Archive of Our Own

The moment you stepped around the corner you could feel tension in the air. The sight in front of you makes you freeze in place, your body stiffening automatically.

“What is this?” Your voice cracked, fear creeping in your veins.

The small apartment was filled with four men. One dark skinned, athletically built, his hand on the holster on his thigh, leaning against the balcony door with a smirk. Another was huge, muscular with blonde hair set perfectly upon his head, sat casually on the armrest of the sofa and facing away from you.

The last two were facing one another, one you recognised as Tom, your boyfriend. The other was dark hair slicked back, with a thick stand hanging in his face, sunglasses perched on top of his head and leather jacket clinging to his thick build.

“Boss,” the man by the door clocked you, pulling out his weapon and pointing it at you with terrifying efficiency.

You step back, hands raised. “Woah.”

“You came,” Tom gasps, your wide eyes ficker to him.

“You promised takeout,” you hissed quietly, as if speaking would end you.

“I- well,” your boyfriend stammers.

You feel the sharp blue eyes of the dark haired man on you.

“Put it down, Sam. She’s the girlfriend,” he speaks with care. “We are not here for her.”

The man, Sam, lowered his gun, his eyes now back on Tom.

“Well?” The dark haired man demanded.

“Well,” Tom stammered, his eyes flickering around wildly. Then gazed at you, his expression turns cold. “What about her?”

You tilt your head, the churning of your stomach suddenly seeming less important.

“Her?” The man repeats, then looks upon you, eyes flicker from your face to your feet back up again, scanning you. “You would use her to pay off your debt?”

“What?” The word tumbles from your mouth bouncing off the walls. Sam chuckles at your reaction, and in front of the blonde haired man slips to his feet, ready for action.

“Sorry,” there was no apology in Tom’s tone, his eyes on the dark haired man. “Business is business.”

You could hardly believe your ears, your stomach continued to roll, the room blurred at the edges when you felt a large pair of hands on your shoulders.

The dark haired man held you, eyes blazing into yours.

“Hm,” he pondered, his right hand traced up your neck cupping your jaw. Slowly, his thumb traced your lips, which parted instinctively.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, so quiet only you could hear him. He cleared his throat. “I’ll take her.”

Tom beamed. “Fantastic, we can settle-“

His face turned. “I did not finish.”

Tom’s face paled, and eyes widened as an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“I will not be taking her as payment,” his voice was cold. “The mere thought that you would trade another human, a woman, for your misdeeds makes you nothing but scum.”

Tom attempts to step back.

“But, don’t worry, I’ll take care of your girl. She’ll be happier with me,” he smirked, then nodded to the two men. He then leans down to speak into your ear. “Close your eyes.”

You obey, squeezing them tight as his other arm covers your ears. You feel the vibration of a singular gunshot through the floor, then silence.

His arms shifted, still holding you, blocking your view of the dead body.

“Sam, clean this up,” his voice was calm, steady. “Steve, get the car and make sure there are blankets and water. The girl is going into shock.”

You peek up at the man, wondering where the noise was coming from. Then you realise, it is you, a strangled whining noise accompanying the tremors racking your body.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs low. “I’ve got you.”

He begins to guide you, and the world blurs again. His strong arm keeps you up whilst your mind spins.

The world begins to solidify as you sit upon the dark leathers of a car. The dark haired man pulls a blanket over you and passes you a bottle of water.

“Drink,” he instructs, his icy blue eyes fixed on you.

You obey, sipping through the straw, then sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” you breathe. His arm shifts from your waist up to perch on the backrest above, and then leans over.

“You don’t need to thank me,” his voice is gentle. “I must apologise, it was never my intention to have to witness that.”

Your eyes flicker to his. “I-“

Your stomach rolled, remembering the gunshot and take another sip to settle your stomach.

“Just relax, doll,” he nods. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

“Am I?” You question, your voice shakey.

“You have my word,” he promises. “No one will harm you.”

The intense look in his eyes made you almost believe it.

“Who are you?” You whisper.

A smile crosses his face. “James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeat. “I know that name. You're with the mob.”

Bucky laughs. “Sweetheart, I am the mob.”

You recoil slightly, hands trembling. Sitting with the self proclaimed King of Brooklyn was not on your bucket list.

“You know my name, so what is yours, sweetheart?” He leans closer.

You stammer your name, helpless against his gaze.

“Pretty, it suits you,” he leans back, smiling gently. “Nice to meet you, doll.”

You hear the thump of a door shutting, jumping slightly in your seat.

“Sam’s finishing cleaning up, Buck,” the blonde haired man announces from the driver’s seat.

“Good,” Bucky responds, his eyes still on your face. “This is Steve, him and the other man you met, Sam, are my best buddies and most loyal men.”

“Hey there, honey,” Steve’s voice was soft, comforting. “Sorry you got caught up in this mess.”

You don’t speak, the memory of the gunshot still in your mind.

“Hey,” Bucky’s fingers brushed through your hair. “Breathe.”

You inhale unsteadily.

“Let’s get you safe,” he continues. “Steve.”

“We leaving Sam?” Steve asks.

“He’s a big boy, I am sure he can make his own way home,” Bucky responds, removing his hand from my hair. “Take us home, Steve.”

“Yes sir,” you see him smirking in the mirror.

The engine quietly purrs to life. Bucky reaches over, clicking the seatbelt in place before doing his own.

You twist slightly, hands still around the half filled bottle of water, and gaze out of the tinted window. The city of New York flashed by, people and vehicles all unaware of the goings of the mob.

Next to you, you hear the idle conversation between Bucky and Steve. Discussion of meetings between scathing words of banter.

“Jerk,” you hear Steve tease the mob boss.

From the corner of your eye you catch Bucky kicking the back of the driver's seat.

You almost smile at the interaction.

“Nearly there,” Steve calls from the front.

“Where are we going?” You ask timidly.

“My place,” Bucky says with a smile.

“Can’t- can’t I go home?” You ask, leaning forward placing the bottle into the cup holder between the two front seats.

Bucky’s face twists with sympathy. “‘Fraid not, doll. You were a witness to a murder, can’t have you running to the cops, can I?”

Your chest tightens, ready to argue your case.

“You can beg,” he continued, his lips pressed together. “But it will be nothing I haven’t heard before.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “Then, what? What are you going to do to me?”

“I don’t plan to harm you,” Bucky tilted to face you. “Merely it is best for you to remain in my keeping.”

“I won’t say anything,” you murmur, eyes down.

His lips part slightly at the tenor of your voice. He blinks, shaking himself out of his stupor.

“You deserve better than that fucker,” his voice is quiet.

The air goes still for a moment, your eyes meeting his, and you feel the pull of the car veering to the left.

Bucky opens the door, breaking the tension of the moment, settles to his feet then holds out his right hand to you.

You take it moving across the seat and then onto your feet on the pavement.

“I can get out of a car myself,” you say.

“I’m sure,” he agrees, keeping a tight hold of your hand. “However, I do not trust traffic not to ruin your beautiful face.”

“Oh,” your face flushed.

He chuckles lightly, guiding you to the door of the tall building.

The penthouse suite was massive, dark wood floors, framed with huge planes of glass. The furnishings were black, grey or blue, detailed with gold - gold handles or sharp gold lines on the walls.

“Take a seat,” Bucky says, strolling to the bar.

You pop yourself on the leather sofa, watching him carefully.

“Drink?” He calls, pouring himself a whiskey.

“Sure,” you lean back, allowing the softness to envelop you. You continue to glance around, looking to the spiral staircase that appears to lead to a second floor.

“Here,” Bucky hands over the glass, then sits next to you. He takes a seat next to you, and spreads himself comfortably.

“Thank you,” you keep hold of the glass.

“Now must come the unpleasant part,” he drains his drink in a single go, placing the glass on the coffee table. “Whilst you are staying here there must be some rules.”

“Can’t I just go home?” You plead. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“It’s not just that, sweetheart,” he explains with a sigh. “Thomas was indebted to some of the worst mobsters in the country. If they knew he planned to use you to pay it off, they’d take you.”

Bucky takes a moment, eyes flickering across your face, gauging your reaction.

“Here’s the deal. You will live here, you can return to work. If you are in any danger, you are to alert one of my men immediately, no matter the circumstances,” he leans forward, seriously. “My men will protect you. In exchange you are not allowed to leave this building without someone accompanying you, and you will be driven where you need to go. You are free to go anywhere in the penthouse, except my office which you may only enter in my company.”

You drink his words in. “I-I think I can do that.”

“Good,” he returns to his casual position. “This will be much easier if you simply behave.”

You press your lips together, conflicting feelings stir in you, part of you is grateful to be alive but another fears whether this will be much better.

The first week passes without incident. You attempt to return to your normal lifestyle, returning to the penthouse each night.

It happened at your first weekly shop since living in Bucky’s penthouse. Steve was keeping his distance, making it appear as if he were another customer.

You turn your head from the tins you’d been mentally scanning, and feel a tingle on your back as if someone is watching you. Your eyes flicker down the aisle to Steve.

His response is immediate, he walks over.

“Allow me,” he speaks as he reaches up to take a tin from the top shelf.

You point discreetly to your left with your right hand, before taking the tin.

“Thank you,” you give him a faint, anxious smile.

“Anytime, ma’am,” he responds and walks in the direction you pointed.

You grasped the trolley tightly, since the incident you had felt yourself teetering on the edge of a panic attack. Fear followed your every step, you’d tried to live your life, work, go out, but every time you left the penthouse you’d be grasped by the tendrils of terror.

You grasp your bag, leaving the trolley abandoned in place. Your feet move without thinking, taking you out of the shop without a word. Behind you, you sense someone following you - Steve, you suspect.

“Hey,” he shouts once you press your hand against his black car, stabilising yourself.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper as you begin to hyperventilate. “I can’t.”

You feel a hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles.

“Let’s get you home,” he speaks gently. “You can order what you need online, and I’ll get the boss to give you a visit.”

“Bucky?” you look at the blonde haired man. You think of the head mobster, you had barely seen him this past week, and wonder how he would react to you so fragile. “You think he will see me?”

“If I call him, he will,” Steve responds. “He enjoys a break from the meetings, especially when it’s with a beautiful woman.”

His tone is light enough that it distracts you for a moment, you roll your eyes.

“It’ll make a good distraction for you,” he adds with a pat to your back.

You are laid across the sofa when you hear the door open.

“Doll?” You hear shuffling.

“I’m here,” you mutter.

Footsteps approach, and Bucky appears above you placing several paper bags on the end table. He is in a dark suit, and a white shirt, several buttons undone. His hair is neatly styled on his head, and eyes soft.

“Hey, Steve said you could use company,” he smiles. “I bought Sushi.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, then roll onto your side, vaguely watching the large screen.

“I see,” he steps around the sofa back to obscure your view. “Right. Get up.”

You glare at him a second before, your eyes shift back again.

He shakes his head, leans down and picks you up with ease.

“Hey!”

He turns and sits, placing you onto his lap.

“Stubborn woman,” he mutters, and leans over to grab the bags. He carefully starts opening the paper boxes, then with ease uses chopsticks to pick up a maki roll.

“Open,” he instructs, slowly you open your mouth and he pops the food onto your tongue. “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

Bucky then uses the chopsticks to feed himself a piece, then you, then himself. Repeating until most of the food appeared to be gone.

He sets the chopsticks aside.

“Steve told me about your trip to the store,” he leans back, arms casually draped across the back of the sofa,  whilst you remain seated in between his legs.

“Yes?” You twitch.

“He said you saw someone,” he tilted his head, reaching for a can from a bag, popping it open.

“I could feel someone watching me,” you murmur as he sips his drink. “And it wasn’t Steve.”

“Mm,” he licks his bottom lip. “Possibly. But Steve was there, he would have never allowed harm to befall you.”

You flinch, eyes down and fingers idly picking at your nails.

“You don’t trust us, do you?”

“Would you?” You reply rhetorically.

He chuckles for a moment. “Touché.”

You exhale, relieved at his reaction.

“I’m afraid I can do many things,” he places the can down. “Print money, smuggle diamonds, ship cocaine. But, I can’t make your emotions disappear. I’m not a therapist, and you are right not to trust me.”

Your eyes meet his.

“Do what you need to make yourself safe,” he brushes your hair behind your ear. “So long as you remain in this building, no one can touch you.”

“Not even you?” You ask uncertainly.

“I might be with the mob, but I’m not a complete monster,” he responds. “I might be a little… physical. But, I am not the kind of man who proceeds without consent.”

Your eyes ficker to look over his serious expression.

“And if I wanted you dead, you would be in the river by now,” he pulled his hand away gently, laying it back against the cushions.

“And if I went to the cops?” You whisper, face close enough you can feel his breath.

He stiffens for a moment, yet his tone is earnest. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Your lips part in surprise.

“That said, it would give me no choice but to make an example of you,” he pauses, face thoughtful. “What would I do?”

He seemed to consider this.

“I’d probably tie you up, leave you hanging from the ceiling by your wrists,” his voice is cool, collected. “Let you stew for a few days until you are on your knees begging for forgiveness.”

His eyes seemed distant now, hand brushing your shoulder to wrap lightly around your neck.

“I’d be merciful though, I’d forgive you, but I’d never allow you to leave again,” he finished, his eyes drifting back to your face. You were trembling, your heart thumped with fear whilst a strange warmth filled your stomach.

“But you won’t do that, will you sweetheart?” He asks rhetorically. “You won’t betray me?”

You quickly shake your head, the tremor apparently in your voice. “No, never.”

The wide satisfied smile on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes open to see daylight flooding through a crack in the curtains. Rising felt slow, the shower did not remove the aches and pains, but you felt the urge to do something.

You end up in the kitchen, making pancake upon pancake, the stacks getting higher.

“Good morning,” you hear from behind you.

Your head turns from the pan to see Bucky. He is dressed casually in a simple white t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, his hair slightly skewed from just getting up.

“Morning,” your return.

“What is this?” He asked, popping himself onto a barstool.

“I made breakfast,” you shrug, turning off the hob, placing another pancake onto the pile and pushing the second plate of steaming pancakes towards Bucky. The pile was five pancake high, covered in syrup, berries, and a dollop of natural yogurt.

You stand on the other side of the island with your own pile, then push over one of two forks before starting to eat yours.

“You made this? For me?” He raised an eyebrow.

You nod, chewing slowly. “I don’t know if you like pancakes,” you shrug. “But, you probably don’t get much homemade food.”

He gives a half smile as he chews.

“That depends,” he admits. “I have had housekeepers who used to cook for me.”

“You don’t anymore,” you look around, as if looking for someone, seeing only Steve and Sam sitting and bickering on the sofa about sport.

“It was hazardous for them,” he sighs. “I only bring in a cleaner every month now, and yes, most of my food is takeout or at fancy restaurants.”

You tilt your head sympathetically, then nod to his plate. “How are they?”

Bucky smiles. “Best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

“Be serious,” you roll your eyes.

“I am,” he gestures to his empty plate. “Sweet pancakes aren’t usually on the menu for a head mobster.”

You reach over and take his plate.

“That’s a shame,” you say, piling the plates and crockery and taking it to the sink.

“Oh no,” he moves quickly. “Put them in the dishwasher.”

“It’ll take less time to just wash them by hand,” you frown at him.

“You’ve already made breakfast, I’m not having you wash up like you are my servant,” he shakes his head and points to the dishwasher. “Dishwasher, doll.”

You pull a face, but comply and let the machine do its work.

“No work today?”

“It’s the weekend,” you respond.

“Ah,” he chuckles. “I forget that civilians don’t all work on the weekend.”

“You work on the weekend?” You ask.

“Often,” he nods.

“Are you working today?” You continue, biting your lip.

His blue eyes flicker over you. “Would you like me to stay with you, sweetheart?”

Your stomach churned, emotions rolling again. This was the head of a mob, he could do unspeakable things to you, and yet with him you also felt safe, a warmth that was beginning to overwrite the fear.

“I-“ you pause. He steps forward till he is at arms length of you.

“Be honest,” his voice is firm, his eyes demanding you look at him.

“Yes, please,” you whisper. “I don’t feel safe without you.”

He exhales and nods. “Okay doll, give me half an hour to make some calls and we can spend the day here. Maybe order some snacks, watch some movies?”

Your chest tightens at his kindness. “That sounds nice.”

Bucky smiles gently, placing a hand on your head to pat you for a moment and then heads towards his office.

Hours pass, you move around the living room from one position to another. Sam and Steve had both joined for some movies, then departed.

Somehow the pair of you ended up on the same sofa, feet up bodies facing each other and heads comfortably against cushions slouched to look at the screen.

“Mmm,” you see Bucky close his eyes for a moment.

“Sleepy?” You ask.

“Me?” His eyes flash open. “Never. I don’t sleep, doll.”

You smirk, amused. “That’s a lie.”

He chuckles. “Perhaps, but it’s true I don’t sleep like a regular human. My bedtime is often in the early hours, and I have to be up by seven.”

“That sounds unhealthy,” you twist slightly. “Get an earlier bedtime.”

“Not possible. I have multiple clubs to run, and meetings,” he shakes his head.

“They can’t run if their boss is exhausted,” you respond.

“You’re such a mother hen, you know that right?” He teases.

You shrug. “You’ve been protecting me. You've set time aside to be with me all day. The least I can do is try and help you.”

His hand lands on your calf near it and gives a momentary squeeze.

“You’re adorable,” he smiles. “You can’t fix me, doll. I am what I am.”

Your eyes stay locked for a moment, locked in a staring contest. It only takes a minute before you back down, slumping back into your cushion.

“We really are from different worlds,” you mumble.

“Yes we are,” he agrees. “It’s for the best that way. A girl like you shouldn’t be in my world. You’re beautiful, inside and out. You do not deserve to be corrupted by the underworld.”

“Isn’t it too late for that?” You ask, curious.

“No,” he shakes his head. “The target on your back will fade. Once all of Thomas’s will has been dealt with, you will be forgotten. It may take months, but it will happen. You will be able to return to your life.”

“I’ll never be able to go back after this,” you mutter, mind turning to a dark place.

“Not completely, but you deserve to be able to look at bookstores without glancing back. To go to a bar on an evening or a trip to the theatre,” he sat up. “And I will keep you safe until you can, maybe even after-“

He pauses, then closes his mouth as if he has spoken too much.

“Bucky?” Fear crept into your voice.

“Never mind,” he shakes his head. “Go back to watching the movie, sweetheart.”

You frown a moment and turn onto your side to continue to watch. You can feel his eyes on your for several minutes before he settles onto his side also.

The evening remains quiet, charged. Pleasantries only exchanged when changing to the next movie.

Eventually your eyes shut, falling into a peaceful slumber.

The living room is mostly dark when you hear the chatter of voices. A blanket has been placed carefully around your form, you shift to move when you hear a voice again.

“He wasn’t happy you delayed,” Sam’s voice carried from the office.

“Like I give a shit,” you hear Bucky respond. “I’m the King of Brooklyn, I can have one day off.”

There is a moment of silence.

“She mean that much to you?” Sam’s voice is quieter.

There is another silence.

“She made me breakfast, Sam,” he responds. “She’s the first person I have met in a long time who looks at me and sees a man.”

“You can’t afford to fall for her,” Sam’s tone is curt. “She’s beautiful, but if you brought her in - it might break her.”

“I know,” Bucky’s voice is solemn. “Don’t worry. I only intend to protect her.”

“Even if she feels the same?”

“Especially if she feels the same.”

So begins the routine. Every day you’d make breakfast for two, often having to leave it out for Bucky to eat later. You’d work, return to the penthouse, make dinner, clean up and go to bed.

Every week you’d order groceries for the week, stock up the kitchen, clean around the place and every Saturday evening would be movie night.

You’d lay on the sofa after dinner, watching something and hear the creak of the door.

Bucky would return, greet you, eat the meal you’d left for him, head up to dress into casual wear and lay with you for the rest of the evening.

Some evenings you would lay together in silence and others you’d talk. Bucky would tell of his childhood or humourous tales of his past antics. You’d speak of your interests, your job, and anything he’d ask about.

Every time you found it harder to lay opposite him. His stories, the way he would gently kiss your forehead in thanks for making dinner, or carry you to bed when you fell asleep. The fear you once had evaporated in his presence, replaced by a warm feeling in your chest.

The problem was that it was only around him, and his presence was dwindling. After a month he stopped appearing on Saturdays, you’d lay waiting only to awake the next morning in your bed - knowing he’d moved you there without so much as a word.

Yet you continued  with the same pattern, only leaving the penthouse for work. The moment you left the safe confines of building you would be peeking around every corner, checking for the next mob boss who would take you.

After each day you’d return home, because that is what you had come to call it, and wish Bucky was there. Some nights drifting into fantasies about the feel of his lips…

You didn’t hear it at first, thinking that something must have hit the floor.

Then you hear the thud again. Then a soft moan.

“James,” a voice cries out through the wall.

You flinch, pulling the pillow to surround your head.

This was the third time this had happened the past fortnight. It had gotten tiresome. The 2am wake ups, having to stay in your room until the unknown woman vacates the penthouse or rush out without breakfast.

You rolled onto your side, body clenched, eyes screwed shut, thighs pressed together, helplessly trying not to think of what the mobster was doing in his room.

It reached five am, and there had been silence for over two hours, yet sleep escaped you.

It felt ridiculous, being so hung up on a man like this, especially a mob boss. You sigh, pulling the covers back and landing on your feet. The soft snores and breathing from the wall made it plain you were the only one awake.

Taking advantage whilst you could, you went into the en-suite, showered and then dressed. You pause to ensure your neighbours still slept.

You take care with the door, creep past Bucky’s door then fly down the spiral staircase.

“Morning,” you hear someone speak. Your eyes flick to the sofa, there sat Sam idly watching a football game. 

“Oh, good morning, Sam,” you continued into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of orange juice and a bowl of cereal. You take them to the dining table, and sit watching Sam from across the large space.

“You alright there?” Sam asked.

“Mm, yeah,” you lied faintly.

As you eat, the man approaches and sits opposite.

“You look exhausted,” he noted.

“Hard to sleep with all the noise around here,” you mutter, then glance at him in panic. “Don’t tell Bucky that.”

“Oh I won’t,” he grins. “But you should.”

You shake your head desperately. “I’d like to keep my head.”

He chuckles again. “You think he’d kill you? He can’t say no to you. If he knew he was making you uncomfortable, he would install soundproofing just to keep you happy.”

You grumble in disbelief, finishing off your food.

“I’m going to head to work,” you say. “Would you drive me?”

“At 5am? Fuck no,” he responds. “Get your cute ass back to bed.”

“Sam, I need to get out of here,” you plead.

“Because the boss has been screwing a few girls?”

“Yes,” you respond, leaning forward to plead. “Please.”

Sam snorted. “Batting those pretty eyelashes don’t work on me, girl.”

You slump back.

“If you are having such trouble I can get you in another place,” he offers. “Might get some sleep.”

“Bucky would lose it,” you mumble.

“Maybe, but all he cares about is you are safe,” he shrugs. “Not where you are safe.”

It was after your shift that Sam brought you to the safe house. It felt exactly as described, safe. No windows, thick walls, and rooms sparsely decorated.

None of it seemed to matter though, the moment your head hit the mattress you were gone.

You awoke to the sound of arguing.

“You are lucky I don’t break your face,” you hear the low gravel.

“She needs a break, Buck,” you hear Sam respond. “She’s been cooped up in your penthouse for nearly two months.”

“She can leave wherever she wants!” He sounds exacerbated. “It’s her choice not to leave.”

“You scared her shitless and you know it!” Sam responded, tone hard. “You haven’t seen her when she’s out. Constantly looking like a rabbit in headlights, like she expects someone to snag her any moment.”

“So you drag her to a safehouse?” You hear Bucky grit his teeth, you unsteadily get to your feet and stand by then open the door.

“She asked to come here,”

“What? Why would she do that?” He demands, you hear loud steps. “Wilson, you better tell me or you’ll regret being born.”

“Wait-“ you rushed out of the door, tightening the dressing gown you had pulled on.

Bucky stood opposite Sam, his hands tight on the other man’s arms.

“Oh, thank fuck,” you hear Sam mutter.

Bucky approaches you like a storm, powerful and with purpose. Sam backs away, slipping to the door and out with a click, leaving the pair of you alone.

One of his hands grabs your chin, tilting it up as his eyes scanned your face.

“Are you hurt?” He demands.

“No, why would I be?” You frown.

He sighs, his hand now turning gentle and cupping your cheek. “You scared the shit out of me. Thought someone had grabbed you.”

“I just-“ you pause. “I needed some time to myself.”

“Overnight?” He asked.

You shrug.

“Don’t bullshit me, sweetheart,” Bucky’s eyes burned, his metal hand holding onto your waist. “You spend most of your time alone, locked up in that room of yours. Why are you really here?”

You swallow and his hand removes itself from your face to brush his hair back in frustration.

“Doll,” his nostrils flare. “I’m trying to be patient, but it’s wearing thin.”

“I just wanted some sleep,” you mutter, and hje freezes up.

“Sleep?” He repeats, his hand returns to your face appearing to look fore signs of tiredness. “You aren’t sleeping?”

“Not much,” you admit.

His eyes flicker across your face once more. “You know I will always keep you safe, don’t you? You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“That’s not why,” your mumble, your eyes going down.

“Explain it to me,” his voice is firm. “What is making you so restless that you run away?”

“I didn’t run-“

“You know the rules, I can only protect you if you stand by me,” he responds.

“No, the rules are I can leave if I have someone with me. Sam hasn’t left me,”

He exhales. “A technicality. You left me without so much as a word.”

“Hard to tell you anything when you are never around,” you mutter bitterly.

His hand tightens on your cheek and his eyes narrow. “You are lucky I keep my word, if you weren’t under my protection I’d have you over my knee for that.”

You pull away from him. “Oh, fuck you!”

His eyebrows raised, arms crossed over his chest. “You can if you want,” his voice was low, sensual. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not some toy for you to use, like those other girls,” you spat venomously, frustrated at his attitude.

“Ah,” he smirked. “That is what this is about. You heard them.”

You stiffen. “That’s not-“ you exhale. “You need to learn to fuck quieter.”

He laughs, his arms falling to his sides and head going back slightly.

“Oh, baby,” the mob bodd practically coos. “That’s the problem? You could hear how good I was giving it to those girls.”

Your jaw clenched. “It’s inconsiderate. I cannot just go to bed at two, fuck for two hours and run on three hours sleep.”

“You sound jealous,” he smirks.

“You think I want that with you?” You respond harshly.

“Yes, you do,” he steps close, placing his hands on your waist. “Bet it gets you riled up, hearing her cry out for me - knowing it could be you.”

He leans down to whisper into your ear.

“You need only ask baby,” his breath tickles your neck. “I’ll fuck you so good, wear you down until you can’t think. Leave your pretty head empty. You’ll have the best sleep of your life.”

You tremble slightly.

“Bucky,” your voice breaks. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t,” his face remains close to yours.

“You’re a mob boss,” you say, shaking your head. “And I- I want something real. Not a one night stand.”

“Mm,” he ponders, lips brushing yours a moment. “You think so little of me?”

“Pardon?”

“You think I’d only want you for a single night?” His tone is clipped, offended. “Sweetheart, if you got in my bed I’d never let you out.”

“But those girls,” you whisper.

“Wanted a quick fuck,” he responds. “You want me, and who am I to deny you?”

You blink.

“You think I don’t notice? The way you glance at me? How you leave breakfast out for me? How you care for my Penthouse as if it were your own?” His voice is soft. “Or maybe you haven’t noticed, how I always sit next to you? How every time you need something, shampoo, your favourite fruit, it is always there when you get home? How every time you look at me with those eyes the world tilts and nothing matters but you.”

“Bucky,” you breathe, cheeks starting to go pink.

“I want you,” his voice lowers slightly. “I want you so much that I lied to myself. I distanced myself, and fell back onto my old ways just to keep you away.”

“I’m a twisted, cruel motherfucker,” he continues. “And all the more twisted for wanting you.”

“You aren’t cruel,” your whisper pleadingly, staring into his eyes.

“That’s what you believe,” he says. “I’ve shielded you from that part of me. But, in truth my ledger is so red it is stained and there is no freeing myself from it.”

Your lips parted.

“Fuck,” his hands cup your face, one red hot, the other ice cold. “Please, baby. I’ll take such good care of you. Be my girl.”

You close your eyes and press your forehead to his. You slowly inhale, his scent washing over you.

“I’m not exactly the material for a mob boss’s girlfriend,” you murmur.

“You just told me to fuck off,” your eyes open to see him smirking. “Anyone else would take a broken jaw for that, you know that. Don’t doubt yourself, baby, you have the makings of someone who can stand with me.”

“I was mad,” you speak softly. “Still kinda am.”

“And it’s fucking beautiful,” he responds, the smirk now a full smile. “It’s hot as hell seeing you like this.”

“Sleep deprived and angry at,” you blink looking for a clock, then spot the digital clock of the oven blinking. “It’s 4am!”

Bucky leaned away to laugh. “Yes, sweetheart, it’s 4am.”

“Are you serious? You came here at 4am?!?” You demand.

His laugh is louder. “Keep going, baby.”

You sputter. “You- you- you bastard! You stormed in and woke me up at 4am?”

Bucky simply grins. “Yes. That should tell you enough. How I feel.”

You freeze in disbelief. “You were that worried?”

“I was that worried,” he echoes. “Don’t you dare do that again.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Hm, defiant little thing aren’t you?” The back of his hand brushes your cheek. “Where has this side of you been the past two months?”

“Stewing,” you respond. “Being locked up in your penthouse isn’t all that fun.”

“I told you, you can leave anytime,”

“And risk getting grabbed by a rival mob? Or having one of your men on my ass all day? No thanks,” you reply with a shake of your head.

“What if I take you out?” He shrugs, smug. “You could go shopping, we’ll have brunch. Then we could see a play, have dinner and go to my club.”

“Are you asking me on a… date?” You stammer.

“Yes,” his hand cups your cheek again. “If you won’t fuck me, you can at least allow me the pleasure of your company. Seeing as you feel I am being unattentive.”

You flush. “Uh, okay.”

Bucky grins like he had won a bet. “Good. I’ll get you out of work tomorrow. Now, let’s get you back to bed.”

You tilt your head, and suddenly he picks you up bridal style into his arms, carrying you to bed.

He gently lays you on the mattress, when you roll to face him you see him stripping off.

“Bucky?”

“You think I am sleeping in this suit?” He teases.

“Oh,” you blush and untie the dressing gown, flinging it onto the floor and pulling the covers up.

“Make room,” he rumbles, you slide across slightly and hear the creak of his large form lowering the bed. Then the duvet is pulled up to cover you both 

A warm arm wraps around your waist pulling you close. Your body pressed up against his chest.

“There, perfect,” he breathes in your ear. “Now…”

His voice is breathy, soft and makes your eyes roll slightly.

“Rest now, baby,” he keeps his lips by your ear. “I’m here.”

His voice sends tingles across your skull, then shooting down your neck. Your eyes begin to shut.

You feel stiff, your body pinned in place by a pair of arms. You attempt to adjust slightly.

“Mm,” you feel Bucky’s chest rumble against your back. “Morning doll.”

“Morning,” you clear your throat, and allow your eyes to flicker around the dimly lit room - lightly only filtering through ajar door. The clock blinks, showing 8:34 am.

You gasp. “It’s past eight!”

“Mmm,” he pulls you in tight. “Too early.”

“You have to be up at seven,”

He grumbles. “Not when I don’t want to, baby.”

“Bucky…” you attempt to shift again.

You hear a sigh and he withdraws his arms then climbs on top of you, his weight pinning you down.

“I’ve had it arranged that you are not in,” his blue eyes remain fixed on yours. “And I am the King of Brooklyn. If they don’t like me taking a day, then they are welcome to say it to me personally.”

You find yourself speechless. It was hard to counter when he made it clear his word was final.

“Now,” he rolls, pulling you with him - his arms around your waist, a leg draped over yours. “We are going to spend the morning in bed.”

“To sleep or… for other reasons?” You ask tentatively. 

“Whichever you want, doll,” his nose brushes yours. “We can sleep, cuddle, make out or fuck.”

His flesh hand reaches up to the top of your head, fingers moving against your scalp as his fingers brush through your hair.

Your eyes roll slightly at the feel.

“Maybe not fuck,” he mutters. “I’d rather you be conscious for that.”

“Mmm,” you agree. “Can we sleep more?”

You hear him chuckle as your eyes close.

“Sleep as long as you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

When your eyes open again the clock blinks 10:43am. You hear a noise akin to a growl, and peer up to see Bucky’s eyes closed, chest moving gently as he snored.

“Oh,” you murmur to yourself. Your hands move of your own volition gently pressing against the muscles of his chest, drifting up to his neck and feeling the stubble on his face.

He rumbles slightly. “Don’t stop.”

Your eyes widen slightly.You run your thumbs slowly over his cheeks.

“Fuck, your hands are soft,” he murmurs, eyes drifting open. 

“Hi,” you say softly.

“Hi,” he responds with a soft smile, his own hands cupping your face.

“Sleep okay?” You ask.

“Mmm,” he leans close. “It’s been a long time since I have slept so well.”

“It is nearly 11,”

“That isn’t why,” he leans forward. “You know why.”

You freeze a moment, unsure whether to believe him.

“You doubt me,” he murmurs. “I don’t blame you.”

“I just… don’t know how much is real. The past few months have felt like some demented dream,” your eyes flicker down.

“Mmm,” he considers and leans closer. His mouth brushes yours for a moment, and it left your lips tingling.

“You felt that,” he murmurs. “I know you did.”

You stiffen, still in denial.

“I heard you,” you speak quietly. “You told Sam you couldn’t afford to fall for me.”

“Ah,” he sighs. “Sweetheart.”

“I can’t go into this if you aren’t serious,” you say. “I have spent the past two months terrified. But, what terrifies me more is how I feel around you, feeling safe and warm.”

His eyes flicker over you.

“I make you feel warm?” A smirk emerges on his face.

“It scares me,” you whisper. “How much I need you.”

His arms moved to pull you close.

“I need you,” he murmurs. “You’ve given me routine and stability. I return home to a clean home. I wake up to breakfast each morning. I take it for granted, and I don’t ask you to do it. You just do it. You make my luxury penthouse feel worth living in.”

“Bucky,” you whisper.

“Just give me a chance, baby,” he utters against your lips.

The air seemed to thicken with heavy breaths. He leaned closer again, eyes wearily flickering to observe your every expression.

Then his lips pressed to yours.

The next second felt like an eternity, your mind spinning, until you decided and you kissed him back. His fingers weaved into your hair to hold you against him, and the movement of his lips remained gentle, controlled.

He pulls away carefully, eyes remaining closed and he gives a small smile.

Your eyes stay fixed on his face as his eyes slowly open.

“I’m keeping you,” he whispers. “Right here, next to me.”

A shudder wracked your body, and you were unable to tell if it was from fear or desire.

“Breathe,” his voice was careful. You inhale shakily. “Slower.”

You attempt to inhale again, slowly this time, his right hand running through your hair. Your body relaxed, slightly.

“There,” he leans forward, kissing your forehead. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Your mouth opened for a moment, exhaling. “I just do not know what you mean.”

“Because I’m a big scary mob boss,” he gives a half smile. “I have no intention of allowing you to walk out of my life. I will keep my promise, you can return to your life when it is safe, but if you’ll allow it - I want your presence in my life.”

“Like, a real relationship?” you blink.

“Yeah,” his voice was slightly husky. “Exactly like that.”

You consider this a moment, thinking of everything you've been through so far, and suddenly all reason seemed to fade - what mattered was how you felt.

“Then you best take me on that date then,” your voice was more sure.

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

It was well past midday when you found yourself in the front of the black car. Bucky had insisted that you return to his apartment to change, and into something less casual than jeans and a t-shirt.

Your eyes flicker left to watch him drive. Both hands are on the wheel, leaning against the seat allowing you to look at his midnight blue suit, a crisp white shirt underneath unbuttoned enough to see the valley of his neck join to his collarbones.

You cannot help but swallow and force your eyes away.

He laughs gently. “I caught that.”

You flush, embarrassed at being caught.

“You can look at me,” his eyes flicker to yours. “It’s not a crime, and even if it were. Laws are merely suggestions.”

“Did you really need a suit?” you ask.

“It gets you to look at me like that, then yes it is required,” he smirks, then turns serious. “In my line of work I have to present myself properly.”

“Even when you’re with me?”

“Especially with you,” he confirms. “Everyone must know that if anyone touches you, it’ll be the mob boss they will face, not the man who wants to hold you.”

Your expression shifted into an easy smile, your chest tightening.

“You haven’t brought your men with you though,” you noted.

“I want you, and just you,” his tone turned very serious. “No bodyguards, just us. We don’t need anyone else.”

“What about the others?” you frown.

“Anyone in this city knows what I am capable of,” his voice tightened, his metal arm whirred slightly, drawing your attention. “I am never defenceless.”

Your eyes remain on his arm. “How did…” you shake your head. “No, that’s rude.”

Bucky smiles slightly. “Curious about the arm?”

You nod.

“I took a blast over a decade ago,” he shrugs as if it was nothing, but you are painfully aware of the sharp look in his eyes. “As for how I obtained my arm, that is a story for another time. I’d rather not taint our first date with that story.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For telling me.”

His cheeks lift as he smiles. “Don’t be afraid to ask me anything. I have no intention of hiding anything.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “I have never lied to you, not even once. I cannot bring myself to.”

“Why not?” you ask.

He lets out a short laugh. “I don’t fucking know. Maybe it’s because when you walked into that room there was something about you. You were just another girl, and maybe that’s what drew me in.”

You fall silent, the air tense with unspoken feelings.

Bucky seemed to manoeuvre the car with ease, reversing into a space, then killing the engine. He pulled out a phone from his pocket, fingers of his right hand pressing on the screen.

“Wait here,” he spoke casually, eyes still on the screen, and exited the car.

A few seconds pass and your own door opens, Bucky holding it open.

“Oh,” you unbuckle your seatbelt.

He chuckles. “I was paying to park.”

“You do that?”

“The law might be a suggestion, but I would like to keep my car,” his tone is so casual that you contain a breathless laugh as you climb out.

“You like your cars?”

“And my bikes,” he added with a grin, his right hand reaching to take your left. “I enjoy engineering.”

Your fingers slide between his. “You’re a mobster who likes engineering?”

“Mhm,” his hand tugs gently as you settle into a walk, his left hand clicking his keys to lock the car behind you. “I have many talents.”

You laugh again as he winks.

“You continue to surprise me,” you shake your head.

“I’m glad,” he opens the door into the restaurant. “It keeps things interesting.”

“Good afternoon,” a suited man stood by the wooden stand. “Mr Barnes, it is a pleasure as always.”

Bucky nods, his hand moving to the small of your back.

“I’d like a table for myself and my girl,” his voice was cool and professional, a contrast to the light-hearted man from moments ago.

“Of course,” the man responded. “Please follow me.”

He picked up two menus from the stand and appeared to click on a tablet before leading the way.

You glance around as Bucky guides you. The place was fancy, open, airy with sheer white curtains and white tablecloths. The tables are full of intricately placed silverware and glasses, all seeming to shine even from a distance.

“Here we are,” the man says, offering a table for two. It was set slightly aside from the rest of the room, glass walls surrounding it offering a view of New York.

Bucky lets you go long enough to pull out a chair.

“Oh, thank you,” you sit down, and smile at the server. “Thank you.”

Bucky doesn’t acknowledge him and merely takes his seat. The server places down the menus and leaves.

“What was that about?” you ask.

“What do you mean, doll?”

“That was rude, you didn’t even acknowledge him,” you frown in disapproval.

He leans forward, his fingers interlocking on the table. “Mob boss, remember, baby? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You sigh, leaning back. “Did he know who you are?”

“In a place like this, everyone will know who I am,” he shrugs uncaringly.

“We could have gone somewhere else,” you say. “Where you can be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” he begins to lean back. “You deserve to be treated with the best.”

“Setting a high bar on the first date?” you tease.

“Setting a high bar would be showering you in diamonds and flying to my private villa,” he smirks, smug.

You roll your eyes. “Private villa? Really?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I have a private villa, several in fact,” his smirk turns into a gentle smile.

“And I can barely afford rent,” you grumble.

“I can buy you a building if you desire,” he raised an eyebrow. “It’s a good investment.”

“You’re insane,” you shake your head with a short laugh.

“When it comes to you, I am,” he agrees. “My men would mutiny if they knew what you have reduced me to.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows scrunching together. “Don’t do that, don’t demean yourself for having feelings.”

His lips part in surprise. “Then what would you call this?”

“Strength,” you lean forward. “Knowing I had a target on my back was almost too much to bear, except when you were there.”

“Hm,” he seemed to consider this. “Interesting thought.”

A waitress came over, collecting your drinks order and checked if you were ready to order food. You remained silent, having been too drawn in by the conversation to even glance at the menu. Bucky was very collected, ordering for the two of you with ease.

“Thank you,”

“Whatever for, baby?” He tilts his head.

“Ordering for me,”

Bucky smiles. “I hope it’s to your liking.”

You shrug. “It’s been a while since I ate out like this.”

“Better get used to it, baby,” he chuckles. “I’ll show you the best food in New York.”

“And my cooking isn’t?” You joke.

He laughs. “Your food is on its own level. No restaurant can compare to how it is when I wake to the smell of your cooking.”

“Nice save,” you remain lighthearted.

“It was,” he reaches over, offering his hand. You gently take it, squeezing it.

The waitress returns with a bucket of ice, with a bottle of champagne and wordlessly pours the golden liquid into the glasses. Then she quickly departs.

“Chatty folks,” you comment.

“I get this wherever I go,” Bucky admits. “They know to leave me alone, often when I come to these places it is to meet with others like myself. They don’t wish to be involved in our business, and rightly so.”

“Do you,” you frown. “Do you have anyone other than your own men? Things you do in your free time?”

“You assume I have it,” he sighs. “Why do you believe I stopped attending our impromptu movie nights? Others were not impressed that I was unavailable every Saturday.”

You frown. “That’s why. I thought you’d grown bored.”

He shook his head, picking up his glass. “Not at all.”

Bucky leans forward holding out his glass, you pick up your own glass clinking them gently.

“To us,” he smiles.

You give him a smile in return. “So you really only have your men?”

“Not anymore,” his eyes glinted playfully. “But other than yourself, there is only Steve and Wilson.”

“Wilson?” You repeat, amused. “You’re still mad at Sam?”

“Yes,” he takes another sip, and his jaw tightens. “He took you from me. I won’t forget that.”

“I asked him to,”

“It doesn’t matter,” his tone is curt. “He knows I didn’t want you staying anywhere but my penthouse.”

“That’s unfair, he’s your best friend and he was being kind to me,” you shake your head. “You shouldn’t punish him on my account.”

He glares at you a moment, eyes flickering over you, drinking in your face and the dress that hugged your form.

“Fine,” he exhales. “I won’t punish him. But, I will still be speaking to him.”

You look down, placing your glass down.

“I know this is hard for you to understand,” his voice softens. “I told you, you cannot fix me. This is who I am, how I must be.”

You peer through your lashes back at him.

“It’s just going to take time to accept it,” you admit quietly. “It doesn’t change how I feel.”

The food then arrived, placed in front of you quickly before departing.

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Bucky admits. “Now, let’s enjoy our meal before it gets cold..”

You both eat in silence, occasionally stealing glances from each other.

“You do know my taste,” you say as you carefully play the silverware on your plate.

“I’m very observant,” he jokes. “You seem to have preferences when you make food.”

“Everyone does,” you reply.

“Not myself,” he begins to drink again. “What I consume depends on who I am with. What you eat can give others opinions, decide who has the upper hand.”

“You still eat my food though,” you point out.

“Within the confines of my penthouse, out of sight,” he takes a final sip and reaches to pour himself a glass. “More?”

You nod. “Please.”

He pours more champagne into your glass.

“You have no idea how pleasant it has been the past two months,” he admits. “Having something out for me to eat each morning. Most mornings I grab a coffee and leave. You've instilled domesticity into me.”

Your mouth tilts into a smile. “That’s kind of cute.”

The mob boss flinches. “Please, do not.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Why? Is the big mob boss scared that his girlfriend thinks he’s cute?”

He stills and his eyes widen fractionally.

“Did you just?” His lips part. “Doll, did you just call yourself my girlfriend?”

“Well,” you flush. “It seems the most reasonable way to describe this.”

“Hm,” he leans back. “It is fitting.”

“Is that a yes?” You straighten, enthused.

He chuckles. “I suppose it is, but I don’t want to hear you call me your boyfriend - not to others.”

“Because of the mob thing?” You watch him nod. “So what do I call you then? Partner? Lover?”

“Those are acceptable,” he agrees.

“Okay,” you nod. “Thank you.”

He reaches over again, with both hands, which you take.

“Thank you,” the blue of his eyes seemed endless as you gazed into his eyes. “For agreeing to this, for giving me a chance.”

You shake your head. “Thank you, for protecting me.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” he leans close. “It isn’t your fault that fucker was using you.”

That was new to you. “What?”

“Oh, I said too much,” he mutters and his hands tighten around yours in frustration.

“Bucky?” You glare.

“I didn’t want to plague you with the knowledge,” he admits.

“He was using me?” Your jaw ticks.

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment. “Yes. He planned to use you to try to pay off his debts.”

“That’s why he offered me to you?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “He planned to sell you to another gang then use the money to pay myself and others off. I just came to collect before he had the chance.”

“You saved me twice,” your voice grows quiet.

“If that’s how you wish to see it,” he shrugs. “I could not stand to see it, seeing another human being exchanged like an object.”

Your expression softened. “Regardless, you saved me.”

“I’ll always be there to save you,” he promises, bringing your hands to his mouth to kiss them.

Dessert passes quickly, and Bucky has someone pick you both up to take to a club.

“Here we are,” his hand rests on the small of your back as you enter. The club is not too large, intimate with a dance floor surrounded by booths, a long bar and a stage where a woman stood singing gently accompanied by a pianist.

The booths were only half filled, and no one was on the dance floor.

He pulls you gently to the dance floor, and into his arms.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs.

You place your hands on his shoulders and sway with him. As you move you notice that people were entering from a door near a line of booths, and each one was accompanied by someone in a tight fitting bodysuit.

“This is one of my more private locations,” your gaze returns to him.

“Is it a brothel?” You whisper.

“Somewhat,” he confirms. “The servers here do offer extra services, usually a private dance. More intimate activities are reserved and have to be very specifically requested.”

“But you own brothels?” You guess.

“I own anything you can imagine, sweetheart,” he admits. “I deal in anything other than my fellow human beings. My biggest earner is from sex work, followed by drugs and an occasional dabble in diamonds.”

You don’t speak, only watching him.

“In exchange, anyone who works under me I offer my full protection. Any and all abuse is not tolerated, and my workers all have the right to refuse at any time,” his tone is very collected, professional.

“So I’m not the first person you've protected,” you realise.

He chuckles. “You are the first I’ve chosen to take into my own home. Because selfishly, I wanted you for myself.”

Your lips part. “Oh.”

“I knew how twisted it was to desire you,” he continues. “But, I kept you anyway. I wanted you to be mine.”

You still for a moment then speak breathily. “I am yours.”

His irises begin to widen. “Say that again.”

“I’m yours, Bucky,” you whisper. “I’ve been slowly falling. It’s why I never resisted, or ran.”

“Fuck,” his lips were almost upon yours, and pressed your body against his. “You’re mine.”

He spoke as if convincing himself. “Mine.”

His hips ground against yours slowly, building the tension between you.

“Bucky,” your whisper is desperate.

“I really made you mine,” he still spoke as if to himself.

You press your forehead to his.

“I want you, Bucky,” you tell him, eyes beginning to water. “I want all of you. Mob boss and all.”

“Mmm,” his mouth met yours, pressing hard, full of desire. His lips moved, opening, and yours followed as if his body was instructing yours. His tongue moving to claim you.

Your hands reach up to hold his face, stroking him gently.

He separates from you, his eyes glance over you several times.

“Let’s get home,” his voice was urgent.

Bucky insists that the driver ignores speed limits. The moment you are out of the car, stepping out of the back one the same side of his, he picks you up bridal style and begins long strides into the building.

Once inside his apartment, you both notice Sam and Steve on the sofa, seemingly drinking beers and watching baseball.

“Out,” Bucky speaks with no room for argument.

The men glance at each other knowingly.

Sam smirks. “Yes boss.”

The two begin to leave.

“Have fun, Buck!” You hear Steve shout before the door shuts behind them.

Bucky begins to stride again, carrying you with ease up the staircase to the door. His door, the one door you’d never dared open.

His hand moved below you to lower the handle and push, then stepped in, his footsteps heavy.

Bucky lowers you to the ground, then kicks the door behind him shut. He allowed you a moment to breathe.

Your eyes flicker over his room, it is as Spartan as the rest of his apartment, filled with a Queen-sized bed, one door seeming to lead to a walk-in closet and a wall seemingly to be entirely glass, only short lines of metal holding them in place.

You feel his hands on your hips, lips at your ear.

“You said you want me,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Is that still the case?”

You turn your head to look at him, your decision made. “Yes.”

His metal hand trailed up your side, you sigh at the feel of the cold against you, until he cupped your jaw, tilting it to allow him access to your lips.

The kiss is tender, building slowly. The hand on your hip turns you to face him and presses you close.

Without breaking the kiss, you feel him guide you back to the foot of his bed, then gently push down onto the silk sheets.

His mouth becomes urgent, movingly harshly against yours until he breaks away to allow you to breathe.

You gasp wildly as he looms over you, use his hand to tilt your head and kiss the side of your neck.

“Bucky,” your hands move to his hair.

He pulls away. “Lay down.”

You crawl backward until you are leaning against the headboard. He climbs up onto the bed with you, allowing his blazer to slide off his body and land on the floor with a light thud.

You watch as his hands work to undo the cuff links and roll up his sleeves. You feel heat bloom in your stomach, eyes on the veins of muscles of his forearm and the intricate joins of metal plates.

“Like what you see?” He teases.

You feel the heat move to include your face. “Yeah.”

His hands reach under your skirt to grasp your thighs.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he encourages. “We’re going to go slow. I want you to enjoy every second.”

You bend your knees and allow them to fall to the side.

“Good girl,” he whispers, sending a shiver through you. His hands move to pull your skirt up and allow him to see your underwear.

His hands return to your thighs gently massaging them, before moving his metal hand up brushing your inner thigh - the cold of his fingers seeming to make you extra sensitive to his touch. 

“Easy,” he whispers. “Relax.”

You lean back, allowing the sensations to rack your body as his fingers danced along your inner thigh.

“So responsive,” he murmurs and then leans close to eye your underwear. “How long have you been wet?”

“I, uh,” you felt too embarrassed.

“Sweetheart, I asked you a question,” he says, eyes fixed on your face.

“Since the restaurant,” you admit. “I tried to clean up in the bathroom, but it just kept going.”

He allows a soft chuckle. “I’ll try to not let that go to my ego.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to sass back, especially when he began to feel your folds through the cotton covering them.

You inhale, attempting to steady yourself.

“Let’s get these off,” he voice is sultry, fingers hooking under the sides and pulling them down. You lift your legs to allow him to pull them off entirely.

Now laid bare for him, his metal fingers run over your folds, parting them and beginning their ministrations on your swollen clit, the cold continuing to enhance the sensations. His other hand works down, sliding a finger inside.

You find yourself sliding down the headboard, body becoming like jelly under his touch.

He pulls a finger out, then pushes two in. You gasp loudly.

“Bucky!”

“Say it again, baby,” he grins. “I want to hear all of it.”

His fingers plunge in curling to touch the spongy spot that made you moan.

“There, that’s it,” he coos, and repeats his motions. One hand thrusting in and out whilst the other delicately rolls your clit.

Your eyes roll, and you let out a cry.

“Please!” You aren’t sure what you are crying out for, mind foggy with pleasure.

“As pretty as your begging is, you have to be more specific, baby,” his voice breaks through your reverie. “What do you need?”

“You,” you cry out between moans.

“You have me,” he taunts you. “I’m pleasuring you.”

You whimper. “No, I need you. All of you.”

He pulls his hands away, and you let out a choked noise. 

“No!”

Bucky chuckles. “Get the dress off.”

You struggle in your haze, tugging at the zip behind you and ripping the dress over your head. Then eagerly unclamp your bra and fling it aside. You lay back down head against the cushions, legs spread again as you watch him. His shirt is gone, allowing you the view of the muscles across his chest and the taunting v of his hips.

He chuckles when he spots you looking, licking his bottom lip, he pulls down his trousers and boxers in one go, withdrawing one leg then the other and allows them to fall from the bed.

His hands go to your hips as he lowered himself between your thighs. His cock brushed your folds, your body rolled in response and his hands brace against the mattress.

“Hold onto me,” his voice is gentle, whilst his eyes betray his desire. Your own hands trail up to cling to his back. “You still want this?”

“Yes,” your voice is breathy.

He smiles at you and presses a soft kiss to your lips. His cocks pushes against you, entering slowly inch by inch.

Your eyes widen at the feel, sensitive from his fingers.

He groaned as he hit home. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you whisper in agreement, your body begins to adapt to the feel of him inside, then your walls contract around him, betraying you.

“Shit,” he grits his teeth above you. “Baby, calm down. Keep that up and I’ll be finishing before we can start.”

“It feels so good,” you utter.

“I know,” he agrees. “But, I want to feel you fall apart on me. Just… breathe for me, doll.”

You take a deep breath, allowing yourself to feel it fill your lungs then slowly exhale. It momentarily takes your mind away from Bucky’s cock inside you.

“There,” he starts to move, slow gentle thrusts intended to build friction.

“Mm,” you close your eyes.

“Eyes on me,” his voice is commanding. “I want to see your eyes as you come apart.”

You feel dazed as you open your eyes.

His hips now snap against yours, his hands grasp your thighs to move them up, spreading you wider to allow him to hit just the right angle.

“Bucky,” you cry out. “James, please!”

“Cry out for me,” he rumbles. The room fills with the wet slapping sounds of him pounding into you hard, his pace increasing.

“Bucky, I- I,” your legs were shaking in his hands and you let out a shout as wave after wave of pleasure wracked your body.

“Fuck, yes, give it to me,” he growled snapping forward once, twice then a third time before you feel wet heat join your own. He groans, until he falls softly on top of you, by your ear you hear him give out a soft almost silent whimper.

You gasp, attempting to calm your heart.

“Mm,” you hear him mumble into your ear, then gather you in his arms and roll you. Him on his back, you atop, his cock still held within you, soft yet still.

He licks his bottom lip, his eyes hungry. “Give me a few.”

“Should I?” You start to move, his hands grasp your hips, tight.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he commands, eyes blazing. “Stay still.”

You obey him, keeping in position, hands braced against his chest.

A few minutes pass of silence, filled only with three steady sounds of breathing.

“Come here,” his voice is gentle. You lean down and his head lurches forward to kiss you, his mouth is constantly moving giving you wet kisses, no longer controlled.

Inside, you can feel him begin to harden again, swelling to stretch your walls again. His hips thrust up.

“Oh,” you gasp, pulling away from the kiss.

He grins cheekily. “Go on, ride me baby.”

You brace your legs aside his, and run your hands down to press against his abs.

His eyes drink in every inch of your body.

“Beautiful,” you see him murmur.

You raise your hips, then push down onto his cock. Both of you let out a moan at the feel, oversensitive from the previous round.

You grind on him, trying helplessly to push him in deeper.

His hands squeeze your hips to grab your attention.

“Lean back,” he suggests. You lean back, bracing your feet next to his chest, and hands next to his thighs.

You exhale, the new position allowing an angle that brushes deep.

“Move baby,” he grits his teeth.

You begin to bounce on his lap, your body accepting him with ease every time.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Yes.”

His hips begin to snap up, trying to find a rhythm.

“Bucky, please,” you exhale sharply. “It feels so good.”

“I know,” he groans. “Keep going, doll.”

He moves faster, the head of him hitting the spot that made your jaw drop.

“Bucky,” you cry out.

“You’re mine,” he seemed to be losing his composure. “All mine.”

“Yes, yours,” the fog seemed to addle your brain. Your body was trembling hard, back slightly arched, and you let out a choked sob as the pleasure hit you.

You hear a loud grunt, in your daze you feel him push up hard then the warmth of him spilling into you.

The two of you remain locked together, riding the aftershocks until Bucky gently tilts you up and rolls you onto your back.

Your eyes begin to drift shut.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“Sleepy,” you murmur.

“I know, just give me a five minutes and you can rest,” his hands cup your face, encouraging you to stay away.

Bucky withdraws from you, you whine slightly as the emptiness and a semblance of soreness builds.

He drops off the bed, to his feet and pads off through the walk-in closet. You shift slightly to attempt to sit up against the pillow, noticing an open door inside the closet that led to an en-suite.

Inside, you hear the run of water, and faintly make out Bucky letting out a breathy relieved sigh. Then you spot him, put a towel over his shoulder, collect a soft flannel and fill a glass with water.

He reenters, glass in his metal hand, funnel in the other and towel still over his shoulder.

“Drink,” he commands, holding out the glass. “And lift your hips up.”

You take it, lifting your hips and begin to drink. Bucky takes care, laying the towel under you providing a dry surface to rest on and then climbs to bend between your legs.

He is gentle when you feel the warm flannel brush against your folds.

Your hips buck, still oversensitive.

“Relax,” he murmurs, placing his metal hand to your stomach to hold you down. “Let me take care of you.”

You inhale, and finish your water. He continues to clean you with slow, careful brushes, soothing the tenderness and removing the white liquid that still spilt from you.

“Really did a number on you,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Why are you apologising?” You frown.

“I went too hard,” you see he isn’t looking at you, his eyes on his work. “Took you in, filled you up...”

“I wanted it,” you reply. His eyes flicker to you. “And I’d do it again.”

The moment went still, he threw the flannel aside, laying on top of you whilst keeping his weight from pressing on you.

“You’ll regret saying that,” he whispers against your lips. “Now you’re mine, I plan so much more.”

You reach up and thread your fingers into his hair. “I would like more.”

“Mmm,” he kisses you for a moment. “You need to know, I’m all yours baby.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the confession.

“Whatever you want or need, I’ll make sure you get it,” he promises. “You’ve enraptured me, and I’m yours just as I claim you as mine.”

“Bucky,” your chest tightens. He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I need you to promise me, even when the other mobs have given up, you’ll stay,” his voice cracked, showing his desperation.

“I promise,” you whisper. “I’ll move in if you want.”

His smile widens so you can see the crinkles at the edge of his eyes. “I’ll pay off your landlord.”

You shake your head. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes,” his hand runs through your hair, fingers brushing your scalp. “Yes, I do. You could quit your job too, I’ll take care of you.”

“Later down the line,” you compromise. “Just in case you tire of me.”

You yelp as you feel his metal hand slap against your hip.

“Don’t you dare,” his eyes burned, but his expression made it clear he wasn’t angry. “I’ve been craving you for two months. You aren’t going anywhere.”

You press your lips together, a small giggle emerging. He cannot help but join in your laugh, chuckling slightly.

He brushes your hair again, the feel making your eyes roll. He leans to whisper in your ear

“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs softly.

The sound of his voice, the feel of his hands, it became too much pulling you under into the safe blanket of sleep.

As the warmth washed over you you had one singular thought, echoing Bucky’s voice from moments ago.

I’m not going anywhere.