#Georgian society | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burningvelvet · 1 year ago

Text

Why Mr. Rochester and Bertha Mason Couldn't Get a Legal Separation; or, the Utter Madness of Marital Laws

So I saw a Jane Eyre post discussing why Mr. Rochester and Bertha Mason couldn't get a legal marital separation. I've thought a lot about this topic, and in order to procrastinate writing the final for my upper-level Brontë class, I've decided to write this sort of convoluted analysis instead. I know many others have written about this subject, but I wanted to explore a bit further on my own.

Preliminary context about me, the Brontës, their Byronic inspiration, etc.: I've learned a lot about 19th century British marriage laws recently in my classes on old British literature, as well as by having studied Byron, whose marital separation in 1816 was a notorious part of his history & also reverberated through 19c literature. He refers to this separation in many of his works, most famously in his notorious poem "Fare Thee Well." Harriet Beecher Stowe, the most famous American female writer at the time, was friends with Lady Byron and wrote a book defending her called "Lady Byron Vindicated: A history of the Byron controversy from its beginning in 1816 to the present time" (the original callout post).

Insanity accusations did factor in to Byron's separation. Many scholars have remarked how the Queens of Byronic Criticism, the Brontë sisters, took significant inspiration from their well-worn copy of Moore's biography Life of Byron when creating their works. The Brontës would have been very familiar with marriage laws not only due to their knowledge of Byron's trainwreck of a marriage, but also due to being well-educated women at the time who knew that marriage was the most important economic decision of one's life and could very well make or break a person. As a result, marriage plays a significant role in their novels.

More relevant preliminary context about the novel: Jane Eyre actually takes place in the Georgian era, despite most adaptations and anaysis presenting is as a Victorian piece due to the novels publication date (this drives me crazy; same goes for the other Brontë books). Marriage laws did not change drastically from the time the novel is set to the time Brontë was writing the novel, but things were a bit different socially. Rochester was also married 15 years before his attempt to marry Jane. According to this very good analysis, Rochester and Bertha probably married in or around the year 1793: https://jane-eyre.guidesite.co.uk/timeline.

Now, here are the reasons why Rochester couldn't separate from Bertha:

1) Insanity wasn't grounds for divorce/separation in the Regency era.

Rochester himself says that he couldn't legally separate from her because of her insanity, which presumably rendered any of her faults null on the grounds of that marital vow "in sickness and in health." This is possibly one of his biggest reasons:

"I was rich enough now – yet poor to hideous indigence: a nature the most gross, impure, depraved I ever saw, was associated with mine, and called by the law and by society a part of me. And I could not rid myself of it by any legal procedings: for the doctors now discovered that my wife was mad — her excesses had prematurely developed the germs of insanity [..]"

2) Divorce was nearly impossible anyway.

There had only been around 300 divorces in English history at the time. Almost all of them were husbands divorcing their wives for committing adultery. Only a handful of divorces had succesfully been obtained by women, and they were only in cases where the husband had committed incestuous adultery or bigamy, and was extremely physically cruel. So technically after his bigamy attempt, Bertha may have had more grounds to obtain a divorce than Rochester would have, if only she were lucid enough to do so. However, in that scenario infertility would have helped their case, and Adèle's existence would have harmed their case if he attempted to seek a divorce before marrying Jane. Though as the novel explains, Adèle is probably not his, she definitely would have been used against him, as would the fact that he kept Bertha's existence a secret in England. But he wouldn't have tried for divorce that late in the game anyway, considering it was one of the most difficult options.

3) Female adultery was your best bet at divorce or separation, and this probably wasn't applicable to Mr. & Mrs. Rochester.

Although some scholars claim that there is subtext hinting that Bertha was adulterous (which some adaptations, like the 2006, include), you needed substantial proof of the adultery, which Rochester may not have had if it did occur. Being a proud man, he also wouldn't have wanted to be humiliated in that way by letting it be publicly known (as shame is one of his main reasons for hiding their marriage to begin with).

However, I lean toward the idea that Bertha may not have committed adultery. If she definitively did, seeing how affected Rochester was by Céline cheating on him (he shot her lover in revenge and left her with a stipend), if he ever suspected adultery on Bertha's part then I'm sure he would have been at court the very next day. I also think Rochester tries not to be too much of a hypocrite, and he is well aware that he himself is an adulterer, so he probably doesn't want to accuse Bertha of a crime he's committed and which he couldn't definitively prove she did.

Rochester does talk about hating Bertha's "vices" when they lived together, citing drinking, arguing, cruelty to servants, cursing, her being "unchaste," a "harlot," etc. - the last epithets, combined with her supposed lack of morality, and her being described as seductive, heavily imply that adultery could be added to her list of offenses. However, if she did truly cheat on him as well, I don't see why he wouldn't plainly tell this to Jane as well. I would imagine it would be his first complaint, and it would probably be considered his most justifiable reason against her by their cultural standards.

I don't see why he wouldn't jump to take Bertha's infidelity as an opportunity to defend his own actions, considering how open he is with Jane about his own adultery and being cheated on by Cèline Varens. While I can see how some of the textual evidence may strongly suggest Bertha's adultery, we cannot be fully certain, and that may be because Rochester himself is not fully certain. I cannot see why he wouldn't have sought legal advice on that account alone.

In short, if Bertha was an adulterer, there must have been no evidence to convict her.

Also: while the double-standard may seem odd and trivial to us, the reason why female adultery held more weight than male adultery has entirely to due with old patriarchal inheritance laws; i.e the risk of a wife getting extramaritally pregnant and passing the illegitimate child off as her husband's heir was considered too great of an affront. A man could have as many bastards as he wanted because he would know they were bastards and were not at risk of inheriting his stuff. One needed legitimate heirs to justify passing on one's ancestral wealth to. Essentially, marriage was a mere economic tool, and the economy was and is inherently patriarchal. I digress.

4) Rochester's lack of social & economic leverage, and risk of social ruin in general.

Only the wealthiest of the wealthy could obtain divorce or official separation, and it often led to social ruin. Rochester is rich, but he has no title and no great network of supporters due to being a younger son and having been abroad for most of the past 15 years (this was the length of his marriage to Bertha, stated by Mr. Briggs during the bigamous wedding attempt). He doesn't have as much leverage as Lord and Lady Byron had.

To continue on official separation, like Lady and Lord Byron obtained. Just like divorce, this was also a messy and scandalous legal proceeding, and required numerous good reasons to obtain, and being well-connected Lords and Ladies really helped your case. You also needed many witnesses and written statements as evidence. Bertha's family, as we see with Mason, would have been unhelpful to Rochester, and due to his shame and secrecy, no one could really testify on his behalf I'm assuming.

5) Unofficial separation would have been inconvenient, especially in regards to living situations.

Aside from divorce, which was extremely rare, extremely controversial, and only for the wealthiest members of society — there were unofficial and official separations. An unofficial separation was simply living apart from one another. I've often wondered why Rochester didn't simply move Grace Poole and Bertha somewhere else, but my main theory is that it would have been cost ineffective, and due to his family who were implied to be shitty, he probably really didn't want to live at Thornfield anyway so thought it would be convenient to place her there. Rochester says it would be dangerous to place her in his other residence of Ferndean:

"[..] though I possess an old house, Ferndean Manor, even more retired and hidden than this, where I could have lodged her safely enough, had not a scruple about the unhealthiness of the situation, in the heart of a wood, made my conscience recoil from the arrangement. Probably those damp walls would soon have eased me of her charge: but to each villain his own vice; and mine is not a tendency to indirect assassination, even of what I most hate."

6) Annulment was likely impossible given their circumstances.

Annulment means evaporating the marriage, acting as if it never existed, that it was a mistake. This was rare and only granted in unique circumstances, and I believe it was more common with aristocracy and royals. I believe you could possibly get an annulment if you could prove that the spouse was insane at the time of the wedding and you did not know. However, Bertha did not begin to truly deteriorate until after they had been living together for a bit. And while Rochester says that he did not know her mother was in an asylum until after the wedding, having an insane mother doesn't mean that you are insane, which Bertha clearly wasn't at that point, at least not in a way that people would have publicly acknowledged, since Rochester says she attended parties and her hand was highly sought after.

Generally, the longer a marriage had gone on, the harder it was to prove why it could not go on. Rochester says that he and Bertha "lived together" for "four years" in Jamaica while her condition deteriorated and he tried to make things work. And again, after the wedding he found out her mother was "mad, and shut up in a lunatic asylum." So we have more reasons for Rochester's difficulty: the fear of Bertha going to an asylum while she was still mostly lucid in those first four years, combined with the fact that they openly lived together and certainly must have consummated their marriage (things which would further prevent annulment), and were certainly publicly recognized as a couple in Spanish Town society, and her family wanting the marriage to continue so she could have children of "good race" i.e. to produce heirs.

Here's an important passage that to me suggests that Rochester and Bertha not only had an initial flirtation but likely consummated their marriage, likely had a passionate sexual relationship for some time, and likely implies his feelings for her were more complex than we'd initially assume, making annulment not so clear-cut of an option to him at the time:

"My father said nothing about her money; but he told me Miss Mason was the boast of Spanish Town for her beauty: and this was no lie. I found her a fine woman, in the style of Blanche Ingram; tall, dark, and majestic. Her family wished to secure me because I was of a good race; and so did she. They showed her to me in parties, splendidly dressed. I seldom saw her alone, and had very little private conversation with her. She flattered me, and lavishly displayed for my pleasure her charms and accomplishments. All the men in her circle seemed to admire her and envy me. I was dazzled, stimulated: my senses were excited; and being ignorant, raw, and inexperienced, I thought I loved her. There is no folly so besotted that the idiotic rivalries of society, the prurience, the rashness, the blindness of youth, will not hurry a man to its commission. Her relatives encouraged me; competitors piqued me; she allured me: a marriage was achieved almost before I knew where I was. Oh, I have no respect for myself when I think of that act! — an agony of inward contempt masters me. I never loved, I never esteemed, I did not even know her."

7) Spousal abandonment wasn't possible, and on some level he honored his legal and financial obligations to her and the Mason family.

Bertha's family likely refused to house her for legal and personal reasons, and spousal abandonment was forbidden due to the husband's financial responsibility as well as the law of coverture (a wife became her husband's full legal responsibility; some say "property"). Like we see in Anne's Tenant of Wildfell Hall, if a woman ran away from their spouse they would have to live in obscurity and be at risk of being sussed out. You couldn't just abandon your partner. Still, people did, because it was the easiest route to take.

But the more upper-class you were, and the more financial entanglements you had, the more inconvenient this was. We know that Rochester and his family became enmeshed with the Mason family, and he got a lot of money from Bertha, so her father likely would have taken him to court. At any rate, Rochester was legally bound to bring Bertha with him to England when he left Jamaica. If he attempted to abandon her in Jamaica, the backlash it would have brought would have brought him social ruin and foiled his chances at getting away with any bigamy attempts.

All this brings us to a further notice of Bertha's family situation. Based on Charlotte Brontë's positive comments about Rochester's character (https://www.tumblr.com/burningvelvet/731403104856195072/in-a-letter-to-w-s-williams-14-august-1848) I see no reason to suspect him, like many feminist critics do, of being an unreliable narrator or of lying about Bertha Mason's history. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, and in mine, that is simply not the novel Charlotte wrote. By her own admission, she wanted his narrative to be a path to further goodness.

It makes no narrative sense for our explanation of his and Bertha's history to be full of lies when he's trying to make ammends with Jane, who never suspects him of lying during his admission, but who does critique him and figure he'd tire of her like she was one of his many mistresses. Jane wonders if Rochester would lock her in an attic too, which he refutes on the basis that he loves her more than he loved Bertha when she was sane, and so he would care for Jane himself. Jane also tells him that it's not Bertha's fault that she's mad. So in my opinion, if Charlotte wanted us to believe Rochester was lying about his and Bertha's history to make himself look better or Bertha look worse, I don't see why she would have been vague about it, and I don't see why Jane wouldn't have called it out like she does everything else. I don't think Rochester is really a villain who locked his harmless wife in the attic for giggles; I think he weighed most of his options and found, like most people back then and even today, that keeping his problems locked up and ignored was the best solution.

Now, on with the point. I have often wondered why Rochester didn't simply "unofficially separate" from Bertha by leaving her with her family when he left. Why did he take her to England? Why didn't he just run away? It wasn't because he was an evil villain who wanted to keep her as a trophy. It's because 1) I don't think her father would have let him, as he was so quick to marry her off, 2) he felt obligated to her, and 3) it was criminal for men to abandon their wives, and it would have attracted publicity, which is what Rochester was avoiding by taking Bertha to England and sheltering her in secrecy.

Many claim that Rochester's adultery is a betrayal of his wife; and while religiously, narratively, socially, we can accept this statement, it was not legally a crime. While Rochester does honor his financial and legal obligations to his wife and her family, he does not take the religious part of the vows into account, and that's why he's cosmically punished and only rewarded after he repents, as he explains toward the end of the novel.

Another interesting point is that when Rochester recounts his decision to move back to England, he tells us that Bertha had already been declared insane in Jamaica and that she was already confined there (presumably around the 4 year anniversary before they left), meaning her father probably knew about confinement:

"One night I had been awakened by her yells (since the medical men had pronounced her mad, she had of course been shut up) — it was a fiery West Indian night; [..]"

Locking away "insane" people was standard procedure then, and if this was done with Bertha's father's knowledge, considering he locked his own wife away in an asylum, then this further absolves Rochester of a lot of the blame in my opinion. It more than likely wasn't his idea to lock her away, but the advice of "the medical men" and presumably her father's consultation as well.

8) Even if he divorced or separated from her, he couldn't remarry. Attempting these, or getting caught attempting abandonment, would have brought negative publicity that would have likely prevented the success of any future bigamy attempts. To him, secrecy and bigamy seemed better chances at securing happiness than the social ruin and likely failure the other options would have brought him.

Aside from Rochester's own explanation (which I supplied in #2 re: the separation veto inherent to Bertha's insanity), the other biggest reason as to why Rochester wouldn't seek a separation/divorce even if she hadn't been declared insane and even if he were willing to accuse her of adultery truthfully or not, is due to the fact that one could not legally remarry upon separation or divorce (unless you were Henry VIII and got God's permission lol). Rochester's impossible dream is that he wants to be married to someone he really loves, and if secrecy and bigamy are his only options then he is willing to succumb; this is shown in numerous passages:

"[..] I could reform — I have strength yet for that — if— but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I will get it, cost what it may."

"I will keep my word: I will break obstacles to happiness, to goodness — yes, goodness; I wish to be a better man than I have been; than I am — as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the habergeon, hinderances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten wood."

"Is there not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at God's tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world's judgment — I wash my hands thereof. For man's opinion — I defy it."

Closing remarks on the above's validity: I can't cite all my sources because a lot of this stuff I learned from lectures via my professor who specializes in 19th century English literature & history. But here's some recently published information from a historian, taken from "Inside the World of Bridgerton: True Stories of Regency High Society" by Catherine Curzon (2023):

"And if you were one of the newly-weds, you really did hope things would work out, because in the Regency till death do us part wasn't just an expression. As the Prince Regent himself had learned when he separated from his wife within eighteen months of their marriage, obtaining a divorce in Regency England was no easy matter. He never achieved it, and for those who did the stakes could be high and the cost ruinous in every sense."

"Until the passing of the Matrimonial Causes Act of 1857, which legalized divorce in the civil courts, it was governed by the ecclesiastical courts, and the Church didn't end a marriage without very, very good reason. Even these divorces didn't allow a couple to remarry, though, and they were more akin to what we would today call a legal separation, with no shared legal or financial responsibilities going forward. It was freedom, but only to a point."

"The only way to obtain a complete dissolution that allowed for remarriage was to secure a parliamentary divorce, and these were notoriously difficult to obtain. They began with a criminal conversation case, because they relied on adultery by one of the parties to make them even a slight possibility. If a woman committed crim. con., her life in polite society was over."

342 notes · View notes

sinner-as-saint · 3 months ago

Text

scary? my god, you're divine

Hitman/Mob!Bucky x Reader

Run-through: Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right?

Themes: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is in her mid twenties, bucky’s in his late thirties), mentions of violence and death, hitman!Bucky, smut, fluff, explicit language, virgin!reader, HEA

Something woke you up in the middle of the night.

And you’d been staring at the dark ceiling above your bed for the past few minutes now. What had woken you up? It could’ve been the strong winds hitting the large Georgian windows. Or perhaps it was the soft ticking of the nearby clock. Or maybe even the weight of all the incessant thoughts running through your head.

Gods, you thought, what a day.

It had started out like any other. Your father was pacing around, worried and barking orders on the phone, trying to find a way to put a stop to this chaos that was quickly forming into a full war between him and his number one rival. Small attacks had turned to frequent drive-bys, threats had turned into taking turns and blowing up each other’s warehouses and clubs. And it would only get worse and worse.

But this morning, as he watched you come downstairs and into the dining room for breakfast, something in his eyes was different. And you could tell what was coming. You had been thinking about this for days. So when he sat you down and discussed how you could do your part in helping to put an end to all of this.

“It’s only a matter of time before he sends his son, his favourite weapon after us all,” Your father sounded defeated. “And none of us would survive him. No one ever does. You know that.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I know.”

The son of your father’s rival, Bucky Barnes, was a name which could make even powerful men like your father tremble in fear. He was like a ghost. No one ever saw him. No one knew what he looked like. Those who had seen him claimed that he always wore a muzzle-like mask to conceal his identity. He was known for being his father’s most prized weapon. They say he never misses, that his aim is and has always been as sure as Eros’ arrows. He was like an evil Cupid.

“The marriage would only be on paper of course, you don’t have to live with him.” Your father explained, seeming desolated, “But you being married to him would make us family, and…” He trailed off, sighing.

But you knew what he meant. Family meant everything in this society. If your family and the rival’s were joined to each other by marriage, all attacks would cease. Because keeping family safe was everyone’s number one priority, even in this line of work.

So this was all up to you now. Your family’s safety, the safety of people who worked with and for your father, all the allies, and friends, and acquaintances. It was a heavy weight to carry.

“I’ll do it.”

Things happened so quickly after that. Phone calls were had, arrangements and deals were made, and by the afternoon, a sheet of paper was brought to you. That’s it. No groom, no fancy shit. Just a piece of paper on which Bucky Barnes had already signed. And with your signature added next to his, you two were now forever husband and wife by law.

It was weird, being married to a man you had never seen before. He was just a name. Granted, a name with immense magnitude in the society, but still just a name. No face to go with it.

By the evening, your things were packed. It was an order by your new husband. He wanted his new bride in his home, and things were so freshly mended that neither you nor your father wanted to argue. So Bucky sent cars and a bunch of his soldiers to escort you to his house. It was not unexpected that he was so absent from all this. Bucky Barnes had a reputation of living in the shadows. He was so rarely seen.

Bucky’s house was not too far from your family home. In fact, the closer you got to your new home, the more you realised that despite everything, you did not mind this as much as you thought you would.

Your husband’s home was this stunning piece of architecture. A lavish Georgian-style mansion. Beige stone, carved details and mouldings around the many windows and main entrance. Dark shingles on the roof, well-manicured lawn, a long driveway giving it a sense of both elegance and exclusivity. The mansion sat on a beautiful, seemingly endless estate. Lush and green. It was a testament to the wealth and the power of its owner.

You were politely led inside the home by one of the many staff members who took care of the house. And the interior was just as breathtaking. Luxurious, with the right amount of vintage accents.

“We did what we could with the limited time we had to prepare a room for you.” The kind lady had said to you. She also mentioned that this room would be entirely yours. Bucky apparently had his own on the other side of the mansion.

You murmured that it was alright, and when she finally showed you to the room they had ready for you, you were pleasantly impressed. The layout, the colour theme, the decor, all of it was to your liking. You even had a personal little balcony which looked over the endless green backyard.

That night you dined alone, which was not a surprise. Everyone knew Bucky Barnes was a busy man, and he was apparently above trivial things like dining with his new wife. But the silence was welcomed. After dinner you found yourself back in your bedroom, and soon in bed with a book.

Well, maybe this was your new life now. Grand mansion with an impressive library. Solo dinners and kind staff members. A giant, dreamy bedroom all for you. Dare you say, it wasn’t too bad.

–

But here you were now, unable to fall back asleep after some mysterious thing woke you up. You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. You couldn’t even blame your new surroundings for your inability to sleep. Everything here was so quiet, and comfortable. Even this new bed felt like laying on the fluffiest cloud. Perhaps you could read some more–

You froze when you heard it.

Someone breathing. Someone else’s breaths. A soft exhale, but it was enough to make your heart race in panic. It was the middle of the night. And there was someone in this dark room with you.

Slowly, you tried to reach for the lamp on your bedside table to turn it on, but then you heard a voice say, “Don’t.”

A smooth, relaxed, male voice. Sounding like it came from one corner of the room. It could only be one man, couldn’t it?

“Bucky?” You questioned, for some reasons pulling the covers up to your chin as if he was not a man but a ghost.

A pause, then he said, like he was gently teasing you, “Hello, wife. Can’t sleep?”

You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness better. You strained your eyes until you could see the silhouette of a man in the corner of the room. He was sitting in one of the sofas near the unlit fireplace, quiet, still like a marble statue.

There was almost no light coming into the room. The thick curtains allowed very little moonlight in, and it was hard to see. But you couldn’t ignore that large silhouette now that you’d noticed him. Something near him was shiny, almost metal like, you couldn’t tell what it was.

“Do you always lurk around in the shadows like a ghost?” You asked, wondering where the hell you found the confidence to talk to one of the finest hitmen like this. It’s not like he would shoot you if he didn’t like you. A small voice said. Would he?

A chuckle. Deep, and careless. A boyish sound.

“It’s my house,” He responded in that same gentle but teasing tone, “I lurk wherever I please.”

Well, he did have a point there.

“Well then,” You said in a casual tone, “If you’re done lurking and spying on me, I’d like to go back to bed.”

A soft scoff. Then he said, “I’ve watched you toss and turn for the past half an hour. I’d say you’re having trouble turning your brain off.”

Half an hour?!

“Wouldn’t you?” You retorted, keeping your voice calm and steady. “If you were forced to marry someone who’s so mysterious that no one’s ever seen them before, wouldn’t you have some trouble turning your brain off?”

“Ah.” He got up, and you could tell by the sound of his footsteps that he was approaching the bed, “No one forced you to marry me. A suggestion was made and you agreed to it.”

You replied quickly, “The alternative was watching everyone I love and myself be murdered by you, so semantics.”

Another chuckle as he stopped at the edge of the bed, so close to you. You refused to move. You tilted your head up but could still only see his silhouette. He spoke in that teasing tone again, “They said you were smart, and beautiful. Guess they forgot to mention you were bratty too.”

You frowned. “What?”

Silence. Then he began moving away from your bed and towards the door. “Good night, wife.”

“Good night,” You muttered, slightly annoyed and confused, “Ghost.”

You heard his soft chuckle right as he shut the door behind him and left you all alone again in the dark. You didn’t dare turn the lamp on even after he left.

—

“Is Bucky ever home?”

You asked one of the staff members at breakfast the next morning. The lady smiled at you and answered, “He keeps to himself. We rarely ever know if he’s home or not. He works at odd hours, you see? Besides, our job is to take care of the house. We clean, we make the meals and leave them in the fridge, we get our paychecks each month. Everyone is happy. We don’t pry.”

You nodded, sipping on some tea. “So… are you one of the people who don’t know what he looks like?”

“Oh no. I saw him recently.” She said, smiling.

“How recent?” You asked.

“A couple of months ago. He’s a busy man, he’s rarely ever home.”

Unbelievable.

“Doesn’t it feel like you’re employed by a ghost?”

She smiled again, refilled your cup and said, “Oh, we’re used to Mr. Barnes. Sure, sometimes it feels like the house is way too empty. But look, now you’re here! We get to take proper care of someone for once.”

She was so cheery and kind that you couldn’t help but smile at her words. How on earth did a man that grim manage to have the best staff members in the whole world?

—

The following night, Bucky came to see you again.

You woke up upon hearing the door of your bedroom opening. You sat up again, leaning against the headboard. You didn’t reach for the lamp on your bedside table this time. Instead you said, “Lurking again, I see.”

“Oh yes,” He answered, taking a seat on the same sofa by the dark fireplace. “How was your day, wife?” He asked, as if this was the most normal way to have a conversation.

“Good.” You said, “I spoke with your staff members. They say they barely ever see you at home.”

He sighed, “I barely ever am at home.”

You rolled your eyes even though you knew he couldn’t see it. He was too… intangible. Faceless. There was nothing you knew about him aside from his profession. And not knowing was starting to annoy you.

“Why can’t I see you?” You asked. “I mean it’s not fair. I married you. I’ll eventually see you someday.”

He was silent for a moment. Then asked, “Will you?”

“Well, yes.”

“What for?” There was that teasing tone again. So subtle. But it was there.

Your face burned. “Well… we’re married.” You stated the obvious. “And it won’t be long till our families start asking for, you know, grandbabies.”

“Babies can be made in the dark.” His smooth voice felt like a gentle caress. Like the finest, cool silk sliding over your warm body…

Oh no. You can’t like his voice. Not yet.

“That’s not what I–,” You sighed, “Why are you so against showing your face? Are you ugly?”

He chuckled then. Loudly, if you could see him you’d surely see his shoulders shaking. “You think too much, wife.” He got up again, ready to leave. “Good night.”

You sighed, defeated, and listened to the sounds of him leaving the room. Then almost angrily whispered, “Good night, husband.”

—

“It’s because he’s ugly, isn’t it?” You asked two of the staff members one morning while they set the table for your breakfast. “That’s why he doesn’t show his face?”

The two ladies chuckled to themselves, and one of them said, “No he isn’t.” She sounded confident too.

“Have you seen his face? Like properly?”

They both nodded.

“And? You don’t find it weird that he doesn’t show his face?” You questioned. “He refuses to let me see him. He only comes to talk to me in the dark. Like some messed up Eros.” You whispered the last part to yourself.

One of the ladies said, gently, “Give him time. He’s not… terrible.”

—

“Your staff speaks highly of you.” You said to him when he came to see you that night. Again, sat in that corner like a ghost whose only purpose was to haunt your bedroom specifically.

“Do they?”

“Yes,” You made yourself comfortable, leaning against the headboard like you had the habit of doing. “Do you pay them to sing your praises?”

He chuckled. “Is it that hard to believe that I’m not some sort of monster?”

You sighed. “If not then why can’t I see you?”

“Not yet.” He said.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He replied, and by the sounds of it, he stood up. Surely ready to leave. “Now, is there anything you need?”

You tried to see if you could tell where he was standing but the room was too dark. However, it seemed like, judging by the sound of footsteps, that he’d gotten closer to the end of your bed. “There’s nothing to do around the house. The ladies take care of everything. I appreciate the library, but…”

He was quiet, like he was thinking. Then said, “I’ll see to it.”

“I’m assuming you won’t let me go back to work in my family’s companies.” You could tell he wouldn’t.

“No,” He said, as expected. “You’re my wife now. I’m well equipped to provide for you and see to your needs for the rest of our lives. But if you have any hobbies, please, indulge away.”

Something about his calm tone made you confess your little secret, “I like to paint. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.”

You didn’t know why you were telling him all this. Perhaps the dark helped you open up better. Maybe the fact that you didn’t know him made it easier to talk. Like how people tend to prefer texting over calls. Him being so invisible made it so much more effortless.

You continued, “I always wonder what it must be like to have an exhibition of my works.” You chuckled. “I know it sounds vain but… I’ve always wanted to let my mind and soul leak all over canvases, and share it with the world. I think it’s such a brave thing when people do that.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke in that teasing tone, “Painting, huh?”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t get to make fun of me, ghost.”

He chuckled. “Get some sleep, wife.”

And then he left.

—

The following morning, you woke up to two surprises.

The first one was waiting for you at the breakfast table. You noticed the box on the floor immediately. It was partially opened, and had a note stuck to it.

The note read: ‘Since there’s nothing to do around the house…’ written in a messy handwriting. Surely Bucky’s.

You opened the box and in there, on a folded blanket, was a sleeping, fluffy little puppy. A black lab it seemed. With a pink collar around her neck. You gasped as you gently picked it up and couldn’t resist bringing it up to your face. Puppies always smelt so good.

The little one yawned and let out some cute noises as you held her up to look at her properly. By now the two ladies whom you saw frequently around the house walked up to you and one of them said, “He left something else for you.”

You followed the ladies, new puppy in hand, and they led you to what seemed like a newly built studio. It was in an area of the mansion where you didn’t go very often. And as you walked in, you gasped in surprise for the second time that morning.

It was located on the ground floor. A bright and spacious space. The beige walls felt like a giant blank canvas in itself. The large Georgian windows allowed the perfect amount of light in. And everything in the room was neatly organised. Art supplies, paints, canvases, palettes, easels.

Oh, it was perfect.

The ladies left you to explore on your own, saying something about bringing you breakfast in here. But you were distracted by the bright yellow sticky note on one of the easels. You walked up to it and it read: ‘For your mind and soul to leak all over. Paint me something. I’ll consider it a wedding gift.’

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you read and re-read the note left by your mysterious husband. You whispered to your sleeping puppy, “Maybe our ghost isn’t so bad, huh?”

Hours went by.

The ladies brought you and the puppy your meals, a bed for the pup, snacks for you, all while you were busy letting your creativity flow as much as possible.

The first few canvases were horrible according to you. You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in so long so it felt like day one all over again. But gradually, over the next few canvases, you could see what your brain was trying to create.

The blank canvas soon turned into flowy shapes. Curves, facial features, hands. Entwining bodies. Two of them. And the colour purple, lots of it. It didn’t make too much sense at first, but the more you worked on it the more you realised what you were painting.

It was your version of ‘The Abduction of Psyche’. How fitting.

By the time you were done and happy with it, your back was aching from sitting on that stool all day. It was almost time for dinner. The sun had set. The puppy was awake so you held her up to show her the canvas and asked, “You think our ghost will like it?”

She let out the tiniest, softest howl.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

You left to shower and have dinner. Then once it was time for bed you asked one of the staff members, “Does Bucky have some kind of an office?”

She replied saying yes he does, and that she could show you where it was. You grabbed the not yet dry canvas and carefully carried it all the way to where Bucky’s office was. The lady again left you all by yourself to explore.

At first you didn’t want to spend too much time in there. It was Bucky’s space after all. But then you thought, if he was comfortable walking into your bedroom at odd times during the night, why shouldn’t you check out his office?

So you did. You left the canvas where it could dry without any problem and where Bucky would see it upon entering the room. Then you began exploring. The room was not what you were expecting for someone like Bucky. You thought it would be less… old school.

He had a vintage looking typewriter on his desk for gods’ sake. Not one he used of course, but it added layers to his character you thought. Dark wooden furniture, comfortable looking chairs, more bookshelves filled with cloth-bound books. It was… cosy.

So cosy in fact that you grabbed a book and made yourself comfortable on one of the chairs. You’d read for an hour or so then head off to bed, you thought.

But soon, you drifted off to sleep. Right there. In Bucky’s office.

You woke up and felt something soft and fluffy moving around on your lap. You opened your eyes and quickly realised you weren’t in bed. The room was dark. With very little light coming in from the outside. There were no curtains in this room, but also it was situated in an area of the mansion where very little moonlight came in.

Before you could panic though, a voice spoke up from not too far away, “You’ve been busy today, I see.”

Ah, Bucky. And fuck. You’d fallen asleep in his office.

You refused to feel embarrassed. So you asked, “Did you like your wedding gift?”

“Yes.” He replied, and gauging by the sound you could tell he was sitting at his desk, in the darkest corner of the room. “I’ll hang it in my office.”

You smiled in the dark, feeling a little proud of yourself. “And where’s my wedding gift?”

“In your lap.”

Fair.

“What should we name her?” You asked, reaching to caress your puppy who let out an adorable grunt. “Hedone? Donnie, for short?”

He let out a chuckle. “You are really leaning into this whole Eros-Psyche thing, huh?”

You shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you’d just show me your face. But you keep choosing not to, so deal with it.”

A pause. Then he asked, “You like your new studio?”

That made you sit up straighter. “I love it. Thank you.” Then you added, “My family always thought painting was a waste of time. They said it kept my head in the clouds too much. That it was… pointless.”

He was quick to say, “It’s not. Besides, your hobbies don’t have to make sense to anyone else but yourself. And I’ve seen the other canvases you left in the studio. They’re good.”

You turned to face the dark corner he was in. “You think?”

“Yes,” He said. “We can hold an exhibition if you want. Let me know when you’re ready.”

You let out a surprised chuckle. And when he didn’t laugh you realised he was serious. “Bucky, it's not so easy.” You explained calmly. “There’s so much work that goes into it, there needs to be some cohesion to the art pieces. There’s marketing, there’s research, there’s…” You exhaled, “There’s a lot of work to be done. Art exhibitions aren’t as easy or quick as you think it is.”

He replied, “Leave all that to me. Just let me know when you want to hold one.”

Just like that?

“I… okay.”

You felt warm in a way you’d never felt before. No one had ever taken your interests so seriously before. You’d never even been able to discuss this freely about your hobbies. And here Bucky was, ready to listen and interact with it.

You got up to leave because this was… a lot to process. “Well then. Good night, Bucky.”

A soft scoff. “Think I liked it more when you called me a ghost.”

You smiled as you approached the door, puppy in hand and amazed at how well you were able to navigate in the dark. “Night, ghost.”

He gave you a satisfied hum, then, “Good night, wife.”

—

It was bizarre to admit but you’d gotten used to those conversations in the dark with your husband. Days went by quickly given how engrossed you were with painting. Especially with the thought of a potential exhibition now in the back of your mind. Gods, that would be a dream.

And while your days consisted of painting, playing and training your puppy, exploring more and more of the grounds and your new home, making quick trips to the stores to get more supplies, catching up with your friends who were still trying to grasp the fact that you got married so quickly, getting to know the household staff and the guards better, your night consisted of waiting and fighting your sleep until Bucky came to talk to you.

It was always short conversations. Filled with easy banter and teasing tones, sarcastic comments and you asking each and every night if he was in the mood to show his face. Bucky always said no. And you always sent him off with a ‘good night, ghost’.

You had gotten used to your ghost. As had your puppy. She would bark happily each time Bucky would enter your bedroom door at night. She’d run to him for playtime and cuddles as he sat in his dark corner and spoke with you until you fell asleep.

Bucky would often leave you some kind of a note, for you to read in the morning. At the breakfast table, or in your studio. Sometimes he would leave compliments and comments on your dry canvases. Eventually, you stopped fighting the smiles which formed on your face as you read his notes.

But all of it only made you want to see him more. Not that it would change anything. Bucky had quickly become… a friend, you’d say. A confidant if you will. He had become a habit. Part of your routine.

And then one night, he didn’t come to see you.

You waited. He usually came around midnight. It was well past 2 a.m. and he never came.

At some point you went downstairs, pretending as if you just needed some water. One of the guards caught you trying to peek out into the driveway from the kitchen window.

“Boss is not home yet, ma’am.” He said.

You acted like you didn’t care. But still asked, “He does this often?”

“Sometimes.”

You nodded. You took your drink and with your puppy in your arms you walked back upstairs, passing by the many guards who were on duty inside the house at nighttime.

“It’s alright, he’s probably just busy.” You whispered to the sleeping pup as you made your way up. “Or maybe he’s hurt and tending to his wounds somewhere else.” You felt a gentle pinch in your chest at the thought of Bucky hurt and alone out there. So you forced yourself to think of something else. Something way worse. “Or maybe he’s with someone else.” You scoffed, nuzzling the soft fur of your pup, “This marriage means nothing to him anyway. But that’s alright, we don’t need him. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other. Don’t we?”

Safe to say, you went to bed slightly annoyed that night. And in denial too because you refused to admit that you missed him.

–

There was a note waiting for you in your studio the next morning.

It read: ‘No I did not spend the night with someone else. I’ll explain later. See you tonight, wife.’

Huh. Looks like the guards have really good ears.

Well, whatever. It’s not like you were impatiently waiting for night to come just so you could talk to your ghost of a husband. Right?

Except you were though. So much that you couldn’t paint a decent thing. You were easily giving up on each canvas, and leaving a trail of unfinished work the more time went on.

Eventually you sighed and left the studio. You tried reading but that wasn’t happening either. So you did the only thing you knew would take your mind off things. You asked the ladies to show you where everything was kept in the kitchen and you got to baking.

Which you did until it was time for bed. Your mood was off, and it was all because of a faceless man. And that somehow annoyed you even more.

You grabbed a plate of the mini muffins you’d made earlier and made your way upstairs. Your puppy had just gotten used to the stairs so she happily followed you everywhere you went now.

You proceeded to sit in bed, and eat your muffins angrily and forced yourself to try to sleep.

You woke up sometime later. And you just knew who was in the room with you.

Except he wasn’t in his usual spot.

He was standing by the windows which faced your bed this time, with his back to you. The curtains were pulled, the moonlight came and there was his dark silhouette. And… you frowned as you noticed the shiny metal arm.

“You’re home.” You said.

Bucky turned his head to the side, “I am.” He said.

You took a second or two to admire the side profile. With the moonlight shining all around his silhouette he looked like a fallen angel of sorts. “You didn’t come home last night.”

“I was out working,” He said.

“Maiming and killing?”

“You know me so well.”

“Is that a… metal arm?” You questioned.

“It is.”

“Were you hurt?”

“I was.”

You sighed again. “Is it always going to be bland answers and mystery with you?”

“Get used to it.” He said in that teasing tone.

You got out of bed as quietly as you could. “I think I liked you better without the attitude, when you sat in the corner like a ghost.” You took some steps away from the bed, approaching the giant windows. The room was rather spacious so it would take some more steps to get close to him. If you’d only–

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” He warned, but remained in the same spot.

You groaned. “Don’t you think this is getting tiring? I mean, I’m married to a man I’ve never seen before. In fact, no one has ever seen you. Why? What are you hiding?” You added, sounding defeated.

Bucky lowered his head, which only accentuated how broad his shoulders really were. He sighed. “Do you know how much trouble could’ve been avoided if only Psyche trusted Eros?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think she had her reasons. A mysterious, faceless lover who only shows up in the dark and hides in the shadows is bound to raise some doubts. Don’t you think so?”

He chuckled. You blinked and he’d turned around to face you. But despite that, you couldn’t see his face at all. Even though he was inches away.

He was quiet. Observing you with interest. The moonlight allowed him to see all of you, and he just… stared for a moment or two. A shiver ran down your back. An unfamiliar, but pleasant shiver.

Without a word said, Bucky reached out and gently touched the thin strap of your silky night dress resting on your shoulder. His metal finger gliding along your skin and making you gasp at his cold touch.

“What’s this?” He asked in his usual teasing tone. “Trying to tempt me with this excuse of a night dress, wife?”

Fuck. Had his voice dropped lower?

Fuck! He was so close to you. You didn’t even notice that your heart had begun racing. Your breaths had deepened. Shit. Why was this so hot?!

“Are you? Tempted?” You asked with a steady voice, without thinking obviously. You just needed to say something so he wouldn’t notice the way you were basically panting after him like a thirsty dog.

He chuckled. But remained quiet.

So you said, “Thought so.” You sounded smug but you were feeling the complete opposite.

Bucky scoffed in that arrogant way he often did. It was insane how easily you were able to pick up on his mannerism when you hadn’t even known him for that long. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want to sleep with you?”

Oh.

Oh this was bad. Because now your brain was making up hot, steamy scenes in your head. Scenes involving you and your faceless, mysterious husband in the dark. Entwining bodies on soft bed sheets. Fuck, you should paint that. No, what?

“Then why haven’t you?” You found yourself asking.

Okay then, bold as fuck it is. You’d gone past the point of no return now. Guess it was time for this conversation.

Bucky’s fingers remained on your shoulder, tracing the thin strap there. And you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smirk in his voice when he asked, “You want me to?” His metal hand dropped to your waist and before you could fully process it, he pulled you closer, leaned in to whisper into your ear, “You want my hands all over you, wife?”

You could feel his slight stubble against your skin as he spoke. His lips brushing against your ear, making you gasp and tremble. Your hands found their way to his shoulders. And oh, he was pulling you even closer. Your chest pressing against his. The cool material of his suit felt amazing against your warm skin.

“Look at you,” He cooed into your ear. “Is this what you want? Hmm?” He placed both his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. His lips moved lower, brushing against your neck as he spoke. “You like how rough my hands feel?” He moved his hands up and down your sides. “Do you know how many people I’ve hurt with these hands?” He chuckled when he heard the tiniest moan leave your mouth. “You’re so soft and warm, aren’t you worried what these hands might do to you?”

He nuzzled your neck, hands roaming all over your sides and back and squeezing your butt. You became so pliant under his touch. Tilting your head back to allow him to kiss all over your neck, pressing your chest more and more against his like you couldn’t get enough. The layers of clothing, you wanted them gone.

With a shaky voice you murmured, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to scare me or turn me on.”

He laughed. And it was the best sound you’d ever heard.

“You’re sick in that pretty head, huh?” He teased. “That beautiful brain is filled with filthy, dirty, dark thoughts, isn’t it?” His metal hand reached up and carefully wrapped around your throat.

You gasped as he squeezed just a little bit. Those dirty thoughts he spoke about really started to fill your head.

“Are you just all talk or–,”

He cut you off by dragging you all the way to your bed, still holding you by the throat.

The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and he gave you a slight push, ending with you falling onto your bed on your back. You looked up at him, hovering above you, his lower body pressing into yours.

“Do you just run that mouth?,” He asked, supporting himself with one hand while the metal one remained wrapped around your throat, his voice low and menacing but in a way that made your legs part on their own so his hips settled in between them. Your bodies fit together like the most perfect puzzle pieces. “Or do you know how to take it like a brat as well?”

You felt the need to let him know then. “I don’t know,” You said, sounding both breathless and bratty. “I’ve never had to take it.”

He paused for a moment. Then asked in subtle surprise, “What do you mean?” Even his grip around your throat loosened completely.

You squirmed in slight embarrassment but that only caused your hips to grind against his and for a moment there both of you let out a strained moan. Fuck. The tension between the two of you was almost physical now. Even in the dark, even with Bucky being nothing more than just a shadow above you.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, still feeling his cold fingers all over your skin, “I’ve never been with anyone before.”

He was quiet. As if thinking. You tried your hardest but you couldn’t see any of his facial features. You knew he had a slight stubble because you’d felt it earlier. But aside from that, you knew nothing. Not even his eye colour.

“You want us to stop?” He asked, shifting his body slightly as if he was ready to pull away if you asked him to.

“No,” You answered way too quickly. Then you got bold again and let your hands find their way back to his shoulders. You pulled him down, closer to you just a little and said, “This is okay.”

His fingers moved up, from your neck to your mouth. “Yeah? You want this, huh?” He mumbled, tracing your mouth with his fingers. You shivered under his touch. “You’ve been a whiny little brat lately, haven’t you, wife? Pouting and all just because I wouldn’t show myself to you.” He whispered, leaning in to just brush his lips against yours. You gasped at the sensation of his soft lips rubbing against yours. Bucky chuckled at your reaction. “Don’t think my staff doesn’t report back to me. I’ve been well aware of all the times you asked the ladies to give you details about me.”

Now that made you squirm in embarrassment. Still you said, sounding a little annoyed at being caught. “Can you blame me?”

“Can’t you just trust me?” He argued.

The danger and authority in his tone had your thighs clenching together to try and alleviate the torturous pain in between your legs. You were almost certain you had never been this turned on and annoyed at the same damn time before. You sighed in frustration. “This isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” He said, pulling away and began undressing you to your pleasant surprise. “Deal with it.”

Oh fuck.

Fuck… You had to hold back from whimpering each time his hands rubbed against your skin. He took his time in sliding the straps of your night dress down your shoulders, dragging the silky fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked under him.

You shivered once he left your night dress bunched around your waist carelessly. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air. It was because even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was staring right at you.

You spoke in a hushed voice, not daring to speak loud in fear that it might break whatever spell you were under. “So you get to see me naked all you want, but I can’t see your face?”

He chuckled. “You want me to leave this room right now? Leave you here all wet and squirming? Or do you want me to take care of it and make you come? Huh?”

That shut you up really quickly.

“I thought so.” He sounded smug again when he said that. “I should spank you for the brat you are. But since it’s your first time… I’ll be nice.”

His hands touched you everywhere, your thighs, your stomach, your sides, your chest, your neck… everywhere. He left you gasping and trembling under him.

“Please.” You caught yourself whispering.

Bucky leaned down, his soft mouth brushing against your cheek as he said, “Please what?”

You squirmed, “Touch me, please.”

He chuckled. You felt his warm breath against your skin as he kissed his way down your naked body. “Look at you,” He murmured, lips brushing against your stomach, “You’re so eager already.”

You heard the faint chuckle which left his mouth the moment he noticed your legs spread apart for him naturally. Your face felt like it was burning but fuck, you were too turned on to even be properly embarrassed. Also, being in complete darkness helped.

Damn. You were really getting intimate with your husband whom you hadn’t even seen yet. And somehow that fact was making you want this even more.

But that mystery stopped being an issue the moment Bucky leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease.

He poked at your entrance with his tongue and your body felt hotter than before. Back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan at the foreign feeling. Fuck he felt good. You whimpered as you felt his tongue stroke your most sensitive parts. Your immediate reaction was to pull your hips back from the overwhelmingly good sensation his mouth was causing. And that made him grip your thighs tighter, keeping them pinned to the bed.

“Stop moving.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble.

You whined as you felt his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to his mouth. The metal hand on your warm skin made you shiver and tremble so much that you were thankful for the darkness.

The small amount of moonlight which came in allowed you to only see the silhouette of his broad shoulders, and his head moving slowly, sensually in between your legs. Fuck… somehow the mystery only made it hotter.

Oh you were fucked in the head for real.

And oh, Bucky was a fucking tease. Once he noticed how easily you cried out and moaned for him, he slowed down and began kissing around your clit just to purposely mess with you. He kissed your thighs, purposely avoiding touching where he knew you needed him the most. He kissed down all the way to your core, and gently bit your skin around your inner thighs.

“Bucky, please!” You cried out, hand reaching for his hair. When you managed to grab a fistful of his soft hair, you gave it a gentle tug. “Stop teasing me.”

“You don’t get to give me orders, wife.” He said, sounding all proud and mighty. “I could just walk out of here and leave you like this. Naked and squirming.”

“Please,” You begged again. You could feel your arousal trickling out of you.

A scoff. Then he leaned in again. You whined and whimpered under him, with your legs wrapped around his head. Fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp instinctively as he flicked, and sucked, and teasing your clit as much as he could.

“You’ve been a brat because you wanted your husband’s attention so badly, huh?” He taunted. “Is that what you wanted? Just my attention?” He chuckled. “You’re as calm as a happy kitten now, aren’t you?”

His stubble rubbed against your sensitive skin, and the friction burned a little but it was the kind of pain you kept wanting more of. You wanted more of him.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” You murmured, throwing your head back, moaning as he kept teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

“Come for me, wife.” His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud.

You couldn’t even hold on for much longer, and ended up coming undone all over his tongue. Heart racing, legs trembling in his grip as you came. Your moans were soft and incessant.

Fuck… that felt amazing.

You had barely gotten your heart to stop racing, and Bucky was already standing up and in the dark you couldn’t see very well but it did look like he was moving away from the bed.

“You’re leaving?” You asked, unable to stop yourself from sounding a little upset at his departure.

All he said was, “Good night, wife. See you tomorrow.”

You scoffed after he shut the door behind him, leaving you in darkness yet again. “Ghost.”

—

That night ended up being the first of many.

Your days consisted of painting, and finally finding a flow in most of your pieces. Perhaps if you’re able to make a decent collection, you could start thinking about the exhibition seriously, you thought. When you weren’t painting you were either training your rapidly growing puppy, or baking. You’d begun taking your puppy out for walks around the mansion, consequently doing some more exploring of the grounds.

After all that, each night you’d get in bed and wait for Bucky. It became part of your routine. And each night with him was different. He’d spend his time touching you slowly until you were purring for him like a kitten. Kissing you all over your body in the dark. Making you come all over his tongue and fingers. Kissing you until you moaned and pulled him closer just to feel his weight pressing down on you.

But he would always leave after making you come. And you two never actually fucked. Neither would he let you make him come.

On nights when he wouldn’t make it home, you’d worry yourself to sleep. But then each morning you’d find a note from him either in your studio or the breakfast table. He would always say some cheesy shit. And he would always promise to come see you later that night.

On nights when you two didn’t engage in anything sexual, it was still just as fulfilling. Bucky would tell you things about his work, his past, his family. You learnt that he was over a decade older than you, and teased him about being an old man until he pinned you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe.

You learnt that he liked to keep to himself and stay as far away from his family as possible. He liked peace and quiet, which would explain his lovely home being here away from most people.

The more you learned about him, the easier it was to grow fond of him. But the more you grew fond of him, the greedier you got. You wanted more. More of his time, his touch, his attention, and most of all, you wanted to see him.

The mystery, while hot as fuck, was killing you.

—

One night, things changed.

Bucky came into your room as usual. He’d gotten bolder lately, he wouldn’t sit in the corner like a ghost anymore, instead he would find his way to your bed and only leave that bed after making you come hard.

Tonight started out the same way.

You felt his hands all over you as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. You giggled as he bit and licked that one sensitive spot on your neck. Your fingers had a habit of finding themselves in his hair. It was insane how easily you’d gotten used to being with him in the dark. How easily you could find his mouth with your own. How easily you’d find your way into his arms.

It was weirdly comforting. His warmth, his voice, his touch.

“Tell me about your day,” He murmured, kissing your neck while his hands grabbed you and caressed you wherever he could reach.

You squealed when you felt his metal fingers wandering dangerously close to your clit. Then said, “It went pretty well. I went out to buy some supplies, made a new friend at the store, I went to see my father but he wasn’t home. I took our dog for a walk, I painted…,” You gasped when his mouth trailed down till he took a nipple into his warm mouth, while he slid two fingers inside you gently. “Oh fuck…” You whined.

He kissed his way up to your mouth again and said, “You sound so good when you moan for me, wife.” His lips brushed against yours.

He was so close. And it was dark. And you wanted so desperately to see him.

He moved his fingers expertly in and out of you. Making sure to brush against your most sensitive spots each time, turning you into a whimpering mess under him. He gave you a gentle kiss, swallowing your moans as he brought you closer to the edge.

You whimpered and whined, then in the moment you just blurted out, “Can I please see you now?”

Bucky stopped. He pulled away from you, making you whimper again as he got up and got out of your bed.

In the dark it took a while for you to figure out where he was, whether he was still nearby or already making his way out the door. But he was here, standing near the bed.

“We talked about this.” He said, sounding grave and disappointed.

“But it’s been so long.” You argued. “I trust you.”

He let out a loud exhale and said, “Then trust me when I say, it’s better this way.”

You let out a sigh. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Bucky. Literally!”

“Yes I can. I will.” He said arrogantly. That tone of his bothered you. “It’s better this way.” He repeated, but it sounded a lot like he was trying to convince himself instead of you.

“Oh screw you!” You said with enough bitterness to make a grown man flinch. “If you won’t let me see you then stop coming into my bedroom. I don’t want to see you unless you agree to let go of this weird persona.”

“Fine.”

—

That night was the last time you heard from Bucky.

He didn’t come home the following day. Nor the one after that.

And no one knew where he went.

You could tell something was wrong when you began noticing that the guards were talking in hushed voices whenever you were around. You noticed that the amount of security around the house doubled. That’s when you began to worry.

By the third night, the entire house was filled with this almost tangible tension, worry, and fear. The house staff wouldn’t talk to you as much. The guards were always in and out of the house. The head of security advised you to not wander too far away from the house while you roam the grounds.

You noticed the guards would follow you whenever you left the property. Be it when you left to visit your father at your old house or when you went out to buy supplies.

Then you worried some more. But no one had answers to your questions. Nobody knew where he went. Whether he’s away for an assignment or if he’s simply choosing to be away from home.

You tried your hardest to pretend that you didn’t care. You were still a little angry. After all, why couldn’t you see what he looked like? You’d spend so much time with him in the dark, running your hands all over him, tracing the outline of his facial features, he never had an issue with that. But why couldn’t you see him?

You were angry, but also very much worried by the fourth day. You missed him, you realised. He had become such a habit, such a constant in your days. His sarcastic humour, his gentle hands, his comforting embrace, the way he left you notes in the morning, the way he took your art seriously.

Fuck. You sat up in bed one night, patting ‘his’ side of the bed softly. You missed him. Badly. You felt a pinch inside your chest which you had never felt before. It hurt. You wanted him home. You admitted to yourself with a painful sigh.

“Where are you?” You whispered, looking at the dark corner of your bedroom where he used to sit in silence like a ghost. “It’s okay if you want to stay in the dark forever.” You looked around the dark room which now without him seemed so much bigger and empty, “Just come home.”

—

The next morning, as you half-heartedly approached the kitchen, you overheard something. And quickly realised you shouldn’t have heard it. It was the two ladies talking in hushed tones, the ones who usually served you your meals and often kept you company while you baked.

“...cannot tell her, she’ll be heartbroken.” One of them said gravely.

Sudden panic made your body freeze. You pressed your back against the nearest wall to keep yourself hidden while you processed those cryptic words. No, no, no. Is he hurt? Do they know something you don’t?

The other replied, “But she deserves to know. Even if it’s not confirmed yet. I mean, do you see how she smiles when she reads his notes? Clearly she had grown to care for him. She needs to know.”

The other argued, “I know, but I cannot imagine how hurt she will be when she hears about the rumours that her own father kidnapped her husband due to some past rivalry which was supposedly laid to rest after their wedding.”

“They’ve been looking for him for days now. It’s been too long, he should’ve been found by now.”

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

No. This cannot be happening.

You carefully walked away from the kitchen. Thinking, processing, analysing.

If your father did it, it must’ve been for some shitty, arrogant reason. He probably just wanted to rub it in Bucky’s family’s face that he could still eliminate his biggest threat if he wanted to. To show that he could still get rid of them by holding their most precious weapon hostage. To toy with them by making them wait in anticipation. Your father had done it before. Not with Bucky, but other people. He usually never asked for ransom but he liked having his rivals beg him for mercy.

Shit. He’s had Bucky for days now.

You moved without thinking twice about it. For some reason, your brain knew exactly what to do even though your heart was still bothered by a multitude of emotions. It felt like you were on autopilot.

You rushed into Bucky’s office and grabbed a handgun from his desk drawer, checked if it was loaded. It was. You knew Bucky kept it there for safety, he had told you that one time when you two were in bed together.

You let out a frustrated sigh, then felt movement around your ankles. You looked down at your puppy and gave her a sad smile as you bent down to pet her. “I’m gonna go find daddy, okay? I’ll be home soon.” You left her with a kiss.

You rushed back downstairs and found a group of armed guards in the foyer near the front door. You didn’t have the time to explain it all to them, especially since you were driven by a gut feeling. Instead you asked, “Do you guys have a way of tracking my phone, or my car?”

One of them nodded. The rest frowned in confusion.

You tried to keep your calm as much as you could even though your heart was racing. “Okay, I’m gonna go to my father’s house. Don’t follow me yet, but I need some of you to come find me as soon as I begin driving away from there.”

Surprisingly, they just nodded and let you go.

The whole time you drove to your father’s house, it felt you were constantly having to force yourself to keep calm. After four days of having no idea where he was, and now as all the puzzle pieces fit together, it was hard to remain calm. You just wanted to get to him.

And while you drove, unanswered questions tormented you.

Was he hurt? Where was he being kept? Was he beaten up? Was he even conscious? Would this end badly? How far would your father take this? Would he hurt him?

Before you knew it, you were entering your father’s property. The guards let you in like they always did. You had to take a minute to breathe in your car before stepping out and going inside your old home.

Luckily your father was home.

You walked in and stopped in the middle of the foyer as you saw him making his way down the stairs. He slowed down when he noticed the glare you sent his way. And when he stopped in the middle of the grand staircase, with you still glaring at him, the guards who were scattered around the entrance noticed. You caught the way they silently got closer and closer, slowly reaching for their guns.

Good thing you’d brought your own.

The guards, as well as your father, froze in place the moment you pulled out Bucky’s gun and pointed it at the man responsible for all of this shit. No one made a single sound. No guard moved to even try to disarm you.

You looked at your hand, which was surprisingly steady as it held the gun. And there, on the side of the shiny metal, you spotted Bucky’s initials. Your heart throbbed in a painful way, but you refused to be emotional right now, even though you needed a good cry after having bottled up your feelings for the last few days.

You glared at your father, who was still shocked, and asked in a cold tone you’d never used before, “Where’s my husband?”

Your father frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You repeated, “Where is he?”

Your father scoffed, “You’ll shoot your own father? Is this how I raised you?”

“And you’ll kidnap your own son-in-law? For what? To show that you’re still the shit?” You questioned in a slightly raised voice.

He sighed like he was disappointed, “You don’t know what–,”

You cut him off. “We had a deal, right? That these petty attacks would stop after the wedding? That’s why I got married, isn’t it? Because we’re supposed to keep family safe?”

He was quiet for a moment. Then began talking again, “If I could just get them to–,”

“Enough!” You sounded just as tired of his bullshit as you were. “Whatever plan you have, just stop!” Then it came spilling out of your mouth, “You were supposed to protect me. All of us,” You said, referring to your older siblings, “Instead you married each of us off in exchange for whatever or whoever was going to benefit you more.”

He argued, “If this works, you can come back home. Don’t you want that?”

“No,” You said, and realised you meant it. “This was never home.” You admitted. “He treats me better than my own family ever did. He doesn’t tell me that my art is a waste of time. He doesn’t keep me imprisoned inside his home. He doesn’t choose who I should mingle with and who I shouldn’t. He doesn’t force me to join family businesses because it’ll be good for his image.” You taunted your father. “And he’ll never sell me to the highest bidder.”

Your father made a sound like he was disgusted. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with him?”

You remained quiet. I care for him, you wanted to say, deeply. But that would be lying, wouldn’t it? Truth was… you did fall for him. His calm voice. His gentle but playful demeanour. His dark humour. His brilliant mind and sharp tongue, always ready to argue and debate. His gentle touch… you loved him.

“What I do and who I care for is none of your concern anymore.” You concluded, stepping forward and keeping the gun aimed at his face. “Now, where is my husband?”

The smirk on your father’s face was maddening. “You’ll never find him,” He said. “I’ve hidden him well.” He added.

You gave him a smirk as well. One which mirrored his.

“Oh don’t make me do this.” You cooed. “Did you forget all those times you got drunk and confessed all the bad things you did?” You began listing, “All those times you spilled all your little secrets. About our family businesses, about your allies, the lies and betrayal. The bodies that are buried on this very property. The skeletons in your closet.” You gave him a sick, sweet smile. “Imagine if all that information just magically ends up in the ears of your rivals, dad. Imagine the carnage.”

His smirk disappeared. “You would betray me by siding with them?” He asked in disbelief.

You were getting tired of this. So you lowered your gun and said, “I am one of them.”

You walked out without a single glance back at your father, but you could tell he had his jaws clenched in anger. He hated being outsmarted. But his mistake was underestimating you.

And as for Bucky’s location, well your father gave it away when he said ‘I’ve hidden him well.’

There was only one place he believed you knew nothing about since at the time that he told you about it, he was drunk out of his mind as he confessed more of his crimes: the rundown warehouse which he used as a hideout/storage for weapons and arms.

Your father had always referred to Bucky being a ‘weapon’ so it was only fitting that he would think to hide him there. Thinking no one would find him.

But you would.

As you drove to the warehouse, you hoped that the guards were tracking you as you had instructed them to. Because if Bucky was truly there, there was a high chance that there would be some guards, and that Bucky must be injured. And you’d need help getting him out of there.

Driving to the warehouse, you had silent tears streaming down your face. Not just out of sadness, but also frustration. Fuck, what had your life become?

The warehouse was a disaster, you realised as you approached it. Large, crumbling, windows boarded up with rotting wood, broken machinery scattered around the outside. It looked like it had been abandoned for decades. And it was exactly the type of structure no one would bother to look twice at. The perfect place to hide illegal things, and son-in-laws you hate.

There weren’t as many guards as you expected. Which would mean that Bucky was either chained and locked up like an animal, or that he was injured to the point where he was too weak to fight his way out of here.

Or both.

You shivered as you got out of your car. The few guards who were around noticed you and one of them began walking faster towards you the more you got closer to the entrance.

“Miss, you can’t be here. Your father explicitly said no one is allowed–,”

You scoffed and said, “Oh, I know what he said.” You kept walking. “What will you do? Shoot me?”

“Miss,” He tried again, “I can’t let you–,”

You turned towards him and placed the barrel of Bucky’s gun right under the guard’s chin. “You were saying?”

Then you heard it. A fleet of cars approaching. The guards heard it too. You heard them yelling at one another while the one in front of you remained frozen in place. You smirked at him and said, “Now go play with them.”

You had just enough time to duck and run inside before the gunshots began. You didn’t stop. The interior of the warehouse was just as dilapidated as the outside, and by the sound of it, there were quite some guards on the roof. Their heavy footsteps as they ran to duck and try to escape the bullets raining down on them echoed inside the empty warehouse.

It was fairly easy to spot Bucky. But fuck was it painful to see him that way.

He was chained to the wall, shackles around his wrists and ankles. His body slumped on the ground, his breaths ragged. You could tell he was tired. Perhaps tired of fighting against the chains. You couldn’t hold back your soft sob as you ran to him.

They had left his muzzle-like mask on him, covering the lower half of his face. The leather jacket and gloves he wore were covered in blood and dirt. A lot of blood. You knelt down in front of him and that’s when you noticed the bullet wound on his thigh. It looked fresh.

“Bucky?” You called, reaching a hand to touch his face. He was cold to the touch, but stirred at the sound of your voice. “Bucky, come on. Wake up. Please.” You sniffled and inched closer to him, “I’m here, I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?”

He let out a weak cough. You could barely hear it over the sound of the gunshots outside.

“Bucky,” You tried to get the chains and shackles off of him, “Come on, wake up. We need to go home.” Your own voice cracked as you felt the silent tears streaming down your face as you were unable to get the shackles off. “Please,” You begged.

Then as the gunshots outside faded away, you heard Bucky’s faint voice saying, “Use the gun.”

You turned to face him. “What?”

He spoke again, his voice raspier than usual and sounding muffled due to the mask. “Shoot at the chains.”

Your hands trembled just a little as you reached for the gun you had brought. His gun. And you said, “Okay, don’t move.”

You did. And only missed twice.

Breaking the chains left the shackles still around his wrists and ankles but that could be dealt with later. You were panicking, wondering how you’d get him out of here but the guards barged in just in time. And you let out a sigh of relief when they ran straight to Bucky and carefully picked him up.

As a couple of them managed to get Bucky in the backseat of your car, one of them let you know that there was a doctor and his assistants already waiting at home to tend to Bucky. Another one asked you what to do regarding the warehouse.

“Burn it.” You told him. “I’ll deal with my father later, right now we need to get Bucky home.”

On the drive home, Bucky kept trying to talk. But he was so weak he could barely get full sentences out.

“Weren’t you mad at me?” He asked.

You sniffled and said refused to answer that. Instead you said, “Try not to talk. You’ve been shot, we don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” You rambled. “Let’s get you to the doctor, okay?”

“S’okay,” He mumbled, “It went through.”

That only hurt more. “Bucky please, you need to save energy, okay? We’re almost home.”

“They… shot me with my own gun.” He refused to keep quiet.

At first you thought his brain was being delirious and making him ramble. Because of the pain, exhaustion, thirst, hunger. But then a weak sound left his mouth. Still muffled by the mask because no one removed it, and it sounded a lot like a very weak, faint laugh.

“Eros got pierced by his own arrow after all.” He mumbled.

You held back a sob. Then muttered, “I hate you so much, Bucky Barnes.”

Another weak laugh. “No, you don’t, wife.”

Then he passed out cold.

—

The next few days which followed Bucky’s rescue went by so fast and so painfully. The medical team kept close watch on him for days. Bucky was in and out of consciousness a lot. All the meds and the exhaustion kept him constantly out cold.

The nurses and the house staff were constantly around him. But for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to go into his room. Not yet. You’d linger near the door and the doctors and the staff would constantly update you about his condition, but you never went in.

Mainly it was because of shame. At what your father had done to him. But also you were still making peace with and processing your own emotions and you couldn’t face him until you were fully ready. What was important was that he was rescued and safe in his home.

About a week later, the medical team finally left. And promised they would do frequent check ups and told you that Bucky needed a lot of rest.

And that night, you managed to find the courage to finally step inside Bucky’s bedroom. It was a lot like yours, just larger. The room was dark when you walked in. But the open curtains allowed some light in from the outside.

Okay. You spoke to yourself as you approached Bucky’s bed. It’s high time you find out who you married.

Your hands shook a little as you reached for the dim lamp on his bedside table. But you turned it on quickly before you could talk yourself out of it.

The golden light illuminated the room partly, and there he was. A little bruised, with a cut on his lip. His handsome face made you smile and tear up at the same time. You couldn’t hold back from reaching to touch his face softly, carefully. You ran your knuckles along his cheek and whispered, “There you are, ghost.”

He stirred. And soon, a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at you. For a moment you panicked, wondering if he would be upset. But instead he said, “This is cheating.”

You let out a soft laugh and asked, “How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep for days.”

“I feel like beating your father up.” He mumbled.

“Oh, same.” You agreed. Then added, “I’m so sorry for what he did to you.”

Over the past few days, the guards had gathered what had truly happened the day Bucky went missing. Turns out, he did leave for an assignment but your father and his men had been keeping a close eye on him for days, and since the wedding was supposed to have ended all rivalry, Bucky had his guard down as he entered your father’s territory. And your father had the upper hand for once and took advantage of it. Bucky was cornered, outnumbered and taken. He was kept in that warehouse up until you found him.

“Don’t be,” Bucky whispered, reaching for your hand on your lap. He gave your hand a soft squeeze and said, “You saved me.”

You couldn’t look away from Bucky. It felt so intimate to finally be able to see his face. Then rather sheepishly, you asked, “Can I sleep here? I’ll be careful.” He was still injured and in pain, but you just wanted to be close to him. You needed to.

He smirked, “Come on.” You walked to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, keeping some distance between you and him. He turned to look at you and said, “Want me to leave the light on?”

You nodded. And he did.

—

A lot changed after that.

Bucky was healing from his injury and was starting to walk again. Which meant that he was home a lot. He did ‘work’ but it mainly consisted of him ordering people around on the phone.

Him being at home meant that he followed you around as much as he physically could. He would spend time in your studio, sometimes he’d stay for hours and watch you finish your pieces. He also spent a lot more time with your dog, taking her on short walks and teaching her new tricks.

He’d stay with you in the kitchen while you baked. He’d go with you whenever you went shopping for supplies. Bucky became your shadow. And consequently, spending this much together made you feel closer than ever to him.

He became your best friend.

He also became a lot more… bold.

—

One night Bucky found you in his bathroom. After that night when you first slept in his bed, you hadn’t gone back to your bedroom. So now, most of your things slowly found their way into his space. Like your night time skin care products.

Bucky crept up behind you and wrapped his arms around you.

You met his eyes through the mirror and gave him a smile. “Your limp is nearly gone.” You announced, noticing the way he walked was so much better now.

He gave you a look which meant nothing but mischief, “And you know what that means?”

You could already tell where this was going. You immediately turned him down. “Bucky, we cannot. You’re still injured.”

“But it’s been weeks.” He said it like it was the ultimate torture. “Don’t you miss those nights we spent together? Hmm?” He whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck. He knew it was one of your weaknesses. “Remember how good it feels when I make you come?”

You sighed, letting him kiss you and hold you for a moment. “Buck… you’re still healing.”

“Come on, baby,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck, “I’ll make it so good. I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

You almost gave in the moment he playfully bit your neck, his hands finding the belt of your robe and shamelessly undoing it before sliding in to touch your warm skin. “But,” You tried to find something even though all you wanted was to drag him to bed, “Your stitches…” Your words ended in a soft moan as his metal fingers found their way in between your legs, circling around your clit.

Bucky growled. Growled. Then said, “Fine, you get to be on top then.”

You froze, and let out a nervous chuckle. “But I…,” You opened your eyes and met his through the mirror. “I–,”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He reassured you, remembering the time you told him you’d never done anything with anyone before. “I know.” He gave you a sweet kiss on the cheek. “I’ll teach you.”

And he did. Patiently.

He took his time in undressing both of you and held your hand in his as he laid down and pulled you on top of him.

“I’m scared I’ll hurt you.” You murmured.

He gave you a reassuring smile. “You won’t, baby. Now come on.”

He watched as you carefully straddled him, settling comfortably around his waist. One hand holding his metal one tightly while the other remained splayed over his chest.

Bucky looked up at you with nothing but adoration and lust as he tugged on your hand, pulling you in for a kiss. You leaned down gently and pressed your mouth to his. His warm hand immediately rubbed up and down your side lovingly. He pulled away just a little and whispered against your mouth, “We’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, okay?”

You nodded, already breathless.

“Tell me, baby. What do you want?”

You told him the one thing you desperately wanted. “I want to touch you.”

Bucky smirked and supported his upper body up on his elbows, with you still straddling his waist, your core pressing down on his crotch. “Go on then, touch me.” He murmured.

He watched you intently as you reached out and touched his face first. Bucky’s heart was racing, you could tell by the way he breathed, as your finger slowly trailed down his face, along his neck and down till his abs, so slowly that you could feel his muscles tensing underneath your touch.

You gave him a teasing smile when you noticed the effect you have on him, and how he couldn’t help but stare at your naked body.

“Don’t tease me,” He mumbled.

You chuckled and leaned in to give him a brief kiss before hesitantly wrapping your hand around his cock. Part of the reason why you kissed him while doing it was because you were worried about your lack of experience, so you did it to distract him.

But he caught it. And wrapped his own hand around yours, making you grip him tighter. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his pretty eyes. Bucky was breathing heavily. You let his hand guide you as you gave him an experimental stroke, a gentle up and down movement.

He felt thick and hard, and big. You looked down for a quick minute as you let him continue guiding your hand, lazily stroking his cock, up and down. Your thumb rubbed his tip slowly, making him groan as you looked back up at him and kissed your way down his neck, around the base of his throat, making him gasp in pleasure.

“See?” He whispered, “You’re learning already.” He said as he slowly let go of your hand and let you touch him on your own.

You continued exploring this new feeling. He was completely fine with just being there and letting you take your time. And you did take your time, touching him everywhere you could, stroking him as slowly or as quickly as you wanted to. Until he was so close to the edge, eyes rolled to the back of his head, lips parted and occasional moans escaping his open mouth as pre cum started dripping down his cock.

Oh he was a sight to behold. But you were getting impatient, and you wanted him in you as soon as possible. So you stopped, earning a groan from him.

“I want you,” You said.

Bucky looked like he was barely able to hold back either. “Come on,” He held your hand again, pulled you in for a quick kiss as you straddled him properly. His hand reached down and aligned the tip of his cock to your hole, teasing you with it by sliding it up and down your slit a few times until you were whimpering. “Now sit on it baby come on,” He encouraged you as you began sinking down on him, gasping as his cock stretched you out. “You can do it.” He murmured, breathless as he watched his cock disappear inside you more and more. “That's it. All the way down, come on baby.”

You were a moaning mess by the time you sunk all the way down, impaling yourself down on his cock. Fuck. You had never felt so full before. So fucking full.

“You okay, baby?” He asked, holding you by your hips, moving you back and forth just a little bit to create some friction.

You nodded, moaning at the slight movement.

“Want me to help you move?” He asked, lips parted and he had that wild look in his eyes.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

“Yes, please,” You whined, placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself for what was coming.

He wasted no time. Bucky grabbed you by the hips and helped you move up and down his cock. Your wet warmth wrapped all around him, making him swear under his breath and groan at how good you felt.

You couldn’t look away from his ocean blue eyes while you rocked your hips against his. You moved against him perfectly, your walls gripping him tightly and feeling him twitch inside you.

“Look at you.” He cooed. “Look how well you're taking it.”

You couldn’t help but lean in to kiss his open mouth. He was so perfect. He was everything you had ever dreamt of, you realised.

His metal fingers moved to touch your clit while you rode his cock, teasing you and bringing you closer to that edge. It wouldn’t take much. You were so overwhelmed already.

“Bucky…” You whined, dragging your hands down and pressing both your palms against his toned abdomen, carefully avoiding touching him around his thigh area, where he was shot.

Bucky watched you, your breasts bouncing gently, lips parted, softly gasping as you got so, so close to the edge.

And he knew. So he quickened his pace, still moving you up and down his cock while he rubbed your throbbing clit.

“Baby, I’m gonna need you to come for me, okay?” His voice was low, barely even a whisper. His desperation was quite clear. He began to thrust his hips up even harder, matching your movements.

The air around you got hotter, and that look in his eyes made you want to live in this moment forever. Bucky was the most beautiful mess you’d ever seen. A sweaty, moaning mess under you, messy hair, swollen lips, and a throbbing cock.

You were sure you looked like a mess too as you felt your walls clench around him, gripping him and milking him perfectly.

“Come for me,” He whispered, “Come on, baby.”

You came without a warning, crying out loud and impaling yourself down on him one last time as you did. Bucky thrust up into you one last time and came undone as well, both of you breathing hard and fast.

You carefully got up from his lap and laid down beside him, body limp and slightly sore in between your legs.

You were still catching your breath as you asked, “Did I hurt you?” You sounded just as worried as you were.

Bucky chuckled. “I should be the one asking you that.”

You smiled and snuggled into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer.

“I’m fine, baby.” He said and kissed your forehead.

You both laid there in silence for a while.

Cuddling and relishing each other’s warmth, caressing each other’s skin.

You felt his fingers drawing random shapes on your back as you laid your head on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeats against your cheek. You felt the need to ask him, “Why were you so against showing yourself to me?”

He gave you a soft chuckle. “You just can’t let that go, huh?”

“Nope.”

He sighed, pulling you closer. “I was… afraid.”

You frowned. “Afraid of what?” You pulled away and looked up at him. “Why did you hide this pretty face from me?” You gave him a quick kiss on his chest as you waited for his answer.

He sighed again. “Everywhere I go, I… whenever people see me up close, it’s already too late. They don’t see a human anymore, they see death staring back at them.” He paused. You remained quiet. He continued. “I see it, you know? In their eyes. When they look at me and plead, or beg, or curse me.” A humourless laugh, then, “After some years of that, I began seeing it in the mirror as well. I saw the same thing they see. After years of brutality, and killing, and spilling blood,” A soft chuckle, “Years of being an evil Eros as you call it, I grew to hate my face.”

You felt tears forming at your waterline but you couldn’t look away from him. Not when he was being so brave and vulnerable.

He continued. “And then before our wedding, I looked you up.” He confessed, a little embarrassed. “And you were so beautiful.” He looked you right in the eyes and repeated, “You are so beautiful. I guess, I didn’t want you to look at me and see death, and ugly and all the other dark stuff. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes, the same one I see in everyone. That look of fear and disgust.” He finally admitted, “So I thought, I’d just hide and be a ghost.”

“My ghost.” You corrected him, reaching out to cup his chin in your palm. “And I’m gonna need you to never stop haunting me.” You said, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on his lips. “I want you to always be in the shadows. Be with me, even in the dark.” You gave him a smile. “I look at you now and you know what I see? I see a man who treated me with respect. A man who wouldn’t touch me unless I asked for it. A man who gave me so much space for my creativity.” A faint smile, then you added, “You made me fall in love with art all over again, and now everything I paint, I paint with you in my mind.”

He gave you a smile which both broke and mended your heart.

“Oh Buck,” You cupped his gorgeous face with both hands and said, “You’re not death, or scary, or any other dark shit. You’re mine, and I love you.”

He pulled you in for a kiss so quickly you barely processed it. “And I love you.”

You giggled into the kiss and only pulled away when you were breathless. You kissed your way down his chin and nuzzled his neck, sighing in delight.

Bucky said, “I think I should retire.”

“Hmm,” You asked, “And what would you do in retirement?”

“Watch you paint, raise our dog, adopt some more animals, attend your art exhibitions, and eventually make some babies with you.” He listed it all so easily.

“Sounds like a plan.” You agreed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #mob!bucky #marvel

4K notes · View notes