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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

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OPPOSITES - part II

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, tiny bit of angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Bucky was right, your parents don't approve your relationship with him so you run away from home to stay with him, ready for the challenge that is getting used to his world.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of guns,

ᯓ★ AU: 1920s Gangstares

ᯓ★ Request: oh my god i absolutely love this <33 a second part would be amazing (no pressure ofc) ( @one-lengthiness36 )

ᯓ★ Since request didn't spicy reader's gender I'll write it as a fem!reader, as I've said in the post

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The evening is like a scene out of one of the novels you used to read in secret, back before Bucky’s presence filled the empty places in your life. The grand ballroom is swathed in soft lights, crystal chandeliers glinting above like starlight. Your parents, all too eager to show you off, parade you through introductions and polite conversation, proudly displaying their perfect, obedient daughter to the other families in attendance. But tonight, you can’t shake the feeling that everything is only half as bright as it could be. Everything feels dull because your mind is on him.

The moment you spot Bucky across the room, dressed in a dark, well-tailored suit that makes him look every inch the part of a man who could captivate a room, everything else melts away. He’s watching you, his gaze piercing even across the sea of elegantly dressed guests. He looks out of place, dangerous in the way he leans back against a wall, observing the crowd as though he’s assessing each person. You know he doesn’t come from a world like this. He doesn’t belong among these polished smiles and whispered judgments, yet he’s here, somehow making the room feel sharper, alive.

The evening’s polite conversation blurs around you, and as soon as the opportunity presents itself, you excuse yourself, slipping through the crowd and down a side hallway that leads to the garden. You barely reach the edge of the courtyard when you feel a presence behind you. A hand slides around your waist, tugging you into a secluded shadow where the soft glow of garden lights casts a warm halo over you both. Bucky pulls you against him, and the world falls away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips as you tilt your head to look at him.

“And miss seeing you in that dress?” He smirks, his eyes roving over you with a possessive heat. “Not a chance, doll.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides from your waist up to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. You glance back at the house, watching for signs of anyone who might interrupt, but Bucky’s fingers tilt your chin back toward him, gently pulling you into his focus.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your jawline. “They’ve got enough to gossip about for the night without us.”

You smile, heart pounding as his lips brush the corner of your mouth, his hand slipping up to your cheek, cradling your face as though you’re something delicate, precious. The kiss that follows is soft, unhurried, but with a simmering edge of hunger that makes your toes curl. When he pulls back, his thumb traces along your bottom lip.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, voice low and rough, as if the words themselves are too heavy to hold back.

Your heart skips, and you smile, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat beneath your palm. “You know, you being here is going to make it difficult for me to keep pretending,” you whisper. “I want to tell them, Bucky. I want to tell them about us.”

He stiffens slightly, his hand stilling against your cheek. His face softens as he looks down at you, but there’s a hint of a warning in his eyes. “That’s a terrible idea, sweetheart.”

“Why?” you challenge, the words barely above a whisper as you lift your face toward him. “Because you’re the boss of a gang? Because you think they’ll only see that and never see you for who you really are?”

Bucky’s lips quirk in a half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s exactly why.” His hand slips down to your waist, holding you close as he leans in, his lips trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. “They’d only see the reputation, the danger. Not… this.”

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin as he kisses his way to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “But this is what matters,” you murmur, voice breathless. “You’ve shown me who I am, who I can be. It’s not just about who you are, Bucky—it’s about who I am when I’m with you.”

His grip tightens on your waist, and he lets out a quiet groan, pulling you even closer against him. “God, you don’t make it easy, doll,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. “But they’ll never see it that way. They won’t understand.”

Your fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair as you look up at him. His blue eyes are darkened, focused intently on you as if you’re the only thing that exists in this moment. “Then let me make them understand,” you say, softly but firmly. “Let me show them how much you mean to me.”

Bucky sighs, his hand sliding down to rest on your lower back, his touch possessive as he holds you against him. “You have no idea how much I want that. How much I want to be with you—out in the open. But your father? Your family?” He shakes his head, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “They’d never forgive you. They’d never forgive us.”

You press a hand against his cheek, feeling the faint stubble under your fingers as you guide his face back to yours. “They don’t control me, Bucky. Not anymore. You taught me that.”

His expression shifts, softening as he studies you, his eyes filled with that raw intensity that never fails to make your heart race. “You’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

You smile, feeling warmth spread through your chest as he closes the distance, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your back, pulling you as close as possible, as though he can’t bear to let even a sliver of space exist between you. The kiss grows heated, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that makes your knees feel weak. You lose yourself in him, in the feel of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he murmurs your name like it’s a secret he wants to keep.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathless, his hands resting firmly on your hips, keeping you anchored to him. He watches you, his gaze soft but laced with a seriousness that makes you shiver.

“Listen to me, doll,” he says, his thumb tracing slow circles against your hip. “I want this, too. More than you know. But there’s no way your father would ever let us be together. You have a future mapped out, a life that doesn’t involve a man like me.”

You shake your head, pressing a finger to his lips. “But that’s not the life I want. Not anymore.” You look up at him, your voice softening. “You’re what I want, Bucky.”

His jaw clenches, and he seems to be fighting some internal battle. His eyes dart away for a moment, looking out into the garden as though he’s searching for an answer, before he looks back down at you, his gaze conflicted. “And what if I say no?” he challenges, though his voice is barely a whisper. “What if I say it’s too dangerous?”

“Then I’d tell you that you’re worth any danger,” you respond, matching his quiet intensity. “And I’m not afraid of what comes next, as long as I’m with you.”

A low groan escapes him, and he leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s as much an admission as it is a surrender. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing your skin as he holds you close, pouring everything he can’t say into that kiss. It’s a desperate, consuming embrace, one that leaves you breathless and dizzy, and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy.

“I can’t let them hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “And they would. If they found out about us, if they knew what I do, what I am…”

You touch his face, guiding his gaze back to yours. “Then I’ll tell them in my own way, on my own terms. We’ll figure it out, together.”

He studies you, a flicker of hope mingling with the doubt in his eyes. And slowly, as if unable to resist, he nods, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart,” he whispers. “We’ll take it slow. We’ll find a way.”

You smile, leaning into him as his hands settle back around your waist, his touch firm and grounding. And there, in the quiet garden under the cover of night, you hold onto him, feeling the weight of his promises, the warmth of his presence. The world beyond may never understand, but you know in your heart that this is real, that whatever you and Bucky have is worth every risk.

With one last kiss, you turn back toward the lighted house, your heart thrumming with the thrill of what lies ahead.

A few days after the gala, you gather every ounce of courage Bucky has helped you discover and decide it’s time to tell your parents. You’ve been rehearsing the words over and over, trying to find a way to explain, to soften the news for them. But nothing prepares you for the reality of facing them, the tension thick in the air as they sit across from you in the parlor, looking so much like the people they want you to be: poised, elegant, and completely unyielding.

As you start to speak, their expressions quickly shift from polite interest to cold, rigid disapproval. You can barely finish explaining your love for Bucky, and the way he’s made you feel more alive, more yourself, before your father’s face darkens.

“Are you out of your mind?” he spits, his voice a low, simmering anger that makes you flinch. “That man is a criminal. I knew I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight that night.”

Your mother’s expression is no better. She’s silent, but her lips are pursed in a thin line, eyes fixed on you as if you’re someone she no longer recognizes.

“Father,” you say, trying to hold your ground, despite the wavering of your voice, “I know you don’t approve, but Bucky has shown me a side of myself I didn’t know existed. He—he treats me with respect, with kindness. He lets me be who I really am.”

Your father scoffs, his voice laced with disdain. “Who you really are? Who you really are, my dear, is a woman raised in one of the finest families in this city. And you think throwing that away for some… lowlife gangster is worth it?” He leans forward, his eyes dark. “You don’t know the kind of man he is. You’re just a silly girl, and he’s made you believe you’re someone you’re not.”

The words sting, slicing through you with a pain sharper than you imagined. Your vision blurs, and you look to your mother, hoping for a glimmer of support, some sign that she might understand.

But she only shakes her head, her gaze like cold steel. “You are to stop seeing him,” she says quietly but firmly. “Or we will have no choice but to arrange for you to stay with your aunt for the foreseeable future, away from this… corruption.”

The breath catches in your throat, panic rising like a tidal wave. “What? You can’t do that! I’m not a child anymore!”

“To us, you’re behaving like one,” your father snaps. “And you will obey us, or you’ll lose everything you know.”

Tears blur your vision, the realization settling like a stone in your chest. There’s no convincing them, no changing their minds. They’ll never see Bucky for who he is, never accept the person he’s helped you become. You flee from the parlor, your mother’s voice calling after you, but you don’t look back. You run up the grand staircase to your room, slamming the door behind you as the tears spill over, shaking with anger and heartbreak.

You sink down onto the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as sobs wrack your body. It feels like you’re losing everything: the life you thought you could build, the future you’ve just begun to imagine. But through the hurt and disappointment, one thing becomes clear—you can’t stay here, trapped under their rules, pretending to be someone you’re not. Not anymore.

The decision is sudden, fierce, and entirely certain. You wipe your tears, standing up on shaking legs as you grab a small bag from your closet. You pack only a few things—a dress, some undergarments, a handful of your favorite jewelry pieces—and slip a coat over your shoulders. You can still hear your parents’ voices downstairs, discussing you as if you’re a child who’s simply misbehaving, in need of reining in.

With your bag over your shoulder, you slip quietly down the back staircase, heart pounding in your chest as you make your way out the door. You don’t dare breathe until you’re outside, the cool night air hitting your skin and filling you with a strange exhilaration. For the first time in your life, you’re making a choice all on your own.

You head for Bucky’s place, your steps quick and determined. The streets are quieter now, and the dim lights of his neighborhood feel foreign yet somehow welcoming, as if beckoning you into a new life. By the time you reach his building, your cheeks are cold, and you’re trembling, but it’s not from the night air.

You knock softly, anxiety twisting in your gut as you wait. After a moment, the door opens, and there he stands, his face softening in surprise as he takes you in.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is gentle, his hand reaching for yours as he looks down at you, his concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

The moment you see him, the tears you thought you’d left behind return, and you step into his arms, clinging to him as the weight of the night finally catches up with you. Bucky’s arms wrap around you protectively, his hand stroking your back as he murmurs comforting words, letting you cry until the sobs turn into quiet sniffles.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I… I told them, Bucky. I told them about us.”

His face tightens, and he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “I told you, doll. I knew they wouldn’t understand.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “They said… they said they’d send me away, keep me away from you. I couldn’t stay there, Bucky. I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

He watches you carefully, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that linger on your cheeks. “So you came here?”

You nod again, your voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. I want to be with you, Bucky. They don’t understand, but I do.”

His expression softens, something close to pride flickering in his eyes as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re here because you want to be?” he asks, his voice soft but thick with emotion.

“Yes,” you say firmly, your hand resting over his on your cheek. “This is where I belong.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as though anchoring himself to you. “You’re sure, doll? This isn’t an easy life, and it’s not what you’re used to. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod, looking up at him with conviction. “I don’t want easy. I want real. I want you.”

A small, soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapped around you protectively. “Then stay with me,” he murmurs. “Stay as long as you need. As long as you want.”

You feel a rush of relief as you lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the warmth of his embrace. “Thank you,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out as he tightens his hold on you, letting you feel his silent promise to protect you, no matter what comes next.

He kisses you again, soft and lingering, his hands warm on your cheeks, grounding you. “We’ll figure this out, sweetheart. Together.”

And with that, you feel the weight of the past slipping away, the future opening up before you. You’re no longer bound by their rules, no longer caged by expectations. You’re free, here with Bucky, ready to carve out a life that’s truly yours.

Living with Bucky is an adventure—an unpredictable, exhilarating departure from the perfectly orchestrated life you’ve always known. The first few days are an intoxicating mix of quiet mornings with coffee shared over soft laughter and long, lingering evenings where you fall asleep wrapped in his arms, feeling as though you’ve finally found your place. It’s your first taste of real freedom, and the thrill of it is liberating.

But you soon discover that sharing a life with Bucky means confronting a world that’s nothing like the one you grew up in. The second week, you wake up one morning to the sound of deep voices drifting from Bucky’s office down the hall. Pulling on one of his old shirts, which falls almost to your knees, you pad softly down the hall, stopping just outside the office door, where it’s slightly ajar.

Bucky’s voice is unmistakable, calm and controlled as he speaks, “That shipment better be on time, understood? I’m not going to tolerate any delays.”

There’s a low murmur of assent from the men gathered inside, their voices respectful but wary. Curiosity piques as you lean a little closer, catching a glimpse of Bucky behind his desk, his usual warmth gone, replaced with an air of authority that’s almost intimidating. You realize that these men look at him the way others looked at your father—with respect, but also a hint of fear. It strikes you how different this is from the world you knew.

Before you can pull away, Bucky looks up, his sharp gaze softening immediately as he spots you. He nods, and the men around him quickly follow his line of sight, their eyes shifting to you with expressions that range from curious to wary. You straighten, suddenly feeling the weight of their stares. You’re not used to these kinds of men—rough around the edges, hardened by a life of survival and loyalty to Bucky.

Bucky stands, moving to the door, and the men’s gazes shift downward as he opens it wider. “Morning, doll,” he says with a small, reassuring smile, his hand slipping around your waist as he pulls you in for a quick kiss. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head, offering him a soft smile. “It’s alright. I just… heard voices.”

His gaze flicks over his shoulder at his men, his tone turning firm. “This is my girl. I want it understood that she’s off-limits to all of you, got it?”

A few murmurs of “Yes, sir,” echo from around the room, followed by respectful nods. One man, who you’ve only seen a few times in passing, speaks up, his voice low and respectful, “Anything happens, she’s got our protection, boss. You have our word.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker with something close to pride as he nods in approval. “Good. That’s exactly what I expect.”

Once they’re gone, you feel a weight lift, but a small unease lingers, a new awareness of the life Bucky leads. You glance back at him as he closes the office door, his hand slipping back around your waist, drawing you closer.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hip.

You nod slowly, glancing around at the office now empty of his men. The heavy scent of smoke and the distinct aroma of leather fill the room, along with a faint trace of cologne that reminds you of him. “It’s… different,” you admit quietly, looking down as you search for the words. “I’m still getting used to it, I guess.”

Bucky’s hand moves up to cup your face, tilting it so you’re looking at him. There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a contrast to the hard edge you just saw him display with his men. “I know it’s different,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as he brushes a thumb along your cheek. “This world isn’t what you’re used to. It’s rough, messy… but you have me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You place your hand over his, smiling faintly as you lean into his touch. “It’s not that I’m afraid,” you say quietly. “I just… I never realized just how much of a life you built outside of me. I think maybe I was… naive about it.”

He sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Maybe you were, but you’re adjusting faster than you think. You don’t flinch, don’t back down. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

That quiet confidence in his words warms you, and you give a small smile, letting him pull you closer. Life with Bucky might not be the fairytale romance of the novels you once read, but there’s something far richer in the intensity of it, in the way he makes you feel alive and protected in a way that no one else ever has.

Over the next few weeks, you settle into a rhythm. Bucky’s hours are unpredictable, often interrupted by meetings or calls at odd hours, and more than once, you wake in the middle of the night to find his side of the bed empty. But no matter how late he comes back, he’s always there by morning, slipping back under the covers to hold you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, doll. I’m here now.”

Some mornings, you watch him as he shaves, noting the quiet, focused way he moves, the small scars along his jawline that tell stories you haven’t heard yet. You help him button his shirt, fingers grazing over his skin as he watches you with a tender smile, his hand slipping around your waist to hold you close even in those small, stolen moments.

But one evening, as he walks through the door, his brow furrowed and jaw tight, you sense something is wrong. He doesn’t give you his usual greeting kiss, just strides to the bar in the corner, pouring himself a whiskey in silence. You approach him slowly, worry gnawing at you.

“Bucky?” you ask softly, touching his arm. “Is everything alright?”

He nods, but his eyes are distant, his jaw clenched as he takes a long sip of his drink. “Just some business. It’s… complicated.” He sighs, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve been dealing with some trouble in the city. A rival family’s stepping on our territory.”

You feel a shiver at his words, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you place a hand over his, squeezing gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

He glances down at you, his expression softening as he brushes a thumb along your knuckles. “You’re doing it already,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Just… keep being here. You’re the only thing that keeps all this from feeling like it’s gonna swallow me whole.”

As the days pass, you begin to understand Bucky’s world a little better. You learn to accept the constant presence of his men, the tension that sometimes fills the house when they discuss matters you don’t entirely understand. But through it all, Bucky is steadfast, grounding you with gentle touches, soft murmurs, and stolen moments of laughter that make the weight of his world seem almost bearable.

One evening, after dinner, he pulls you into his arms, swaying slowly to the soft hum of a jazz tune from the record player. His hand rests on your waist, his eyes warm as he looks down at you.

“Think you’re still up for this?” he asks quietly, searching your face.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m right where I want to be,” you whisper, feeling the truth of those words settle deep in your chest. No matter how unfamiliar, how dangerous this life may seem, Bucky’s presence makes it feel like home.

Living with Bucky brings a cascade of new experiences, each a lesson in how to navigate his world. His men regard you with a mix of respect and wariness, giving you wide berth, yet always keeping a careful watch. As weeks turn into months, Bucky shows you the ropes of his world in small, deliberate steps. He insists on teaching you skills he says every woman in his life should know—things that make you feel stronger, more independent, and, if you’re honest, a little daring.

One evening, he leads you to a room in the back of the house that he keeps locked, and as he opens the door, you’re struck by the cold steel of the weapons glinting from the shelves. Handguns, revolvers, rifles—they’re all there, neatly organized. Your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a mix of surprise and nervous excitement.

“Bucky… you think I need to know how to use these?” you ask, your voice wavering as you step inside.

He nods, his face serious but warm, as he wraps his arm around your waist. “Yes, doll. This life, it’s unpredictable. I need to know you can defend yourself if something ever happens. I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

His hand trails to a revolver on the nearest shelf, lifting it with practiced ease and placing it gently in your hands. It’s surprisingly heavy, cold against your palm. “It’s a .38 Special,” he explains, his voice a low rumble as he stands behind you, guiding your hands to hold it steady. “Good for close range, packs a punch without much kickback.”

Under his patient instruction, you learn how to load the revolver, align the sights, and control your breath as you pull the trigger. He takes you out to a private spot on the edge of town where you can practice firing without drawing attention, setting up makeshift targets and coaching you on how to aim. His arms are warm around you, his words a low, steady cadence in your ear as he whispers pointers and praises your progress.

The first time you hit a target square in the middle, he lets out a low whistle and wraps his arms around you, lifting you off your feet with pride. “Look at you,” he says, beaming. “Sharp as a tack, just like I knew you’d be.”

The next week, he starts showing you hand-to-hand defense moves, teaching you how to break a hold, how to twist out of a grasp, and where to strike in case you ever need to incapacitate an attacker. “You’re stronger than you think,” he murmurs after you manage to push him off balance, grinning as you catch your breath. “Keep that up, and no one will dare lay a hand on you.”

It’s during these lessons that you realize just how deep his care for you runs. He watches you carefully, keeping you close, his focus unwavering. To him, this isn’t just training; it’s a promise that he’s arming you with the tools to thrive in his world, to share in his life not just as his love but as his equal.

One evening, as he’s teaching you how to tuck a small pistol into the folds of a dress without making it obvious, he turns to you, his face lit with a mischievous grin. “What do you say we work on making a mark somewhere a little more… public?”

You tilt your head in curiosity, and he chuckles, gesturing toward the coat rack where his hat and coat are draped. “How would you like to redesign the bar?”

You laugh, but his face is serious, his eyes warm. “I mean it. That bar has seen the same wallpaper and fixtures for far too long. Do what you like. I’ll handle the finances.”

The idea lights a spark within you, and in the following days, you dive into plans for the bar’s transformation. Armed with Bucky’s unwavering support, you work with a designer to bring a fresh, sophisticated flair to the bar, capturing both elegance and subtle mystery, a reflection of his complex world. You choose sleek, dark wood for the bar counter, deep crimson velvet booths, and warm, ambient lighting that gives the place an intimate feel. Chandeliers cast a soft glow, adding a touch of glamor to the smoky atmosphere.

Bucky watches with a mixture of pride and amusement as you negotiate with suppliers, debate over wallpaper samples, and insist on the exact shade of red for the booths. He’s there with you every step of the way, his hand on your waist, whispering words of encouragement as you bring your vision to life. And when the renovation is finally complete, you both stand back, surveying the new look with a shared sense of accomplishment.

“This place has never looked so good,” he murmurs, pulling you close as he surveys the bar, his gaze soft. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

The bar becomes more than just his place of business; it’s now a part of you, a symbol of the life you’re building together. You visit often, and each time, Bucky’s men nod in recognition and respect, their murmurs of “Good evening, ma’am” making you feel as though you’re finally part of his world.

As the weeks pass, Bucky’s men begin to notice the change in you. You hold yourself with more confidence, unafraid to meet their eyes, and they, in turn, begin to look at you with a mix of respect and a bit of awe. They know you’re Bucky’s woman, and they also know that Bucky’s trust in you means they can trust you too.

One evening, as you’re seated at the bar, sipping a gin fizz while Bucky tends to a business discussion in his office, a young, scrappy-looking man approaches, tipping his hat with a shy nod. “Ma’am,” he says, his tone reverent. “Boss says you did a fine job with the place. Just wanted to say it looks real nice.”

The compliment catches you off guard, but you offer him a warm smile, nodding graciously. “Thank you,” you reply, feeling a sense of pride swell within you. “I’m glad you think so.”

Bucky joins you a little later, his hand possessive and reassuring as he places it on the small of your back, signaling to his men that you’re his. When you’re together, he’s never far, his gaze constantly checking for any sign of trouble, his fingers lightly grazing yours as though grounding himself in your presence.

One night, as you’re locking up after closing hours, he takes your hand, guiding you to one of the newly installed booths. “You know,” he begins, his voice low as he leans in, “watching you work on this place, the way you took charge… I’ve never felt more sure that you’re meant to be in my life.”

You smile, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers, savoring the way he leans into your touch. “I think I was always meant to be here,” you whisper, your voice soft. “Just took me a while to find my way.”

Bucky’s hand comes up, cupping your cheek as his eyes search yours, dark and intense. “And you’re not afraid?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion. “Not of me, or this life?”

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his. “Not when I’m with you.”

He smiles, pressing his lips softly to yours, his hand cradling the back of your head as he kisses you, deeply and thoroughly. When he pulls away, his voice is a soft, reverent murmur against your skin. “Then you’re my queen, now and always.”

Together, you sit in the dim glow of the bar you’ve crafted, feeling more like partners than ever. You know this world isn’t easy, and you understand that there’s danger in every corner. But Bucky has taught you to stand tall, to defend yourself, and most importantly, to embrace who you are—brave, strong, and forever his.

The proposal comes in the most unassuming way, wrapped in a quiet evening as you and Bucky walk through the city under the soft glow of streetlights. You’re tucked under his arm, your fingers laced with his, listening to him talk about everything and nothing when he pauses, turning to face you.

“Doll,” he murmurs, his eyes intent, holding an edge of something you haven’t seen before. He takes your hand, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles as he speaks, “You’ve changed my life more than you know. I want you with me for all of it—for the long haul.”

Before you can respond, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small ring—a simple, understated band with a single diamond that catches the light just so, elegant and timeless. You gasp, feeling your heart hammer in your chest as he goes on, his voice quiet but firm. “Will you marry me, sweetheart? Just you and me, no fuss, no big to-do. Just us.”

The answer is a breathless, tearful “Yes,” and within a few days, the two of you find yourselves in a small chapel at the edge of town, where only the preacher and a few witnesses look on as you exchange vows. The simplicity of it all feels intimate, beautiful—just as you both wanted it. Bucky looks at you like you’re his whole world, his hand never letting go of yours as he speaks, each word holding the depth of his love and loyalty.

When he leans in to kiss you, sealing the vows you’ve made, his hands cradle your face, his touch soft and reverent. It’s the start of something that feels profound, and as you walk out of the chapel hand in hand, you know you’ve found a home with him that you’d never leave.

Married life with Bucky is as wild and beautiful as you expected, with Bucky’s fierce protection and deep loyalty extending now to you in every possible way. His men, though hardened and somewhat rough around the edges, respect the shift that comes with you now being their boss’s wife. Some of them even seem taken aback, perhaps not having expected Bucky to settle down, but they adjust quickly, understanding that you’re a part of their world now.

Your presence doesn’t go unnoticed, and you catch them watching you from the corner of their eyes, their expressions a mixture of admiration and curiosity. Bucky has made it clear that you’re his, but he’s also drilled it into them that you’re off-limits. Not only are they to respect you, but they’re to protect you with their lives, should anything happen.

One evening, you’re sitting in Bucky’s office, sorting through some paperwork to help him keep his records organized—a task that started as something you could do together but eventually became your little project. One of his lieutenants, a man named Red, comes to the door and knocks, glancing in with an air of hesitation. He’s got a few years on Bucky, graying hair and a hardened face marked by the years he’s spent in the trade.

“Ma’am,” he says with a respectful nod. “Boss around?”

You smile, nodding toward the main room. “He’s handling a few details out front, but he’ll be back in just a bit.”

Red shifts uncomfortably, but his gaze is sincere as he speaks, “Just wanted to thank you for the new setup in the bar. Been working here since it was falling apart. Nice to see it’s finally had a woman’s touch.”

There’s a roughness to his voice that’s softened by the genuine compliment, and you feel a small, pleased flush at his words. “Thank you, Red. I’m glad it’s been good for business.”

Red nods, glancing away as he adds, “Boss always did well by us, but since you came around, he’s… different. Happier, I’d say. Gives the rest of us some hope.”

The words linger, warm and honest, and you realize that Bucky’s men may be as loyal to him as they are because he’s given them more than just orders; he’s given them respect, a family, and maybe even a little hope. You nod back at Red, giving him a warm smile. “He’s done the same for me.”

A few of the younger men, though more rough-hewn than Red, begin to warm up to you as well, quickly growing protective of you in a way that surprises you. One afternoon, a few of them return to the house after a particularly rough day, bruised and tired but in good spirits, their banter filling the hall. You’re in the kitchen when you overhear them.

“Boss’s wife made some tea for us last time,” one of them—Jimmy—mutters with a half-smile. “Think she might be up for it again?”

You chuckle to yourself, preparing a tray of tea and a few snacks for them. When you bring it into the room, their eyes go wide with surprise and maybe a little embarrassment, but they’re grateful all the same, mumbling thanks and compliments as they tuck into the food. Their guarded attitudes soften gradually, each interaction building a bridge between you and them.

As the months go on, Bucky decides to show you more about his business dealings, explaining the basics of the operation, from shipments to negotiation tactics. He wants you to know the essentials, to understand what’s at stake if anything were to go wrong. Though you’re initially overwhelmed, Bucky’s calm and thorough explanations ground you, and soon, you’re able to follow along, asking questions and even offering ideas.

One night, as he’s going over the logistics of a particularly tricky deal, you suggest a more discreet route for his shipments, one that would minimize the chances of a police raid. He pauses, regarding you with admiration.

“That’s… clever,” he says, grinning as he pulls you closer. “You’re catching on fast.”

You smile, feeling a little thrill at the idea that you can help him. “Well, I figured if I’m going to be part of this life, I should understand it as best as I can.”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Smart and beautiful. I’ve got myself a hell of a wife.”

Living in Bucky’s world isn’t easy, but with him by your side, you find yourself adapting more every day. His men, once guarded and wary, now greet you with warm smiles and friendly nods. They even start calling you “Mrs. Barnes,” a title that sends a thrill through you each time you hear it. They respect you, not just as their boss’s wife, but as someone who’s proven herself resilient and unafraid, willing to stand by Bucky’s side in every sense.

One evening, as you and Bucky sit by the fire after a particularly busy day, he takes your hand, his gaze warm and full of pride.

“You’ve done more than just fit in,” he murmurs, tracing circles on the back of your hand. “You’re making this life better—for me, and for them. They’d walk through fire for you, you know.”

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you whisper, “I’d do the same for them. And for you.”

Bucky pulls you close, kissing you deeply, his touch filled with all the love and respect you’ve come to know. In this life, he’s given you a place, a purpose, and a family of sorts. And though it may be rough around the edges, it’s everything you never knew you wanted.

It’s a quiet evening in your home when you decide to tell Bucky. You’ve known for a few days now, caught between excitement and nervousness, wondering how he’ll take the news. The idea of Bucky, this fierce man with so much fire in him, as a father—it fills you with a kind of joy you can barely put into words. You can already picture him holding a little one with his protective grip and soft touch.

You find him in his office, going over some paperwork, his brow furrowed in that familiar way. When he sees you standing in the doorway, he smiles, putting his pen down and beckoning you over.

“Hey, doll. Everything all right?” he asks, his gaze warm.

You nod, a little flutter in your stomach as you sit down beside him. “More than all right,” you say, taking his hands in yours. “I have some news.”

He raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing over your fingers. “News, huh? What’s got that look on your face?”

Taking a breath, you let the words tumble out. “I’m pregnant, Bucky. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his mouth parted slightly, as if he’s trying to comprehend what you’ve just said. Then, his face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, and before you can react, he’s lifting you up off the chair, spinning you around as he lets out a loud, joyous laugh.

“You’re kidding,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “You’re not kidding, are you? We’re really going to have a baby?”

You laugh, tears in your eyes as you nod. “I’m not kidding, Bucky. You’re going to be a dad.”

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands as he looks at you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, you know that?” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “My girl… carrying our little one.”

From that moment on, Bucky is even more protective, if that’s even possible. He insists on accompanying you everywhere—walking you to the bar, the market, even down the street to visit friends. His arm stays wrapped around you, and he keeps a vigilant eye on everyone and everything, always hyper-aware of your surroundings.

His men catch wind of the news almost immediately—Bucky’s excitement is hard to contain, and soon it’s the talk of the whole operation. The older men, like Red, take on a near-brotherly protectiveness, fussing over you every time they see you. When you enter the bar, Red is the first to pull out a chair for you, insisting you sit down, rest your feet, and have a drink of water. He’ll even bring snacks, going on about how “a growing baby needs the right nourishment.”

“It’s just some crackers, Red,” you say with a chuckle one afternoon as he hands you a napkin with a few biscuits on it.

He huffs, shaking his head. “Crackers or not, it’s something. Boss says you need looking after, and by God, we’re all here to do it.”

The younger men, though, are even more amusing. They look at you now with a reverence that borders on idolization, like they’re seeing a saint. For them, the news of your pregnancy somehow cements you as a maternal figure—half of them treat you like a mother already, despite being barely younger than you.

One evening, you catch Jimmy and a couple of the other young guys following you at a short distance as you walk from the bar back to the house. When you turn around, hands on your hips, they come to a halt, shuffling their feet awkwardly.

“Are you… following me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Jimmy scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Uh, just, you know, keeping an eye out, ma’am. Making sure you’re safe.”

You bite back a smile, crossing your arms. “Bucky put you up to this?”

“Well,” Jimmy shrugs, looking to his buddies for help, “kinda. But we’re, uh, happy to do it. After all, you’re carrying the boss’s kid.”

The other young men nod earnestly, and you can’t help but laugh, touched by their earnest protectiveness. “You boys are something else,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine for the two blocks back to the house. Go on and get back to your posts.”

They look reluctant, but eventually they nod, tipping their hats before scurrying back down the street, casting looks over their shoulders just to be sure you’re all right.

But the most amusing situation happens one evening at the bar when you’re seated at your usual table, nursing a glass of water while Bucky wraps up a meeting. You see a group of young men hanging back by the door, glancing at you as if they’re unsure whether they should approach. Finally, one of them, a lanky kid named Tommy, gets a nudge from his friends and steps forward, clearing his throat.

“Mrs. Barnes?” he says, his face a little red.

“Yes, Tommy?”

“We… well, we just wanted to, uh, say that we’re here for you, you know? Anything you need, even if it’s something small, you can call on us.”

You smile warmly, touched by the sentiment. “Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.”

He nods, looking relieved, then turns back to his friends, giving them a thumbs-up. They all visibly relax, one of them even muttering, “Told you she wouldn’t bite.”

When Bucky returns and notices the young men lingering, he chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “What’s going on here? You boys causing trouble for my wife?”

Tommy quickly shakes his head. “No, Boss! We were just… making sure she’s taken care of.”

Bucky laughs, looking at you with pride. “Hear that, doll? You’ve got your own little entourage now.”

The protectiveness doesn’t end there. As your pregnancy progresses, Bucky’s men make it their mission to see you have everything you need. They show up with all sorts of things: blankets, pillows, snacks, even a few old baby trinkets from their own childhoods that they insist might bring you luck. Bucky can’t hide his amusement, shaking his head as each new offering arrives.

One afternoon, Red shows up with a hand-carved wooden cradle, rough around the edges but lovingly made. He clears his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “Made it myself, ma’am. Thought the little one might need it.”

You gasp, tears filling your eyes as you take in the beautiful, rustic cradle. “Red, this is incredible. Thank you.”

He grunts, shuffling his feet as he glances away. “Ah, well. Figured it’d be sturdy enough for the boss’s kid.”

Bucky squeezes your hand, beaming. “Look at that, doll. Already got a nursery started.”

By the time your due date draws near, you feel almost invincible, surrounded by Bucky and his fierce band of loyal men who’d go to the ends of the earth for you and the little life you’re carrying. And as you sit back one night, Bucky’s hand resting on your growing belly, you can’t help but feel grateful for this strange, wonderful family you’ve found yourself part of—rough around the edges but bound by a love as fierce as Bucky’s world itself.

The night your daughter is born is one of the most intense yet beautiful moments of your life. Labor stretches on through the evening, the pain fierce and unrelenting, but Bucky is right there, holding your hand, whispering words of encouragement. He’s a rock, his presence grounding you, his words calm and steady even when you can see the worry etched on his face.

When, finally, your daughter enters the world, she lets out a strong, piercing cry that fills the room. You’re exhausted, but as soon as she’s placed in your arms, a wave of overwhelming love washes over you, and nothing else matters. She’s tiny, with soft, dark hair and Bucky’s nose—a perfect blend of you both.

Bucky, watching from beside you, looks at her as if he’s seeing a miracle. He stares, his expression softened and filled with awe. He’s practically holding his breath as he takes in every detail, and then his hand reaches out, trembling slightly, to gently stroke her tiny fingers.

“Look at her,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s… she’s perfect.”

You look up at him, tears in your eyes, and ask, “What should we call her?”

After a moment of thought, he murmurs, “Rosie. I think… she looks like a Rosie.”

You smile, looking down at the beautiful little girl in your arms. “Rosie Barnes,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. “It’s perfect.”

As the hours pass, Bucky holds her close, absolutely smitten. He’s careful and tender, his large hands dwarfing her tiny body as he cradles her against his chest. She settles there, soothed by the steady beat of his heart, and Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off her, as if afraid she might disappear if he does.

The next day, word of Rosie’s arrival spreads quickly, and before long, Bucky’s men begin arriving in groups, each eager to get a glimpse of the boss’s baby girl. They linger outside the house, trying to act casual, but their anticipation is obvious. When Bucky finally steps out, holding Rosie bundled in a soft blanket, they all fall silent, eyes wide as they take in the tiny baby nestled in his arms.

Red is the first to step forward, glancing between Bucky and you with an almost shy smile. He’s seen his fair share of the world, but the sight of his boss holding his newborn daughter seems to bring a sparkle to his eyes.

“Boss,” Red says, clearing his throat, “she’s… well, she’s just beautiful.”

Bucky beams with pride, his gaze flicking down to Rosie. “Yeah, isn’t she? Strong little thing, too. Just like her mom.”

The men gather around, each taking turns to offer congratulations and quietly marvel at Rosie. Jimmy, one of the youngest, looks utterly awestruck, his face softening as he whispers, “She’s so small. Boss, how’re you even holding her without breaking her?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “Carefully, Jimmy. You’d be surprised how tough she is.”

The men crowd around, the tougher among them looking a bit like kids as they lean in, captivated by the tiny face and the faint coos that escape her lips. One of the older men, Bruno, a giant of a guy with hands as big as dinner plates, seems almost afraid to look too closely. But when you offer to let him hold her, he stammers a bit before reluctantly accepting. His large hands are surprisingly gentle, and his face softens as he holds her, muttering, “Well, ain’t she just a little rosebud.”

Each of the men takes their turn holding Rosie, and as they do, their faces transform, hardened lines replaced by wide smiles and soft expressions. They each offer their own brand of affection, quietly promising to look after her and keep her safe.

“Boss, you can bet your life she’s got an army looking out for her,” Red says, his voice gruff with emotion. “Anybody even thinks about messing with Rosie, they’ll have us to answer to.”

Bucky’s face fills with gratitude, his arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “She’s got one hell of a family, that’s for sure.”

In the days that follow, Rosie becomes the unofficial darling of Bucky’s men. They treat her with a fierce loyalty, doting on her in ways that surprise even themselves. On nights when Bucky’s busy with business, some of the men stay at the house, watching over you and Rosie, always willing to lend a hand or sing a lullaby in gruff, off-key voices. It’s a strange sight—a group of hardened men cooing over a newborn—but they take to it naturally, each of them feeling a fierce need to protect this tiny life.

And as Rosie grows, you see how much she’s loved by this unlikely family. By the time she’s old enough to toddle around, she’s got each of Bucky’s men wrapped around her little finger. She even develops her own nicknames for them, each title bringing a proud smile to their faces.

“Uncle Red,” she chirps one day, tugging at Red’s sleeve to show him a flower she’s found in the garden. Red, whose heart might as well be on his sleeve when it comes to Rosie, kneels down and lets her place the flower in his graying hair.

“That’s a good look, kid,” Bucky teases, watching as Red, entirely unbothered, adjusts the flower to make sure it stays put.

Jimmy becomes “Jimmie-boy,” a nickname that sticks even when she’s older, and he loves it, wearing the title like a badge of honor. And every one of them takes her antics in stride, always willing to let her “play boss” when she totters around the bar or “inspects” the back office, clutching Bucky’s hand.

Rosie is a little sunshine in their world, a reminder of what they’re protecting, and they become even more devoted to their boss because of her. Each of them, from the youngest to the oldest, would lay down their life for her without a second thought.

But Bucky’s protection is something else entirely. He never lets her out of his sight if he can help it, always watching with a proud, fierce smile. And each night, as you watch Bucky tuck Rosie into bed, his touch gentle, his voice a soft murmur of love, you know that you and Rosie are his whole world.

As he closes the door to Rosie’s room one night, he turns to you, his eyes filled with emotion.

“You gave me a family I never thought I’d have,” he whispers, pulling you close. “Every day with you two… it’s more than I ever dreamed of.”

And as you rest in his embrace, listening to the quiet peace of your home, you know that you’ve built a life together that’s both beautiful and fierce—a life filled with love, loyalty, and the strength to face whatever may come.

me when soft men. if you liked the story don't forget to leave a like and a reblog, drop a follow if you want to read more! <3

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