your rib cage, as you stared up at Bucky’s handsome face; his sweat darkened hair glued to his forehead. He let out a chuckle, his hand caressing the sigil at your womb “Happy Halloween, Angel. This is the last one you’ll ever have to spend alone. The contract has been made and now, you belong to me. Forever.”

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gutsby · 3 months

Text

Trigger Tease

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your honeymoon from hell takes you straight to a strip club south of Madripoor, where Bucky teaches you how to give a lap dance, shoot a gun, and kill a man all in one night—and maybe agree to have his baby, too.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Oral (m! & f!receiving). Sex in a sauna. Sex in a strip club. Praise & degradation. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Double homicide. Dickriding. Beefy, mob boss Bucky hates birth control and bad men—loves babies and killing HYDRA operatives for his wife.

Descriptions of violence throughout

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, but that was no matter. What counted now was making the shot, and getting it right.

You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.

It was no secret that the Barnes’ bloodline was steeped in dealing, stealing, gunslinging, and laundering cash. Staggering privilege, too. From the sandy shores of Curaçao to Luxembourg and Guinea-Bissau, any living heir to the dynasty could have expected to find safe refuge and respect just about anywhere that they went. It was all but engrained in their DNA at this point.

All that is to say, Bucky had no trouble finding a foreign hideaway in a pinch. He liked the Swiss Alps the best.

After your short and sweet conversation with ‘Joey’ over the phone—HYDRA hijacking the intercom system—he and Sam and Steve had made the split-second decision to reroute the plane to Zürich, and now you were here.

72 hours into a four-day ticking time bomb and totally clueless as to how you might stave off impending death, and mitigate other casualties, the best that you could.

The stress fucking with Bucky made it worth it, though.

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing that day, you’d found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time lately: pinned against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure all the while. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was far better sustenance to him than the whole fucking meal he’d eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt at a rapid-fire pace. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over. Bucky soaked in your every sound, and the few tears that would inevitably spring to your eyes, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouth and his and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you now.”

Bucky’s words couldn’t have hung in the fog-infested air for more than a millisecond or two before he had you back in his arms and carried to the far end of the sauna.

At the door—or, rather, on it—with your back flush against the wood, you felt Bucky pin you in place with his hips and press his erection to that soft, cramped space between your bodies. You tightened your legs around his middle and sucked in a breath when you felt him pulse.

Then the head of his cock was circling that slick, taut ring of muscles like all hope for his future happiness lay there: right between your legs in the softest and sweetest recesses of your body he could reach. His eyes could’ve been engulfed in flames and still not betrayed a fraction of the smouldering desire that lay behind them now—he drank you in with a single look and sighed.

“Can I— do it, now?” The term ‘fucking’ swiftly lost all lustre when he was an inch from your heat and ready to press in; he just needed to be in you, a part of you, now.

“Yeah,” you breathed. You pressed your forehead to his.

Bucky ran his tip once more down your slit and had just begun to ease his hips forward when a moan snagged in his throat. He braced you firmer against the door, letting your arms drape over his shoulders, and was just about to slide his length inside of you, then—

Thump, thump, thump.

Three knocks in quick succession.

You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.

Bucky held you to him, tight, and planted a hand beside your head as if to hold the whole frame still. Then, through gritted teeth,

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Need you downstairs. Now.”

It was Sam.

“Can it wait?”

“No.”

Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.

“Can it…wait?” he tried again, tone laden with a silent but pointed, ‘Is it urgent enough to drag me away from my wife when I’m less than an inch away from being seven inside her?’ Evidently, Sam got the gist, or was just keen to get him out, because he returned, quick:

“Yeah. Legal’s here.”

‘Shit’ was Bucky’s wordless expression below you.

Then a ‘Shit, shit, shit, just shoot me now’ kind of look that raised an eyebrow on your own frazzled face.

Wasn’t the arrival of Bucky’s legal team a good thing? He’d been agonizing for days, badgering Sam and Steve to no end over when they’d hear back from his retinue, and here they were. You couldn’t ask just yet, as your husband was lowering you to the floor and stepping back from the door, chest racked with a shuddering breath, but you wanted to know. You reached for a towel.

“Fine. Fuck. I’ll be right out.” As it was, Bucky had chosen to forgo the dry-off altogether and just started chucking clothes on his body, eyes roaming all over.

You turned from the sound of Sam’s retreating steps and found him moving fast, graceless—shoulders hunched, head bowed, pants wrestled almost angrily up his legs. He found his balance, barely, bracing his weight against the sink, then nearly tore the porcelain fixture off the wall with how hard he kicked it trying to get his left shoe on.

He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.

In a second, you had either side of the crisp white button-up between your hands, frowning.

“Any reason why we’re so upset?” you asked after a beat.

Bucky puffed a short breath over your head as you secured the first button. Then the next. Then the next.

“What? Apart from the fact I’m not balls deep and about to give you your fourth orgasm?” he grumbled.

You shot him a look.

“I mean it’s— not ideal, getting a visit at a time like this,” Bucky continued once he’d sufficiently contained half a smirk and could don a more serious look, “If we were getting any good news they would’ve just called.”

Hell, great news could’ve made it in an email. The whole aggregate of his legal team taking the trip from Brooklyn to Zürich meant that shit had most likely hit the fan in a big way. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to learn the ‘how’ just yet.

Instead, he cupped your cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb along its curve once you’d made it to the last button of his shirt. He started to lean in, hoping to delay the briefing downstairs with a quick diversion to your lips, but he stopped about an inch away from your face.

You’d lowered your touch, slipping it under the band of his boxers. He was still as hard as you’d felt him last.

Bucky let out a grunt when your fingertips grazed the soft tufts of hair adorning that part of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when they sank even further.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, voice dulcet and slow as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

Again, a sound rumbled deep inside Bucky’s chest, and the thumb resting on your cheek stirred. In fact, it had no other choice—your head was starting to move.

Descending, slowly. Sinking to the floor in front of him. Positioning yourself right above the bulge in his pants.

Now Bucky’s palm was laying flat on your head, resting light as it ever had while you drew him even closer.

“Baby—”

“Yeah?” you hummed, just then tugging him out and bringing your mouth to the swollen, leaking head. Bucky gripped a good handful of your hair and rutted his hips without meaning to, and you smiled, “Can’t have my husband showing up hard as a rock to his meeting.”

You were right. There was no way Bucky was getting rid of this wood without the help of his hand or one of your holes. And, under any set of circumstances, he would’ve much preferred the latter to the former. He groaned when you took his tip to your lips and stroked him softly.

You made remarkably quick work of the man with just a minute or two, your mouth, your hand, and a tiny bit of spit—a record-breaking feat, Bucky had thought to himself with some embarrassment. But you weren’t concerned with his stamina in the slightest, focusing instead on the ways in which you might maximize his pleasure in the same way he’d done for you. Stretching your lips, loosening your jaw, and taking him down as far and as frequently as you could manage without gagging around him, you had him good. Deep. All but aching for release as he took a firm hold of the sink behind him.

“That’s a—fuck, that’s a good…fuckin’ girl.”

You bobbed your head once or twice more, flitting your gaze to his face, and felt the warmth unload in ropes—glazing your throat and every soft, square inch of your mouth as he did. Practically flooding your tongue with his cum. Bucky groaned and made a fist in your hair.

“Baby…shit,” came the sound of disbelief under his breath when you pulled off just enough to breathe.

You were careful how you took in air; flaring your nostrils the slightest bit, feeling a twitch at the corners of your lips as you tried not to smirk. Then, with an obscene sort of precision and purpose, you gave something else a try.

You stuck your tongue out at Bucky to show him the warm, oozing load he’d just left in your mouth.

Your husband’s response was immediate: evidently, he loved nothing more than a show of himself inside you, displayed like a prize between your two rows of teeth. You watched him grit his own to suppress a moan.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed. Still reeling from his high.

Then he paused, in awe for a second, before dropping one finger to your mouth and swirling his touch along the sticky, opaque puddle resting over your tongue.

You closed your lips around him, snug, and held his gaze.

A weaker man might have come undone. Bucky just let out a breath and smiled.

“If you wanna play show-and-tell with my cum I can find someplace to put that, doll,” he said, low as ever, then,

“C’mere.”

You didn’t need the powers of telepathy to understand what he’d meant. Should’ve known better than to dip your toe in the cumplay game with a man who arguably harbored the world’s biggest breeding kink and really wanted to knock you up. The realization had you back on your feet in an instant. Having swallowed fast, pried your lips off his digit with a pop, and licked the corners of your mouth, you rose without the threat of a second thought.

Your pale yellow dress was the first thing you grabbed—the first thing Bucky tried to yank off of your body when you’d slipped it up your legs and staggered backward.

“Not happening, Barnes,” you giggled, pretending not to see him advance when you stepped back.

But Bucky had never been big on civility in times like these. He lunged forward and nearly tore the barely-zipped frock off your frame, eliciting a shriek and another arch look from you as you started toward the door.

You were amazed you made it through—your husband had had to stop to tuck his dick back in his pants before stumbling after you—but when you took off down the hall, you knew it was only a matter of time before you heard his footsteps thundering fast after your own.

The tips of your toes had just barely grazed the first step down the stairs when hands seized your hips. You yelped.

“BUCKY!”

Whether on account of your own practiced agility, or the fact that Bucky’s palms were still sticky and slick with his sweat, you managed to wrest yourself out of his grip just long enough to get a start down the stairs.

“COME HERE!” Bucky boomed loud, trying his hardest not to laugh as he chased after you.

You screamed without meaning to. Yanked your wrist out of his reach when you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt your husband close the distance in quick. You tried to be firm, insistent, primed with the kind of fine and unfuckwithable attitude that signaled you meant business. You didn’t, though—the series of giggles bubbling up in your chest said as much.

You descended the last step with a hitch, almost losing your shit within a foot of the landing, when Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held on tight. His lips were at your ear in a second, breaths coming in quick.

“Hell, I’ll give you one right here, honey,” he sneered before flipping you back around to face him.

He pressed you flush to the wrought iron railing, then over it, pushing you back bit-by-bit until you had no choice but to jump and latch your legs around his hips.

“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t—”

“Give you a baby right now?”

“—get off of me!” You were laughing now, squirming when he nipped at the space just below your ear.

One more second and he might’ve convinced you. Your Bucky was persuasive like that, too smug and self-assured for his own good but one hell of an advocate when he wanted to be. At length, he opened his mouth to take an even bigger, teasing bite, when a voice cut in,

“Barnes.”

He stopped. You froze. Together, you reluctantly turned your heads in the direction of the sound and found a keystone conference table situated at the far end of the room—seating a dozen-odd faces with identical, muted expressions of surprise. Mild discomfort, for some.

Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.

Bucky set you down and simultaneously yanked the hem of your dress back into place. Flashed a smile for the ages and snaked an arm around your waist as he started to lead you over.

“Nat! Hi,” he tried, far too casual, “Long time no see.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard and hoped like hell your husband had remembered to zip up his pants.

The woman at the head of the table—the source of the voice you’d heard—raised a brow. One cherry-red curl from her sleek, cropped bob threatened to fall out of place as she tilted her face to regard you both. The smile Bucky proffered had done nothing to repair her glare.

Some wordless exchange passed between the two of them, and next, you felt a hand directing you to a seat across the way—Steve. Smug as ever. Smirking just then.

The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.

You were dimly aware of some introductions being made on your behalf and a round of awkward, disjointed congratulations around the table. Greetings from Nat, Sam, Steve—conceited little shit—a few you knew as Bucky’s groomsmen, a couple members of the security detail, and several more friendly, unfamiliar faces, including a smartly dressed blond named Sharon. Your husband had taken a seat by the latter at the end of the table.

“Momma.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to whisper when the attention had turned back to Natasha and other matters, but you did, “Where have you been?”

Your mother and father were perched in their chairs like prisoners. There were no shackles to be seen but an air of discomfiture and compulsion bound to their every feature. You couldn’t be sure if it was humiliation on your behalf—they had just witnessed their son-in-law promise to put a baby in you for all present to hear—or something more.

For once in your life, you hoped it was just the prudish, sex-averse tendencies of the two rendering them silent.

You tried your mother again when she hadn’t responded.

“Momma.”

“Now is not the time.”

Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.

You knew better than to test that tone another time. You sank back in your seat and let your gaze roam the table, flitting between your father and Bucky a few more times than it probably should have. Surely, your dad, who had screwed Bucky over to hell and back, obliterated your wedding, and jeopardized your lives for a few more million in his pocket would have warranted some sidelong, hateful look from your husband. A glance or a stare, certainly something to show that he knew, and hadn’t forgotten.

No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.

You watched your father twist his signet ring on his pinky, jerking the gold back and forth as if hoping for it to break, or save him. He didn’t look at Bucky, either.

“Natasha Romanoff is the Barnes’ retained legal talent for all things maritime crime and narcotics trade-related. Some estate planning, too,” a voice rumbled beside you.

You made a low ‘Hm’ to feign understanding of whatever the fuck Steve had just said, and nodded.

Then, when your eyes wandered left again,

“Sharon Carter, criminal liaison and kingpin informant. Been in bed with the Barnes’ as long as I can remember.”

He really couldn’t have used a worse string of words if he had tried. You cocked your head just slightly and stared at the pair. You considered holding your tongue.

“And she’s been in bed with Bucky how often before?” You’d decided against self-restraint for the time being.

Steve blinked a little harder.

“What do y—”

“I’m not asking if, but when, they fucked,” you interrupted.

Steve blinked again, as if to clear a string of cobwebs from his eyes, and couldn’t quite find the words to answer your question. Either the truth or some half-baked crock of bullshit—there was no in between.

“Once,” he answered, at length. Honest.

You figured as much.

In any other situation where you were faced with one of Bucky’s former fuckbuddies, you probably would’ve felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Might’ve even cast a dark look in the girl’s direction and willed her not to even breathe the same air as him. Then you remembered you weren’t fourteen years old and could behave with some modicum of maturity when it came to some old flame of your husband. They weren’t even sitting that close.

You winced when Bucky gave her shoulder a playful squeeze, though. That facial tic you couldn’t control.

“So to recap,” Natasha announced, having just plodded through a few dull formalities up front, “Barnes got the intercom call from Schröder at 1500 hours, Friday.”

Every head nodded.

“Schröder gave Barnes exactly ninety-six hours to recover the $90 million lost in the…mishap, in Brooklyn—” Natasha’s eyes flickered to your father no longer than a second, “—and today is Monday. We have twenty-four hours to come up with the funds, or face the…penalties of Schröder’s exploding offer. Whatever those may be.”

You knew what ‘those’ were. Ms. Romanoff was either too kind or too diplomatic to say it, you reckoned, but the threat Joey Schröder had made to Bucky had been patently clear: procure the cash or your wife’s family dies.

That was why you’d been so surprised to see your mother and father seated at the table that morning—Schröder had further stipulated that there was to be no contact between you and your parents in the time it took to come up with the money. You’d been completely cut off, in the Alps, since the day of the attack, left to wonder without reprieve whether HYDRA’s bloodless henchmen had taken hostages of your parents, let them abscond to Brooklyn, or simply killed them both and sent the rest of you all on a wild goose chase to get hold of the money.

Now if they’d only had sex once, why was she looking at him like that?—The intruding thought couldn’t be helped when you peered over again—Surely the most platonic and professional working relationships didn’t call for looks like that.

Shut the fuck up. Shut the entire fuck up, please.

The lives of those closest to you were on the line and all you could think now was how well you compared to this random woman in giving Bucky head? Brain fucking rot.

You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.

“…and up until this morning, Schröder’s whereabouts were unknown,” she continued, careful as she spoke.

It seemed that part had caught Bucky’s attention, too, because he was tilting his head away from Sharon and shifting his gaze to the woman at the head of the table.

“And now?” he cut in.

“I’m getting there, James.”

Sharon smiled a little at that, tracing her nail on the notepad in front of her. She muttered something to Bucky, who disregarded her remark entirely.

“Do we know where Schröder is?” he barked.

Across the table, Sam shifted in his seat. He glanced to Natasha, then Sharon.

“I believe we have modestly reliable intel—” he began, only to have his speech mowed over by an impatient, increasingly irate Bucky.

“No. No— we don’t do ‘modestly reliable’ for this, Sam. We either know where the fuck the guy is or we don’t.”

That last fragment seemed to hang in the air a couple seconds longer than needed, and a tense silence fell over the table. It took a new voice—one you hadn’t heard much at all yourself—to reignite the conversation.

“I know it,” Sharon said, “I know he’s in Madripoor.”

Madripoor? The make-believe safe haven for terrorists? You couldn’t tell if she was kidding at first. Then Bucky flitted a look to the side, and his expression was grave. Natasha’s, too. Maybe there was a Madripoor after all.

“Or he will be there, most likely, tomorrow night,” Steve interjected. The hands that had been folded neatly in front of him were now tapping a light and mindless beat on the table, “He’s got the Foxy Den rented out for a…thing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Where else but a titty bar would Joey host his ‘things’?” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

So Madripoor was real, and it had strip clubs. Wonderful.

It seemed Natasha was keen to regain control of the conversation, because she presently broke in,

“Keep in mind that time is of the essence—a private flight from here to the Indonesian archipelago is sixteen hours minimum. We most likely can’t afford to fly private, b—”

“Since when the fuck can’t I afford to fly private?” Bucky spat.

You hated how short and plainly nasty he was being to all those around him. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought these folks were at fault somehow, but they weren’t. Your father, the real culprit, was sitting right under Bucky’s nose, and he wouldn’t even look in his general direction. Your husband flared his nostrils with a new surge of indignation, and Sharon patted his hand.

“She’s not talking finances, bub,” the blond started, “She’s saying your jet is on a no-fly list, we don’t have time to charter a new plane, and there’s a hefty fucking bounty on your head if you ever set foot in Madripoor. We need to get you on a commercial flight, undercover.”

“Fuck that.” Bucky’s response was reflexive. He rose fast.

If your parents could have appeared any more stiff and uncomfortable you might have mistaken them for two charming, thoroughly terrified wax figures. Your father continued to fiddle with his ring as he watched Bucky.

Natasha tensed as well. As soon as Bucky was up on his feet, pacing around at the end of the table, she was urging him to relax, Buck, this isn’t anything we haven’t done before—sit down, please. Bucky didn’t sit, and he most certainly didn’t relax, but he did kick a stool across the room.

“I am not going back to that shithole.”

The stool tumbled onto its side, one leg splintered in half. You made a mental note to look into some anger management classes. Your parents, along with most of the table, flinched at the crashing sound, while your husband stood, supremely agitated, and did not even regard the broken chair. He turned away from Natasha.

“Yeah, well, that ‘shithole’ is our only hope of getting Schröder behind bars and you out of custody, Bucky,” Natasha called as he started to pace away.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. He contemplated snagging a bottle of Macallan 25 off the bar cart by the window but decided against it.

“Have you been listening to a word of what I’ve said all weekend?” Natasha returned, almost as biting, “Turned on MSNBC or CNN or any other news outlet in the last forty-eighty hours?”

She dropped her own notepad on the table and scanned the area in search of something else. Sam and Steve took that as their opportunity to jump in.

“Bucky,” Sam started, calmly, “There were over a dozen foreign attachés and two heads of State at your wedding, half of whom are now being hospitalized for injuries they sustained in the attack.”

“So?” Bucky snapped.

His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.

“So you think the U.N. Security Council was just gonna let that slide?”

“Two-thirds of its members have been up in arms, practically chomping at the bit to get someone pinned for the fucking thing—that leaves you or Schröder on the chopping block,” Steve chimed in.

“So one more federal probe. What’s the big deal?” Bucky hardly realized he’d taken a tumbler in his hands.

Just as he’d turned to pour himself a drink, guided more by bare muscle memory than anything else, Natasha raised a manila folder—the item she’d been looking for. He’d filled his glass half full when the folder was flung his way like a frisbee. He narrowly saved himself a papercut—or ten—by ducking his head, almost spilling his drink.

“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.

“Extradition, Bucky. Search warrants for your Brooklyn residence, all your money service businesses up the Eastern Seaboard, and a whole hell of a lot of other financial records that we do not need dredged up in this mess.” Natasha pointed to the folder on the floor, which had just spilled a litany of documents at his feet.

“Let them.” Bucky wasn’t fazed by the warrants, walking over them as he drank, “I’m not going to Madripoor."

This time, it was Sharon's turn to roll her eyes as she swiveled in her chair to face Bucky. She was turned from you now, but you could almost smell the smug, knowing look she raked over your husband as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back.

"We don't have time for this," she said, coolly, "If you have any hopes of getting the Counter-Terrorism Committee off your ass and Schröder in custody, you'll listen to Nat."

Bucky paused, weighing her words in his mind before meeting her gaze again. He brought his glass to his lips and drained it.

Then, perhaps feeling a bit emboldened by the idea that she was the only one to have shut Bucky up—to have made him listen, as it were—Sharon piped up again. You didn't need to see her face to know for certain there was a smirk etched across it,

"Don't look so glum, honey. We have no choice here."

It startled every last soul at that table, yourself included and Sharon especially, when the cup in Bucky's hand sailed across the room and shattered on the edge of a cabinet close by. Before the glass had so much as splintered and scattered half of its jagged shards along the floor, your husband was stalking, then stopping, then looming over Sharon with an implacably dour look. And a jaw set tight as you'd ever seen it.

"My choice," he seethed, so low the words almost came out in a murmur, "is to protect my wife. Whatever you, or Natasha, or anyone else has in mind comes second to that. Do you understand?"

Sharon nodded that she did.

A hushed silence fell over the room once more, only now its duration was greater, and the cause of it—your red-faced, fuming husband—had turned his back to the group and was retrieving from the bar cart another glass. Another drink. Natasha followed his path with a vigilant eye.

"Bucky," she said.

Bucky didn't answer. Filled his new glass to the brim.

"Bucky," Natasha tried with a little more volume and vigor.

Your husband lifted the cup to his mouth and started to guzzle, against every shrill and helpless plea from his liver, you guessed. You wanted to object, to take leave of your seat as quick as you could and knock the thing out of his hand before he could finish, but Natasha had you beat—not with any physical act but a word to slow him down: "Barnes."

Then, a few more to get him to stop entirely:

"Look. Over there."

She pointed to a slip of paper somewhere at the top of the shuffle.

Bucky shifted his gaze to the floor. You saw him lick both corners of his mouth, bathed in whiskey residuum and a light, nascent spatter of stubble. He looked almost menacing in spite of the grin that kicked up.

"What's this?" he murmured.

"The terms of Schröder's newest offer. The one he made this morning."

Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.

He dropped to his knees, seized the paper in his hands and pored over the bare, 11-point Times New Roman typeface like it was the single most precious set of words in the world to him. There were several mountains of text, and you sensed he couldn't begin to under the legal jargon with just one cursory look.

"What? What's'it mean?" Bucky wouldn't tear his gaze away, even as he shouted to Natasha.

Your own eyes probably should've been fixed on Bucky, or in your lap, or out the window, reflecting in silence on what the fuck could be going on and why it felt as though things were suddenly coming to a perilous head. Instead, you pivoted to Natasha. Her face was tilted to you.

Then she spoke to Bucky, still crouched on the floor a few feet away from her, but she kept her focus on you. She spoke carefully.

"Schröder won't take the money, Bucky."

"What?"

Bucky's gaze combed over the page, desperate to make sense of what was printed in front of him—"The hell's this all mean, Nat, tell me what it means and what he wants, for fuck's sake."—and he flipped the document. Read some more. His eyes flitted from line to line in a full-blown terror.

Then the eyes stopped in one spot.

Bucky stood.

Fisting the letter in one hand and making a wild, inarticulate gesture with the other, he probably could've seared a hole in Natasha's head with the force of his stare. She refused to meet it.

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

All of a sudden, your father leaned over your mother to you,

"We can make it work. We can keep you—"

"Hey. Don't talk to her. Don't fuckin' look at her. Is this—"

"—safe. We'll keep you safe, darling, I swear."

"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"

You stared at your dad in disbelief. Bewilderment. Then you chanced a look at Bucky, who had all but gone blue in the face as he approached your father from the opposite end of the table, letter still crushed in his hand.

Your father averted his gaze.

He knew.

You saw him flick the gold signet on his pinky once more, and for reasons you didn't yet understand yourself, you couldn't look away from it, or him.

Surely this scared-shitless son of a bitch could speak to you now. He'd have to. There was no way he wouldn't when the problem was staring him right in the face and his son-in-law was practically apoplectic with rage in front of him.

Something clicked in Bucky's brain.

He knew.

Your husband’s breath caught with the full weight of the realization, and he blinked. He didn’t hesitate; he simply sidestepped Sam and Steve—who had stood as soon as they saw the look of understanding cross over his face—and he seized your father. You heard a scream, most likely from your mother, and you saw Bucky swing, but the act barely registered as real until his fist first cracked against your dad’s skull. Again. And again. And again.

Somewhere in the raucous din and sounds of punches, kicks, and muffled groans, a discharge of blood, and the dim recognition that some of the stuff was dousing you, too, you managed to make out several words, disjointed:

“—FUCKING KILL YOU—SOLD HER—SOLD HER?!”

Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.

‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, it was true, but it was an alter-ego he’d been given from his earliest days as a made man. A caricature of himself that was to represent everything he did and was capable of doing in places like Madripoor.

You didn’t know that side. You didn’t like that side.

It was Bucky, and it wasn’t—pummeling your father’s face in the ground after learning that he had offered you up, again, in satisfaction of a debt. Sparing no feelings when he spoke to Natasha, Sam, Steve, Sharon, or anyone, making clear his wife’s safety was paramount.

Maybe you were meant to feel proud. Or flattered. Or safe. But oddly, the longer you’d stared at the bloodied, bruised fist he held above your father’s face and the half-deranged look of anger on his own, the more you began to wonder if the fury was for your protection, or simply a knee-jerk response to the thought of losing a possession. A mere object that he couldn’t bear to part ways with.

You had thought long and hard about where the Soldier stopped and Bucky began. No matter where you landed, you were far from comfortable with the conclusion.

Now, even as you stood two feet away from the man in an upper-level lounge of the Foxy Den, roughly half a day removed from the whirlwind turn of events that almost sent your father to hospital, you hardly knew what to say.

“Zip me up?”

The closest thing you’d had to conversation in hours. Bucky obliged.

You viewed your new dress in the mirror from the side and made a face. Pretended to examine the tight black number but were really just zeroing in on the sight of Bucky’s knuckles as he dragged the zip up your back. He hadn’t bothered to mend his hands, and you hadn’t thought to offer to bandage them up. You tried not to stare.

The hands paused at the top of your dress and froze.

Then crept back slowly, taking the zip along with it.

“Wanna—?”

“Bucky!”

One low groan, followed by a palm to his worn and wearied face. When you spun around, he didn’t move.

“Are you serious?” you bit.

“Will you talk to me now?” Bucky retorted.

To be fair, neither he nor his Winter Soldier persona knew how to solve the silent treatment from a pissed-off wife. This was brand new territory—being ignored for hours on end—and frankly, he had thought a playful request for sex might make you more amenable to conversation.

He had thought wrong.

You stared daggers at his handsome face and raised a finger as though to warn him, then stopped. Opened your mouth as if to speak, then appeared to decide against it. A steady, pulsing bass from the floors below was all that could be heard, and momentarily, you were reminded of why you were all here in the first place:

Locate Schröder. Corner Schröder. Capture Schröder. Bring the bad man to justice—or else just pump the motherfucker’s head full of lead and be done with it.

You weren’t too familiar with the particulars of the plan, but that had seemed to be the heart of it. Bucky never intended for you to stray from the safety of the lounge upstairs, where half of his team were casing the club through dozens of surveillance cameras, and he would likely take off with Sam and Steve the second you’d finished dressing. Now would be the time to talk.

And you planned to. Eventually.

For now, though, you’d let him sweat it out.

You had long envied women with effortless sex appeal and charisma. The kind that seemed to be made for the stage, capable of transfixing any audience, or individual, with little more than their aura alone. You’d never felt a fraction of that allure emanate from yourself before, personally, but looking at Bucky now brought you as close as you’d ever been. He was enthralled by your every move, he was intrigued at all times, you could see.

He was visibly aroused before you had even touched him. You knew it was cruel and unkind before you were even fully conscious of what you were doing, but you did it.

Someone had to teach this man how to control his anger—and his urges—somehow. Who better than you?

You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.

“Baby,” you murmured. Simple, nearly plaintive.

Bucky blanched. Could it be? Had his bullshit gambit actually paid off and made you want to talk, or possibly do more? His hands immediately went for your hips, but you were quick to shove them off. You poked one finger to his chest and shook your head.

“We can talk,” you said, measured.

You pressed into his sternum and pretended not to see a short-lived look of defeat, followed by confusion, cross Bucky’s features. He let you walk him back a step or two.

“Okay. What about?”

Where the hell could you even begin?

“Sit first,” you urged him.

It was then that he realized you’d been walking him toward the plush sectional couch behind him—a cozy little touch to the VIP room only marginally diminished by the fact that it was coated in liquor, coke, and glitter. Bucky sat down anyway.

You didn’t follow, choosing instead to stand as you appeared to…scratch something on your back? Your husband looked on in muted curiosity as you reached behind yourself and tilted your torso just slightly.

Then he heard a zip. A hitch. Another, longer drag.

Bucky knew he was fucked before you ever slipped the dress off your body. You were to make quick work of it, eyes never leaving the man in front of you as you peeled the fabric down your legs and off of your frame entirely. When you were down to just your underwear, you hadn’t even needed to see his face to know exactly where his gaze was likely to land—this part was new to him. You kicked the dress aside and let him stare.

To be fair, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Ruger LC9 strapped to your thigh. Hidden in plain sight now that you were stripped bare before him in just your bra, panties, and garter-like holster across the top of your leg.

“Where’d you get that?” Bucky nearly choked, eyes wide.

“TJ Maxx,” you huffed, “Where the fuck do you think?”

“I never said you could— And Sam and Steve—”

Bucky paused, suddenly aware of how indignant and stupid he was starting to sound. He had given orders to the rest of his team not to let you carry a gun under any circumstances, but here you were. If he weren’t so violently aroused by the sight of you wearing the thing, he probably would’ve been fuming.

“A couple guys from your security detail were kind enough to make an exception,” you smiled, words verging on smug, “And who’s to say what I ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do, hm?”

Bucky looked as though he were priming himself to stand when you lifted one stiletto to rest between his legs on the seat. A silent and quasi-sweet threat in one gesture.

“I didn’t say you can’t— well—” Bucky faltered at the last.

“You just said you never gave me permission!” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “That doesn’t sound very equitable to me, James.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.

“C’mon. You know what I mean, honey…I just…want to keep you safe. You know that.”

“Self-defense is a pretty integral part of safety.”

“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”

“You never bothered to ask!”

This was getting a little too aggressive and Jerry Springer-eqsue for your liking. Not nearly sexy or seductive enough to be heading in the direction you wanted. Bucky always brought the bickering out of you, but you had to stay strong. Slow and steady and all that bullshit.

So, before he could respond to your last remark, you lowered yourself over him. Brought both legs to bracket his hips and hovered carefully in place above the bulge in his tactical pants. When he swallowed beneath you and raked his gaze over your body, you felt a twinge of relief.

You sank further down. Dragged your lower half over his own and earned a groan from deep within his throat. Again, his hands flew to your waist to get a good grip, but you pried them off before they could ever fully sink into the flesh.

“What?” Impatience palpable in Bucky’s tone.

“No,” you answered simply.

“No?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me. You don’t own me.”

Your husband shifted under your body, hands helpless at his sides and masseter muscle visibly clenching beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head.

“I never said that I did,” he managed, after a pause, “Baby, I love you.”

“And beating the shit out of my dad was your special way of showing that?”

“That wasn’t—”

“Or snapping at Natasha. And Sam. Steve. Sharon,” you added emphasis to the last name without really meaning to, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”

“Couldn’t control your anger. Or wouldn’t. All because my dad made some stupid deal with a man and offered me up as collateral.”

“Because Joey wants you for himself!” Bucky snapped, voice suddenly raised to a near-deafening pitch. He shifted his hips and inadvertently grazed the heat between your legs, drawing a subtle pinch in his brow at the friction, “The deal your dad made was to give you over to Schröder in satisfaction of his own fucking debt—you think I was just gonna sit by and let that happen?!”

In spite of the animosity, you pressed your body to his even harder and watched him fold—if only slightly. He breathed a sharp inhale through his nose and flexed both his hands, as if wanting to make fists. However, he knew better than to move himself around at a time like this.

“What? Like the deal you made with him?”

Your words were clipped, almost cruel. You knew it would hit a nerve in Bucky, and sure enough, he met you right where you wanted him: enraged.

“That’s fucking different,” he seethed, “I would’ve paid your father’s debt without— without anything in it for me.”

“But you didn’t, and you got me.”

“And I love you. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The abrupt vulnerability in his voice was all but agony to hear. For a second, it seemed the anger had fled—or at least been eclipsed by some softer, sweeter shade—only for Bucky to blink again, shake his head, and wear that stupid, hardened look that said, ‘I am not losing this.’ Your hands reached for his belt and started in on the zip.

“You have a real fucked up way of showing love, James.”

To your surprise, Bucky let you continue, unhindered. Blue eyes meeting yours in a cold look.

“Makes two of us,” he mumbled, shrugging his boxers and trousers out of the way anyway.

That was probably true. No person in their right mind would think fucking their husband was the safest, most surefire way to let him know they were pissed at him, but both you and Bucky were working on communication skills, still. You’d get to healthy, non-sex-fueled fights at some point.

As it was, Bucky was fumbling around your thighs, trying to pry them open even wider for better access through your panties. That you allowed, but the second he tried manhandling you over his crotch, you pushed back.

“I wanna do this— without your help,” you said, firm.

Somewhat begrudgingly, Bucky agreed. He let you line yourself up with his length, brace your weight against his shoulders, and when you paused, he made a soft, ‘Hm?’ and glanced down where you looked. Before you could remove the pistol from its holster, he set his palm atop the cool metal.

“Leave it,” he murmured.

His eyes flashed with desire. It was almost more than you could bear, despite the plain fact that riding someone with a firearm strapped to your thigh probably violated every NRA gun safety rule known to man. Whatever.

You lowered yourself onto Bucky, slow, and sucked in a quick breath as he filled you. Your husband groaned.

“Fuck,” followed shortly thereafter, almost timid to crawl out of his mouth as you sank to a fully-seated position on top of him. He gripped the armrest beside him.

When your hips first stirred, you thought the man might burst a blood vessel trying not to move right along with you. You pressed a hand to his chest and reminded him, gently but with purpose: let me fucking do this, Bucky, and he relented. Fisting the couch cushion in something close to a death grip, he nodded his head and heaved a short breath and watched you all the while, grinding on him.

“My pretty…pretty girl,” he managed through his teeth.

He was doing better than you expected. You watched his face contort with pleasure when you lifted yourself up to the tip of his cock and slide back down. You squeezed his shoulders, and you let out a low whimper yourself, and dammit all, you felt that pesky fucking knot already forming in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down and frowned, wanting this to last so much longer.

Fortunately, when your eyes found Bucky’s again, you got the sense that he was in the same boat as you: brow furrowed tight in concentration and lips parted slightly, panting in time with each one of your movements.

“Baby,” he said, the single word treading close to a plea. He paused, dropped a glance to the spot where your bodies were coupled, and swallowed. He cursed aloud, then continued, quietly, “Baby…’m’sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You bounced a bit faster.

“For— fuckin’ hell, honey— for being a…dick.” The last part of his sentence was pierced by a grunt and a moan, but you heard it just the same.

You clenched around him and tried to keep steady. Manage a small, shit-eating grin above him, even.

“Being a dick?” you repeated, pretending not to know what he meant. When his cock grazed over a particularly sensitive place inside you, you just swallowed the moan and kept going, fingers taking hold of some short tufts of hair at the back of Bucky’s head as you rode him.

“Possessive. Controlling. Kind of a—” Bucky paused to grunt when he bottomed out inside, hands aching to hold you, “—piece of shit.”

Finally, you were getting somewhere. Not nearly close enough to cure the rage or the dark, grating impulses churning inside of him, but good enough, for now.

You reached for his hands and set them over your hips.

The next most natural thing was to lean down and kiss him—let his tongue invade your mouth as soon as he’d caught your lips and show you, with a wordless and fast-moving show of affection, that he missed you. And meant what he’d said. With his hands moving quick to cup your cheeks, hold you to him while he kissed you and stroked deep inside your walls, he gripped you tighter than he had in a while. You could feel strips of tension and desperation bleed through his every fingertip.

“Wanna…fuckin’ kill anyone who even thinks…of— fuck,” Bucky’s words were almost slurred at this point, so close to the point of release it seemed every wild and wanton thought that crossed his mind was likely to dance off his tongue, unchecked. You loved to see him in it this deep.

You also had to remind the murderous alter ego that violence was not the answer…always. You let him pull you closer, bodies pressed flush against each other while you fucked, but you made sure to tilt his chin up to yours so he could see the expression on your face as you spoke.

“Hey,” you pinned him with one stern look, “No murder.”

Bucky frowned.

“Yes murder,” he retorted.

You sighed.

This shit was worse than teaching a dog not to bite.

Instead of pulling back or being strict this time, though, you decided you’d give positive reinforcement a try. You squeezed his short locks of hair, gently, and rolled your hips even tighter to his, eliciting a stuttered groan. You bounced up and down on his cock, pulled him into your chest, and brought your face within an inch of his.

“Promise to be good, and I’ll let you cum inside me,” you murmured into his lips. Not the wisest offer you’d made to date, but one that Bucky seemed to want more than the air in his lungs the second the words escaped you. He pulled you in for a kiss, immediately.

“Fuck, you mean it?” he breathed, in between each sloppy, frenzied movement of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you tried not to grin at how eager he seemed, “You’re gonna apologize to everyone, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky barely seemed to register anyone or anything but you and your pussy at the moment, yearning for the go-ahead to let himself free inside you. With a nod of your head, you’d let him start meeting your motions with gentle thrusts of his own, and both of you were teetering precariously close to the edge with that added pressure. In spite of both your hot and heady, near-anoetic states, you endeavored to hold out a little longer, legs aching.

“Gonna try and talk to Schröder first?” you panted.

Bucky rutted into you hard, lips twitching into a frown.

“Doesn’t…deserve it,” he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he grabbed your hips and thrusted harder, “A fucking bullet between the eyes is what he needs.”

You eyed him soberly, or as serious as you could manage with the force of his strokes nearly sending you into a spiral. You fought back a moan and gripped him tighter.

“Bucky.”

“Bunny.”

Damn, that name.

“Promise me you won’t kill him—or anyone—tonight.”

“Baby—”

“Promise.”

His thrusts were getting sloppier; with his hands hoisting you just above him and his cock practically drilling into you now, speech and coherent thought were some of the toughest things to accomplish, but he tried it, anyway. Bucky would swallow his pride and accede to his wife, no matter how fucking badly he wanted to cum—and kill that Russian mob boss with both his bare, bloody hands.

He could be better than the Winter Soldier. He would.

With a rough, labored breath, Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and felt you squeeze around his cock like a vice. Still thrusting, clutching you, kissing you hard, he saw both of your releases coming in fast and had to act even quicker.

“I— I promise,” he stammered.

That was all either of you needed, or could bear, quite frankly. In the next second or two, you felt a cord snap in your lower half and a deep, punchy flurry of pleasure follow shortly thereafter, fingers sinking deep in Bucky’s shoulders as he bounced you on his cock and held you close. With your walls still pulsing around him, you felt him chase his own high at a breakneck pace, shooting his load inside you a moment later. It was bad, it was brash, it was a really fucking dumb idea to be playing around with the odds of making babies at a time like this, but it also felt good. Exhilarating, even, feeling him empty his balls in that space between your wet, aching walls and filling you up with his seed.

Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—

STOP.

You barely had the energy to acknowledge, much less arbitrate that bone-crushing conflict between your brain and reproductive organs, so you shut the thoughts up with a quick, messy kiss to Bucky, whose chest was still heaving from the peak of his release, holding you to him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Maybe even two—

FUCK YOU.

The internal war wouldn’t go away that easy, it seemed.

You kissed Bucky long and hard regardless, hoping the shit would sort itself out before you really had to think. Or worry. Or plan. It was dumb and a bit short-sighted, but feeling that hot, erratic pulse between your legs did a pretty good job of making it seem just fine for right now.

Bucky’s expression was lax. Soaking in the feel of your cum-painted insides still squeezing around him, gently. Had he been anywhere but the heart of Low Town on a covert mission in a strip club, hunting down the head of HYDRA with a whole troupe of trained assassins, he probably would’ve liked to stay that way a little longer. But, as it was, he could already hear folks filing in and out of the lounge, footfalls growing heavier as his team loaded up with guns, grenades, and whatever other weapons they could fit beneath their formal attire.

“Don’t look so sad,” you said as you lifted off of Bucky. Carefully pulling your panties back into place as your husband watched you do it, practically forlorn.

“Too late,” he returned in half a groan, yanking his own clothes where they needed to be and trailing a look up your legs, “Might feel better if we tried it again, though.”

“I bet.” You pulled your dress over your head.

Your husband had just tightened his belt and was rolling his shoulders to get a knot out of his neck, it seemed.

“What are your thoughts on ‘Bucky Jr.’?” he asked casually.

“Don’t start with this shit.”

“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your baby talk and death threat tête-à-tête continued for quite some time—just a couple minutes, but they felt like years to you—and before long, you were rubbing the gun under your dress and casting a glare in Bucky’s direction, and he got the sense that it was time to head back to the group. He looped an arm around your waist and led you out into the main space.

The living room was little more than a makeshift headquarters at that point. You’d been expecting to see more faces, but the only ones you found were Sam, Natasha, and a few silent, beefy individuals you assumed were part of security. Where Sharon and your parents had gotten off to was anyone’s guess. You took a seat on the couch.

“Anything yet?” Bucky questioned, approaching the panel of surveillance screens with a wary eye.

“We’ve had intermittent visuals on the second floor for forty minutes or so—” Sam motioned to one screen on the left, “—but Schröder hasn’t moved. Hasn’t done anything but bullshit and booze and buy rounds for his group. Won’t even talk to the dancers, which is weird.”

From what you’d been told, the goal was to get Schröder off the second floor, up to one particular private suite on fourth, then send in an agent dressed as a bottle girl to make entry as soon as the rest of the party had arrived, keeping in contact with HQ, and Sam, via PTT earpiece all the while. The details from that point were hazy, but you’d gotten the sense that someone—or, more likely, a sizable and duly-equipped group of someones—was lying in wait somewhere in the suites surrounding them. Steve had been tasked with leading the incursion, though where he could be found, or whom he was with, remained largely a mystery to you. Recon in a bustling, crowded area with music blaring on all four sides was a formidable undertaking, and you could tell both Sam and Natasha had been having trouble keeping tabs on every player. They seemed on edge, monitoring the screens.

“Won’t talk to the dancers?” Bucky’s brow pinched in.

“Won’t talk to anyone outside of his inner circle,” Natasha said, grim, “Which leads me to think he’s not staying here long. Probably called his associates in for a speedy-quick deal because he knows he’s being tailed.”

“Hasn’t engaged with any of our undercovers?” Bucky pressed.

Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.

“Then how the hell are we getting him upstairs to the champagne room? If he hasn’t budged and doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay?”

The looks on the faces in front of him said there wasn’t one readily available answer—or any answer at all. Bucky turned back to the screens and seemed to survey the whole panel, gaze cooling with the first inkling that this operation may be classed a failure in the very near future.

He barked some half-coherent babble about strategy, security, and failsafes, then barked for Steve.

And, as if on cue, Steve appeared at the threshold of the room a moment later, breathless and slightly flushed.

“Rogers, you’re suppos—” Sam started, eyes widening at something you couldn’t quite discern from his arrival.

“I know, I know,” Steve cut in, fast, “Want the good news or bad news fir—”

“Just spit it out,” Natasha said, preemptively unnerved.

“Schröder’s headed to the suite right now—”

Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.

“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”

‘Fuck’ was the first audible word from your husband, then Sam, in short order. Wanda must have been the agent playing bottle girl upstairs. This didn’t sound good.

“Why the fuck won’t they let her in?” Bucky snapped.

“Someone might’ve tipped his security off. Or else they’re just being extra cautious about who’s let in.”

Steve fiddled with one cufflink on his suit and tried not to appear too despondent, but the implications of this single event were huge, you could read on every face in the room. Wanda had been meant to do something important before the rest of the brigade mobilized—take some key step that couldn’t be omitted from the plan.

“So we retreat.” Natasha was not one to mince her words, per usual, “Get your guys out of the suites now.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.

“No,” he said, sharply, “We’re not doing that.”

“Bucky.”

“We’ll get someone in there. We’ll find another way.”

Your husband was already pacing the space in front of you, and you looked on with uncertain eyes. You chanced a look to Natasha, Sam, and Steve, all of whom shared similar, albeit slightly more wearied, expressions as they watched and murmured among themselves.

“None of our people are getting up there, Barnes. Schröder’s got a goddamn sixth sense about our agents or something,” Steve said, at length.

“They’re all in masks—for a fucking masquerade—and we can’t get one person in?! In-and-out, that’s all it needs to be,” Bucky growled.

“We can’t get in there, that’s the point,” Sam sighed, “Masks or no masks, they know our people too well and won’t let us through.”

“We can at least try, for Christ’s sake. That’s what we came this whole fuckin’ way to do, right?”

When no one said a word in response, Bucky scowled,

“Right?”

There was a lull in the conversation that seemed to last for minutes, when, in reality, couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. Tensions were high. You could tell from the look in Bucky’s eye he was trying not to lash out as he normally would, but in no time at all, you saw a fractional break in his resolve. You feared he might fly off the handle, or else compromise something that couldn’t be spared at a time like this. You swallowed.

“I’ll go.”

It was stupid.

Every face turned to regard you as if you were stupid, you assumed as soon as the words had left your mouth.

But then, much to your surprise, Steve was perking up, eyes suddenly brighter as his gaze tilted to you.

“She could,” he said, shortly.

“Should she?” Sam seemed to murmur at once.

“Sure, why not?”

“I can think of plenty reasons why not,” Natasha was quick to counter, but beneath that pensive expression, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest degree of contemplation. Even hope, from the looks of it.

‘NO’ was Bucky’s wordless, immediate, and resounding answer as he kicked whatever furniture—a footstool, this time—was closest to him and sent it flying toward the door. It seemed that self-control of his had worn off fast.

“No,” he affirmed in a word a second later, jaw clenched, “She is going nowhere near that suite.”

He didn’t even spare you a glance while he spoke. He was too busy eyeing the others, Steve specifically, as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths and a light, blooming tinge of pink rose the length of his neck. If it weren’t for that staunch and menacing look on his face, he would’ve almost looked cute, you mused to yourself.

But, pretty man be damned, you wouldn’t stand for being ignored. Fuck that noise.

“I will,” you returned, a little more resolute this time.

Now Bucky had no choice but to pivot to you. His expression softened some, but not by much.

“No,” he said, again.

“Yes.”

“Baby—”

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, Barnes. You said someone who wasn’t an agent could make it up there, and I can do it. Or try, at least, like you just said.”

If your attention hadn’t been fixed on your husband, you probably would’ve caught sight of more than one thinly veiled smile from the group around you. Natasha, in particular, all but tickled to see someone stand up to Bucky and give him a taste of his own shit—and live to tell the tale. The sight of her boss’s eyes almost glossy in the first tender look she’d seen from him in years was almost too much to bear. Steve stood grinning beside her, and Sam narrowly stifled an exhale of amusement. Neither you nor Bucky flinched from your positions.

“We can’t risk you being around him. They’re already all on high-alert,” your husband said after a calming breath.

“As are all your trigger-happy comrades waiting just ten feet outside the door, right?” you replied, “What is it, like, five, ten of them in total?”

“Twenty,” Steve interjected. Bucky shot him a look.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you up there when that fucker was just trying to— to kidnap you last week. I’m not—”

“Right. Right. Trying to kidnap me, not kill me. If Schröder wanted me dead, he would’ve made pretty quick work of that before,” you cut in, tone a touch more deliberate, “Even if he sniffs me out, he’s not gonna screw this whole deal by hurting me now.”

But the mere suggestion of harm to you had seemed to raise every hair on its end for Bucky, and then he was shaking his head, evidently more stubborn than ever.

“No, fuck. Don’t start,” he snapped with his newfound indignation, then, quieter, “Please…don’t, honey.”

You wouldn’t bow that easily.

“Why not?”

Truly, Bucky couldn’t be certain if it was the lilt in your voice, the pinch at the sides of your lips, or simply the sincerity consuming your eyes as you spoke to him, but the man could not stomach the thought of you, his own wife, being a stone’s throw from mortal danger and beyond his protection—or control, he wasn’t sure which one of the two was more dominating. Some cruel and unforgiving knot inside him came to tighten, and twist, and, nauseating as it was set on escape, the white-hot surge rose like bile in his throat. Before he could stop it, the words were spilling out through his teeth like froth:

“Cause I fuckin’ said so, that’s why. That’s it. It’s settled. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, you hear me?”

What Bucky hadn’t expected was the swift ascent back to your feet. The cool and almost careless expression as you rose, as though his words hadn’t registered at all.

He certainly hadn’t expected you to check him with your shoulder as you passed, knocking him slightly off-balance as he turned, in shock, and watched you give him one manicured middle finger over your left shoulder.

“Rogers, I’d like you to escort me upstairs.”

Worst of all, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to listen.

Fortunately for him, the night was still young and with it, more than ample opportunity to be proven wrong again. And again.

“And again,” Steve murmured low in your ear as you walked side-by-side down the corridor on fourth floor, “If you get even the slightest bad feeling, you leave.”

“Might as well dip right now,” you muttered, adjusting your mask. Your attempt at humor fell flat with the man.

“I’m serious. We’ll be right outside and listening in from headquarters, but HYDRA is not a faction to fuck around with, or underestimate—as I assume you know by now.”

You did. Or would, eventually.

After the mask, you were busy trying to yank the back of your cocktail waitress dress to cover the full swell of your ass, not just the upper two-thirds. Unsurprisingly, it was a tougher task than you had been prepared to handle. Your new heels were tight and impossibly high, your new dress a mere scrap of pink fabric riddled with sequins and glitter, and your mask—holy fuck, were you glad Mardi Gras was not a year-round affair. Bucky had insisted on the fluffiest, stuffiest, full-face covering to ensure that no one would be able to recognize you, but in exchange for your anonymity, you had had to give up breathing, it seemed.

And then there was that vial of poison between your tits.

Sam had assured you that it was a nonlethal dose before handing it over; Steve had urged you, discreetly, to pour Schröder two for good measure. Natasha had overheard the latter and threatened legal action if he ever tried killing a target without her permission. You hadn’t spent much longer getting ready in the bathroom after that. Then you’d brushed past your husband the second you’d stepped out and strapped that last, semi-lethal ‘accessory’ to your bra before taking the lift upstairs.

As it turned out, you weren’t able to escape him entirely.

While you walked with Steve, Bucky was in your ear.

Literally—the man was talking nonstop through your earpiece and clearly had no intention of shutting the fuck up anytime soon. You silently wondered if there was a way to adjust the volume on the gadget as you ambled along.

“Honey.” There was a slightly more mechanical buzz to Bucky’s voice over your private line. You ignored it.

“So just find the cup he’s drinking from and pour the serum in?” you reiterated to Steve for the third time in the last ten minutes.

Your companion nodded, rattling off a few extra precautions while Bucky’s tone rang out a bit louder:

“Honey? You there?”

At last, you stuck your finger to the tiny flesh-colored device in your ear and snapped, “What?!”

“I love you.”

This fucker.

“I love you too. You’re still high on my shit list, though,” you answered, low and begrudgingly.

“Did I hear ‘hit list’? You’re gonna let me tap that later?”

If you didn’t have about fifteen different reasons to hate the man’s guts, you almost would’ve chuckled. At length, you muttered a quiet, ‘Kiss my ass, Barnes,’ and turned back to Steve, who was just then leading you closer to a room roped off and marked ‘EXECUTIVE SUITE.’ Your stomach did a flip as you paused around the corner.

“Right there. All you gotta do is knock and say a guy named Zemo sent you,” Steve spoke slowly, as if he were teaching arts and crafts to a five-year-old and not a woman about to embark on a high-risk sedation mission.

You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.

All the platter contained was an oversized bottle of Brut and a silver bucket, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were carrying the world and some change on that thing. You shifted your weight from foot to foot and turned in the direction of the door just a few yards away.

The time for painstakingly descriptive instructions and pep talks was long past you now. You nodded to Steve one last time and started to wobble over.

The entryway was flanked by two muscle-bound men. You approached with a smile.

“Hi. Zemo sent me.”

You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.

You hoped they wouldn’t ask, or notice how stilted and awkward you’d sounded just then. You swallowed a peach-sized lump in your throat and smiled again.

The one on the left grunted. The one on the right gave a nod. Without a word spoken between them, the former opened the door and made way for you to step over the threshold. You couldn’t help but notice both with their eyes trained straight on your tits as you passed by.

There was no way that had just worked. No pat-downs or harrowing threats? Not a single, searing interrogation into your identity or what you might be there to do?

Men were dumb, you decided, far too easily deceived by a decent pair of tits—HYDRA security personnel or not.

But you already knew that. You stepped inside.

The fetid stench of half a dozen blazing cigars and booze spilled on every surface were the first to greet you. A wave of smoke, then a bone-jostling bum bum bum to the beat of what sounded like a Don Toliver song came next. You almost couldn’t bear to make your feet move.

But then, shortly, you had to because a shrill, shimmer-doused beauty was waving you over toward the kitchen.

“Ba-by!” she shrieked, gesture growing frantic, “Bring it over!”

You walked with the tray out in front of you, careful with your steps across the sticky floor. When you made it over, where one other girl was stirring wildly at some concoction on the counter, you stopped, and had only to stand for a second longer, because the redhead that had beckoned you was taking the tray, setting it down, and grabbing something thin and pointy. You’d barely even registered it as an ice pick until the thing was thrust in your face.

“Crush it up,” she ordered, one curt nod toward a block of ice nearby. Evidently not giving a shit who you were or where you’d come from either. You guessed Wanda had just gotten unlucky, or they’d all stopped giving a fuck once Schröder’s men had really started drinking.

And drinking they had been, as your eyes surveyed the scene. Half-naked women with fully-clothed men, dressed head to toe in the finest of suits that were probably soaked through to the bone with sweat and Stolichnaya. You almost shivered at the sight of all the masked, wildly gyrating pricks, fumbling desperately through one verse of ‘After Party.’ You could vomit.

But where was your prick? That grimy little shit, Joey.

“Back of the room by the couch,” Bucky said, as if he’d read your mind.

Then a beat.

“Wait. Shit. That isn’t him. Schröder’s over by the door.”

How many tall, lanky blonds could there be in this place? You cast a sweeping look across the room and received your answer in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail—there were a shit ton of Joey lookalikes all around.

“Careful. Mr. Schröder’s been on edge all night. Might bite your head off if you stare too long.”

The girl that was stirring had apparently caught you looking. She set the spoon aside and turned, but not before chancing a quick glance at the man Bucky had identified to you as your target. The man lifted his gaze.

You chipped away at the ice even faster.

Crush the shit, make a drink, pour the serum, and get it in him. Now. Don’t draw his attention just yet, though.

Something in your head told you to steal another look. You knew it was a bad idea, but you went on and did it anyway—and fortunately, felt a wave of relief at seeing that he’d retreated somewhere back with his friends. The ice pick in your hands made it through the last block.

“I’ll serve the shots, you bring the bottle to Mr. Pierce.”

Mr. Who?

“One of Schröder’s associates. Roll with it.”

It was Natasha’s voice now. Measured, but tense.

“He’s the older gentlemen straight ahead. He probably ordered the champagne for him and the others.”

That was Sam. You could only imagine how all of them looked huddled around the surveillance panel with the transmitter to your earpiece being passed about from person to person. The grip Bucky must’ve had on his gun, or his switchblade, or whatever weapon he could seize to make himself feel a little less helpless. But he was—as were you. And truthfully, there was nothing either one of you could do about that until Schröder was in custody. This was the first step toward reaching that goal.

So you walked with the bottle, now bathed in a tub of ice. You tried to keep steady, but the staggering drunks all around were making that tough, to say the least.

When one man struck you straight in the chest, elbows jutting out as he danced, you stumbled back a step. Nearly lost the tray for half a second, then recovered.

Until the dipshit hit you again.

This time you truly almost sent the bottle sailing for the floor, grip slipping on the tray and knees buckling underneath you as the force of the blow set you back. You bit a quick, ‘Fuck!’ in the air, seized the platter twice as hard and braced your weight against something firm behind you. A shelf, a TV stand, or something. Maybe a half-wall if you were lucky enough not to have careened against some expensive piece of furniture. You sighed.

“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.

Or a person. Yeah, a person would be pretty fucking bad to bump into at a time like this. Your whole body froze.

You turned.

“Ye-es sir. Yes, sir.” You quickly righted your tone the second you realized it was someone important.

Not Schröder, but someone who seemed to be big-name enough; you just weren’t sure who. The man smiled down at you from under his Venetian mask.

“Is this for me?” he nodded toward the tray, half-teasing.

You swallowed.

“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.

The man’s grin stretched even wider.

“Nope, I’m Ward. but I can take you to Pierce.”

For the first time that night, your heart swelled with some promise. You thanked him quietly, gratefully, then made as if to follow him back through the crowd, when all of a sudden, you stopped. That heartfelt swelling in your chest halted right along with it. You almost dropped the tray.

“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.

No, no, now you were actually going to lose your shit. There was no way in hell you were keeping a grip on this silver little plate any longer without crying or screaming or shitting your pretty, pink, sequin minidress right there. You almost shrieked when a hand reached for the tray.

“Pierce got you doing all the heavy lifting, huh, honey? The bastard.” Even through his own ornate mask, you could tell Joey was grinning—glinting with conceit, as was his prerogative. He took the load off your hands.

“Take it easy now, he’s just—”

“Staring at your rack. Pull your top up, baby, please.”

The chatter in your ear had switched from Sam to Bucky at nearly lightning speed. You glanced down at your cleavage and tugged the fabric up quick, heart beating even faster underneath it.

In front of you, Joey Schröder was all teeth. A gruesome spectacle in spite of its seemingly benevolent intentions, one smile could have turned your stomach sideways. And it did—you wanted to throw up again—but you knew you had bigger fish to fry, and evil mobsters to poison. You didn’t flinch when Schröder nudged you in the shoulder and made his way ahead, coaxing you to follow.

You didn’t tense and didn’t protest. Didn’t blink when he led you straight through the party, around a few topless performers on poles, and into a backroom lounge.

In fact, your mind practically sang as he led you inside.

It was just every other nerve, muscle, and trembling tendon not under the immediate control of your brain that needed soothing. You could’ve sworn the men on the couches would see your legs shaking as soon as you trudged into the room and sniff you out on sight.

But if they had, they didn’t show it.

No one moved when you entered, save for a few lopsided grins and tilts of happy, masked faces. Sizing you up. Drinking you in. Far too easily mistakable for a band of apex predators that had just caught wind of their next meal, and not a room full of sleazy Russian mobsters. You bit back your grating disgust with a smile.

“Got a present for ya, Pierce,” Schröder announced.

A honey-blond head flecked with silver and white sat up from the sofa. Presumably the one who’d ordered the champagne.

“Oh yeah? What’d ya pay for her?” he returned, mouth curling up in a wicked smile.

Even above the booming music, you could make out peals of laughter as the men around you shared in some lewd, crude comments and several whispers exchanged between them. You would’ve liked to grab your bottle by the neck and break it over the nearest patron’s head, but then you remembered yourself, and your mission. You stilled beside Schröder and let them crack a few more tasteless jokes at your expense. Schröder chuckled and set the tray down in front of a thoroughly amused Pierce.

Then he grabbed you by the waist.

“Right. I forgot to ask—what is your price, sweetheart?” he said, swiftly pulling you up to his front.

Your hands flew to his chest reflexively. Your nose scrunched in a wince at the sound of an electric shout:

“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”

“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”

“NO! THAT’S NOT PART OF THE FUCKING PL—”

The line went silent. You scratched at the space behind your ear, trying hard not to betray any pain on your face, or the fear for what might be going on downstairs.

Clearly, you failed on both fronts, because Joey’s grip only tightened. He peered down at you, curious.

“You deaf or somethin’, sugar? What’s your price?”

You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.

But then, somehow, you managed to choke out, stomach churning with bile:

“Whatever you want, sir.”

You felt your soul drain out through the soles of your shoes as you’d said it. Something fell from your face—most likely a light behind your eyes and any semblance of self-worth as you stood before the man who had tried to buy you, drug you, and kill half your family, and then pretend like you wanted to dance for him, or do more.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t right by any means, but it was all just roleplay.

Roleplay.

You had to keep telling yourself that as you let Schröder’s hand glide up your spine and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up to his. It was just like your husband and his cold-blooded Winter Soldier persona, you tried to convince the increasingly frightened voice in your mind. Just like him, just like your sweet and soft and sadistic—

“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.

You knew he couldn’t hear you now. It was almost insane to think anyone could save you now but yourself.

“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.

You froze in fear.

“Five hundred bucks,” you corrected your error quickly.

You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.

“Five hundred bucks for one lap dance and some fun?” he scoffed. Then he squeezed your neck a little tighter and drew your face within an inch of his own. You could feel the hot puffs of breath, smell the rancid liquor on his tongue, but you stayed where he held you in place and tried not to grimace when he said, “That’s a damn steal.”

Your lips were shaking something awful under your mask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what kissing this vile, soulless bastard would taste like, but you feared it might come sooner than you knew, because Joey was drawing you even more rough and tight into his chest.

Just when your mouth was less than a hair’s breadth away from his, though, you heard a woman’s scream.

Then another. And another. And another.

Before long, almost half the suite had erupted in shrieks, it seemed, and the sounds of their horror were shortly supplanted by a series of explosions. And gunfire.

Johann Schröder dropped your body like the worst habit known to man and went bounding away from the turmoil as fast as he could. This time, you did trip over your heels and took a nasty little nosedive to the ground. Fumbling, crawling, then sliding across the shag carpet on your belly with your eyes in wild search of somewhere to hide.

You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.

“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.

Again, you knew better than to look, but the fear of not knowing who, or what, might be barreling your direction at any second outweighed more sensible considerations. You stole a look over your shoulder and nearly screamed.

A man with a pitch black balaclava stormed into the lounge and wasted no time setting sights on his intended target—raising a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine gun to his face and firing the second the impulse struck.

You watched a once-handsome, lively, and drunk man turn to shredded, fleshy carnage in less than an instant and fall right beside your head with a thud. Your hand was your only defense to keep the shriek inside your chest, but even that blockade was crumbling fast as the blood-soaked assassin wrenched the body in the air.

The gunman tore the mask from his victim’s head and inspected the face—or what was left of it. He cursed.

You could tell from your close proximity to the blues of his eyes, and that sigh, you wouldn’t need to ask at all. You just sat there and stared, knees hugged to your chest as Bucky threw the body back down as hard as he could.

“FUCK!” he bellowed, voice flooded with rage.

Steve stumbled in with his gun at the ready. He eyed the man on the floor, then you, then a dozen other flailing, desperate partygoers trying to escape the suite all around you. You just drew in even tighter to the table.

“What happened?! Where’d he go?”

Rogers, like you, seemed unable to look away from the carcass, but for entirely different reasons. He appeared to be studying it just as your husband had been.

“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.

“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”

Suddenly, an unknown assailant opened fire on the two men from the opposite end of the room. Both dove for cover, but not before Bucky grabbed you and dragged you, full-force, behind the sofa. It didn’t seem there was time for sweet words or consolations, his eyes wide and half-crazed as they bore into yours just in front of you.

“Don’t move,” he barked, readjusting his grip on his gun in one hand and feeling around all over your sides with the other. On seeing and feeling no trauma, he nodded his head and moved his hand to your cheek, just briefly.

“Honey, I need you here—right here for me, alright? Don’t move a muscle,” he spoke low as Steve covered from above, rapid-fire shots ringing out on both sides.

Rushed and furious as he was, he couldn’t help but linger on that face a half-second longer than he intended. You were shaking your head and hugging your knees, meeting his eyes with what seemed to be reproach.

“You promised, Bucky,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

You were in shock, that was what it was, he kept telling himself. You didn’t know what you were saying, and he needed to turn away to help Steve, but then you were eyeing that body—that man he could’ve sworn was Schröder when he’d pumped him full of bullets—and you were turning back to him with unmistakable disgust.

He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged his wife for forgiveness if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. Like your life and his, and Steve’s—and Sam’s, now, bursting onto the scene with a semi-automatic rifle of his own as he helped his friend gun down the last of the stragglers. Bucky knew he had to help them, too.

So he’d stumbled back on his feet, less conscious than acting on pure impulse, and he joined in on the gunfire.

He reckoned he liked it. However long it lasted. He just rolled his shoulders once and sent the rounds flying; he ducked and he moved and he stood and he crouched and he fired every shot as if it were as easy to him as breathing. He didn’t think. When the three of them had cleared the lounge, and Sam and Steve tore off toward the two or three remaining rooms at the rear of the suite, Bucky still wasn’t fully present in his body. All he knew was that his clip was near-empty and his side was in pain—and the room they had emptied was safe. For you.

For you—where the fuck had you gone?!

Bucky barreled past the spot behind the couch where you were supposed to have been, but weren’t, and made a beeline for the closest room over. And nothing. More empty, threadbare, and bloody rooms filled with bodies that didn’t belong to you, and shortly he was yelling for Sam or Steve or anyone in that massacred suite to help him find his wife. The breaths in his chest were heaving.

He turned once, twice, eyes roaming wildly and hand grabbing fast for more ammo. He couldn’t find any more. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow, and just when he turned to call for backup once more, he paused.

In his periphery, he saw two forms.

He stopped fully and turned to the side.

If it was fear he had felt just then, he wasn’t aware of it. Instead, it seemed a white-hot and blinding ire had taken over, and rather than grow timid, or afraid, he went cold.

“Bucky…don’t,” you managed in a strangled, hoarse tone, throat visibly contained by a blade being held to it.

Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.

Bucky knew that wouldn’t do—no matter how hard or helplessly you pleaded with him then not to do it, please don’t do it, Bucky, please. All he heard in his head was the throb of his pulse, and all he saw before him was red.

He fired without a second thought.

The round just grazed the edge of the man’s cheek.

Bucky swore. Tried to fire his gun again. It was empty.

Still not thinking, much less hearing his wife’s desperate cries for him to spare the man’s life, he grabbed the smallest, sharpest object that was closest to him and charged your would-be attacker head on.

Both men fell to the floor, but only Bucky was mobile.

Only Bucky held the weapon now, as his opponent’s knife had been lost somewhere in the skirmish, and he was wielding it now faster than he ever had before, he thought—an ice pick, of all fucking things—driving it into the man’s face and neck and chest without the slightest regard for anything else.

Somewhere far outside his mind, he heard you scream. Felt you claw at his arm, grip at his shirt, make some wild, shrill, and vehement pleas that he couldn’t begin to understand in this state, and he continued. Hadn’t even considered slowing down until the man’s carotid was shredded in two and spewing blood all over his front.

Bucky couldn’t be sure how long it lasted like that; all he remembered was stumbling back, energy spent, fist still holding the pick and eyes duly glued to the body he’d just stabbed through and maimed until no life was left.

He saw you crawl over the body.

He wanted to warn you not to touch it. Lifted a hand and tried his best to form words, but nothing came out.

He watched you lift the mask.

From that point on, he was certain he had to have been seeing things that weren’t really there. Trauma-induced psychosis, he tried to assuage himself silently—that was the only explanation for the scene unfolding before him. Surely it couldn’t be you cupping that face, pinching that skin, shaking that cold and lifeless, blood-drenched frame beneath you as a sob racked through your own.

That signet ring on a pinky couldn’t have been real.

Bucky didn’t want to believe that gruesome discovery made manifest before him—in many ways, he couldn’t—but then it was painted clear as day as the cries endured, nothing changed, and a helpless, frantic wail rang out:

“DAD!”

—

Taglist: (If I missed anyone please lmk!!) @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grant-spector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @dixsond @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

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

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buckybarnesevents · 2 months

Text

Yep, this is an event dedicated to Alpha Bucky Barnes! The rules are pretty simple for this one, please see below the cut!

FAQs/RULES:

Your work has to feature Bucky Barnes as an Alpha. -» There are no restrictions on pairing. This means polyamorous relationships are fine as well, so long as Bucky is the prominent feature. -» There are no restrictions on the type of relationship. You can have alpha/omega relationships or go for something less conventional like alpha/alpha, etc. It could also involve no relationships. -» There are no restrictions on the rating of the fic. Omegaverse is not inherently sexual, so works of ALL ratings are welcomed and encouraged. Some examples of G/T ideas include: an act such as nesting, courting, purring while cuddling, scenting, getting territorial

Your work must be tagged appropriately. You must use the tag “Omegaverse”. As a note, “a/b/o” is considered offensive, so we ask that you please avoid using this terminology and just stick to: “omegaverse”, “alpha/beta/omega”, “alpha/omega dynamics”, “alpha/alpha relationships” or some variation of those.

All modes of creation are accepted with the following minimums: -» Fics: 750 words -» Art: finished sketch (inked/lined, coloured or shaded) -» Moodboards (9 pictures) -» Fanvids (2 minutes) -» Podfics (4 minutes) -» Other crafts (equivalent of the above - if unsure, give us a shout!)

There is no maximum to the limits above, and no limit on how many works you create.

POSTING:

Please tag us on Tumblr (“@buckybarnesevents”) when posting to get reblogged! Posting will happen ALL OF APRIL! You can use the tags listed below for the event. You can post to our AO3 Collection, and in our Discord server under the Alpha Bucky April channel!

-» AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AlphaBuckyApril

-» Tumblr Tags: #Omegaverse, #AlphaBuckyApril2024, #BuckyBarnesEvents + any additional tags you need for your work

-» Twitter/X: @EventsBucky

If you create more than one work for the event, please tag us in your masterlist of all your works as well to be reblogged.

EXTRA FUN STUFF:

As always, this event is low-pressure. There is no sign-up for the event, and no obligation to participate/finish if you decide to start. So long as you are inspired or enjoyed your time, that’s all that matters.

For those that want to make it a challenge for yourself, we have our bonuses! We have five “golden stars” you can aim for!

✩ BREEDING KINK/BABY FEVER ✩ NESTING ✩ PURRING/AFFECTION ✩ BETA CHARACTER ✩ DOUBLE MINIMUM REQUIREMENTS (ex: fic of 1,500 words, 2 sketches, moodboard of 18 pictures, etc.)

You can include as many or as few as you want in your work(s). This means you can create one work containing all of the above or separate works including some. Please submit your badge claim here: https://forms.gle/Bbmg9uM8DPff9qqj6

Happy creating!

#alphabuckyapril2024 #alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes #BBE #fandom events #marvel events #bucky barnes fanworks #omegaverse #bucky barnes events

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flordeamatista · 1 year

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Hi lovey!

This man has my heart is a vice grip but look how happy he is😍😍

Forever In Your Eyes

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

concept: I am touched by your compassion, the fire in your eyes, and the beat of your heart.

word count: 1k

warnings: pure poetic fluff, soft kisses, slightly o-ral (r receiving), Bucky being the cutest lover, nickname= Doll

a/n: Wishing the sweetest of souls a very happy birthday. @lfnr-blog-blog-blog, thank you for being the mostly lovely and loving person you are.

lovely betas: @s-tarksintern and @writing-for-marvel

Masterlist

The kind of love that comes only once in a lifetime is what you are to me

There was a soft puff of air coming from your mouth as the sheets were tangled around your body. He admired your serene expression, your eyelids were closed, your lashes brushing your cheeks. He watched in awe as the gentle breeze of your breath stirred the air around him, mesmerizing him with your peaceful demeanor.

His heart filled with admiration and joy as he looked upon you, and he knew that everything was going to be alright.

To him you are a symbol of the newfound tranquility that engulfs him, a reminder of the beauty of surrendering to the moment.

Bucky felt as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff, gazing out at the vast expanse of an ocean sunset. The colors of the sky were breathtaking, and the delicate breeze was like a soothing hug. He was captivated by the peace that seemed to flow through his veins and he wanted to be enveloped in its embrace forever. He wanted to take a moment to savor the beauty of it all, to etch it into his memory forever.

Bucky captured your hand in his and lifted it to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss across the back of your hand. It was like a letter sealed with wax; a gesture of commitment and love that would last a lifetime.

You and him.

His touch was electric and sent waves of pleasure through your veins as his lips moved softly and tenderly against your skin. You felt your heart flutter as his touch ignited a fire within you. Blinking once, twice, and three times, you saw him. It was as though you were in a dream, a whirlwind of emotions that left you dizzy and in love. This feeling was unlike any other, and you cannot describe it in words.

Your lips curled into a yawn. 'Watching me sleep again, huh?' your smile flashed across your lips.

'You are too beautiful to look away from,' Bucky said, his eyes shining with admiration.

'That's sweet,' you said softly, leaning into his touch and feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. He ran his thumb across your mouth, a gentle reminder of the admiration he felt for you in that moment. He leaned closer, pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss that spoke of all his love for you.

He pulled away slightly to whisper "I love you" before capturing your lips in another passionate embrace. His hands find their way around your waist, gently holding you close as he deepens the kiss, conveying his unwavering love for you.

As he encircled his arms around your body, he whispered in your ear that he would always be there for you, that he would do anything for you to smile.

There is a need for you.

I am touched by your compassion, the fire in your eyes, and the beat of your heart.

In that moment, he wanted to show you how much he loves and needs you, and that he never wants to be apart from you. He wants to grow old with you, and he plans to take care of you for the rest of his life.

As he lifted the hem of his shirt from you, his hand moved between your bodies. His thumb brushed over the tender skin of your body, sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. His fingers moved in flawless harmony as he explored your curves, each touch more tantalizing than the last. Bucky's breath came in shorter gasps, and his desire to keep exploring was clear.

It was as if our hearts had recognized each other from afar, drawing us together.

You gazed at him eagerly as he crouched low on the mattress, gently pulling apart your thighs. The connection between you two was undeniable; the intensity and passion palpable in the air. His hands moved with assurance and finesse, caressing and exploring the curves of your body. You felt your heart swell with joy and love as you melted into the sheets, trusting in his tender embrace.

The moment was like a beautiful painting, with each brush stroke of his fingers painting an exquisite picture of love and affection on your body.

You arched up slightly as his fingers tucked into your panties waistband.

His attention was drawn to the melodic quality of your voice, so he ripped down your panties. He licked, sucked and nibbled on your inner thighs before finally making his way to your most sensitive parts.

His strong, deep voice echoed in the room "I'm going to give you a many birthday orgasms, Doll. Hold onto my hair and don't forget to scream my name." he whispered.

Your breath mimicked his movements as he pressed his kisses on your pussy. He felt a rush of pleasure as your moans vibrated against his lips and his fingers moved in time with your words. His heart raced as he sensed the heat between your bodies and the intensity of your desire. He felt a deep connection to you as he explored your curves and tasted your sweetness.

Your words sent electric shocks through his body and your moans drove him wild with longing.

He was captivated by your beauty and eager to give you pleasure.

A deep breath of fresh air, a warm embrace of love is what it feels like

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #x fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan fandom #bucky barnes x woc!reader #bucky barnes x latina!reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes au #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom

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viperbarnes · 2 years

Text

The Family -- [Mafia AU, Oneshot]

40's Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky returns home from the war and finds himself with a lifetime's worth of mistakes to make up for. You aren't going to make it easy for him, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: smut! gun violence, ptsd, dad bucky (prepare ur ovaries) language, bucky having been a dick in the past, mentions of crime and such. The reader has a name, but it only comes up every so often so.... i think thats it?

Notes: This is one of my fave oneshots that I wrote for my patreon, so unless ya'll used to follow me there, this is an entirely new piece <3 This was basically an excuse to write Mob Power Couple Bucky x Reader, and also Dad!Bucky <3

Words: 17k!!!!!!!!!!!

1944

Bucky stares up at the familiar building, old and faded, but homely. Well, not on the outside, but on the inside certainly, he knows that much. Knows the war wouldn’t have stopped his Ma from keeping her home in any way she could.

Tentatively, he hikes his duffle bag higher on his shoulder and crosses the street.

Climbing up four flights of stairs, where he can hear the familiar sounds of the neighbours through their doors on each landing, when he finally arrives on his floor he pauses, smiling for a moment as he breathes in the sweet smell of home cooked food wafting in from under the door. Of all the amenities and freedoms he’d missed during his time overseas, the food had been the worst.

Lifting a hand, he knocks lightly and steps back, waits quietly even as he hears muffled speaking and shuffling on the other side. For a moment when the door swings open, his heart jumps, worried maybe he’d over expected his welcome.

“Bucky?! James?! Oh, my baby! My baby, my baby!”

His doubt is washed away by his mother’s tight embrace, her arms wrapped around his neck in a vice grip that almost throws him off balance. He chuckles and wraps his own arm around her middle, breathes in the familiar scent of home, and closes his eyes a moment.

“It’s so good to see you…” He says, Winnifred Barnes pulling back for a moment, her hands cupping his face tenderly.

“Is it really you? You’re home?!” Bucky smiles softly, and takes her hand in his own, squeezing them.

“Yeah, Mama, I’m home, I’m here. I promise.”

Once Becca had arrived home from her shift, and her own subsequent bout of crying and hugging, the Barnes’ had sat down for dinner as a family for the first time in five years. Becca had talked his ear off about what she’d been up to, and unlike when they’d been kids and he’d get annoyed, he simply listened and enjoyed the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard in too long. During long nights dug down in trenches, the only sound a blaring machine gun some ways away, Bucky had wished for his sister’s long rants.

Winnie kept heaping more servings onto his plate, asking if he were hungry, pouring him more water until Bucky finally just asked her to sit with him, and held her hand for a long while. Every so often she would squeeze it, as if checking to make sure that he were really there.

“So… how’d you lose it?” Becca asks after dinner, when they stand side by side clearing up the dishes while Winnie made sure his room was fit for sleeping once more. Bucky smirks and sideyes her.

“You know you lasted longer than I had you pegged for. Now I’m just glad I didn’t make bets.” He says, earning an elbow in the side. Becca scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“I’m not a kid anymore you know, I’ve got… tact and shit.” She tells him, and Bucky chortles.

“Oh yeah? Tact and shit, huh? Mama teach you that?” He earns another elbow, but it's soft, not as sharp, and the two laugh for a moment as Bucky continues to dry off each dish as Becca hands them to him.

“Landmine, in Italy. Heard the click before the guy who’d stepped on it, shoved him out of the way… thought I was a goner, but woke up a coupla days later in a hospital. Said they were sending me home.” He eventually breaks the silence, but doesn’t look up from the plate he’s drying, even when he feels his sister’s gaze on him.

“Did it hurt?”

“After, hell yeah, but they gave me some pretty good meds. Don’t even remember the trip home.” He jokes, and Becca chuckles.

“From what I’ve heard, that's a good thing.”

Bucky hums.

“You been to see Vivi yet?” She asks, a little bit of stiffness in her voice, and Bucky sighs.

“No.”

“She know you’re home?”

“No.”

“You gonna tell her?”

“I don’t know, Becca!” Bucky says, exasperated now, and rubs his hand over his face. He sighs again, giving her an apologetic look.

“Yes, probably. You know it’s complicated.”

Becca purses her lips and drains the sink.

“You’re my brother, and I love you endlessly… but she was right. And you are stupid.” She says, stepping forward to catch him on the cheek with a kiss.

“The sooner you tell her, the better it will be.”

Bucky watches Becca leave the room and leans against the counter, chewing on his lip.

‘Better’ is all he can hope for, and yet he still thinks that's far from what he’ll get.

The walk isn’t far, he knows the way by heart even after all these years, and in the cold Brooklyn air, he keeps his head down and his hand in his pocket as he moves. Street lamps light his way, and when he finally turns down a small alley, he takes a deep breath before he climbs up the rickety metal staircase and enters the building.

Inside is when he feels his chest start thumping, and with each flight climbed and each door number passed, he feels like it may just jump from his chest completely.

He knocks, and steps back, waits as he hears someone approach the door. He doesn’t hear the chain slide, instead it simply cracks open enough for a pair of eyes to peek around the edges. They’re the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, just as much now as when he’d first seen you all those years ago.

From your chocolate coloured eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes, your dark curly hair that refused to be tamed, and your tawny olive complexion that just seemed to glow in any lighting… Bucky Barnes knows an angel when he sees one. You’d gotten older, obviously, as had he, but it suited you.

You don’t look surprised or shocked to see him at all, if anything you look annoyed, and honestly, he thanks his lucky stars it’s just annoyance.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

God, he’d missed you so much.

“Just got home. Came to see you.”

“Well, I don’t wanna see you.” You counter, and Bucky rolls his eyes, huffing, but suppressing the smile he knows will only set you off more.

“You don’t mean that, Vivi.”

“The fuck I don’t?”

“Lemme see Ale, then.” He tries, and you narrow your eyes. He knew you too well, knew your bluster was your armour. That didn’t mean you weren’t tough as nails though.

“He’s already in bed.” You lift your chin slightly, defensively

Bucky sighs this time and looks away.

“Come on, Viv, let me see the kid. It’s been five years.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but it doesn’t harden either, and when the door shuts in his face a second later, he waits patiently, listening as the chain-lock jingles against the wood.

The door opens again, revealing you in a gown, and despite his excitement at seeing you so undressed he ignores it, and moves inside. He really did miss you, if the thought of you covered wrist to ankle in a thick robe turned him on.

“I’ll kill you if you wake him.” The threat is half-hearted, and Bucky waves a hand, stepping past you and further into the familiar apartment he’d once called home. He didn’t need you to direct him through it, and you don’t seem to want to either, instead perching yourself by the kitchen window, lighting up a cigarette.

Bucky pulls his hat off his head as he reaches the hallway, swallowing thickly before he pushes open the last door. A soft glow emanates from a lamp on a tall cupboard, giving him enough light to make out the bundled shape on the small bed in the corner. Bucky finds himself carried closer, and soon he’s staring down at the sleeping boy, his heart in his throat.

He’d grown so much… Last time Bucky had seen him, Alessandro had been one, still a baby really. Gone was the cot, in its place now, a small single bed. He sniffs, seeing he was right all those years ago when he’d said the boy would take after you, but he’s more than a little surprised to see how much of a resemblance he carries to himself.

Entirely ignoring your warning about waking him up, Bucky sits himself down on the edge of the bed, and lets his hand reach out to trace the edge of his son’s face, the soft skin warm from the many blankets you had him piled under. He recognises the duvet from your own old shared bed and sighs.

Ale’s curly hair is coarse, but soft at the same time, and Bucky smiles to himself as he smooths it down. He can’t believe he’d missed so much of his boy’s life. Not just during the war, but before it too.

He’d been an immature, stupid kid, never home, always out, always looking for some kind of trouble to get himself into.

And he’d found it too.

Bucky had met you as a teenager, both of you coming from immigrant families from Italy, and you’d fallen in love hard and fast. You’d always been tough, a little prickly, but he’d side-stepped your defences and you’d been wrapped around each other’s fingers. When he’d gotten you pregnant, he’d done the decent thing, and the thing he’d wanted to do anyway, and married you.

But that’s when things started going downhill.

Work was hard to come by, every able-bodied boy in Brooklyn was already hanging around by the docks hoping to get something, anything to help support their families. Bucky had managed a job here and there, but it was never permanent, never stable. He’d turned to less ordinary means of making money, pickpocketing, small-time theft, gambling.

You’d started to fight. You had expectations of him, to provide for his son at the very least, and yet he was too fat-headed, too stupid to listen to you. You’d always told him he was going to get in trouble, and when he did, it would leave you and Ale on your own. You’d been right, like you always were.

Bucky sighs, and moves to stand, but soft stirring makes him pause, and soon he’s looking into blinking hazel eyes, the boy rubbing them tiredly for a moment as he sits up.

“Daddy?” He asks quietly, and the excitement doesn’t seem to be there, making Bucky worry for a moment, until Ale seems to wake up more and he scoots closer.

“Daddy!?”

“Yeah, pal, it’s me, I’m home…” He relishes in the feel of his son scrambling into his lap, his little arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and Bucky feels his eyes sting, vision blurring just slightly.

“Daddy! I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Ale, more than anything.”

“Are you stayin’?!”

Bucky hesitates, but shakes his head, stroking the side of Ale’s face as he sits himself more comfortably on his lap.

“No baby, not here, but I’ll be at Grandma’s… but you can come see me whenever you want, okay?” Ale seems to dull a little, but his fingers catch around the dogtags under Bucky’s shirt and he pulls them free, playing with them for a moment, his big eyes travelling over the etched words.

“Okay!” He says then, and Bucky chuckles, ruffling his hair a little.

“Alright buddy, you gotta go back to bed okay? Or your Mama will kill me.” He pauses, thinking for moment before talking again.

“You in school now?”

“Uh-huh!”

“How ‘bout I pick you up tomorrow afternoon?”

“Okay!” He helps the boy climb back into bed, under all the covers and tucks him in, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight, Al, I love you.”

“Love you too, daddy… See you tomorrow!”

When Bucky steps out from the bedroom, closing the door behind him, he doesn’t expect to find you in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

For a moment you only stare at one another, until Bucky sighs.

“I missed you as well, Vivi.”

You don’t reply at first, adjusting your arms to cross in front of you, but he does notice the quick once over you give him.

“You back for good or they sending you off again?”

“Unless I magically grow another arm, I’m home for good.” Bucky mimics you, leaning against the opposite wall.

You nod and shift, eyes lingering on his missing limb for just a moment.

“Are you staying with your mother?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

He isn’t quite expecting that, or the harshness behind it and he blinks, swallowing.

“We’re fine. We’ve been fine for five years. You don’t get to come back and just appear in our lives all of a sudden. I won’t let you toy him around with the same broken promises and bullshit you did me, got it?”

Bucky feels a pang of hurt, but he knows you have every right to say this to him, knows that before he went to war he hadn’t been the best father or husband. He knows doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. He knows it’s very likely he’ll never get it.

“Alright.” He says, taking a deep breath and nodding. Your eyes narrow.

“‘Alright’? That’s it?”

Bucky nods again.

“Alright, no more bullshit.” He confirms, and means it.

“You’ll find a job— a real one?”

“I will.” He knows earning your trust will be hard. Not just because of who you are naturally, but because he’d already had it once, and shattered it into pieces. But it's something he has to do.

You may never love him again, but he’ll prove to you he’s changed, even if it's the last thing he does.

Bucky pushes away from the wall and places his hat back on his head.

“I told Ale I’d pick him up from school tomorrow.”

You scoff in disbelief but he ignores it.

“Which one is it, what time?” He asks instead. You seem to suck on your teeth for a few seconds before you give up the information.

“Queen Street. Three PM.” Bucky nods, and not wishing to out stay his welcome, he steps past you and makes his way back to the front door.

As he pulls it open, you move to hold it as he steps through, leaning against the wood for a moment as he turns back. He’d opened his mouth to bid you goodnight but he finds himself unable to speak at the momentary softness drawn across your features, your eyes turned-down.

“Thank you for coming to see him.” The depth in your voice makes his throat run dry for a few seconds.

“And… I am glad you came home. Safe.” You add a moment later, eyes darting around the hall.

“O-of course. ‘Course.” He isn’t sure what else there is to say, or what else he should say, so he steps back and tips his hat at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You don’t reply, just watching him for a few seconds before you quietly close your door.

Bucky Barnes had come home from the war, but nothing in the past five years compares to the task ahead of him.

—-

“Buck! How ya been?!”

Bucky grins widely as he’s pulled into the arms of one Steve Rogers. Once upon a time, Bucky would’ve needed to bend down, but in the five years since he’d seen the blond last, the previously scrawny kid had somehow transformed into a tall, muscular man.

Not quite unrecognisable, Bucky had had to hide his slight shock upon entering Valentino’s and seeing his old friend. On the phone that morning Bucky had known the voice before Steve even had a chance to tell him. Steve had apparently heard through the grapevine that Bucky had returned, and invited him down to the local Italian bar. Bucky had needed to check twice that he’d heard the name of the place correctly when Steve told him.

Valentino’s was a mob place, everyone knew that.

“Come on, sit down…” Steve ushers Bucky into a booth, but turns toward the barman. He doesn’t speak, he simply raises his finger as if to get his attention before turning back around and taking a seat across from Bucky.

“S’good to see you, Buck.” Steve starts and Bucky smiles.

“Yeah, you too, pal. Been busy I see…” He trails off as the barman approaches, bottle of whiskey and two glasses in his hands. He sets them down between the two men and Bucky eyes the way Steve hardly acknowledges the other man, simply reaches forward and pours a healthy amount of amber liquid into each cup.

“Bit early for drinking, don’t ya think?” Bucky lifts a brow, even as he takes the glass Steve knocks toward him, clinking the rim against the blond’s before taking a sip. He scrunches up his nose.

“Like hell it is! My best pal returns from the war and that’s not celebration enough to drink?” Steve shakes his head, and then points at him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t come to your Mama’s door last night and drag you out.”

“I think you mean you’re lucky. She would’ve throttled you first.” Bucky scoffs, and the two men share a laugh.

But Bucky can’t stop his eyes from wandering around the bar, curiosity and skepticism filling him. Steve notices and follows his gaze for a moment.

“After you left, I got busy ingratiating myself.” Steve grins wickedly, his face still seemingly filled with boyish innocence as he does. Steve’s family had come from Ireland, but he’d grown up thoroughly in an Italian neighbourhood.

“I can see that.” Bucky says with a nod. Steve doesn’t make to say more on the matter, but he does place his drink back on the table and lean forward slightly, face turning more serious.

“Listen, now you’re back, I’m gonna set you up. I know you’re staying with your Ma, but I’m gonna sort you a place of your own.”

Bucky blinks and immediately begins shaking his head, frowning.

“Steve, you don’t—”

“—I do. You took the fall for me, you got arrested and sent off to europe… I owe you, pal, plain and simple.” Steve nods matter-of-factly and leans back again in his seat.

“Especially since you went and got your arm blown off.”

Bucky knows there’s no arguing with Steve, not when he’d made up his mind already. He can only roll his eyes and shake his head.

“We’ll even get you some work, I know there’s some spots coming up on a—”

“—Legitimate work only, Steve.” Bucky says sharply, sternly, and Steve eyes him for a moment.

“I can’t go getting arrested again. There’s no war to save me from prison this time. I got a family I need to provide for.” Bucky sighs. Steve throws back half his drink.

“I thought Vivi left you.” He asks bluntly and Bucky rolls his eyes once more.

“That doesn’t mean I just stop being Ale’s father. I gotta do what I can now that I can. That means staying out of trouble.”

Steve watches him for a moment longer, considering his words before he nods.

“Alright. Well, I can still help you out with that. You busy this afternoon? We’ll take your stuff to your new place, and I’ll bring you to meet one of my bosses.”

Bucky feels a slight thrill of excitement, not at the prospect of meeting one of Steve’s bosses but at having seemingly gotten himself some form of work already. But he frowns, processing all of Steve’s words fully.

“I— I can’t this afternoon, I’m picking Ale up from school at three…”

Steve waves his hand.

“Fine, after that. Just meet me back here when you’re finished.”

At three o’clock on the dot Bucky picks Ale up from his school and walks with him home. He’d seen your figure at the kitchen window as they’d approached the apartment building, your face showing a flash of relief when you’d registered their forms on the sidewalk.

“I’m about to meet with a, uh, friend, about a job and a place to live…” He tells you when you meet them at the front door, a smile and kiss for Ale, a guarded gaze for himself.

“A job?” You ask, taking a drag of your cigarette before blowing it off to the side.

“Where?”

Bucky isn’t even sure himself, and for a moment he considers making something up, but he knows lying to you is not the best way to start his return.

“Dunno just yet. I’ll find out when I meet with him.”

Your eyebrow lifts subtly, but you nod anyway, getting ready to move back inside when Bucky places a hand on the door, to stop it from closing fully. You turn to look back at him, somewhat annoyed.

“I’ll… I’ll let you know where I move… so that Ale can come see me whenever he likes…” Bucky informs you, and for a moment he sees the steel in your gaze soften, before you’re rolling your eyes.

“Mm-hmn.”

Bucky places his hat back on his head and takes off walking.

At least you hadn’t told him to go fuck himself.

—-

Steve makes good on his word, and gets Bucky a mostly legitimate job.

‘Legitimate’ because he was working as a driver and chauffeur, and ‘mostly’ because his boss was one Don Carlo Marinelli.

At first, Bucky had balked. He had thought perhaps he’d be given a job on the docks, or in a storehouse, not driving around one of the most dangerous and powerful men in Brooklyn… Still, it paid well, he wasn’t technically involved with anything unsavory, and it meant he got to drive one of the nicest vehicles he’d ever seen.

Over the next months, Bucky settles back into civilian life. He rented his own apartment, on weekends he wasn’t working he’d take Ale out, and even your coldness seemed to be slowly thawing. It was the first time in a long time Bucky hadn’t found himself drowning under expectation, trying to get atop of it only to pour more water in… it felt good. A small part of him missed the adrenaline and unpredictability of his time at war, but a bigger part of him knew those days were gone.

Or so he had thought.

Everything changes that night.

Bucky is sat back in the driver's seat of the car, a cup of coffee in his hand. He mindlessly whistles softly, his foot tapping out of time. Don Marinelli had entered the small church an hour or so ago, some meeting with some folk Bucky hadn’t dared to eavesdrop about on the drive over. The less he knew, the better.

The night was still and cold and aside from Bucky’s own clouded breath, there was not a single movement up or down the road.

That made it all the more unusual when there was movement.

Bucky frowns to himself when he sees the man walking toward him on the opposite side of the street, his head down, hat low, a dark coat wrapped around him and his hands stuffed in his pockets. There was just something not right about it, which is why as the man draws nearer, Bucky slumps down in his seat, sliding so his form wouldn’t be so easily spotted under the street lamps.

He needn’t have worried about being caught however, as the man simply turns, and walks right into the building Bucky had seen Marinelli enter an hour ago. He pulls a hand from his pocket as he moves, but before he disappears completely, Bucky sees a glint of light bounce off something in his hand.

Bucky certainly was no expert in mob dealings, but he knows that’s not a good sign.

With his heart pounding in his ears, Bucky scrambles, seatbelt flung off his waist, he leans over to the passengers side glovebox and all but yanks the compartment open. He knew there were guns in the car, he’d seen them before, though had never dared touch them. Now though, he grabs the hefty pistol and kicks the door open, not bothering to lock or secure the vehicle behind him as he races across the street.

His mind and body work completely on instinct as he edges inside the doorway, gun raised expectantly and eyes flicking about for signs of the man in the dark coat, but he’s only met with an empty church foyer.

Keeping his pace even and his steps quiet, Bucky moves toward where he can hear muffled voices, and finds himself in the center aisle of the main hall. At the far end, a group of men stand nearby the altar, smoking cigars, with glasses of something Bucky assumes is not holy communion in their hands.

For a moment, he falters, whips his head around searching for the other man, wondering if perhaps he’d been too worked up, too ready to jump into some action.

At the same time he notices Steve amongst the men, the blond calls out to him in confusion, but another sound catches in Bucky’s ears and it's as if time moves slowly for several seconds.

Steve’s calling of his name makes several of the men, including Don Marinelli turn toward Bucky, but a metallic clinking sound over his head makes him spin on his heels. Above Bucky, on the balcony of the upper pews, he spies the man he’d followed inside, knelt down and with a gun poised in his hands, ready to open fire.

Adrenaline and training dictate Bucky’s next moves, and with two shots, he doesn’t even hear, the man on the balcony stumbles back. Commotion erupts behind him, but it isn’t until the would-be-attacker tumbles over the edge, his body falling at Bucky’s feet with a sickening ‘thud’, that time returns to normal for him.

“What the fuck!?”

“Who the hell is this guy?!” Various shouts and words force Bucky back to reality, and he lowers the gun, tearing his eyes away from the bloodied body on the floor.

“Buck? What the hell—” Steve has jogged over to him, his eyes wide as he looks between Bucky and the man on the ground for a moment, before he places his hands on Bucky's shoulders, shaking him slightly.

“You okay, pal? What the hell was that?”

Bucky shakes his head, frowning as he tries to answer that question for himself.

“I— I was waitin’ for Don Marinelli, like I was supposed to, and I just saw this guy come out of nowhere up the street… it didn’t look right, he didn’t… look right…” Bucky trails off, his eyes fixating on his boss as the older Italian man nears.

“Boss, it's an Irish…” Another guy yells, and Bucky casts his eyes back to where a few of the younger men seem to be inspecting the body on the ground.

“You saw him coming in here with a gun and decided to follow?” Marinelli asks, seemingly baffled, but there's a hint of awe in his voice too. Bucky ducks his head a little, nodding.

“Yes, sir.”

Without warning, another hand comes down on Bucky’s shoulder, clasping firmly and pulling him forward slightly.

“You hear that boys? Where the fuck was your drivers, huh?!” Marinelli jokes, and a round of awkward chuckles echo through the church. When Bucky looks back up, Marinelli is tipping his chin up at Steve.

“You two know each other, Rogers?” He asks, and Steve nods.

“Grew up together, Buck just got back from the war.”

“So that’s where you learned to shoot like that, huh?”

Bucky nods awkwardly and swallows as the Don pats him on the back once more, before giving him a steady once over.

“Tell you what, figlio, you come see me tomorrow, we’ll see what we can do about some sort of promotion.” He gives Bucky another firm pat.

“Uh, yes sir. Thank you, sir…” He watches blinking as the Don moves back to the others, all of which look more than ready to wrap this meeting up, or atleast find a new location.

Behind him, some of the lackeys appear to be talking quietly over the body.

Bucky looks at Steve.

“What… what just happened…?”

Steve sideeyes him, a shit eating grin pulling across his lips.

“You, pal, just saved the lives of the most powerful men in Brooklyn.”

Bucky swallows and sucks in a sharp breath.

He doesn’t seem to let it out until the next morning.

—-

You sigh exasperatedly as you peek out your kitchen window, and put your cigarette out on the sill.

“Ale, are you ready il mio amore?” You hear an excited shout back from the hallway and slip on your shoes and coat. Your son bounds from his bedroom and makes straight for the front door.

“Aye! Get your coat and hat or you’ll get cold!” You scold lightly, and watch as Ale quickly pulls his jacket from the hook by the door and tugs it over his arms, he takes his hat in his hands but as you near him, you bend down to place it neatly on his head, pushing back some of his curls.

“You look very handsome tesoro.”

“Thank you Mama!” He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, making you chortle in surprise. You take his hand and walk with him out of the apartment, and down to the sidewalk.

Waiting for you, as you’d seen from your window, is Bucky.

Dressed impeccably in a brown suit and hat, his hand in his pocket as he leans against the side of a black car, he waits patiently for the two of you. You eye the vehicle with some disdain, but focus on the man before you as Ale releases your hand to run and jump into his arm. Bucky catches him skillfully, his smile turning brighter as he holds your son near, pressing his lips to his cheek before he puts him back on the ground.

You can’t help but take in the quality of his clothes now that you’re closer, the shine of his shoes, new and unscuffed, his face recently shaved (though you see he was keeping a light stubble that suited him), and his hair cut. You see as much when he removes his hat to tip at you.

“Daddy, can I sit in the front seat?!”

“You can sit on the passenger's side, make sure you buckle yourself in!” Bucky turns from you to tell Ale, and you both watch for a moment as he hops inside the car, situating himself inside. When the door closes, Bucky turns back to you and you cross your arms over your chest.

“Must be some job.” You say, and Bucky shrugs noncommittally.

“Has its perks.”

“I bet.” You stare at each other for several seconds, you glaring, and Bucky with his relaxed and easy smile. It was infuriating.

“You know, something funny happened the other day when I went to see my landlord.” You begin and Bucky shifts his weight, frowning almost convincingly.

“Oh?”

“Hmn. I went to pay my rent and he told me ‘it’s already been taken care of’, which I think you may understand is very confusing for me…” You attempt to keep your voice even, after all, you were out on the street.

“It’s been taken care of for the next year, so if he tries to weasel anything more outta you, just let me—”

“—I don’t need you to pay my rent!” Your previous attempts at calm go right out the window, and you step forward, hissing at him with your finger pointed toward his chest. Bucky’s dumb act falls away and he purses his lips.

“I have managed just fine, I can pay my own bills.” The argument is futile. You’d already decided if he were going to be dumb enough to waste his money on your rent, you’d let him. Rubbing your temples, you take a few deep breaths.

“I don’t doubt you’ve managed just fine,” Bucky begins, and you straighten as he steps away from you and draws the car door open.

“But a man’s gotta provide.” And with that, he’s sliding into the driver's seat and closing the door behind him.

You watch, somewhere between infuriated and bewildered as the car rumbles to life. Absently you wave goodbye to Ale who peeks at you through the window, and when the vehicle has disappeared down the end of your street, you seeth. Your mind whirls and you draw blood from your lip with how hard you chew on it.

What the hell kind of game was he playing? Where had he suddenly gotten all this money from?

You turn on your heel and march the opposite way, your destination clear in your mind.

Even when the man at the bar puts his hands up and tells you they’re closed, you roll your eyes and keep moving through Valentino’s.

“Hey! Lady, I said you couldn’t be in here!” The barmen suddenly steps in your way, a tall, burly man with a moustache and a mean glare.

“Get the fuck out of my way, I’m looking for Steve Rogers.” You move to push past him, but he steps in your way again, hands lifting to grab you when a sound from behind stops the both of you.

“Vivi?”

“Steve.” You let out in some relief, and gesture to the man blocking your way. Steve stands behind the barman, clearly having just stepped out of the back office, and he eyes the two of you evenly.

“Go on, Frank, leave her alone… I don’t wanna be the one to patch you up if you don’t.” You smirk as the burly man reluctantly steps aside, and you straighten yourself as you begin moving toward the blond.

“To what do I owe the pleasure…?” He shoves both hands in his pockets and smiles down at you as you approach, but you can only let your face fall back into a glare as you remember why you came.

“I want to talk with you.”

Less than five minutes later, you’re sat across from Steve at his desk, two glasses of whiskey between you, and you throw yours back quickly. Steve follows the movement and with a slight smirk, he leans forward and refills your glass.

“What’s he up to?” You demand, and Steve’s eyebrows lift.

“What are yo—”

“—You know exactly what I’m talking about Rogers, don’t you dare bullshit me.” You warn, and the blond closes his mouth and sits back in his chair. For a moment he just looks you over, and you wonder what exactly he’s thinking.

“Where has the money come from? What the fuck kind of job has he taken on? Because I will not let him build up Ale’s hope that he’s gonna stick around, if in a year or so he’s got his ass thrown in prison!”

Steve lifts his hands in a calming motion then, and he sits forward again, relenting.

“Look, Viv, Buck has changed. Even I’ve noticed. Other people have noticed too…”

You frown at that and squint.

“This isn’t some petty thievery ring, alright?”

“What has he done?” You bite out each word and Steve lets out a sigh.

“Carlo Marinelli hired him. Bucky was his driver, nothing more. Then, six months ago, he busts into a meeting between some of the Dons, shoots dead an assassin and suddenly he’s Marinelli’s golden boy. Aside from me, that is…”

You feel your blood boil, a vein in your forehead ticking with each passing word.

“He’s… he’s involved with the Mafia?!”

Steve nods, and tips back his whiskey, quickly pours another, and tips that back too.

“Marinelli made him a caporegime. He’s uh… kind of important now…” Steve leans over and even though you hadn’t finished the last drink he poured for you, he fills up your glass more.

“That’s where the money has come from? The clothes, the car?” Steve nods. You’d known Steve through Bucky for years, the pair had been together when you’d first met Bucky, and after your estranged husband had gone off to fight, you’d heard rumours about Steve and the Mafia. You knew they had to be true, because why else would he be running a known mob joint? The guy who’d ran Valentino’s before Steve had disappeared years ago.

“Is he in trouble?” You ask suddenly, and Steve blinks, looks as though that wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

“Trouble?”

“Is he going to get arrested? Or is he… will somebody take the fall…?” You don’t know how any of it works, not really. The truth was, you’d grown up around mafiosos and the like. Your father had moved your family from Sicily when you were eight, to help his boss get established in New York, but your mother had left him shortly after.

You knew enough, but the intricacies and relationships of the members still eluded you. Steve cracks a knowing smile then, and shakes his head.

“Not unless he’s really, really stupid. Marinelli likes him. Trust me, he’s basically untouchable.”

Steve insists on calling you a cab home, and you sit in the backseat staring out the window. The rain had just started when you’d left Valentino’s and you find yourself tracing each droplet’s path down your window until you’ve pulled up along your curb and you’re forced to get out.

Climbing the stairs slowly, your mind feels blank and distant and when you’ve finally shut your apartment door behind you, the clicking of the locks seem to snap you free of your daze.

Fine. If Bucky wanted to be a part of the mob, he could be.

You didn’t care.

—-

“You’re kidding?!” Sam pouts, looking up at Steve who stands in the doorway with a hand on his hip and another running through his hair.

“She’s barely able to get out of bed…” Steve confirms, and Bucky eyes him at the worry behind his voice.

“Steve, if you wanna bail, I’ll call—”

“—No. Sharon will be fine. Besides, she would kick my ass if I went to look after her instead of doing this.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment longer but nods.

“Alright, well, we need to figure something else out then. Sharon was an important part of this job… ideas?”

“We could put Steve in a dress.” Sam shrugs and Bucky snorts.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll work… any other ideas?” The three men fall silent for a moment, and they look around the room at each other. On the table between Sam and Bucky were pages of blueprints, time sheets and schedules, bullets, guns.

Tonight’s job was supposed to be a breeze, once Sharon got the manager into his office, they’d pounce and squeeze the safe combination out of him… the only hitch was that without her, they had little opportunity to get in the door.

“I do have an idea… but you probably won’t like it…” Steve says quietly a few minutes later. Bucky looks over at him, frowning.

He’s still frowning ten minutes later, with the phone to his ear and his two companions waiting eagerly. The ringing tone falters for a moment, and then your voice greets him.

“Hello, Vissenta Salvati.”

“Since when did you stop using my last name?!” Bucky demands, unable to stop himself, and he hears a pause on the other end before you scoff.

“When you pawned our wedding rings and never bought them back, stronzo. What the fuck do you want?”

Bucky flounders for a moment, and glares.

He’d forgotten about that particular mark on his pre-war personality. He’d needed the money for gambling, he’d been so sure he was gonna win big…

“I have a favour to ask…”

“The answer is no.”

“Hear me out! I… I’m running a job tonight, the safe in the manager's office at the Bluebell Club… but our gal’s sick. She was supposed to get the manager into the backroom for us…” You stay silent for a long time. Bucky knew you knew what he did now, Steve had confessed that he’d told you everything, but he’d never spoken to you directly about it, nor had you ever brought it up.

“No. I have a baby to look after and far better things to be doing.” You reply shortly. Bucky opens his mouth to plead back when Steve signals for him to hand the phone over.

“Vi? It’s Steve.”

“The answer is still no.”

“I know you’re working tonight, Winnie’s already watching Ale. Trust me, do this for us and I’ll make sure to cut you in decent.”

Bucky frowns in confusion at Steve and purses his lips. How did Steve know what your schedule was, when you were working? And why had he not known his Ma was watching Ale?

He listens as Steve seems to hum and answer a few yes or no questions, before he throws Sam and Bucky a thumbs up.

“Alright. Bucky’ll be by around seven to pick you up.” He hangs up and Bucky cocks his head.

“How do you know what she’s up to?” The flare of jealousy doesn’t go missed, but Steve only rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“I’ve been helping Marinelli run half the businesses this side of town for years, I know who works where and when, that’s my job.”

Bucky calms some.

That made sense…

“I’m going to drop off Sharon’s things with Vi. You make sure you’re on time.” Steve points at him and it’s Bucky who rolls his eyes. When Steve has left the room, he settles back over his planning, double checking everything one last time and trying to distract himself from the fact that you had accepted a cut in on a job.

—-

You check your reflection once more, a little unsure of yourself. It had been stressed to you by Steve when he’d dropped off a box for you, that it was important you wore this dress and these jewels. You’re almost certain you don’t want to know why, but you’re sure it has something to do with whatever man you were going to have to pretend to flirt with tonight.

The deep blue silk fits you like a glove and falls all the way to the floor. Your waist was cinched and your back mostly on display, the scoop neck of the top mirrored even lower at the back.

You don’t let yourself wonder if the diamond necklace and matching earrings were real, it made you worry too much, so you’d continued doing your hair and makeup without another passing thought.

You twist in the mirror of your vanity, and purse your lips at the amount of skin on display from the back. It wasn’t as if it weren’t fashionable, you just weren’t sure you could get away with wearing it…

Your thoughts are muted however, by a swift knocking at the door, and you quickly grab your purse from the bed before making toward it. When it’s opened you have to pause for a moment, your breath hitching in your throat involuntarily at the sight before you.

Bucky looks rather magnificent in his tuxedo, pressed to perfection and pitch black. The lapels of his coat looked like silk, matching the sheen of his bowtie. He’d been looking away from the door when you’d opened it, and so when he does turn, lips pulled in a smile, you have to snap yourself out of your reverie.

“Well, look at you…” He preens, and you try not to let yourself feel like a teenage girl again. You knew better.

“I did my best.” You brush him off, but he doesn’t give in, stepping in toward you slightly.

“I’d say your best is pretty damn good, sweetheart…” You swallow, and tear your eyes from his to where he’s lifted a hand for you.

Gingerly, you place your own atop his and let your door lock behind you as you’re led from the apartment building.

Bucky opens the door of the car for you, and helps you inside, and you have to force yourself to focus. This wasn’t anything but a job. That was all. Anything else was just for show.

On the drive over, a man you’re introduced to as Sam shows you pictures and goes over your brief role in the escapade. You would lure the manager, one Sheldon Mays, into bringing you into his office, at which point Bucky and Steve would take over, they’d get the safe code from Mays and you would meet them back at the car, with Sam playing driver. It was simple enough, straightforward enough, you didn’t see how anything could go wrong.

You were mistaken, clearly.

Everything had gone perfect to start with, you’d caught the attention of Mays, and had easily endeared yourself to him. After that, it had only taken a few suggestive touches and words and you were clinging to his arm, giggling girlishly as he led you up some stairs and into a large, lavish office.

“This is where the magic happens, darling…” He says, spreading his arms and you turn to look at him, coy smile on your face as you flutter your eyelashes.

“It is.” You confirm. It wasn’t that hard for you to fake this level of flirtatiousness. Once upon a time, this had been the exact woman you were… Alluring and quick-witted. Now you were just annoyed.

Your eyes skip towards the door briefly as you situate yourself on the edge of the desk in the room, and Mays begins sauntering toward you.

Where were the boys? You had thought they were supposed to be waiting for you, hidden…?

“You’re just the prettiest dame I’ve ever seen… wrapped up all in silk, hmm?” You focus back on Mays as he nears, his hands gravitating toward your hips and you have to calm yourself. You place your hands on his chest, running them up and down for a moment.

“The prettiest?” You contend, and he hums, leaning his face closer to yours. You barely suppress the urge to dart back.

Where the hell were they?!

“The prettiest. I swear… Now, why don’t you let me unwrap my present, hmn?” His hands climb higher, skimming over your back and to the thin straps on your shoulders, hooking his fingers around them. You feel your heartbeat stutter, and suddenly, you realise something about the job has gone very, very wrong.

But you were still in the office. The only thing between you and the safe under the desk was this man and his code. You could salvage this, right?

It was that, or actually have sex with this man.

Steeling yourself, you take one last look at the door over his shoulder before you let your hands curl up around his neck. His fingers have drawn the straps of your dress over the curve of your shoulders now, and without warning, you quickly bring your knee up between your bodies, yanking his head down into it with a ‘crunch’ sound.

Mays gasps and splutters, stumbling back from you as you quickly hop down off the desk.

“What the fuck?!” His voice is stifled by the hand he holds over his nose and mouth, a thick smattering of blood clearly dripping from his nose. You watch him for a moment, to see how delayed he is, and when he seems to stay put, groaning and whining, you quickly circle the desk, pulling open whatever draws you can see, until you find it.

You lift the gun easily, despite the foreign feeling of it in your hand, and step back around.

“The combination to your safe?!” You demand, and finally, Mays straightens some, confusion still clouding his bloodied features as he blinks at you.

“What the fuck?!” He repeats again, looking around as if there were others in the room, but as you were already painfully aware of, there wasn’t.

“The combination to your fucking safe, or I’ll shoot you in the cock!” You growl, moving near again, and Mays flinches.

“Lady, if it’s money you want, I’ll give you money, but that safe only has—” You flick the safety off and aim at his crotch. He yelps a little and attempts to shield it.

“Okay! Fine! Fine! It’s eight-four-one-nine!”

Adrenaline fuels you and you get an idea.

“You do it.”

“What?”

“Open the fucking safe idiota!”You wave the gun at him and he relents, keeping his hands out where you can see them as you follow him behind the desk, watch as he rolls up an area of carpet.

“Hurry up.” You snap, nervous energy filling you now. What would happen if you were caught? What were you going to do with Mays? You couldn’t just let him go…

You jump a mile, almost yelping when the office door barges open, and you raise the gun to whoever it is, your eyes wide and panicked. You’re met with the sight of Steve and Bucky, both a little worse for wear, and you wonder if the bruises and cut lips are why they’re late. You’re willing to bet it is.

“What the— Vivi…?” Bucky lowers his weapon when he spies you behind the desk, Mays on his knees before you. Despite your anxiety and your worry, you give him an annoyed look and shrug.

“You took too long… Did you really think I was gonna fuck this sap?” You tap Mays with the barrell of the gun, and he jumps, but continues hurriedly inputting the safe code.

Steve and Bucky quickly step inside, shutting the door behind them and moving over to you.

“There was an incident in the—”

“—Later, Buck.” Steve cuts him off, and grabs Mays by the collar as the door to the safe finally pops open. You watch him shove the man roughly toward a lounge in the corner, but let your eyes turn back to the contents of the safe, narrowing them when you see.

“What the fuck is this?” You demand, not a single dollar note in sight, but Bucky doesn’t seem fazed, he simply leans in and grabs the stack of papers, flicking through them.

“They’re bills of sale, for horses, houses, establishments.”

You splutter.

“Horses?! Horses?!”

Bucky looks up at you then, understanding on his face as he grabs another stack, handing them to you.

“We get these to our guys, this turns into gold. Trust me.”

You frown, but say no more as you watch Bucky grab the last pile of pages.

“Steve?” He says, and the blond gives him a curt nod.

“I’ll follow you out.”

Slight confusion colours you, but Bucky has gently taken you by the arm, and led you from the office before you can ask. He doesn’t take you down the way you’d come in, instead you end up exiting into an alleyway, making quickly for the car.

Steve joins you shortly after, climbing into the backseat, squishing you into the middle, between Bucky and him. You watch as Steve casually hands his gun to Bucky, who in turn, tosses it out the window once you’ve made it several blocks away.

Nobody really says much until you’re back at what you assumed to be Bucky’s new apartment, and you stand by the kitchen window, cigarette burning away in your fingers as you peek into the next room. There had been a group of men waiting when you’d returned, older looking men, and Sam had ushered you off to the kitchen to wait.

But through the open doorway, you can see the men counting through the slips of paper, clips of money being placed and moved over different piles, and you wonder what it all means.

You see Bucky pointing at people and papers, his voice low and commanding and despite yourself, it sends a shiver down your spine. You’d never really seen him so assertive or serious, and even if he was involved with organised crime, the clear ambition and talent he has for it makes your belly flop.

You see him lean forward to point at something on the table, explaining something you can’t hear, but in that moment he happens to look up and catch your eye.

Swallowing harshly, you move from your place to the other end of the kitchen, and wait, skin feeling too warm.

Bucky drives you back, the whole car ride tense and hot. When he turns onto your street, you direct him to a side alley by your building, where no one would see you arriving home so late with a man. He doesn't argue that he’s still technically your husband, and you’re glad for it.

“You were incredible, Vi, you saved this job…” Bucky begins once the car is off, darkness engulfing the interior of the vehicle. You look over at him.

“Somebody had to.” You snark, but it's half hearted. You know it. He knows it.

“Never thought I’d see you holding a gun.” He continues, and you have to laugh.

“If you’re lucky, it’ll be the last time.”

Bucky stares at you in the dark of the car, his eyes big and soft and you feel your chest thump. He leans over to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you let him, eyes lingering for a moment on his hand.

How you end up on the backseat, you have no idea.

Your dress has been pulled up around your waist, probably like Mays had wanted to do to you earlier, your thighs spread wide over Bucky’s lap. You have your hands set on the seat behind his shoulders, helping you move, his hand grasping roughly at your hip as you bounce desperately on his cock.

“Holy fuck, jesus christ, you feel so good darlin’.” Bucky mutters, strained, lips pressed to your breast, but he adjusts himself and takes your nipple into his mouth, once more making you moan, one of your hands flying to clutch at the back of his head.

You hadn’t had sex in so long, and despite all his shortcomings, Bucky always knew exactly how to love you, always knew your body better than anyone else ever could. You cuss sharply when he slides down in his seat more, feet now flat to the ground, and rolls his hips up to meet yours. Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling on the short strands and you feel his chuckle dance across your skin.

“Like that, baby? Right there?” He punctuates himself with a deep thrust that sends you scrambling for a hold, and you end up with a hand pressed to the ceiling, the other held to the car seat behind you, for better leverage to ride him.

“Uh-huh! Per favore non fermarti, continua, non smettere di scoparmi! (Please don't stop, keep going, don't stop fucking me)” You ramble, eyes squeezing shut, tongue reverting back to what you know best. You feel your orgasm coming, right under the surface of your skin you can feel the prickling sensation.

Bucky makes a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, and without warning, your chin is grabbed roughly, yanked down to his face and he kisses you open mouthed, wet and warm, his tongue sliding all over yours, making your stomach turn to mush.

“Fuck, I love hearing you speak like that,” He tells you, cussing under his breath.

“Dimmi quanto lo vuoi tesoro, hmn? Tell me how good it feels honey…”

You gasp sharply at the sound of Bucky’s voice rolling over your shared language, the words sending you tumbling over the edge into bliss.

You shake in his hold, clutching onto his shoulders as you ride it out. Bucky groans beneath you, panting and huffing to himself as he thrusts deep once, twice, three times more before you feel the warmth bloom inside you.

Maybe you should have been angry or annoyed he’d not pulled out, but absently you roll your hips against his, and you’re quickly too distracted by the pleasant sensation of dripping with his cum to care.

When you’ve tidied yourself up, Bucky wraps his jacket around your shoulders and draws you near with his fingers under your chin once more. He presses his lips to yours firmly, and you can’t stop yourself from giving in.

Right when you think he may push you back and fuck you again, he pulls away and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, Vivi.” A lump rises in your throat, wanting to force its way out of you, but you swallow it back.

You watch from your kitchen window as his car pulls out of the alley, and disappears down the street.

—-

The Bluebell Club job is the first, but not the last time you get involved with Bucky’s business. As he works his way up within The Family, he brings you with him.

You put your foot down about the dangerous things, but every so often Steve or Sam call you up, needing information on a location. It usually just required you making an outing to whatever store or business they were planning on hustling, taking note of if they had any security, or what the layout was, where certain offices might be. It was good money, better than the waitressing or maid work you’d been doing for five years.

As for Bucky…

You don’t welcome him back, not entirely. He still comes every weekend to see your boy, occasionally invites you along too. Despite the fact he seems to be physically around less, busy with work, he was reliable in ways you’d never known him to be. If you called, he was there, and if he was busy, he’d send somebody around.

The first time a scrappy young kid showed up at your door, an apology ready on his lips about how ‘Mr Barnes was in a meeting taking longer than usual but he sent me to throw the ball with Ale’, you’d not be pleased. But Peter, as you’d found out his name was, was a good kid. Bucky had shown up halfway through the evening anyway, still in his fancy suit, but you’d watched from the window as he’d played ball anyway.

Today though, the visit is entirely unplanned and you purse your lips at the man who leans against his car, smiling pleasantly at you as you cautiously approach. You’d been readying yourself and Ale for a grocery trip, seeing Bucky outside your apartment was not expected in the slightest. Ale tugs on your hand when he notices his father, and you only resist for a minute before you let him fly toward him, arms out.

“Daddy!” He exclaims. You watch Bucky catch him one armed, a greeting you don’t exactly hear passing between the two before your estranged husband’s eyes are back on you.

“What are you doing here?” You barely refrain from crossing your arms over your chest, and Bucky adjusts Ale on his hip, cocks his head at you charmingly.

“I wanted your opinion on something.” He says, and you wave a hand.

“What?”

“You have to come with me to see it.” He’s being cryptic, and it strikes a cord of annoyance in you. You scoff.

“As if I have fuck all to do today that I can just drop everything to come with you somewhere?!” You usually tried to behave more civil when Ale was around, you didn’t want your attitude with Bucky to sour his opinion of his father.

Bucky rolls his eyes at your bluster, and steps around to open the back door of the car for Ale, letting him climb in.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important…” You purse your lips again and shake your head at the fact you move forwards anyway, ignoring the helping hand Bucky offers as you too slide into the backseat. You’re forced to keep moving along the plush leather seating however, as you realise a second later that Bucky also follows you inside, and it's then you realise his car was being driven by someone else.

You help Ale with his belt, before doing your own, and stay quiet on the short drive, listening absently as Ale and Bucky discuss sports and his schooling. When the car slows to a stop eventually, you can’t help but peer up in concealed awe at the magnificent townhouses and homes that surround you.

You certainly weren’t in your neighbourhood of Brooklyn anymore, the streets here clean and tidy, with trees lining the road. You keep your awe to yourself even as Bucky helps you out of the car, and you pull your son closer, holding tight to him in the unfamiliar environment.

Bucky leads you up to the open front door of an ornate brownstone house, it's windows shiny and clean, the stoop free of debris of any kind. It looked like the set of a film, you think.

When you’re standing in the foyer, Ale’s big eyes looking around curiously, Bucky makes a wide gesture and grins at you.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” You repeat, completely unsure of what you think. Bucky nods.

“You want my opinion on a house you want to buy?” You lift a brow.

Bucky nods again, and extends his hand to lead you into the living space, already furnished rather simply and you take initiative in moving from room to room, inspecting the home.

Secretly, you are rather impressed. The size of the dining room must fit your entire apartment inside, and when you chase Ale up to the second floor you discover more rooms and bedrooms and offices than you can think of things to fill them with. The third floor holds it's own master bedroom and bathroom, and for a very small second, you get rather jealous at Bucky’s good fortune to be able to afford a whole house such as this.

“What do you think?” He asks again, a little quieter, and you watch Ale run from the main room one more, lost in his own game as he dives under the table. You swallow and eye him evenly.

“It’s alright. A little too big, though I suppose if you’re going to have all your goons stay with you that’s alright.” You tip your nose up just a little, and Bucky chuckles, rubbing his neck.

“Well, I’m glad you like it. I already bought it.” The words hang in the air for a moment, before you catch on them properly and you lower your chin, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Then what the hell am I even here for?!” Annoyance bubbles in you once more and doubles when you see Bucky clearly unphased by it.

“I bought it for you.” He says simply and your face falls blank.

You blink at him, opening your mouth and closing it again.

“Fuck off.” You scoff at last, turning away from him and folding your arms over your chest, but quickly unfold them when he doesn’t laugh or give up on the joke.

“Like hell you bought me a house!”

Bucky stays silent still and you feel your body begin to thrum with nervous energy.

He wouldn’t do that, would he? Why would he buy you a house?

When you look back at him he’s standing quietly in the center of the room, watching you patiently.

“You didn't!” You insist, taking a step toward him, and he only nods his head once.

“I did.”

“Why?!”

He laughs then, a soft pleasant sound that makes your tummy flop around like a fish in a bucket.

“Because I love you? Because I want you and Ale to live somewhere nicer than a piss stained apartment? Because I can? Do I need to list more reasons?”

You shut your mouth, and attempt to ignore his casual proclamation of love, looking around once more, seeing the place in a whole new light.

It was lovely, truly, and seeing as it hadn’t cost you a penny, you could hardly complain. Your mind starts to rush with all the ways you could make this a home; a new rug, a different colour scheme of course… perhaps you’d invite Winnie and Becca to live here, to fill out some of the space, if Bucky hadn’t already bought them a bloody house too.

But you harden a little, narrowing your eyes once more as you focus in on your estranged husband.

“Where will you live, because you can’t just buy me a house and expect to—”

“— I have a house.” He cuts you off and you stop, staring.

“So this is… what? All for me?” You half-scoff again, expecting him to spring the joke on you once more, but he doesn’t. He only nods.

“Do you like it? I-if not, we can find something else. I—”

Your heart quickens at his anxiety and you realise you really haven’t been very grateful. Swallowing your pride, you cross the room and stiffly place a kiss to his cheek.

“I do like it. Very much. Thank you.” You step away again as Ale enters the room, and before you scoop him up, you spy Bucky standing still on the spot, looking rather bashful.

“Guess what, bambino? Qui è dove vivremo!”

“Qui!? It’s so nice Mama!”

“It is. Now go thank daddy.”

—-

The move in is rather easy, seeing as most of your furniture was crappy enough to be replaced anyway, and with Bucky’s small army of suited-mobsters, the task is over and dealt with quickly.

To your chagrin, Bucky insists on at least one (but usually two or three) of his men staying at the house at all times, and the argument you have about it, it's the only time you haven’t seen him back down.

Usually Bucky gave in to you, whether that be because he was going to anyway, or because of your anger, but this time, he puts his foot down. He doesn’t quite yell, but he raises his voice enough over yours to make you fall silent, and while you know you should have been pissed off, all you can think about is how wet it makes you.

You let him fuck you on the desk in the office you’d set up, and you find you don’t mind submitting to him when he’s so assertive like this.

You sleep together more often, usually at his own home, occasionally at yours, but he never stays the night, nor would you be comfortable for him to. He’d made a lot of amends but there’s still something in your chest that aches whenever you look at him, a hurt not yet undone.

The trust he shows in you however, makes your chest ache in different ways. The higher he and Steve move in the mob, he brings you with him, asking you to scout places, bringing you onboard for planning. He listens to you, trusts you. That's more than he ever had before the war.

You bring your mind back to the present when a glass clinks in front of you, and you give Steve a thankful nod, before turning back into the situation at hand.

“We go in by the end of the week, the six of us, hit the safe and the lockbox and—”

“—The end of this week? That’s suicide, They have extra family in town, the place is packed out full of guards!” You cut off the mobster sitting across from you at Bucky’s kitchen table, a tall but stock man named Rollins, his hair slicked back in an almost greasy manner.

For the most part, Bucky’s men were alright, but some of them you had to wonder about…

You were currently gathered to go over the information for a hit on Irish turf. You’d finished giving your assessment of the building some time ago, and it was time for the others to propose their takes. Rollins looks at you, annoyance barely contained on his face, he doesn’t reply to you directly however, turning back toward Bucky who sits at the head of the table.

“If we miss this week, the lockbox changes hands and it’s a whole new mess of scouting out.”

“And if we go this week half of us are going to die!” You repeat once again. Bucky’s eyes swivel to you, and you can see he’s a little bored, mostly tired. Rollins scoffs this time and does address you, waving a hand toward you.

“‘Us’? Lady, you just write down security placements, you ain’t involved in this.”

Your anger flares up and you open your mouth.

“She contributes more than you do, shit-for-brains.” Sam speaks before you get a word out, and you shoot him a grateful look. Rollins waves him off like he did you and looks back to Bucky.

“Boss, you ain’t actually gonna listen to a fuckin’ housewife over me are you?”

You freeze for a moment, realising aside from Steve and Sam, all these guys thought very little little of you, and Bucky could well risk his reputation in backing you up. If he didn’t however, the embarrassment and humiliation would burn.

You aren’t sure you’d ever want to see him again.

Bucky shifts in his seat, and looks between you and Rollins for a moment, before he sighs.

“Vivi, are you sure?”

You feel yourself perk up, your whole body lighting with anticipation and glee and you nod.

“I am. Better to wait it out and have things go smoothly.” There’s another pause, Bucky strokes his chin thoughtfully before he nods.

“We’ll wait.” He says, only a tiny wave of stifled grumbles echoing around the table as the plans and maps are folded and packed up once again. Bucky leans forward though, slapping his hand down over a page Rollins is attempting to take, forcing the other man to look up at him.

“And that’s my fuckin’ housewife, so watch your fuckin’ mouth, huh?” He smacks the other man upside the head and you lean back in your chair, taking the glass of whiskey Steve had pushed toward you earlier, watching as the room slowly clears of people.

Bucky stays in his seat, looking over a few pages in front of him. He all but ignores you, which is fine, as you down the whiskey in one, and listen out for the door to shut with some finality.

You know much like your own home, there were people guarding Bucky’s at all times, so gently pushing back your chair, your move to the kitchen door, shutting it with a click. Bucky looks up then, as if he really hadn’t realised you were still in the room, and you feel the warmth from the whiskey and his words fill your bones as you slink toward him.

“Want me to call Peter to drive you back?” He asks, looking back to his pages. You shake your head, even though he isn’t looking at you, and when you near him, you sink down to your knees. He looks up again, surprise clear on his face as he blinks down at you, your hands travelling over the tops of his thighs and he clears his throat.

“Vivi, I—”

“Pull your chair out.” Whatever he was going to say is forgotten, and he scoots his chair out fully from the table, giving you proper access as you settle between his thighs. Arousal is clear on his face, in the way he watches you keenly, and in his pants, in the way they bulge slightly in the front. He places down the pages in his hands on the table, shifting to lean back ever so slightly in his seat.

“Viv…?” He starts to ask again, but it ends in a sharp, strangled breath as you lean over him, pressing your mouth to the hardness bulging in the front of his trousers. Saliva wets a patch into the material, and he twitches beneath your lips.

“J-jesus, fuck,” Bucky scrambles for his belt, and you help him, smiling to yourself, keeping his eye contact even as he blinks and looks away, a blush high on his cheeks.

You pull his pants down just enough, and quickly sink your mouth over his cock. Bucky releases a deep groan, and you watch as his head tips back, his mouth hanging open. You keep watching him as you begin to bob quickly, letting your hand wrap around the base of him. You care little for aesthetics or how loud either of you are, you let the spittle and pre-cum mix together in sloppy wet sounds as you hungrily all but devour him.

“Shit sweetheart, shit,” He finally gets a hold of himself enough to watch you, groaning as he focuses on the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock, moving quickly, your eyes keeping sight of him, and it's obvious to him you’re working to please. Your hands press against his thighs, spread wide and open and Bucky doesn’t think he knows a better sight than you in front of him, his cock stretching your lips wide, your eyes stuck on him as you swallow him deep.

His hand falls into your hair, caressing and gentle at first, but he pushes it back, holds it away from your face and gets a grip closer to your scalp. He guides your face, grunting softly as you let him move you how he wants, and he meets your lips with little thrusts.

“La tua bocca è così bella, tesoro, così fottutamente buona…” He feels you moan around him and he hisses, releasing your face.

“Keep going baby, s’all yours, keep going.” He leans over your slightly, enough to get his hand to the front of your dress, careful to pull each button apart and not break any, thankful when you helpfully pull your arms from the fabric, and undo your own bra.

His hand finds a breast easily, squeezing the flesh as he relaxes again, letting you work him over how you please as he fondles your chest. God, he loved your tits, wishes he had two arms still for the sole purpose of squeezing both at once. He lets his thumb and forefinger find your nipple, pinches harshly, enough to make you jolt, enough to make you elicit another moan around his cock, and Bucky gasps, loves that sensation.

Your eyes find each other again and Bucky licks his lips slightly, lets his head fall back comfortably as you start sucking harder on him. He’s close, knows you can tell. He keeps your nipple in his fingers, plays with the pebbled flesh, pinches and pulls at it, softly, punishingly, he knows you like it all…

His orgasm rises quickly, and falls over him suddenly, and he gives your chest a last final tug as he rides his pleasure out, spills against your tongue. He feels you swallow around him repeatedly, dragging out the sensitivity until he’s shaking.

His hands clutch at the chair arms, and as you pull away, you swipe around your mouth with your thumb, cleaning any obvious signs of what you’d just done. Bucky blinks lazily down at you, his chest still heaving with effort, though he still wears an expression of stunned surprise. You lean over him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“Lavaggio. Ale ti aspetta a cena.” You tell him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

You leave him there, in his kitchen, pants around his ankles, cock softening in his lap, his eyes following you out.

—-

You look over the top of your sunglasses, up at the buttercream coloured walls and terracotta tiled roof of the villa before you and try to hold back your awe. Nestled in the Sicilian countryside, against the rolling hills of the vineyards surrounding you, you don’t think you’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful, not since you were a child.

The car boot slamming shut reminds you of your company, and you turn just as Bucky sets Ale on the pebbled driveway, and he skitters his way across the stones to grab your hand, hanging off of you, but you don’t mind.

“Mama, Daddy said you grew up here!” He gushes excitedly, his gaze switching between you and the large villa in front of you. Sparing a glance back to Bucky who has now moved to help one of the guards with the bags, you hitch your purse a little higher on your shoulder before leaning down to pick your boy up, shifting him to one hip as you take the first few tentative steps toward the open front door.

“Not here exactly, mi amore. But near here.” You step through into the main foyer of the home and are immediately greeted with the gathered housekeepers who greet you kindly. You’d been informed that only the maid and the chef were permanent residents. You introduce yourself and your son to them in turn, encouraging Ale to speak his best Italian, though his shyness gets the better of him, even though you can see he is intrigued by the new people.

The maid directs you upstairs to the bedrooms, upon asking if Ale would like to see the toybox, and you follow gratefully, peeking behind you when Bucky begins following with your son's bags.

“Can we go to your house?!” Ale asks a small amount of time later, when you’re sitting on the bed watching him play with some wooden toys, and the maid places his clothes from his bags into the cupboards.

“My house?” You question, before remembering his query from when you’d arrived, and you clear your throat, Bucky appearing at the doorway. He leans against it casually with his one arm, the prosthetic he’d been gifted by Don Marinelli looking like he simply had his hand tucked into his pocket. You shift your eyes back to your boy as he crawls closer to you, rolling the wooden car over the tops of your knees on it’s journey.

“My home isn’t there anymore, Ale. It was destroyed.” You say, trying to remain objective about it. It wasn’t as though you spent very long in Italy. Brooklyn was more home for you than Sicily, and yet you still feel some sadness creep into your voice at the thought of your childhood town, bombed out and raided by soldiers of both sides. The damage had been so bad they’d decided to rebuild the town a few miles over instead, the local Don helping to fund most of that, of course.

Don Regio was the brother-in-law to Marinelli, and ran operations out here in Sicily. When Marinelli had decided to vacation to his homeland for the Christmas period, he’d invited Bucky along with him, and in turn, Bucky had insisted you all go. You think perhaps he’d wanted to let you come home, and introduce your son to his roots, but aside from that, you don’t know why he’d insisted so hard you come along.

Still, it was more or less a free trip, and you hadn’t had a holiday in your life, so you’d given in with little thought.

“Ale, why don’t you play with Miss Gianna for a while and let Mama unpack her things?” Bucky speaks up then, nodding toward the maid, who happily kneels down to pluck one of the other toys from the pile on the floor, and soon you’re quickly forgotten. You watch for a moment longer before leaving the room.

It takes you a moment to orient yourself on the top floor of the manor. While the halls were open and let you see down to the lower level, you inspect the various rooms before finding one with your bag. Bucky pauses from where he had been trailing quietly behind you, sensing your discomfort, and immediately steps forward, eyes scanning. Your chest flutters slightly at how attuned he was to you, and how he’d moved to take care of the issue right away, only he too freezes when he sees it.

Your eyes swing to him and from side on you can see the bob in his Adam's apple when he swallows, quickly turning to face you.

“I didn’t— I didn’t put our bags together… one of Regio’s men must have…” He trails off, gesturing back to the stairs, where no doubt your own guard and Don Regio’s loned man must have been taking a check of the house.

You look away from him and back to the bags on the bed, yours on one side, and Bucky’s on the other. Even if you worked together and still remained in close contact, all your guys in New York knew the vague animosity between you and Bucky. They wouldn’t have ever assumed you’d share a room.

Lifting your chin slightly, you shrug as casually as you can muster and move forward.

“It’s a mistake. That’s all.” You take your bags, trying not to let the weight visibly trouble you, and quickly abscond from the room as quick as you can. Bucky is moving behind you, quickly following you as you return to one of the guest rooms you’d spied earlier, a little too late to help you with your bags, even though he holds out his hand as if to do so. You deposit them on your new bed.

“You can have the master room, if you’d like, I will—”

“It’s fine, Bucky. This way I am closer to Ale if he needs anything.” You stare at each other for a moment, and even though a warm breeze blows through the open windows and arches of the villa, you feel a slight shiver down your spine.

In his smart summer suit, skin lightly tanned and his beard a little thicker than usual thanks to the days of travel you’d endured, Bucky looks fine, broad and tall and handsome and you have to push the idea of sharing a bed with him aside. You hadn’t done that since before the war.

His eyes seem to flick over your sundress-clad figure the same way you’d been inspecting him, and after another beatm he simply lowers his head in confirmation, though his eyes don’t leave your face.

“If you prefer.” He says, shuffling and turning to step back out of the room, once again certain if the borders he was and was not allowed to cross. He turns though, and glances back inside at you, and then with an unreadable expression, cocks his head. But he doesn’t say anything, simply gives you a nod before he walks away. You purse your lips, but quickly go about unpacking your things, pushing all thoughts of him aside.

The next few days are filled with many visits to Don Regio and Marinelli’s house, for dinner and lunches and whatever else. There was little talk or discussion of business, which you were glad for, and you were even introduced to the various women of the family and their own children. It was so oddly normal that you begin to forget about the new work you’d endeared yourself to, and begin feeling like you really were just a normal family on holiday together.

Your good mood extends to Bucky too, even though you were far calmer around him now anyways, you don’t bristle or make corrections when one of the women refers to him as your husband in passing.

Christmas itself is an odd affair, with all three families gathering at Don Regio’s for lunch and dinner, presents and gifts and alcohol are passed around freely. Bucky had spoiled Ale all morning with his gifts. A new baseball glove and bat, a fishing rod so the two could fish together, various toys and baubles. You’d already agreed that you wouldn’t buy gifts for one another, but seeing your child so happy and blessed was a gift enough.

It isn’t until well into the night that you finally return home. Bucky carries Ale’s sleeping form back into the villa, and you take the moment to kick your shoes off in your bedroom, before going to tuck him in too.

Your footsteps are quiet on the stone floors, and as you near Ale’s open door you hear soft talking. Creeping closer, you pause by the doorway, just out of sight, but peek your head in enough to see Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, Ale all snuggled up but his hands holding onto his father’s.

“Did you want to go away?” Ale asks, and you realise you’ve walked in on a conversation in progress. Bucky shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. But I had to. I got into trouble and to make it right, I had to go be a soldier for a while.”

“That’s why Mama is always mad at you? Cause you had to go be a soldier?”

Your heart skips a beat at the question and you duck back out of sight, listening carefully to Bucky’s reply.

“No, tesoro. Your Mama is mad at me because I wasn’t very nice for a long time.”

“But I think you’re nice, Daddy!” Ale protests, and you hear Bucky chuckle.

“Maybe now. But before you were born, I was mean. I didn’t take care of her very well. Your Mama was always trying to help me stay out of trouble and I didn’t listen to her.”

You swallow and hear some shuffling of sheets before he continues.

“And when you were born, I should have been around more, but I wasn’t. And then I was gone for a very long time.” The pure sorrow you hear in Bucky’s voice makes your chest and head hurt, and you almost walk away, but your body seems frozen in place.

“I haven’t been a very good father to you, Ale, but I want you to know that there wasn’t a day when I was away that I didn’t think about you or your mama. I love you so much, sei tutto il mio mondo.”

“Ti voglio bene anche io, papà. Non voglio che te ne vada di nuovo…!” Ale’s reply makes Bucky chuckle, but you can see the sad smile on his face in your mind’s eye. You hear the sound of a kiss.

“I won’t. But I have to ask buddy, will you forgive me? For everything?”

“Of course, daddy!”

You have to quietly suck back a breath, and you start away from the door, needing to compose yourself before you see Ale or Bucky.

By the time you make it back to your son’s room, Bucky is gone, and Ale has drifted off, so you simply kiss his head, and adjust his blankets.

You’ve just finished changing into your nightgown when a soft knocking at your door disturbs you, and you look toward the open doorway, half expecting your boy, but instead you find Bucky.

He wears only his trousers and dress shirt, suspenders hanging around his waist and a few of the buttons undone, as if he’d come to see you halfway through getting undressed.

“Yes?”

“I…. I know we said we weren’t going to buy each other gifts…” He begins, and you straighten, feeling your brow fall into a light frown. You’d feel bad if he’d gone and got you something anyway, when you really hadn’t bought him a thing. Bucky holds out his hand toward you, and in it, a small box. It isn’t wrapped, but you don’t blame him seeing as you know he struggled with tasks like that.

Eyeing him cautiously, you step toward him, plucking the box from his fingers gingerly.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s alright. Go on, open it.” He nods to the box and you feel a strange rush of excitement. It was clearly a jewellery box, and as you pull the lid up, your heart stops beating entirely in your chest.

You stare down at the two golden rings, unable to process or think for several moments as you stare at them.

“I… They’re not the rings… I couldn’t find them but… I should never have pawned them in the first place… and I just wanted you to have them back in some way.” Bucky speaks softly, and you finally tear your eyes away from the bands to stare at him instead, your mouth still unable to form coherent words.

“I—” You swallow thickly, blinking back tears that you refuse to let him see.

“Thank you.” You manage, clearing your throat, and shutting the lid of the box again. Bucky watches you carefully, and then with a few short steps, leans close to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“I’m sorry, Vivi.” He says, but all you can bring yourself to do is nod.

He doesn’t linger, bidding you goodnight quickly, and you’re left alone, standing with the ring box clutched tightly in your hands.

You decide then, that you never want to hear him apologise again.

—-

You return to New York in the new year, and things once again settle back into their normal place. You take on a new project for Marinelli, helping set up a new casino to funnel money through and by the time opening night rolls around, you’re rather excited about the whole thing.

Downstairs, patrons are only just beginning to enter, but up in the office, you watch Don Marinelli pop open a bottle of champagne, pouring four glasses. He offers the first to you, and you take it gratefully, watching Steve and Bucky take their own as you all toast.

“Well, I’d say you’ve done a fine job, Miss Salvati. The floor looks classy, and the furnishings are only that what a woman could pick. Well done.” You duck your head gracefully and sip your drink.

“Thank you, Don. It has been a pleasure.” And it had. Dealing in work that was mostly legitimate had been nice for once.

“I hope so. Otherwise you’ll hate me.”

You frown at that and shoot Bucky a questioning glance.

“I’m putting you in charge.” Marinelli says, and you freeze.

You? In charge of the casino?! You’d been under the impression you were simply organising it’s decor and opening party, not that you would be managing the establishment!

“I—”

“—Of course Steve will help you settle in for the next little while, until you learn the ropes. But I don’t doubt you’ll make me lots of money.”

You look between all the men in the room, and you see the momentary surprise on Bucky’s face for a second before he schools it.

“Thank you sir! I won’t let you down!” You let the older man pull you in, kissing both of each other’s cheeks, before he downs the rest of his glass.

“Come Steve, let’s join the rabble, shall we?” Marinelli beckons Steve out of the office, and after a quick congratulatory kiss on the cheek from the blond, he follows his boss out the door, closing it behind him.

You look around the manager's office, realising now that all this was yours, and you too down the rest of your glass.

“I… I can’t believe it…” You mutter, turning to face where Bucky stands, a small smile pulled across his cheeks. He shrugs.

“Marinelli has always liked you.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No clue.” You turn back around to inspect the furnishings you’d put there, and in a moment of girlish excitement, you round the desk and take a seat.

Bucky watches you, amusement clear on his features, and he places his champagne down, stepping around the large, ornate desk.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” He says softly, and you can’t even help yourself from shooting him a grin as you stand once more, now rearranging a few things to how you’d like them. Bucky steps beside you, and you pause when he covers your hand on a paperweight with his own, stopping you to turn you around.

Nervousness overcomes you then, as he steps even closer, backing you against the desk.

“We should… join the party…” You begin, but his hand is already trailing down to the front of your dress, and you follow the movement with your eyes as he begins to gather the fabric up, your breath hitching when he drops to his knees.

You don’t need encouragement to wiggle back onto the desk slightly, widening your thighs as he slips between them, one finger pulling your panties to the side as he leans in.

“Party’s right here as far as I’m concerned…”

You bury your hand in his hair as the first flicks of his tongue over your folds make you gasp, tightening your grip when he nestles in closer, lips working you over quickly.

You shake in his hold as he licks over you like a man starved, covering your mouth with your free hand as you begin to twitch under him.

“Buck! Don’t stop!” You warn pointlessly, feeling how he focuses his mouth around your clit sucking and running his tongue over it in motions until you’re crying out, gripping his hair harshly as your hips tremble against his face.

When he pulls back, he looks proud, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe over his mouth and chin with. You attempt to get your breathing under control, but only a second later, he’s leaning in, kissing you open mouthed, your taste still on his tongue. You’re prepared to climb further back on your desk, and let him fuck you when a knock at your offcie door startles you apart.

“What is it?” Bucky calls out, annoyed, and there’s a pause before the answer comes.

“There’s a situation at the door!” The reply comes through and you and Bucky both share a look.

You fix yourselves quickly, and seeing as this was your club now, you follow Bucky out through the throngs of happy customers, to the main entrance. You can see Steve already out front, his shoulders squared, and you’re only stepping around him, about to ask what the issue is when a deafening bang echoes out. The first is followed by several more, but you don’t have a mind to keep count, somebody’s arm around your middle dragging you to the pavement, a heavy body almost crushing you as people gasp and scream.

The gunshots stop and as you orient yourself, you see a man run down the street, before he ducks inside a dark car, Steve and some others chasing after him. You shift under the weight of the body on top of you and find Sam pulling himself up. You blink up at him in slight shock, even as Bucky makes his presence known.

“Baby? Baby are you alright?!” He’s got his hand on your face, his eyes running over your body and you nod, dazed.

“I’m— I’m fine— What—” He looks away, up at Sam, and you stop speaking.

“He was shooting at her!” He stresses, and the dark-skinned man nods, his eyes scanning the crowds as several other men begin to placate the people outside, promising free drinks as an apology. Bucky’s eyes swing back to you.

“I’ll find them, I swear to god.” He promises, and all you can do is nod as you’re gently helped to your feet.

After a short meeting with Marinelli and some others up in your office, Bucky holding his arm around you the whole time, you have Sam drive you home. All you wanted to do now was see your baby and forget all about your soured night.

Before you leave, Bucky kisses your forehead and once more promises to find the person responsible.

You go home and cry, and then when you’ve calmed down enough, you crawl into Ale’s bed, and hold him until you fall asleep.

You don’t see or hear from Bucky for several days, in which time you begin to worry. It isn’t until almost a week later you receive news that the gunman was found, and the boys were ‘seeing to him’ now. Relief fills your body at that, and even though you somewhat pity the man for what you know he’s likely to endure, you push all thoughts from your mind and go about your day as normally as you can.

You send word to Bucky’s home that he should come for dinner, but you get no reply, and tea time comes and goes without his appearance.

He doesn’t show up for another day, and when he does it’s almost three in the morning.

The loud knocking on your door is annoying enough, let alone when you pull it open to find a bleary-eyed, drunk Bucky, whiskey bottle still in hand. Your whole body tenses up and for a moment you think you’ve travelled back seven years, when he’d come home at all hours of the morning, drunk, sometimes beat up.

But something strikes you as different this time and you realise, when he chokes back a breath, that he’s crying.

“Bucky?”

“M’sorry.” He says, falling forwards, his arm thrown around your neck, and you barely have time to catch him, steadying him against you awkwardly.

“Bucky?!” Your voice is more panicked this time, but he only sobs into your shoulder.

“You could have died.” He rasps, and you feel some understanding settle over you.

You manage to pull back enough to look at his face, and take it in both your hands.

“I didn’t, I’m alright, see?” He half nods, but scrunches his eyes shut again as his breathing gets shallower and shallower, and you aren’t entirely sure if he’s actually taking in air anymore.

“Bucky? James, breathe! You need to breathe!” His knees seem to give out under him as the panic attack takes over, and you aren’t strong enough to hold him up, so you simply move with him to your foyer floor, taking a moment to shut your door behind him.

“Buck, come here, look at me, okay? I need you to breathe baby, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You hold his face again, and coo clamingly as he holds onto the front of your nightgown with one hand. When his eyes do open, he looks around wildly, and he seems distant.

“Viv?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Viv, I can’t— I can’t feel my arm!” He chokes out, panic and confusion in his voice and you realise that he’s not with you right now. He’s in Europe somewhere, bleeding and scared. He continues to ramble about his arm, calling for a medic, for any kind of help, and all you can do is hold him until he calms some, breathing heavily against your chest. You don’t realise you’ve been crying until you get him to follow you into your bathroom, and see yourself in the mirror briefly before you start the water.

Bucky doesn’t let you go, but you don’t plan on going far as he sits in the bath, his eyes empty and red, like he wasn’t there at all anymore. You wash him with hot water, dress him again, and put him to bed, lying close, stroking his hair gently as his breathing softens out.

You don’t sleep.

You let Bucky sleep in the next morning while you ready Ale for school, trying not to let visions of the night before haunt you, but you find yourself thinking back to Bucky’s harrowed calls for a medic, how his eyes seemed vacant except for when they seemed scared.

You’re relieved to find them back to normal by the time you return home, discovering Bucky in your kitchen. He straightens and lowers the coffee from his lips as you pause in the kitchen doorway, and for a moment you just blink at each other.

He’d redressed himself in last night’s clothes, and you can see now in the light of day, a few specks of blood on the sleeves.

“I— sorry, I… I just woke up.” You stare at him carefully, but he must mistake your expression for disdain because he sets down his coffee cup and clears his throat, avoiding your gaze.

“I’ll just go. I’m sorry—”

“—Bucky.” You cut him off sharply, and he snaps his eyes toward you.

You’d been thinking long and hard, all night, and you’d really only come to one conclusion after last night’s events.

“I don’t think you should be living alone.” You say, and you watch his face filter through confusion, into a frown.

“What?”

“I don’t think you should be living alone. If last night is anything to go by.” You turn your nose up a little at the end, but only because recognition and understanding flash over his face, and his frown disappears.

“Is that so?” It’s not challenging, in fact you can’t really read his tone at all and you cross your arms over your chest.

“You aren’t well, clearly.”

“Clearly.” He nods, carefully picking up his coffee cup again and you nod, lifting your nose again.

“Good. Now that’s decided, you should organise to move your things.” And with your heart beating quicker than you’d like to admit, you turn on your heel and leave him in the kitchen.

Within the week, Bucky’s moving his things into your house.

Ale had been ecstatic when you’d told him, and hadn’t stopped bouncing for days.

Bucky hasn’t stopped bouncing either, though a little more subtly. He helps his guys carry any furniture he’d wanted, inside your place, and after a long day of back and forth, he’s ready for a long shower and a meal with his family.

“Bucky?” Your voice startled him from stretching his back, and he turns to find you poking your head through the doorway.

“Dinner soon. Clean up.” You tell him, only half rolling your eyes when he straightens and salutes you.

He finds himself climbing slowly up the stairs to the second floor, gratefully taking in the details of your home. He’d had nice furniture and such in his house too, but there was something about a space that had been filled with love, not just things.

On the second floor landing he passes Ale’s room, and smiles to himself at how close he’ll be now. Right there, just two or three doors down…

Bucky keeps moving, exhaustion setting into his bones now as he pushes open the door of the guest room and steps inside, ready to find his towel and get to washing up. Only, the second he lifts his eyes to scab the space, he pauses.

Where were his things?

He knows his clothing and such had arrived earlier, because you’d told him yourself that you’d put it away in the room upstairs. One check inside the cupboard tells him this room is empty. Confusion colouring his gaze, Bucky steps back out and looks toward the stairs.

“Vivi?” He calls out when he’s close enough.

“Where did you put my things?” There's a slight pause before your answer comes.

“Upstairs!” Bucky frowns and looks back toward the guest room, and then, almost hesitantly, to the steps that lead to the third floor.

“Upstairs?” He confirms, and you hum a confirmation back.

Stepping quietly toward the second flight, Bucky knows he’s probably reaching, but as it is, he really wants that shower, and it wouldn’t hurt to check off the only other upstairs bedroom, your room.

Climbing the stairs with soft footsteps, a nervousness sets upon him when he stands outside the only door on the floor.

Swallowing thickly, he turns the handle and lets the wood fall open of its own accord, as he waits in the doorway, watching.

Your room is warm and cozy looking, a vanity to one side, an en-suite bathroom to the left. Your bed is a four poster, with rich coloured fabrics that look soft to the touch, and—

Bucky sucks in air, and his feet carry him forward of his own accord. There’s things laid on the bed, obscure from the doorway, but as he nears he takes it all in. Clothes, his clothes, laying ready for him to change, a folded towel and washcloth sitting atop them. In minor disbelief, he looks around the room, waiting for someone to jump out and tell him he’s been duped, but all he can hear is the faint sounds of movement from the lower floors.

He can’t help it, Bucky’s lips twitch and pull up in the corners, and with a brand new kind of relief settling in his chest, he reaches out and takes the towels.

He’s already kicking his shoes off when something else catches his eyes. Frowning down at the small box that had been under the towel, but atop his clothes, Bucky shifts his things under his arm, and then reaches out to gingerly collect up the box. Blinking at it, and with no real clue what it was, he snaps the lid open, and stares.

—-

You’ve just finished setting the table when Bucky enters the dining room, fresh and clean and dressed in the clothes you’d set out for him.

“Ale, come sit down!” You call, transferring a dish from the oven to the table, just as your son skitters out from underneath the table.

“Daddy! Can you sit next to me!?” Ale begs, tugging on Bucky’s hand.

“Of course! Where else would I sit, pal?”

You pitter about with some other things as Ale takes his seat, waiting for everyone to be settled before you turn back around, along to find that when you do, Bucky is still stood waiting, your chair pulled out.

“Thank you.” You say softly, placing the butter down, before letting him guide your seat under your. Bucky takes the place you’d set for him at the top of the table, between yourself and Ale, and smiles.

“Smells amazing.” He nods, and you open your mouth to reply, but are cut off.

“Let’s say grace!” Ale announces, holding his hands out for you and Bucky to take.

“Good idea, pal.” Carefully, you reach across the space between you to take your son's hand in your own, and lift your other to find Bucky already holding out his other, waiting for you once again.

The light glints of the gold on his finger, and when you place your hand in his, your rings clink against one another in the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

Bucky smiles.

“Bless this meal, this house, and this family.”

#mob boss!bucky #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes/yn #bucky barnes x yn #mafia!bucky

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