#marvel western | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nataliasquote · 2 months

Text

Mustang [pt.2] | n romanoff

Summary: When Natasha takes her new friend to the local barn dance, tensions arise and suddenly she’s faced with a decision. Stay loyal to her neighbours or risk it all for a wild stranger?

Warnings: none :)

wc: 2.5k

note: hiii :) I watched ‘Twisters’ last night and my new obsession with Tyler Owens/ Glen Powell spurred me on to give you another addition to Cowgirl!Natasha :) I hope you enjoy, there will be more parts!

-⧗-

Natasha was nothing if not true to her word. Her best pair of boots shining to perfection, hat keeping her wavy hair out of her face, the redhead pushed through the saloon doors right on time. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading as she locked eyes on the woman from before, who was leaning with her elbow on the polished wooden bar. They locked eyes for a second, a sparkle dancing across Natasha’s crystal clear irises and she squared her shoulders whilst weaving through the table with a soft smile.

“She returns,” Y/n announced with a grin once the redhead was in earshot, earring back a quick smirk. “I was beginning to think you’d left me out here.”

“A true woman is never late,” Natasha quickly countered. She held out her hand with a flourish and stepped back, dramatically offering Y/n assistance. “Now, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the barn dance, darlin’?”

“Ever the charmer!” Clint yelled from the opposite end of the bar where he was polishing beer glasses. Natasha rolled her eyes in jest but remained focussed on the gorgeous stranger before her who had risen from her barstool and was adjusting the waist of her jeans from sitting so long. She couldn’t lie, Natasha well and truly dragged her eyes up and down the woman’s body with absolutely no shame - she truly was a lover of all things female.

“Show me the way, sweetheart.” The nickname made Natasha melt slightly inside but her external composure never faltered, despite how weak she was just below the surface. “You’ve set my hopes high with this one.”

Natasha chuckled as the cool night air brushed their faces, a welcome feeling from the usual stuffiness of the saloon. There was a buzz in the air and the faint sound of music drifted over from the larger barns towards the end of the street, spurring the couple onwards.

“This town may not be good for much,” she started with a shrug, “but it sure knows how to throw a damn good party.”

“I’ve been to a few in my time, so we’ll see how yours holds up.”

Natasha glanced over and winked before pushing open the gate and allowing Y/n to walk past. “Let me show you the best night of your life.” Her tone was suggestive and Y/n didn’t miss it.

“Well, Romanoff, you’re already starting it off alright.” They both paused outside and felt the thumb of music in their chests before Natasha grabbed her hat and pushed the doors open, allowing the electric atmosphere to hit them both in the stomach. Y/n couldn’t contain the laugh that fell from her lips as her eyes darted around the crowded barn in wonder - it was unlike anything she’d ever seen, and she’d seen a lot.

Barn dances were commonplace in nearly all western towns, but none had the energy that this one did. Natasha’s hand quickly slid around Y/n’s waist protectively as they skirted around the dancefloor, not wanting to get trampled by the current line dance. The other woman blushed slightly at the contact but welcomed her warm hand, it feeling surprisingly natural the way it resided just below her belt. Forever the lone wolf, Natasha’s presence was strangely comforting, even after just a couple of hours.

They slid onto a pair of stools at the opposite end of the bar where the crowd wasn’t so thick, allowing the pair to survey the room comfortably. Natasha nodded to Yelena, who was seated at one of the tables across the floor, revolver in front of her hands.

“That’s my sister,” Natasha introduced, rolling her eyes as Yelena tipped her hat and winked.

“She’s a charmer, for sure.”

Natasha grabbed the two ice cold bottles that had been placed in front of them and slid one to her new companion, shaking her head with a groan. “She’s nothing but trouble and definitely not worth your time.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, scanning Natasha’s face which made the redhead blush. She was losing her composure by the second and it jarred her.

“What you looking at?”

“Why do you hate this place so much?” Y/n asked, not caring that she was overstepping Natasha’s high boundaries. “You don’t have anything good to say about it, is it really all that bad?”

Natasha hesitated, rubbing her fingers over the damp label on her beer bottle. It’s not that she hated the town or the people, they were fine as far as she was concerned. But the promise of more would always weigh on her mind, darkening her current situation.

“No, it’s just… there’s nothing for me here,” she replied, keeping her eyes down. She didn’t want to see another person laugh at her ambition. But Y/n did nothing of the sort.

“Not even your family?” Her voice wavered at the end.

Natasha scoffed. “They think I’m crazy for ever wanting to leave. My Pa just wants me to find a respectable husband and start a family, but that’ll never be me.”

“Not a lover?”

Natasha finally looked up from the table and caught Y/n’s eyes, the orange light dancing across her pupils like fire. “Not for those in this town,” she muttered, before shaking her head and placing her bottle down a little too firmly. “It would be rude of me to invite the lady of the hour to a barn dance and not offer her a turn, so, will you?” She slid off her stool and held her hand out, which Y/n accepted with a smirk before the two women crossed to the dance floor, ignoring the drunk men staring at their every move.

The beat rang out and everyone stamped their heels, thumbs falling naturally into the belt loops on jeans as the dance began. Y/n followed along with a wide smile on her face, the atmosphere feeling electric in her veins. She was a sucker for a dance, getting lost in the music within the crowd, only the instruments and the sound of boots on the dusty wood floor filling her ears.

With Natasha by her side, she felt more carefree than she had in a while, lifting her arms high above her head as she turned. The redhead watched her out of the corner of her eye, watching how her hips swayed in her fitted jeans and how easily she moved. Sure, Natasha had flirted a lot with many women, but very few had her as captivated as this stranger did. Where was she from? Did she do… love? Natasha was getting ahead of herself, and her mind was spinning, leaving her stumbling to stay on time in the dance.

As the song ended, Y/n didn’t want to return to the bar. She tugged Natasha’s arm, begging her to stay for a few more songs, to which the redhead caved. She missed Yelena’s smirk from across the room, laughing to Kate as they watched amused. Natasha spent more time watching Y/n dance than she did paying attention to her own feet. As much as Natasha was reluctant everytime the song ended, she would have danced for days if Y/n wanted to. She never wanted this moment to end.

But when did anything good ever last? The cheers of the crowd after the latest song were suddenly interrupted by two gunshots, pausing the festivities immediately. Natasha grabbed her revolver and pushed Y/n behind her, much to the brunette’s surprise. She had her hand on her own gun but didn’t want to unnerve anyone as she was the outsider and did not want to create another bad reputation.

There was commotion by the main doors and Alexei’s voice boomed loudly above the rest, silencing the chatter. Ol’ Joe hobbled forwards, his face burning with rage as he shakily held his gun in the air.

“Where’s the new girl!” He yelled, beady eyes scanning the crowd as they parted to reveal Y/n, and in turn Natasha who did not flinch. She reached for the brunette’s hand and held it tight behind her back. “You!”

“What is going on?” Natasha asked, stepping forward before Ol’ Joe could progress any further.

“My prize cow is dead and it’s because of her!” He shoved a finger in Y/n’s direction as the crowd yelled, their chants now hostile towards the stranger.

“She didn’t do nothin’!” Natasha defended, feeling a pressure rise in her chest. She looked back at Y/n who had paled slightly but retained an iron grip on the handle of her gun in the holster. “She’s been with me all day.”

The crowd roared and Alexei appeared, his arms folded over his chest as he observed the scene in front of him.

“Defending a stranger and a killer? I always knew there was something off about you,” Ol’ Joe hissed, moving forward so the barrel was pressed against Natasha’s sternum.

“Nat…” Y/n warned. This was her fight, even if she had nothing to do with the cows at all. But roping her new and only friend into this fight wasn’t worth it and she’d be damned if Natasha got caught up in a gunfight because of her. “Leave it.”

But when did Natasha Romanoff ever do as she was told? She ignored Y/n pleas and used two fingers to slowly push Ol’ Joe’s barrel down. “Where’s your proof?” She stated, not letting go of his gun. She felt everyone’s eyes on her, including the disapproving ones of her father, but that was nothing new and Natasha never backed down. “Go on, where’s the proof it was her?”

Ol’ Joe stuttered, his mouth turning dry. Natasha truly was intimidating when she wanted to be, her green eyes piercing, almost like they could see everything a person was hiding.

“Natasha this isn’t your fight,” Y/n spoke up again, pushing forwards so she was just in front of the redhead.

“No,” Natasha countered. “I won’t have them targeting you just because you’re a stranger. I know it wasn’t you.”

“Put a bullet in her head!” Someone yelled from the crowd, encouraging an uproar to start. Natasha’s patience was wearing thin, and with still no reply from Ol’ Joe about why it must be Y/n, she was at her wits end. Clicking the safety off her gun, she aimed it at the ceiling and shot three times, her usual warning call. Well rehearsed and functional.

On cue, Yelena surged up from her table and shot another three bullets into the back wall, diverting everyone’s attention away from the women in the centre. Natasha shoved past Ol’ Joe, her hand clamped around Y/n’s wrist so she could not protest. But when the old farmer grabbed her other wrist, Natasha clenched her fist and punched him clean in the nose before running for the side door, Y/n hot on her heels.

“Where are we going? She shouted as Natasha broke into a sprint, her boots kicking up the dust with every step. “Natasha!”

But the redhead didn’t answer, the smart thing to do. She headed for a small gap between the buildings and rounded the corner, dodging old fence posts in the barely lit back street. Y/n followed her blindly, her heart rate increasing every time a new voice yelled out behind her. She didn’t know how many townsfolk were following them, there was no time to turn and check, but she knew by the sound of thundering boots that there were enough.

The redhead sharply turned left into one of the barns near the end of the street, her feet slipping on the damp straw. She looked up, breathing heavy, into the darkness of the rafters.

“Gimme your foot,” she whispered to Y/n who just looked at her confused as she cupped her hands. “Do it or you’ll die!”

The brunette eyed the small space above them and threw caution to the wind, allowing the pointed toe of her boot to nestle into Natasha’s interlocked fingers. The redhead lifted her up until she could reach the ledge and pull herself over, rolling into a pile of musty hay and cobwebs.

Natasha’s head suddenly whipped around, the sound of footsteps getting louder by the second. She took a few steps back and ran, giving herself enough of a run-up so she could jump off a nearby hay bale and grasp the ledge, using all the strength in her arms to pull herself up and over. Y/n grabbed her forearms and tugged her back just as the doors flew open.

The women pressed themselves as far back as possible, not daring to breathe until someone yelled ‘got nothing’ and they were finally alone again. Natasha let out a breath, her head falling back until it hit a wooden beam behind her. But her hat was in the way and she tugged it off, allowing it to fall beside her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Ol’ Joe never knows when to pull in his horns. Was probably a coyote or something that took his cow, or a lone wolf. But he never gives up the chance to point fingers, especially at someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“An outsider and a woman…”

Y/n averted her eyes, even if she knew that was the reason she was always mistreated. It never mattered which town she was in, someone always found an issue with her, which kept her moving.

“Well, those things never change. It’s not all good what I do.”

That shut Natasha up. One of the horses shuffled around its stable and poked its head out, making Natasha smile. Of course Liho knew she was here.

“Hey buddy,” she muttered, even if she was too far away for him to hear. But Y/n heard and leaned over, taking a gander at the midnight black horse.

“He yours?”

Natasha nodded. “That’s my Liho.”

“He’s gorgeous,” Y/n complimented. “Is this your family stable? Won’t they know to check here?”

Natasha shook her head. “No, that one is further down. I keep Liho here so he won’t be targeted,” she admitted, peeling a piece of hay between her fingers. “Only Kate, Peter and Yelena know he’s here.”

Y/n hummed and stretched her legs out in front of her. Her boots were battered, but she reached into her left one and pulled out a knife, twirling it around until the blade landed flat against her palm.

“You keep knives in your boots?” Natasha exclaimed, fascinated.

Y/n smirked at her child-like wonder. “You don’t?”

“I do now,” Natasha answered with a raise of her brow. A comfortable silence fell between them, the distant sounds of the crowd echoing down the street. Natasha’s hand fell by her side, brushing against Y/n’s accidentally. But despite the surprise, neither woman moved. Their fingers twitched, pinkies slowly moving across the damp hay until they linked. A strangely childish motion, but it was strangely comforting. The smallest of touches, no words, yet a million thoughts were exchanged.

And when Natasha reached her hand over even further and fully encased Y/n’s in her own, something released in her heart. Nothing had ever felt so right before and Natasha knew she was officially screwed. She would never be able to let her go.

#natasha romanoff #marvel #fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff oneshot #cowgirl natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #cowgirl #western fic #western #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff hot #black widow imagine #mustang

153 notes · View notes

artficlly · 4 months

Text

king of pentacles [one-shot]

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x fortune teller!reader when your travelling circus rolls into town, you are warned that bucky barnes is the outlaw who rules these lands. you plan to keep your distance, but he and his men can not resist a little entertainment.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, blowjobs, begging, p in v, cowgirl position, bit of teasing, soft sub bucky??, if you squint theres some plot, fortune telling, tarot cards, violence, choking, blood, mention of death, mention of torture, mention of beatings, implied previous non-con to reader (not from bucky), protective bucky barnes, smoking, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: i literally cannot even tell you where this idea came from. i had a vague thought about a travelling circus, tarot reading character. i wrote this out and edited it in like two days?? insane. i don't normally write smut so let me know your thots lol. if you enjoy western marvel aus, please check out some of my other works. i have a one-shot called 'me & the devil' and a mini-series called 'a dish served cold'! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

It was a windy autumn night when James Buchanan Barnes and his pack of vermin invaded Elkhorn’s Travelling Circus and Freakshow.

There were scarcely few in the area who had not heard of Barnes and his gang of outlaws. From the moment your caravans had pulled across state lines, you had been warned not to cross Bucky Barnes or his dogs. The law did not concern itself with this place, a place so far west that civilization had been left behind. The memories of cities, people, and culture were a mere whisper on the winds, a fleck of sand in an endless desert. This place was ruled by barbarians, and Bucky Barnes was their king.

You had heard stories of the fabled man. Some said he was the devil himself, that he sported horns and hooved feet. Others said his eyes were black as the night but reflected the light as if he were part beast. Those terrified people would recall his wrath and how his enemies were never afforded a simple, painless death. No, those who crossed the King suffered for their crimes.

So when that twisted, cruel man of legend stood before you... You were surprised to find he was none of what he was rumoured to be.

It had only been an hour since the nightly show had wrapped up, darkness falling quickly due to the colder months looming. The gang of outlaws had stormed your small campsite, locating your leader and employer, Duke Elkhorn, and demanding they be entertained! The candles had been lit, and the music was playing. The animals had been brought from their cages once more, and dancers and performers were laced back into costumes. Barnes had asked for entertainment, so you would provide it, lest you find yourself dead in a ditch.

Thankfully, you had not yet taken off your own outfit and makeup. A kohl to line your eyes; your lips painted red; hair loose with intermitten beading and braids. You wore large jewled earrings and layers of necklaces that partially covered the deep v of your neckline. Your dress was tightly fitted, your breasts were pushed upwards by the corset beneath, and your skirt was a deep green that swirled around your legs with each movement. Your small tent was filled with a haze of incense, lavish velvet, and silk used as draperies. Your tent was divided into two sections—your working space and your personal quarters. You had been checking your appearance in your cracked mirror when the ruffle of fabric alerted you to his presence.

He stood with an unquestionable air of confidence, a cigarette in hand. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over, a cruel smirk playing across his lips. He was large and burly, with muscular forearms that bulged against the fabric of his sleeves, which had been pushed up to gather at his elbows. Blood stained his collar and sleeves, and a gold pocket watch was tucked into his vest. His dark hair was windblown, bits peeking out from under his black, cattleman hat.

As he flicked his cigarette, you realised his knuckles were bruised and split. A subtle splatter of blood across his cheek, smeared, as if somone had reached up and grasped his face in their dying moments.

“Our mutual friend, Mr. Elkhorn, told me that if I was lookin’ for a pretty thing to come find ya.” His voice was deep when he spoke, gravelly and rough. It sent a shudder down your spine. Damn Elkhorn. You always knew he was a coward, even though he thought himself a big man. You and the other performers were not strangers to his temper and desperation. You all tended not to challenge it, as he could be a cruel man as equally as he could be fearful.

“He weren’t lyin’ was he?” He lets out a low whistle, exhaling smoke. “How’s he kept you a secret for so long, huh? Guess mah boys don’t come pokin’ in the tents that often. Too busy pokin’ their bits into them dancer girls.”

You remain silent as he chuckles to himself. He eyes you greedily; his icy blue eyes are anything but discreet. You could feel how his gaze rested on the curves of your hips and breasts, watching how your skin moved with each breath. Desire was a strange thing—how easily you might shift from feeling confident and powerful to nothing at all.

You certainly felt like a squirming idiot under his gaze.

“I’m not a whore.” You speak up, though your voice is hushed, hesitant, or even uneasy. You knew men like Barnes would not take being denied well. If you thought Elkhorn’s brutality was something to fear, your knees would positively buckle before Barnes.

Barnes barks out a laugh, his brows raising in something between delight and surprise. He strides towards you, grinning as you flinch back. “Yer employer seems to think differently.”

Your eyes slide closed as he reaches forward, a finger sweeping a strand of hair from your face to better look at you. You swallow hard as he chuckles, smoke blowing across your face. Teeth grit, you slowly open your eyes, a shuddering exhale leaving your nose as he runs a finger across your cheek.

“He’s a spineless excuse of a man.” You dare to bite back, your voice wavering, but you stand tall. His amused expression has morphed into one of intrigue. His actions falter; hesitation is clear in his demeanour.

“He make ya do things ya don’t wanna do, darlin’?” The outlaw asks, his voice surprisingly genuine. He is still close to you, close enough that you can smell the tobacco on his breath and feel the vibration of each word in his chest.

“Sometimes.” You admit, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze. He curses under his breath, rubbing his jaw in annoyance. Barnes backs off a few paces, putting out his cigarette on one of your sidetables. From your side view of his chiselled face, you see a muscle in his jaw tense.

“Well, sweetheart. I ain’t in the business of bein’ with women who don’t want it.” He says with a roll of his shoulders. He has stalked over to your reading table, bruised knuckles white as he grips the back of your chair.

You are at a momentary loss for words. You had anticipated being repulsed by this man, the one who repeatedly terrorised these lands and enabled his dogs to do what they wanted and take what they pleased. There was something strangely endearing about his care for your consent.

“Well, I am glad to hear it.” You finally uttered. “Can’t say the same for some of your boys, though.”

A tense silence washes over the tent, and you almost immediately regret your words. Against your better judgement, you creep towards him. He doesn’t flinch away from your touch as your hands smooth over the top of his hands and wrists. Beneath you, he feels like stone, each tendon and muscle expertly chiselled like the statues you saw in the big cities back east.

“Yer right. Pack o’ wild mongrels they are. Good for puttin’ folk in their place. I think I’ll get ‘em to pay yer employer a little visit. Remind him whose land he’s on.”

Barnes goes to leave, pulling away from your touch. A wave of horror washes over you at his implication. You find yourself reaching for him again in an unexpected panic. Your hands latch around his bare forearm, tugging him back an inch.

“Wait.” You shake your head, gripping his forearm. The outlaw looks back at you in curiosity.

“I ain’t gonna hurt anyone else, sweetheart. Just him. ” He drawls, eyes darting to where you hold his arm. You drop it immediately, backing off. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“He will think your lesson is because I turned you down or because I wasn’t good enough for you.” You explain desperately. His eyes narrow, as if offended on your behalf. “Whatever you do to him, he will do to me twofold. As punishment. He is a cruel man, you understand?”

“Yer definitely not pleading his case well, darlin’.” There is impatience in his tone and ire that you could not even begin to comprehend. Your eyes flicker to his bruised knuckles, the splatters of blood. If Elkhorn found out, well, you would have to wear a veil for the rest of your life. Your face would be so mishapened and destroyed that you would bring fear into the hearts of anyone who laid eyes upon you. You would no longer be a fortune teller but a featured freak of Elkhorn’s sideshow. Men and women alike would pull faces, with children throwing food and rocks. The deformed woman— another beast in a cage.

You have seen this fate play out too many times. Too many were lost to Elkhorn’s wickedness.

“Please.” You beg. His brow arches and his adams apple bobs.

You swallow nervously, then hesitantly step forward. With gentle hands, you take his forearm once more, guiding him to your reading table. “Just… I will entertain you for a suitable time. I can read your cards. Then, you can tell Mr. Elkhorn that you laid with me; embellish it if you wish.”

Barnes seems too intrigued to protest.

He unbuttons his vest with a soft grunt, taking a seat at the table. His legs are spread wide in a domineering pose as he leans back into the seat with cool confidence. As you take a seat at the opposite end of the table, he reaches into his vest pocket.

“So, how does this work?” He asks. You can tell he is irritated from the way his brow twitches and jaw muscles are still tense. He is playing along for your benefit, you realise. He is looking to you for amusement to stop himself from marching out of the tent and dealing with Elkhorn as promised.

“I will shuffle the cards, then draw three. Each card has meaning, and all together, it will tell you the message you need to hear.” You explain. Barnes had pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering you one. You decline with a wave of your hands, instead taking the cards into your palm. He shrugs, lighting it with a half-interested sigh.

As he inhaled and you shuffled, you noticed his interest lay closer to your exposed skin. Even if he had backed off per your request, it did not seem to stop him from undressing you with his eyes from the opposite side of the table. He seemed emnamoured by the layers of necklaces and how they clinked and rolled across your skin.

As you shuffled, the first card fell out. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip as he watched you work. You slid the escapee card onto the table, facedown on the red tablecloth.

“Anything in particular that you want to hear, hm?” You ask. As you lift your gaze, you find Barnes enraptured by your movements, so much so that he has forgotten to take another drag. “Most people want to know about their careers… their families. Love.”

“I don’t believe in love.” He says, sucking in a breath. You tilt your head. He didn’t believe in love, no. He believed in lust. Desire. From the way his pupils were blown and his lips parted in awe, he was positively eating out of your hand. A second card falls. You slide it next to the first.

“Business it is, then.” You breathe. The final card falls from the deck just as the words leave your lips. You put it in place, then place the stack of the remaining deck to the side. Barnes is transfixed as you lean your arms parallel to the table and tilt forward. “Flip one.”

“Does it matter which order?”

“No.”

With unwavering confidence, he reaches forward, flipping over the first in the row. Your gaze falls downward to view the card, a frown pulling at your lips. You examine the familiar figures on the card. Two figures stood on either side, naked and chained. Behind them, in the darkness, loomed a beast with claws, horns, and wings. The Devil.

How fitting.

Barnes seems to find it ironic as well, as he scoffs in disbelief. “Ya playin’ a trick on me?”

You look up at him. The tension in the small tent is as thick as the smoke that hangs in the air. “No. The cards tell the truth, if you want to hear it or not.”

You reach out, stroking a finger over the card.

“The figures, they are chained. They don’t want to be there, but if you look closely… their chains are loose. They could escape at any moment.” If Barnes had a snarky comment, he does not say. He hung on to your every word. “And the longer they remain, the longer they become more like the devil. He represents the darkness within them, their shadow selves. It is the evil within you—the short-term pleasures—to ignore the long-term pains. Instant gratification. Greed, violence. You think you have free will, but you have sold your soul to the devil.”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know darlin,” The outlaw says with a chuckle. You notice that his shoulders have relaxed, a cool amusement embodying him.

You hold his gaze. “Next card.”

His fingers brush yours as he flips over the centre card. The King of Pentacles.

“The Devil and now the King? You’re spoilin’ me, sweetheart.” He chuckles.

You eyed the card. The king sat upon his lavish throne, surrounded by wealth. You tap your nail across the yellow pentacle symbol, humming in thought. “King of Pentacles. It represents wealth and abundance. He has influence and is a skilled leader.”

Your head tilts. “It’s a warning.”

“A warnin’? Sounds like a good card to me.”

“The king has all that he wants. An abundance of wealth. Everything he touches turns to gold, like King Midas.”

“King Midas?”

“It’s an old tale. One of caution. About a king who was blessed with the power to turn anything he touched into gold. His kingdom flourished with wealth, but he soon found himself to be unhappy. He could not eat, as any food that touched his lips turned to gold. He could not know the comforts of the flesh, for the women would also turn to gold. Everything he once cherished…gone. Then, one day he lost the one thing he loved most, his daughter. She kissed her father upon his forehead and instantly became a statue of gold.”

“I would be a far richer man if I were this…King Midas.”

“But don’t you see? You are him. You are a king who is flush with wealth; your influence is strong. Your people flourish. Everything you do and everything you touch becomes profit. But at what cost? How much more will you lose? How much more will you give up for greed?” You finger turns to point at the Devil card. His lips are set in a straight line as he scowls at you.

“You best be careful now.” He warns. You shudder, leaning back in your seat, motioning for him to flip the final card.

You stare down at the table, your breath held in horror. The figure in the card sits up in bed, hands to their face in anguish. Decorating the wall behind them are a row of swords, two of which could be seen to be piercing through the figure. Stabbed through the back. The frame of the bed is carved, illustrating two figures fighting. Nine of Swords.

Your mouth feels dry as Barnes peers at you expectantly. “Well?”

You can’t find the words; your brows are scrunching as you try to find the best way to articulate the meaning without triggering the brooding outlaw’s wrath. Your finger taps on the table, and you clear your throat, squirming in your seat.

“Nine of Swords.” You utter quietly. “The figure… they are troubled by their own thoughts. Their worries, speculations… so much so that they manifest it into reality.”

Your fingers trace over the fighting figures. “You worry of a rising conflict.”

You ghost over the swords next. A backstabbing.

It was all very clear to you how it all intertwined. Barnes was a man possessed by evil and greed. He had sacrificed much to accumulate his wealth; like King Midas, he had all the gold he could need, but at what cost? His followers, his people—they were afraid. Weary of their cruel leader. A coup was in the works. Jealousy brewed within his men; all they knew was evil, so all they could give was violence in return.

“A betrayal.” You breathe. Your eyes snap up to meet his. His pupils were no longer blown, instead replaced with an icy rage.

“How do ya know this?” His voice had dropped, low and threatening. His cigarette was discarded, flecks of burning ash glowing across the floor. His shoulders were tensed, straining against the fabric as he began to loom over you, slowly standing from his seat.

You shrunk back. “I don’t, I just read the cards—”

You let out a shriek as Barnes gripped the table, flipping it in one solid motion. The cards fluttered to the ground around you, the glossy paper flickering in the low candle light. You recoiled in your seat, limbs trembling as Barnes stood over you.

“Did Rumlow put you up to this, huh? I know what him and his little pack of vermin have been whisperin’.” He spat on the ground beside you, and you flinched back. Barnes reached down, gripping your throat as he forced you to look up at him.

“I don’t know anythin’. I swear—” You begged, tears prickling at your eyes.

Barnes scanned your face, then released you with a huff. You scrambled away, retreating to the furthest corner of the tent. Barnes waved his hand at you with a sigh, re-buttoning his vest and straightening his shirt.

“I’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt, darlin’. But if I find out you’ve been lyin’...I’ll kill ya myself. Ya understand?”

You nodded wordlessly, whimpering as the outlaw marched out of your tent without a glance back.

—

“Where is she?” The enraged roar of Bucky Barnes sent a nauseating wave of panic through your body.

A couple weeks had past, and Elkhorn’s Travelling Circus and Freakshow were wrapping up their stay. Duke Elkhorn wanted to push further west, bring entertainment to the drivers and rustlers of the far reaches of the country. Within two days, you were set to leave this awful place and flee the clutches of Barnes and his boys.

Well, it seemed that had been hopeful thinking.

You were in your tent, in your personal quarters. You had pulled shut the draperies to allow yourself privacy. The strong men, slick with oil and always sporting toothy grins, were always eager to deliver you water to bathe in. It had become a sort of ritualistic routine of yours to undress and wash the makeup from your face. After hours of sitting in a stuffy tent stinking of incense, it was a relief to wash the smell from your body.

You wore a silk robe, loosely tied at the waist. It had been a gift from a patron back east—some rich city boy who had a fascination with you. When Barnes crashed through your draperies into the back of your tent, chest heaving with a livid look in his eye… you froze. You were perched on a stool before your cracked mirror, pulling a brush through your long locks of hair.

You stumbled to your feet, stool knocked to the ground.

Barnes was covered in blood, his shirt so drenched that it clung to his skin. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his teeth were bared in a growl. The blood was still fresh on his arms and neck, the liquid glinting in the candlelight. He had not bothered to wear his hat; instead, his hair was messy, with a splattering of blood across his cheek.

“I told ya I would kill ya myself.” The outlaw snarled.

You backed away, back meeting the tent wall. “I didn’t do anythin—”

You were cut off as Barnes marched forward, large hands wrapping around your throat. He squeezed tightly, a breathless whimper escaping your mouth.

“How did ya know?” He demanded, his face twisted into a look of rage.

You claw at the front of his shirt, sticky blood coating your palms as you struggle.

“Ya knew about Rumlow. Ya warned me of a betrayal.”

He releases the pressure on your throat, and you meekly gasp in air, nails digging into his shoulder as you try to keep your knees steady.

“I didn’t know, I just said what the cards showed—” You rasp. Barnes doesn’t seem pleased by your answer, jaw muscle ticing.

“I don’t believe in yer magical horseshit. I know it’s all tricks and acts. How did ya know?”

“The cards aren’t magical. Each card has a meaning that can be understood in different ways, it’s my job to apply them to whoever walks into my tent. The cards just reveal thoughts you have not quite spoken aloud—ideas at the back of your mind. They ask you to confront your inner self. You knew Rumlow was a traitor before the cards, you had a suspicion, but you did not act on it until prompted by the cards.” You wheezed out. The outlaw slowly releases your throat, his face controrting into something closer to frustration than rage. Your palms brace flat on his chest as you steady yourself against him.

“Deep down, you already knew he was a traitor.” You reiterate.

“You’re a fuckin’ witch.” He breathes, then runs a hand through his messy hair. Blood streaks across his forehead, clumping his strands of hair. His head tilts as he looks down at you. His face has relaxed, as if a silent clarity had overcome him. “Even if ya deny it… ya did warn me.”

You clear your throat, hand raising to your neck as you brush your fingers over the tender flesh where he had gripped you. “You warned yourself.”

He stares down at you, then frowns guiltily. “Apologies, darlin’. I shouldn’t have done that to ya.”

You believe him.

You hold your breath as his fingers briefly skim over your neck. His gaze falls deeper, his eyes following the curve of your breast that was half-exposed by your robe. The fabric was bunched into a deep v, leaving the swell of your breasts, sternum, and skin down to your belly button exposed. The outlaw sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, then stalks away with a frustrated growl.

“Barnes—” you call to him softly.

“Bucky.” He corrects.

You catch a glance at yourself in the mirror. The silk robe hangs perfectly from your curves, blood smeared across your chest and neck. You suck in your own deep breath, sweeping your hair over your shoulders as you hesitantly approach the outlaw. He paced like the beasts Elkhorn kept caged up, endlessly forced to perform for cruel crowds. You knew what he needed. A delicate touch, a sweetness to lean on.

“Speak to me.” You whisper to him, gentle hands guiding him to the edge of your bed. The canopy was draped with deep purple fabrics, furs, and blankets over the straw mattress. He silently obliges.

“One of my boys, one I thought I could trust. He betrayed me. Thought he could make a little gang of his own and overthrow me from the inside.” The outlaw explains. His voice is stiff, and his posture is tense. You smooth a palm over his forearm, and your thigh presses against his as you sit closely together.

There is a distant look in his eye as he stares past you at the wall of the tent. It shifts with the cool breeze outside, rising and falling like the night itself breathes. “I dealt with it.”

You cock your head to the side, hand running up his arm as you examine his face with a frown. “Dealt with it?”

His eyes snap to yours, and your hand wavers in hesitation. There is a darkness in his eyes. His expression made goosebumps rise across your skin. You could only explain it as something primal, something caught between violence and arousal.

“I made them pay.” He explains, his body twisting as he faces you fully. A bloodied hand raises, his thumb rubbing across your cheek as he cradles your face. “After two days, they begged me to end it. To end their lives.”

“And did you?” You dare to whisper back. His thumb traces inward, across your lower lip.

“No.” He says simply. “I cut out their tongues so they could no longer beg. I made them pay.”

Your eyes must have been wide in shock because he chuckled, his hand sweeping through your hair. Then, with an uncharacteristic softness to his tone, he utters a question. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart thunders in your ears, a short gasp leaving you as your lips part. In all your travels, you have heard stories of women who could make men fall in love with them with just their eyes. Women who used their bodies and seduced their way to the top. Even violent men like Bucky had one weakness—a woman who showed them kindness. A woman who could momentarily take control. The men would let their minds drift away; the burdens were lifted, if only for a night.

Heat pools between your legs. You nod, a hand reaching to stroke across his jaw. The two of you meet in mutual desperation and touch once gentle, now needy. His tongue brushes against your lips, effortlessly parting them as he licks into your mouth. A moan escapes your throat at the taste of his tongue.

Your hands find the front of his shirt, blindly unbuttoning as he grips your hair in one hand. The outlaw groans as his hand slides across your shoulders, pushing away the robe. Your top half is exposed, nipples have hardened, and silk has pooled at your waist.

As your tongues tangle, Bucky tilts his head to gain better access to your mouth. Your gasps meet his as he moans heavily into your mouth. His hands trace along your body, one squeezing your waist and hips, the other coming to grasp your breast.

With a tug, you pull his shirt free. The two of you part, your head lulling back as he paints sloopy, feverish kisses down your neck. A groan rises in your throat as you lean into him, one hand gripping his dark hair and the other beginning to palm him through his pants.

His kisses move further down, head dipping as he licks a stripe across your breast. He takes a nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking as you gasp and lean into him. The space between your legs is throbbing; a wet neediness rising.

You clutch his thigh, squirming with desire. The stubble along his jaw prickles your flesh, and a shudder runs down your spine. Your hands find his, easing his grip on your hips as you slide off the bed. Lowering yourself to the floor on your knees, you sit between his legs. Bucky lets out a groan as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown, and his lips are swollen and glossy. Your hands trace up his thighs, and your quick fingers relieve him of his belt.

“Let me.” You hum to him. You tilt your head, your cheek brushing against his knee. His adams apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I can make you feel good.”

You can see his bulge under the fabric. He eagerly helps you pull his pants down, his cock springing free already fully hard. You press a kiss to the tip. His cock twitches in response and a low moan vibrates in his chest. You look up at him through your lashes, biting your lip. He leans back, looking at the tent roof, as his chest rises and falls with a loud, satisfied sigh.

There was a power that resonated in your chest, seeing the outlaw so vulnerable under your touch. He did not protest your lead, instead eagerly following your command. You take him into your mouth slowly, one hand running up his thigh as the other wraps around his length.

You bob your head, feeling him tense with pleasure beneath you. As you come up, you whisper to him quietly. “Relax.”

As your tongue swirls over his tip, then down his broad length, you feel his hips rock beneath you. His hand comes to fist your hair, subtly guiding you as you take him fully into your mouth once more. You follow his needs, taking notice of each pleasured twitch or motion in response to your touch. His fingers tangle in your long locks of hair, tugging as you pull unimaginable, explicit sounds from the outlaw.

“Fuck—” He groans above you, his breath coming in short pants. You hum in response, relishing the sensation of him falling to pieces beneath you. The spot between your legs was slick, and wetness was beginning to drip down your inner thigh. There was a selfish urge within you that desired to reach down between your legs to gift yourself some friction.

You swallowed him down deeper, flattening your tongue against his ridgid length. His hips started to jerk, stronger than the previous gentle rocking. You could feel him growing undone, his breath coming shorter, and his nails desperately digging into your scalp as he desperately tried to guide your head deeper and deeper.

You obliged, but only as you felt his cock twitch once more did you pull away fully. Not yet. You weren’t finished with him yet. The outlaw let out a pained grumble. His hands caressed your shoulders as you rose to your feet.

“Darlin’—” Bucky protests, but you shush him.

“How much do you want me, hm?” You ask him. He has propped himself up onto his elbows to look up at you. His cock was still erect, glistening in the candlelight from your saliva.

“I want you.” He affirms.

“How desperately? Would you get on your knees for me? Beg for me?” You say it breathlessly. You take one of his hands in yours, pressing a kiss to the palm.

His breath stutters. “Yes.”

“Go on then.” As the words leave your mouth, your eyes flicker upwards. You look at him through your lashes.

“Please, sweetheart—” He whines. You cock your head to the side, peppering more kisses along each fingertip.

“Louder.”

“Please.” He begs. You smirk down at him wickedly, shifting closer. Your palm meets his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed as his elbows buckle beneath him.

“Lie back.” You instruct, helping guide his legs so he lies flat along the bed. In one fluid motion, you straddle his waist, his silk robe still pooling around your hips. You lean over him, taking one of the waist straps of your robe. With slow breaths, you move the soft fabric across his bloodied chest, tracing each vein and muscle before finally grazing it across his nipples. He shudders beneath you, his grip bruising where he grasps your hips.

“Say it again.” You breathe. You are embarrassingly wet as you sit perched upon him.

“Please. I need you.” He obeys, and another wave of arousal washes over you. Only now did you give in to your selfish desires, dead rolling back as you ground your hips slowly. Your lips parted, a small mewling moan leaving you as you clenched around nothing. You flatten a hand over his chest, allowing him to help guide you as you raise onto your knees.

With one gentle movement, you lower yourself onto him. Your wet heat engulfs him, and the two of you groan in unison. You feel yourself stretch around him, and you moan as you allow your body to take him in completely. His hands tighten their hold on your waist.

Bucky looks at you with a slightly slack-jawed expression. “Fuck, sweetheart. I think I’m gonna make ya my wife.”

You manage a smile through your own arousal, your hand gliding up and down his chest as you move your hips in a grinding motion. You gasp out a low, “Oh yeah?”

His head tips back with a moan as you clench around him. You experiment momentarily, brows drawn and biting your lip, until you find a grinding rhythm that ignites a fire within you. Bucky meets you halfway, helping guide you with his hands still gripping your hips. Your head lulls forward, small panting gasps leaving you as your eyes squeeze shut.

“I’ll make you beg for that too…Fuck—” You whine, and Bucky chuckles beneath you. He continues to help direct your hips, and your thighs begin to shake as you lower and raise yourself.

A strangled cry leaves you as Bucky’s hand lowers, his thumb circling your clit. Pleasure spikes up your spine, your knees wobbling as you nearly double over at the sensation. His fingers swirl with purpose, pulling all manner of illicit words and sounds from your throat.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Bucky hummed.

Just as you feel like sobbing from the pleasure, you cock your head to the side. With a deep breath, you tug Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him upright to meet you. The two of you clash, breath hot. His arms wrap around you, pinning you to his chest as he kisses you with a primal hunger. You moan into his mouth, your tongue sloppily moving against his as he begins to thrust vigorously.

You could feel your climax building steadily within you, the peak of a tumbling wave that had not yet crested. Bucky was a panting, sweaty mess beneath you. He greedily kissed and sucked along your neck, head dipping as he ran his tongue along your collarbone.

Your own head fell, teeth grazing across his neck. He tastes like salt and copper. You nuzzled your nose against his jaw, taking his earlobe between your teeth. Deep within you, you felt his cock twitch.

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your fingers tugging at his hair. That pulled a groan from him, the noise vibrating across your skin. With a devious smile pressed against his cheek, you lean in close to his ear. Breath hot, you whisper into his ear.

“Come for me.”

As if he had been waiting for those exact words, he explodes within you. The sensation tips you over the edge, a thundering in your ears defeans you as your eyes roll back into your head. You clench around Bucky tightly, your body milking every last drop of him as he lazily ruts the last of his energy into you.

The two of you pant, catching a breath as you both come to a halt. The outlaw nuzzles your neck with a content sigh, then laughs against your sweaty skin.

“I wasn’t jokin’ earlier.” He finally speaks up, his voice somewhat more dignified now that he wasn’t a moaning mess beneath you.

“Hm?” You respond sleepily, too fucked-out to be bothered opening your eyes.

“I’m gonna steal ya away from here. Make ya my goddamn wife.”

Against your better judgement, you believed him.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #marvel au #marvel fic #marvel #western au

235 notes · View notes