wntrs0ldier

The situation you got yourself into was strikingly similar to your last date with John Walker — you were sitting in a fancy restaurant, trying not to show how much you needed some man's favor. There were also a few differences; seated in front of you was not John, but Adrian Lancy, it was not about a marriage proposal and your future, but the future of your gallery, and most importantly, Bucky had no idea about any of this. Although, he knew you were going out — he would have noticed your disappearance anyway — but you told him you were having dinner with Connie. You didn't think Bucky would want to make sure that was really the case, but you preferred to be safe than sorry, and asked your friend to lie if necessary. Connie didn't even think about it; she agreed before you finished your sentence.

Earlier, you didn't see Adrian as a threat — he didn't seem like someone who would go too far to get his way. Nevertheless, you were all smiles between the meals. Why? Because facing the fact that you had a husband, rather than just imagining it, caused some unexplained change in him, and from a sensible young man you were pinning your hopes on, he became someone gripped by a obsession; his propositions for meetings sounded a little more aggressive, lost their previous lightness, and you eventually grew afraid. Not about yourself — whenever the ring on your finger entered your field of vision, you forgot about any fear. It seemed to you that no one could hurt you, not when you bore the name of Barnes. 

But the gallery was different.

“I'm going to Paris soon,” Adrian began. “On business, of course, not for pleasure,” he added, as if you were to take him for a man who has nothing to do but travel. 

“Mhmm.”

“I thought you could come with me,” he continued. Surprised by the processes that must have occurred in his mind, you raised your eyebrows. “You know about art,” he hurried to clarify, “and I'd love to buy some pieces for my new apartment. I will pay you for this service.”

“You know that there are people you can actually hire for this. People you won't spend that much on.” You tilted your head to the side, watching him carefully. “Because I am expensive. Very expensive,” you said, hoping to discourage him. 

“I want you.”

“Adrian…” you sighed. “I can't come to Paris with you just like that.” 

Not hiding his disappointment, he pressed his lips tightly together. “Well,” he shrugged casually, “if you don't go with me, you won't see any more of my money. And I'll make sure that no one will ever invest in you again. In short, I will destroy you, Y/N. So you'd better think it over and give me an answer by the end of the week.”

Refusing to let any negative expression cast a shadow on your face, you watched him. You couldn't give him the satisfaction, even if, when agreeing to this meeting, you didn't expect it to turn out this way. The change you feared earlier had just taken a full turn — much faster than you thought. “Sure.” You forced a sweet smile. “I’ll think about it.”

A waiter appeared at the table. At first you thought it was just a routine check; that he was making sure you weren't missing anything. Only after you gave him a little more conscious attention did you notice a bottle of wine in his hands. A very expensive bottle. As if Adrian wanted to let you know that he had the resources you needed, and that he was spending his fortune on something as unnecessary as wine, which was only meant to impress.

But Adrian seemed confused, too. “There must be some mistake. I didn’t order any wine.” 

“I was told it is from Mr. Barnes.”You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling an unpleasant warmth spilling all over your stomach. You stared at the bottle in a stupor. So he knew — Bucky knew very well where you were, which meant he also knew who you were with.

You weren't sure how long you had been standing in front of the door to your apartment, but eventually realized that such behavior qualified as absurd — the accompanying fear, that you had been convinced you lacked only a few hours earlier, was undoubtedly irrational. Or at least that's what you had to trick yourself into thinking in order to finally grab the door handle. 

You hung up your purse on a hanger and slipped the high heels off your feet. You were able to name at least five much scarier situations that had occurred in your entire life, yet you couldn't recall the last time you felt this kind of anxiety. You didn't even understand where it was coming from; after all, Bucky cared about you; he couldn't harm you. 

When you turned around, ready to go deeper into the apartment, Bucky was standing at the end of the hall, right by the exit. His damp hair, loose t-shirt and sweatpants, fresh wounds on his knuckles indicated that he must have been after training with Steve. You swallowed hard at the thought that Bucky, having found out where and with whom you were actually spending time, needed to beat something, in this case, fortunately, a punching bag.

“Was it good?” Bucky asked, approaching you slowly. “The wine,” he clarified. Without taking your eyes off him, you nodded cautiously, causing him to squint. “What is it?” His mouth curved into a playful smirk. “You’re not scared, are you?” 

“I can’t really tell…”

Bucky brought his hand up to your face. “You know I won’t hurt you,” he said. His hand slid a little lower; it gripped your jaw, and his fingers dug almost painfully into your cheeks. “But,” he licked his lips, shrugging, “you lied to me. And you won't get away with it.”

You gawked at him — at the stern expression on his face, at his darkened eyes and reddened, slightly parted mouth. Whatever he intended, you could feel yourself getting wet.

He grabbed your wrist; it ached from the power of the pressure Bucky wielded, but the feeling only intensified the sensation. He dragged you behind him, and you almost tripped over your own feet — he wasn't walking that fast; it was your limbs that seemed frail and numb. 

“Bed,” Bucky commanded as soon as you reached the bedroom. Massaging your sore wrist by instinct, you went in that direction, your steps wobbly. You settled on the middle of the mattress. Bucky came closer. “Turn around.” 

Captivated by his massive, heavy frame, under which you hoped you were about to end up, fascinated by the calmness and dominance he radiated, you couldn’t stop looking at him. 

“Turn around,” he said again, much slower than before. “I’m not gonna ask you again.” 

Your mouth went dry. Finally obeying his order — not in fear of the consequences, but looking forward to further development of the situation — you turned around. Bucky placed his hand between your shoulder blades and with pressure forced you to lean forward; so you landed on your knees, additionally supporting your hands on the mattress. 

He lifted your dress above your hips, a quiet snort escaped his mouth. “You fucking kidding me?” Bucky clicked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head, hooking his fingers under the hems of the lace pants you were wearing. He pulled the material lower, completely exposing your ass, sending a wave of heat over your entire body. 

You got up one knee first, then the other, making it easier for Bucky to strip you of your underwear. Then, he grabbed a piece of your dress and pulled you to him; as your hands detached from the mattress, he reached for them and tied tightly with your pants. The fabric, digging into your wrists, turned out to give you a surprising amount of pleasure.

Bucky pushed you forward again, this time far harder. Deprived of the possibility to support yourself, the front of your body fell on the bed, while your ass still remained up. All you could do was turn your head to the side — other than that, you were completely helpless, dependent on his mercy.

It seemed, however, that he didn't have any for you. You realized this when you felt a sharp, piercing pain, accompanied by a loud clap — Bucky’s hand landed on your ass cheek, and it landed hard. Shocked by this new and unfamiliar sensation, you shouted, your eyes filled with tears. 

Bucky spanked you again. Your body trembled, and only a muffled gasp came out of your mouth this time. 

Another slap — you felt your skin burning and stinging in that spot, getting more and more tender; you were painfully aware of this as his hand, once again, smacked your ass rapidly. You moaned, your back arching, your pussy almost dripping, asking to be filled. But that sweet torture was nearly as good. 

“More?” he rasped, breathing heavily. You weren't sure how to respond; he was punishing you, so if you asked for more, would he actually give you what you wanted? And if you refused, would he stop? 

“Y/N,” Bucky pressed. 

“More,” you replied quickly, your voice weak. 

“More what?”

At that moment, your mind wasn't in the best place for the logical, coherent sentences he always expected from you. “I want you to spank me more. Please,” you exhaled.

“You don’t wanna talk, so I’ll make you use your words. Make that pretty mouth of yours work.” 

Bucky fulfilled your request, and you almost jumped up on the mattress, clamped your eyelids shut and let out a loud whine — that one was definitely stronger than the others, causing goosebumps all over your heated body. 

The bed sunk behind you, signaling his arrival. The t-shirt he had thrown off landed silently somewhere on the floor. Your lips parted, releasing a long moan as the tip of his cock brushed hard against your wet, throbbing cunt. He buried into your core painfully slowly and lazily; you felt his hardness spreading inside you, filling all the space you could give him. 

Bucky clenched his hands on your hips and began to thrust into you. The pain radiating from your cheeks mixed with the surging pleasure, creating a combination you could quickly become addicted to. Gasping loudly, he pounded into you again and again; immediately he reached to your head, slipped his fingers into your hair and tightened them there. He turned your head to the side so he could see at least part of your face — the changes taking place on it. He wanted to control your pleasure. Because as you, stimulated by spanking and waiting, began to get closer to an orgasm faster than you could expect, Bucky suddenly stopped. He slid out, leaving behind only emptiness and a devastating lack of satisfaction.

“Jamie, please-” you choked out. 

“Don’t Jamie me,” Bucky replied sternly. He leaned forward, putting the weight of his body on yours. He pulled your head slightly away from the mattress, his mouth hanging right next to your ear. “You lied to me today, Y/N.”

You nodded immediately, ready to agree to everything he wanted. 

“You know that what you did was wrong? Hmm?”

“Yes. Yes, I know. And I'm sorry.”

“I don't want your sorry. I want you to never lie to me again. You are my wife and I won't have it, do you understand?” he said, the words seeping out through his teeth. 

“I understand, but please-”

Bucky clenched his fingers harder in your hair. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“You promise what, Y/N?” he inquired impatiently, although at that moment it seemed like he had all the time in the world.

Taking another deep breath, you gathered the strength and all the concentration you had in you to say those few words he cared so much about. “I-I promise to never lie to you again.”

Bucky moved slightly away, left a kiss on the nape of your neck, then straightened up. He entered you again, and again you felt that blissful fullness. At first you got the impression that he was still fucking some discipline into you, but the rising sensations made you think that he was actually rewarding you for understanding your mistake and promising to do better.

In that position — with your hips up — his dick quickly found the right spot and hit exactly where it needed to. Wet, well lubricated with all your juices, it was sliding in and out smoothly, bringing you more rapture than you could beg for. With loud, desperate cries, you were praying to your god, taking his name in vain — the one who was just fucking you senseless. Because Bucky couldn’t be just a human; he was too perfect, too beautiful, too merciful as he forgave your sins. 

You clenched around his cock, your eyes rolled back as consciousness left your mind. Apart from the overwhelming release, you also felt Bucky's load spilling into you; he, too — with a few last thrusts — let out a few whimpers, crowned by a throaty growl, and his body slumped against yours. His chest, pressed to your back, rose and fell as he tried to normalize his breathing. He pulled away from you to free your wrists as quickly as possible; your hands dropped lifelessly, too weak and too useless.

“Let’s clean you up, hmm?” Bucky suggested; surprisingly gently for the man he was just a moment ago. 

“I want to stay here,” you muttered with half of your face still in the bed sheets. Once again you felt his body pressing against yours as laid a tender kiss behind your ear.

You woke up to an empty bed. 

Your sore body covered with a blanket, the curtains closed. The watch on the nightstand said four in the morning. 

The urgent need to use the toilet dissuaded you from further sleep. You didn't feel fully awake until you were in the shower — as the warm water washed over your body, you wondered where Bucky had gone at such an early hour. You hoped that three months of hard work in Italy would give him some more space here in New York.

You got out of the shower, removed the remnants of your makeup, brushed your teeth, then returned to the bedroom. Curiosity was stronger than tiredness, besides, you felt rested enough, maybe even too awake for any more sleep. You put on one of Bucky's t-shirts, rummaged from his side of the closet, and left the room. You didn't have to search for long — the warm glow pouring out of the living room immediately caught your attention.

Bucky was sitting on the couch — under the light of the lamp standing over him, he was looking through some papers scattered on the coffee table. Full concentration on his face, marked by a deep wrinkle between his brows.

“What are you doing?” you spoke. 

He glanced up at the sound of your voice. “Checking the account statements from Sapphire Dune and Marble Aurora.” Rubbing his eye, Bucky sighed with clear tiredness. 

Your forehead creased as the names of your father’s casinos rang in your ears. You haven't thought about them once lately, so you wouldn't expect it from Bucky either. On the other hand, your Family's affairs were now his concern. 

With your arms folded across your chest, you walked closer to the couch and peeked at the documents. “Something wrong with them..?”

“No,” he assured, smiling softly. “They’re doing really… decently.” 

“So maybe I should stick to them…” you murmured. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows, watching you with a surprise. He reached out his hand to you in an inviting gesture. You took it and sat down right next to him; so close that your thighs touched. He didn’t say a word, waiting for you to tell him everything that was bothering you.

“I lied to you earlier too,” you confessed. “I lied that I don’t need money. And it’s not like I have to close the gallery in a week or something, but…” You gasped. “Some funding is always useful. And Adrian seemed like the perfect sponsor until-” you hesitated, shrugging. “But now he is acting weirder than ever and-”

“Did he do something to you?” Bucky asked right away, interrupting you.

“No, he didn’t,” you protested. “A couple hours ago, he offered me a trip to Paris,” you began, and Bucky’s forehead furrowed at those words. “He said no one will ever invest in the gallery again if I turn him down. And I can't afford it, I can't ask for your money, because I want to make money, not take it out of the house-”

“Y/N, you make money,” Bucky claimed, demonstratively lifting one of the papers. “It's all here,” he added, his brows drew together. “Besides, is using my — our — money really worse than selling your time to this fucking creep?” 

Feeling more and more resigned, you let out a heavy breath. “Bucky…”

“You don't like him, you don't feel comfortable around him, the business isn't going as you would like it to. Or am I wrong?” He was looking at you expectantly, although he didn't actually need any confirmation — he saw the answer written all over your face. He touched your cheeks, his fingers spread on your skin, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones. “You are my wife, and it is my job to take care of you. You have to let me do exactly that, Y/N.” 

Staring relentlessly into his eyes, filled with sincerity and concern, you took his hand off your face and placed a tender kiss inside it, brushing your lips over the scar there; the scar bonding you forever. “Okay,” you whispered. 

You pulled your legs up onto the couch and snuggled into his side. Bucky put his arm around you and rested his cheek on the top of your head. 

A silence settled in, filled only with your peaceful breathing — it didn't bother you or Bucky, since neither of you felt the need to break it. You thought it would be much more difficult; that you would need far more time to get used to him, especially after his last absence. But having a huge couch with plenty of space to occupy, you decided to deprive yourself of whatever space there was.

“Are you going to elaborate, in any way, on what you did to me earlier..?”

“Elaborate…” Bucky repeated. He exhaled, blowing some of the air out of his lungs, then rested his head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I've wanted to do it since that night when I saw you in that little nightgown of yours.” He raised his brow. “And that's about it.” 

You sat up straight, your eyes on Bucky’s face. “That night?” you asked in disbelief. “As a punishment for what?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Did it really feel like a punishment to you?” 

Even if you were able to answer him without hesitation, you looked away to think about it. Or pretend to think about it. You bit your lip.

“Did it feel good..?” Bucky inquired, his tone gentle and careful. 

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Very good,” you said, not sure if you should really admit it. “We can do it more often,” you suggested, and Bucky’s eyebrows rose instantly. Taken slightly aback, he peered at you with sudden liveliness, his eyes sparked with fascination that struck him like a speeding train. “What?” you laughed softly, but then understood something — you always sensed a gentle restraint in him, keeping him in check; the chains holding him down. Now, you were able to hear them break. Was it you who destroyed them? Your innocent permission?

Bucky smirked, shaking his head, letting you know he wasn’t going to be too harsh on you. But as harsh as you’d allow him to be. 

He leaned forward, putting his forearms on his knees, and reached for one of the papers so he could return to analyzing the documents. You clung to his back, placing your chin on his shoulder blade. He immediately located his free hand on your arm, wrapped around his torso. 

“Go back to bed,” he said, his eyes still focused on the statements. 

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No, of course not,” Bucky assured right away, “but aren’t you tired, sunshine?” He turned his head as far as he could to glance at you at least from the corner of his eye. Taking the opportunity, you stretched out further, to reach his face, and planted a few quick but tender pecks on his cheek, making him laugh softly.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

The heat of the evening clung to your body even before you slammed the car door behind you, making you immediately miss the air conditioned interior you hadn't had time to fully enjoy. You blamed the insufficiently long distance between your gallery and the suburbs where Steve's house was located, and the fact that you had to make a solid effort in the back seats, changing your office clothes for the light summer dress that Bucky had supposedly prepared for you – Parker had delivered such a message to you along with the dress when he came to pick you up for work. 

You headed to the garden at the back of the house, where numerous conversations were coming from, merging into one incomprehensible gibberish of dozens of voices, and the smell of smoke hung in the air.

Having spotted Steve walking towards you, you put on a wide grin.

“Happy birthday.” You tied your arms around his neck, and Steve rubbed your back.

“Thanks,” he laughed quietly.

You pulled away and handed him a bottle of wine. “And this is for you.”

“Bucky’s already given me the gift from both of you," he assured with a slightly dim smile. Steve was doing his best to show his gratitude, but you could well see how uncomfortable he was. If it was up to him, the party would have had nothing to do with his birthday – fireworks and a few loved ones would have been enough.

“Yeah, I know…” You scratched your neck. “But I didn't want to come with empty hands.”

“Alright.” Steve's smile took on a bit lighter expression. “Come on,” he said, nodding encouragingly. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Oh, I'd love to,” you huffed with relief.

It was even hotter by the grill. Steve flipped a couple of sizzling steaks over, then reached into the coolbox, filled with melted ice and beers bathed in it, and handed you a wet bottle – pleasantly cold in your hand. It hissed as he opened it for you, and specks of drink fell barely perceptible on your skin. With the drink brought to your lips, you looked around; you didn't expect to find anything in particular, but your eyes instinctively landed on a familiar figure. 

Holding his own beer in a loose grip, Bucky was talking to some woman. At least that's what it seemed to you at first; it soon became apparent that he was actively listening to her, and fighting with himself not to look bored.  

His hair, tied back in a bun, exposed his face – slightly weary eyes, flushed cheeks and wet, shiny lips. Your own stretched in a warm smile as you watched the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on, remembering that he had once asked you to call him yours. And so he was yours.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Clint approaching. “Howdy, Y/N,” he spoke in a voice so not concise that you were able to judge how much alcohol, more or less, he had managed to take in. Enough to embrace you casually, draw you closer and place a juicy kiss on your cheek, his lips wet and sticky. On the other hand, as a matter of fact, Barton did not need alcohol to behave like this. “It's not nice to be late, don’t you think?”

“Hi, Clint,” you replied when you finally had the chance to do so. You carefully moved him away from you – you didn't mind that he was stuck to you, but you had to get rid of the additional source of heat as soon as possible. Nevertheless, Clint's arm remained glued to your shoulders. “I wasn't late,” you stated lightly. “I was here all the time. You just didn't see me.” You raised your eyebrows with conviction.

Clint furrowed his forehead. “No…” he said doubtfully. “That's not true…”

“No?” you dug deeper, driving Clint further into confusion. 

“Clint,” you heard. The exact moment of Bucky's appearance escaped you, but given the length of the conversation you had with Barton, he had just approached the two of you. “Stop fucking harassing my wife.”

“I'm not harassing your wife,” he protested, taking his arm away. “And I don't know what she's doing, but she's terrorizing me.” 

Bucky, unfazed, watched Clint in silence. 

“Okay, okay…” Clint muttered, leaving. 

You watched him for a moment, until you brought your gaze back to Bucky – you caught his eyes bore into you uninterrupted, and the corners of your mouth lifted involuntarily, mirroring his gentle, somewhat enigmatic smirk. 

“Could you heat up something for her?” Bucky turned to Steve, who nodded in response. “Thanks.” He patted his shoulder, then reached out a hand to you, which you accepted without hesitation. He pulled you carefully toward a long, set table that, with a few stains and general disorder, gave away what stage the party was at. “I saved you a seat,” Bucky said, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. A gentle smile sneaked onto your lips again. The fact that he had done something seemingly insignificant with you in mind was all it took. “You look nice,” he added, pulling the chair out for you. 

“You think?” You raised an eyebrow, and Bucky laughed softly. He put down the bottle he had been holding, took a seat next to you and threw his arm over the back of your chair. “Did you pick the first dress you got your hands on, or did you actually go through my entire closet?” 

“I liked the flowers.” He shrugged subtly, his eyes briefly tracing the tiny pattern adorning the dress. “I thought you'd want to change into something more comfortable. And something more airy, because it's fucking hot,” he continued. “And, well…” he murmured, lifting his eyebrows. “It shouldn't be worn with a bra, because of-” He pointed at his own shoulders, but was hinting at yours, bare and uncovered. “So, it's actually a gift. From me. To me.” 

You snorted, then shook your head disapprovingly. “You really know about these things, huh?”

“Your knees gone weak yet?”

“Almost.” You demonstratively waved your hand before your face. “You're on the right track, that's for sure.”

The party was going on at its own lazy pace.

With the excuse of needing to use the toilet, you left the table – where Steve, Sam and Clint had joined you in the meantime – and went inside the house to the empty, peaceful kitchen. You provided yourself with a glass and filled it with cool water – a pleasant change to the beer you had previously consumed.

To your surprise, Bucky also showed up in the kitchen. He peeked into the room, and having noticed you standing by one of the counters, he stepped inside. His arms crossed on his chest, he watched you without saying a word.

“Hmm?” you murmured, your lips hugging the rim of the glass. You moved it away from your mouth, and, thinking nothing of it, pressed it to your neck. For a brief moment, Bucky's eyes jumped to the cold, foggy glass resting against your warm skin. He quickly regained the concentration with which he had come.

“You alright?” He grunted, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Why..?”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. But what I do know,” his eyebrows rose, “is that you’re hiding here. What are you hiding from, Y/N?” He took a step closer. “From me..?”

You tilted your head to the side. “What are you talking about?” 

His intense stare was burning a hole in you when he looked at you like that – interested in your reactions, your behavior, your feelings, it was studying every inch, every muscle, every twitch; his eyes were wandering all over your face and body, searching for honest answers, the reasons behind your decision. “Am I wrong?” 

After taking another sip, you put your glass down. “Don’t do that, Jamie. Because I see what you’re doing, you’re trying to crush me.” You folded your arms. “Don’t treat me like the people you do business with.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, a corner of his mouth lifted, forming a proud smirk. “Smart girl,” he hummed. “But I will do that, since you won’t talk to me.” 

A heavy sigh escaped your mouth. “I just-” you hesitated. “I needed a little break.”

He got even closer, his hips pinning yours down to the counter. You gasped quietly, feeling a hot blush spreading all over your cheeks. 

“Listen, baby,” Bucky started, his voice low. He licked his bottom lip, then drew it between his teeth, leering at you. “If I have to talk to you, you have to talk to me. Gotta know everything that's going on in that pretty head of yours.” 

Your mouth went dry, so you swallowed hard. “And w-what if you hear something you won't like?”

Bucky sized you up. “Don't get too curious.”

After sunset, the garden was illuminated by lights positioned low on the lawn, and there was no trace of the heavy stickiness in the air from a few hours before. 

For a short moment, you disappeared from Bucky's radar, but it only took him a few glances – a couple of casual looks around – to bring you back into his field of vision. He found you among clearly excited women, grinning from ear to ear – mistresses, girlfriends, fiancés and wives of other gangsters. They swarmed around you, forming a delighted ring, chirping solely about those topics that concerned your new role.

"Show us the ring. Oh, it's beautiful."

"How was the wedding? No one was invited."

"We were losing hope that Bucky would ever settle down."

"Where did you spend your honeymoon?"

"How did you spend your honeymoon?"

The division between these several groups – mistresses, girlfriends, fiancés and wives – was clear but not striking. Wives always stood at the top of the hierarchy, being a little calmer and more toned down. Fiancés, on the other hand, radiated the strongest enthusiasm – unlike girlfriends, they felt much more secure in their position, and, like wives used to be, were still hopeful and optimistic about the future.

"You know, don't worry if he gets a mistress. It's a bit shocking at first, but mistresses are only there to please them. Nothing more than that."

"Exactly, they just need fresh meat.”

"Especially after children come along. Then it's even better for you. You won't have the energy or appetite anyway."

"It doesn't have to be that way. Stop scaring her."

"It doesn't have to be that way, but it's always better to be prepared for it." 

"Someone like Bucky Barnes definitely needs a lot of attention. He has a lot on his plate. And you'll have to take care of the house, the kids and your husband? Oh, and I hear that you have a job?"

"But you will have your children. Children are great."

"Unless they grow up. Teenagers are-"

"Last time, I couldn't leave Mason in the daycare. There was an outbreak of stomach flu."

"Oh, poor thing."

Bucky, watching you standing in the center of that crossfire, saw you shrinking more and more. For a short while, it seemed to him that there were some advantages to this whole situation; that you were socializing with the people from his environment. But he finally realized that you were actually uncomfortable – he concluded this especially after you emptied an entire glass of unspecified liquid in one gulp. From the grimace on your face, he figured it surely contained percentages. 

But perhaps it had to be that way – perhaps you had to learn the hard way that it was in Bucky's company that you felt safest.

With a hand shoved in his pocket, and the other embracing his beer, Sam stood next to Bucky. “What are you doing?” he asked; after all, Bucky was standing by himself, staring at a group of women. 

“Looking.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But why?” 

Bucky shrugged. “I like looking at her.”

Sam’s forehead creased as he once again glanced at the women. Only then did he understand who was the target of their attention. He smiled to himself and shook his head. “You like that girl, huh?”

“I've already told you as much as you should know,” he stated with no hesitation, his eyes still locked on you. 

But Sam knew more, much more. He wasn't blind. Or clueless. “Okay, okay…” 

“Alright. I'm going to rescue her,” Bucky said, lifting his cup to his mouth. “Before they eat her alive.” He left the empty cup on the table he had been leaning against and walked in the direction of the group. They went quiet as he approached, then burst out again with excitement, welcoming him. 

Bucky caught the look of relief and gratitude on your face. He put his arm around your waist and rubbed your lower back affectionately. You rested your hand on his torso and continued listening to the questions and delights flying around in the air. Bucky didn't want to be rude, so he didn't pull you away from there right away. However, when he was right next to you, you felt a surge of new strength that allowed you to bear it all for a little longer than you thought.

A few big grins and forced laughs later, Bucky finally escorted you out of the group. The two of you stayed attached to each other as he led you slowly in some unspecified direction – as far away as possible from the force that sucked you in, chewed you up and spat you out. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky chuckled softly, caressing your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you replied immediately, but somewhat barely conscious. 

“Wanna go home?”

“Oh yes, please.”

As you stopped at the entrance to the bedroom, Bucky lifted his eyes from his book and bore them into you – your hair was still slightly damp from the shower, and only the thin fabric of a short nightgown separated him from a direct view of one of his favorite things on Earth – your naked body. Thinking very little, or rather, thinking about nothing but one thing, he closed the book and put it down on the bedside table. 

“What's with the face? What’s wrong?” he asked.

You climbed onto the mattress and sat on your bent knees, resting your hands on your thighs. Bucky reached for one of them; he grabbed it loosely and stroked your knuckles. He looked at you, waiting, but with the same patience he had always had for you. 

“I'm just wondering," you began hesitantly, clenching your fingers on his in a nervous impulse, “if you're planning on having a mistress. Or... mistresses,” you added barely audibly; your voice failed you as soon as your mind realized what was actually coming out of your mouth. 

Bucky’s brows drew together. He slowly sat up, bringing himself closer to you. The thought of him downplaying the problem, dodging the subject or laughing in your face made your muscles tense. 

“Well-” he began, his forehead slightly furrowed. He didn't speak for just a second, but that much was fully enough for you to process the hundreds of ways he would give you an affirmative answer. Of course I am, but it’s for the best, or Baby, you didn’t really think I would be faithful, right? Or One girl is just not enough. “It happens,” Bucky said carefully. “And it is considered completely normal with the life we lead-”

You nodded hurriedly. “Yes, I realize that.” You knew it; after all, you came from the same environment. Did your father happen to cheat on your mother? You remembered that your uncles, who were not really your uncles, happened to show up with newer and newer aunts. “But I'm not asking how it works. I'm asking about you.”

“I'm not planning on having a side chick,” despite the fact that this time he didn't even think for a second, he sounded calm. “Not, since I already have the most gorgeous girl I could come across,” his tone and blank expression proved that he was not trying to sugarcoat or pull the wool over your eyes; he was just honest. 

You lowered your gaze to your hands, to the inside of one, where a now faded scar was drawn – the same as in Bucky's hand. 

“You are saying that because we are in the honeymoon phase and the sex is still good,” you stated. “But what about later? I'll have to take care of the house, the kids, my job. I won't have the energy to give you the attention, and you will eventually need some fresh meat-” you babbled, forgetting to breathe. You closed your eyes and hid your face in your hands, coming to the conclusion that you had let them mess with your mind. You even used the same words as them. 

Bucky gently wrapped his fingers around your wrists and pulled them away from your face, then cupped it and made you look at him. Stroking your cheeks tenderly with his thumbs, he watched you with a hardly visible but soft smile – a smile full of understanding. “If,” he emphasized, “you'd like to take care of the house and... everything else, but couldn't handle something, we can hire a housekeeper, a nanny or a fucking assistant, alright? As for the sex…” A crooked smile crept onto his lips. “I would rather not involve any outsiders, hmm?”

A peace of mind you didn't expect to experience with this particular issue washed over you. You were blown away by Bucky’s ability to bring you that much calmness. And perhaps you were naive, but you believed him – you trusted that he would never hurt you in this way. 

You nodded, the corners of your mouth turned up shyly. 

“Attagirl,” he murmured, placing a kiss on your forehead. “If there’s something that scares or upsets you, tell me about it. And we'll figure it out,” he added, his lips still on your skin. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair.

You tilted your head back a little so that you could look at his face. Again, he stroked your cheeks with his hands, as if correcting their placement, and gave you another gentle smile. Then, without a second thought, you climbed onto his thighs, and, hugging his neck, clung tightly to his body. Having closed his arms around you, Bucky pressed you to his chest and started caressing your back. Feeling his touch, his warmth, the beating of his heart, you melted.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

The rays of the harsh morning sun broke in through the huge window, casting a bright glow directly on the bed. The beams of irritating light brushed your face, and you immediately regretted that last night the thought of drawing the curtains hadn't crossed your mind. But there was no room in your head for rational thinking or predicting the future; you were too excited, too overwhelmed for that.

Driven by your instinct to stay awake, instead of falling into further sleep, you lifted your eyelids with difficulty, and your eyes fell involuntarily on the figure lying next to you. For the first time in nearly three months, you had a man in your bed; or rather, it was he who had returned to his bed, and had no choice but to accept that you had usurped it. Eventually, you were both in your shared space, and for the first time you had the opportunity to wake up next to Bucky.

He was sleeping on his stomach, with only one leg under the covers and the rest of his body outside; half of his face was buried in the pillow, the other half was covered by his hair falling down. You admired him with fascination – your eyes ran over his broad back and the muscles it showed; over his strong arms, kissed by the Italian sun. He wasn't doing anything special, nothing spectacular – just breathing, slowly and steadily – yet you could watch him for hours. You feared, however, that he might sense this and wake up, and interrupting Bucky's sleep was the last thing you felt like doing. He had been working hard for the last few months and now he was finally being given a rest. You weren't going to deprive him of the comfort of sleeping in his bed, in a safe, familiar space, so you slipped carefully out from under the covers and headed to the bathroom.

Your sore feet still reminded you of last night – of the hours spent in the club, the alcohol consumed and the men looking at you. Bucky was right – some were looking at you with a strange longing, and at the time you hadn't wondered what it meant. Now, although the question was only just seeking a place in your mind, you were curious about something else: did they know that you belonged to him? You wore the ring, you carried his name, but you haven't yet had the chance to show yourselves in public even once. You assumed that it was the soldiers of the Barnes Family, not leaving your side, let everyone know that you had also become a member of this house. Regardless of whose wife you were, your new name was a kind of warning sign.

As the pleasant stream of warm water washed over your body, your mind was flooded with more questions. For the past few months you had been a wife, but without a husband around. What was your life going to look like from now on? Was Bucky going to fit into your mode, you were going to be forced to fit into his, or were you both going to lead your own separate lives, ignoring each other; your existing routines, habits and needs? 

The water fell on the shower floor and crashed against the tiles with loud splashes; nevertheless, the characteristic click of the door closing reached your ears. You looked over your shoulder, spotting Bucky, and your breath involuntarily stuck in your throat. He was standing by the entrance; with his hair only brushed through with a careless, accidental sweep of his fingers, his boxers framing his hips tightly and such a hungry, raw expression on his face that it instantly made your heart beat faster. You forgot about the fact that you were completely naked; the thought of satisfying this primal need took over your consciousness. Anyway, he soon returned the favor – without taking his determined gaze off you, he removed his underwear and joined you in the shower. Or rather, he attacked you as if you were his helpless prey.

His huge, hard body collided with yours; his arms immediately surrounded you with the purpose of protection from any possible loss of balance due to this sudden, violent push. Bucky's lips – which had reminded you of their existence the previous night, of the pleasure that came from them, and which you still craved – pressed onto yours in a desiring kiss. His beard irritated your tender skin in that strangely pleasurable way, but the truth was that whatever he would do, it would bring you nothing but pleasure. You couldn't imagine doing anything other than simply surrendering to him – you wanted the same thing after all, and you couldn't let him leave you starving and lusting even for a moment; you needed his attention, you needed compensation – you needed him to reward you for those few months during which you had been dying of hunger.

“Fucking missed you, Y/N,” he muttered into your lips.

“Me? Or did you miss this?” you asked innocently, and although he smiled with mild amusement, there was something punishing hidden in that smile. 

“I've thought about fucking you. Many times,” he agreed bluntly, and his hands slid through the sides of your body, from your hips to your ribs, making you shiver. “But I missed you. All of you. Even those stupid questions.”

You stretched your mouth in a wide, bright grin, and looking at him – so beautiful, so ravenous and all yours – you kissed him, placing your hands on his rough cheeks. Bucky's arms once again wrapped around your body and strengthened their hold even tighter than before. You moaned softly, crushed by his own body he pressed you to; you moaned because there was no way he could keep you any closer. Soon you felt the coolness of the tiles on your back – they were like a sharp sting on your heated skin, making you gasp shortly in surprise. Bucky stepped back slightly and stared at your face for a moment. His hand went to your neck, his fingers clenched carefully around it, and when you tried to pull away from the wall in order to get back to his lips, he held you in place without the slightest effort.

“What are you doing, Jamie?” The innocence and helplessness in your voice made Bucky hold his breath at first, then let it out with a loud gasp. As if he was savoring your softness, but in no way intending to take advantage of it. He knew you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“I want you to stay here. For better stability,” he replied with calmness and patience; your heatedness fully deserved just such an approach. 

“Stability..?”

Without taking his eyes off you, he knelt down. He carefully grabbed your ankle, and you obediently allowed him to lift your leg, which he finally put over his shoulder. You parted your lips, watching him with astonishment.

Bucky's eyes bore relentlessly into yours, his hands rested on your hips and his tongue slid lazily over your swollen, throbbing clit. You let out a shuddering breath, then sank your teeth into your lower lip. Bucky's hands clenched more securely on your body and his tongue began to rub against your knot – exploratory at first, since he was more than happy to learn your body's reactions and draw conclusions, and when he finally found the right rhythm, you knew your end was near, but you weren't about to deny yourself from being thrown into that abyss.

One of your hands found its way to his head; you slipped your fingers into his hair, and, whimpering in a desperate search for an outlet for all the pleasures building up inside you, you squeezed them there reflexively as Bucky sucked on your more and more sensitive clit. He closed his eyes, his fingers digging into your hips in a slightly painful, yet terribly satisfying way. You watched him from between half-open eyelids, and if at all possible, you got the impression that he was getting even more pleasure out of it than you were. And instead of weakening in intensity, he wanted more and more; he was no longer massaging your clit, expecting the desired reactions – he was devouring you for his own selfish fulfillment; he was devouring you like a starving man, and his appetite grew as he ate. You could feel his frustration; you could feel that he himself was left unsatisfied, and it was these desperate actions that pushed you to the edge. Leaning you against the wall earlier was a clever move - now it was keeping you safe, as your legs grew softer and softer until they finally refused to cooperate completely. Fortunately, there was Bucky under you.

Your chest rose and fell along with quick, short breaths. Not only were they coming out of your throat, but also the moans that accompanied them. For the past few months, not once had you thought the long wait would be worth it – you didn't think anyone could have given you such pleasure. Now it was growing in intensity in your lower stomach until it finally exploded, shaking your weak body with strong spasms. 

“I've got you, baby,” you heard, and the soft tone hardly matched the character of what Bucky had been doing just moments before. But you didn't think about it. You weren't actually thinking about anything; you were fighting for consciousness with the effects of overflowing pleasure. And you were losing, as your legs finally gave up under its weight.

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder, but held it so that when he got up from his knees, it hung at the level of his hip. He put his free hand around his length, and again you felt strangely fascinated by this – he hadn't touched himself once; until now his hands had rested only on your hips. Yet, his cock was hard, wet with precum, twitching in need. It slid into you without any difficulty, but you still felt its thickness stretching you. 

Your lips parted even more, letting out a hollow gasp, and Bucky moaned softly, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't relish the sensation for too long – he started pounding into you, and unlike the previous times, he didn't begin with gentleness. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't wait any longer; not since he finally had the chance to satisfy a need that had been piling up inside him for months – the need to fuck you. To fuck his wife.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, pressing your nails uncontrollably into his heated skin. You tilted your head back against the tiles, and this time their coolness did not bring you the same sobriety. And although you were once again intoxicated almost to the point of unconsciousness, your gaze wandered to the space between you – appearing there only when Bucky withdrew his hips. You watched as he thrust in and out of you, while Bucky observed your face; he absorbed your every grimace and every wince. 

His tongue left you sore and swollen, so his rubbing cock was driving you crazy with every movement. Finally, his hips were slamming against yours so fast, and your position provided you with such a perfect angle that your consciousness began to slip away again.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?” he breathed, adjusting his grip under your thigh.

“Y-yes,” you cried out.  

“How much?”

You forced yourself to look at his face, although your arching back made it difficult for you to do so. You were unable to put together a coherent thought; you were unable to speak it out loud. 

“Huh? How much?” he inquired. His face, too, revealed the near end; his mouth wasn't able to stay closed for more than a split second, and his nostrils flared, trying to provide as much precious air as possible. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me hear it, baby.”

You couldn't take it any longer; every bit of you had waited far too long. And once again, that shattering feeling came over you; this time it shot into every part of your body. You let out a few short, loud moans, and darkness spread before your eyes. Bucky came right after you – seeing the look on your face, the pleasure spreading all over it; hearing those sinful sounds leaving your mouth, his body couldn't act any differently. He went still, making a single, low growl, caught up with a series of heavy breaths as his body relaxed and pressed limply against yours. He still held your leg around his hip, and with the rest of the strength he had, he put his other hand on the wall right next to your shoulder, giving you both support. For the time you needed to recover.

Shortly after, Bucky turned off the water, and then you felt his hands on your body again; one somewhere on your back, the other under your thighs. You were exhausted and still dizzy, but you embraced his neck loosely for a better grip. And when you ended up in your husband's arms, your body was finally able to rest.

This time, the bedroom was pleasantly dim. You've had a nap once or twice since leaving the bathroom; although you slept through the whole night, there were several things that contributed to absorbing all your energy. 

You looked over your shoulder at Bucky lying next to you. Breathing slowly and quietly, he seemed to be asleep. You sat up carefully, and the mattress bending under your movements alarmed him. Not enough to wake him, but his fingers twitched nervously. If you had made another move, you would probably have snapped him out of this blissful state. So you waited for a moment, sitting still.

Finally, you lowered your feet to the floor, got up and moved silently to the bedroom door, mindlessly fixing Bucky's t-shirt – he gave it to you after the shower, since you needed something comfortable to put on. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

With your hand on the doorknob, you froze, then looked back slowly. Bucky's eyes stayed closed. 

“Nowhere,” you replied in a whisper; his not fully conscious state didn't require a louder tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. You didn't want to give him a chance to say anything more, to get his mind going. So you left the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Having stepped into the kitchen, you involuntarily followed the routine you had developed over the past months – a thoughtless peek into the fridge, turning on the coffee maker, then back to the fridge, and only then did you consciously consider a meal. You reached for the eggs, and despite the coffee maker already working, you got yourself a glass of cold water. 

You stretched, then rested your palms on the countertop, your eyelids still heavy, a bit swollen. This time you didn't despise the sun, but happily exposed your face to it.

Something told you to open your eyes. Having turned your head, you rested your chin on your shoulder. Bucky was standing in the entrance to the kitchen – he was watching you, leaning against the doorframe, and when you finally noticed him, he took a seat in a high chair by the kitchen island.

“Can't sleep without me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Looks like it,” Bucky bit back. “Actually…” he began, and his tone as well as his expression indicated that he was going to say something sincere; to break out a little from the unserious atmosphere of your conversation. “I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I guess in…” His mouth curved into a half-smile as he vaguely thought about it, “three years.” 

Your stomach knotted, forcing you to inhale deeply. 

“Did I say something wrong..?”

“No, of course not,” you protested right away. “I just didn't expect that…” you paused, unsure of what to actually respond.

“That you would work on me like that?” Bucky's calmness took away the seriousness of the situation, but that didn't mean your heart accepted this position; it pounded hard, almost painfully. “Neither did I. I get why my body acts like the body of a horny teenager around you, but I don’t get this.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back an indulgent, amused smile. 

Bucky slipped from his seat and reached for a cup to fill it with coffee. Watching him curiously, you leaned against the edge of the countertop. Until a while back, he was a stranger to you; you limited yourselves to brief glances and seemingly meaningless conversations, which in the end brought you closer together. Although you were still strangers to each other, in theory, Bucky was the closest person to you. Marriage didn't terrify you as much as it used to, because you ended up with him.

“What?” Bucky's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You must have been looking at him while drifting off.

“It’s… weird.” You squinted. He gave you a confused look. “You. Here,” you explained. “I’m not used to this. To having someone around,” you continued, coming to realize all this while making Bucky understand your thoughts. “We haven't- We haven’t really had the chance to... you know, live as a married couple.” 

“Yeah…” he agreed, looking away. 

You thought you were strangers to each other, yet you knew perfectly well that absent-minded gaze; the one combined with the thoughtless nibbling of the inside of his lower lip. You didn't want him to cast doubt on every decision that led him to this place.

“But we probably shouldn't think too much about it,” you suggested. “Do what you feel like doing. It's your home and…” You shrugged.

“My home and my wife?” Bucky tilted his head slightly, this time watching you with a somewhat challenging look.

You just smiled, considering it the only appropriate response to this gentle provocation, and turned around with the intention of continuing to prepare your meal. You managed to reach for the pan and set it on the stove when Bucky stood behind you. You heard his approaching footsteps, but rather thought he was going to put his cup in the sink. Instead, you felt his body almost against your back; he wasn't touching you, but his presence was nearly tangible.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” he asked in a low voice, and as your breath caught in your throat, his brushed your neck.

“I think so,” you didn't have to whisper, but your tone automatically matched his. 

Bucky moved as close to you as possible; his torso was in contact with your back so tightly that you could feel the quickened, uneasy beating of his heart. His arms wrapped around your body at rib height, and your hands reflexively rested on his forearms. Bucky leaned his chin on your shoulder. You didn't speak, absorbing this closeness in silence. For a moment, you forgot about the months of separation; about the fact that you weren't actually connected by true, deep affection – in that moment, it felt like you had known him forever.

He placed a light kiss on your neck, making you shiver; your shoulder lifted up to your ear, trying to cover that area.

“That’s scratchy.” You chuckled quietly. 

“I'll shave in a minute,” he muttered into your skin.

“You don't have to,” you protested right away. “I like how it feels. I don’t really mind. Besides…” You shrugged. “It suits you.”

You felt Bucky's lips, still on your neck, stretch in a smile. 

“Leave it,” he spoke after a while. “I'll get us some breakfast,” he added, and only then did you realize what he was actually talking about. 

“It's not like I was going to prepare a three course meal.” You raised your eyebrows. “Anyway…” you hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “I have to be at the gallery soon.”

Bucky groaned. “Today? Why?”

You turned around carefully enough not to break out of his embrace. You looked at his face – besides the obvious disappointment, from this distance you could see perfectly well how tired he was. You pressed your lips together, and as if that would make things better, you raised your hands to his cheeks. It appeared that you were right – the helpless displeasure in Bucky's eyes eased; he softened, relaxed under your touch.

“We are organizing a bigger exhibition. I started it while you were away, and I didn't know when you would return. I don't want to rush it,” you explained. Bucky looked at you carefully, as if to help himself process your words and come to terms with their meaning. “I also have a meeting scheduled with one investor today, so I need to be there.”

“Sure, I understand…” Bucky sighed. You were a little surprised by his stance – you thought he would appreciate a few hours to catch his breath; a few hours just for himself. Apparently, he liked you more than you assumed, and it honestly made you happy. “But I'll drive you there. And then I'll pick you up.” 

“Okay.” You beamed in a way that teenage girls used to give to boys waiting in the parking lot of the school after classes were over. “I'll go get dressed.”

When you moved away from him, Bucky imperceptibly pinched your ass, making you giggle and quicken your step towards the exit from the kitchen.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You looked directly at Adrian, saw his lips moving, but no, you weren't listening to him. At least not for the past few minutes, when the conversation began to gently drift away from the subject of the gallery. Instead of concentrating on what at some point turned into a monologue, you kept returning to your last moments with Bucky – to him showing up in the bedroom shortly after you; he had settled back on the bed, leaning on his elbow, unceremoniously watching you get dressed. Although, you didn't rid of his t-shirt until you'd put on your underwear, Bucky seemed satisfied with the view – focused almost to the point of forgetting the rest of the world, he observed you slipping into a short dress; short enough that he didn't have to put particularly much effort into getting to you when you were both filled with desire all over again.

So no, you weren't listening to Adrian. You were thinking about a quickie before work.

“Of course I am.” You smiled playfully.

“Yeah? So what did I say?”

Adrian wasn't really your investor – he didn't benefit financially. You met him through Connie, so you trusted that relationship to some extent. And at the very beginning you hoped that Adrian – as a young, fearless man – would not have hidden motivations. It quickly became clear that he was interested in you, and that you couldn't draw a hard line. His money was a comfortable addition to the gallery's business; paradoxically, it gave you more freedom. You were young and the gallery was a relatively fresh venture to say no to anyone who had shady intentions towards you.

“The usual. Y/N, go out with me. I'm begging,” you said, making Adrian laugh. Fortunately.

“So maybe you should actually consider it?” He tilted his head. “And what are you thinking about so hard anyway?”

“About my husband,” you responded without hesitation. “You know I have a husband, right? You saw the ring.”

“The thing is…” Adrian sighed. “The last time we saw each other was when? Two days ago? And you didn't have the ring. I'm sorry, but I don't believe you've managed to get married since then.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there is actually no husband,” he continued. “You just don't want to be nagged by men. You are one of those women who are firmly convinced that they can live without one.” 

“Oh, Adrian…” you winced. “Such a pretty face, but what you just said... It ruined everything.”

“So you do like me.”

The buzz of the phone saved you from going any further on this topic. You glanced at the lit up screen.

I’m here.

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Is this some friend of yours? You asked her to pretend to be your ‘husband’ and get you off the hook?” Adrian almost burst out laughing. 

“Mhmm. Something like that…” you mumbled, at the same time replying to Bucky:

Can you come to my office?

You put the phone away, your gaze back on Adrian. “Do you want something to drink?” This suggestion was not only due to the fact that you preferred to treat your sponsor with appropriate courtesy; you didn't want to return to the subject of the husband he didn't believe in, and you couldn't bear to sit in silence and stare. “Because I do,” you confessed, mainly to get up from your seat and take at least a few steps away. 

“I’d love to.”

From the cabinet you kept alcohol in, you reached for a bottle of an expensive whisky. “The usual, right?” 

But Adrian had no chance to answer. He was overtaken by a knock and soon after, Bucky appeared in the entrance. Wearing the leather jacket you last saw that evening after your father's funeral, holding a helmet. Your attention, however, was caught by something else – the brief moment of confusion crossing his face. 

“Jamie,” you uttered softly. He didn't immediately shift his gaze to you. “Jamie,” you repeated after a moment – way more conscious than the first time – having remembered that you were not alone, “this is Adrian Lancy, my investor. Adrian, this is James Barnes-”

“The husband,” Bucky said, an insincere smile stretching his mouth as he shook Adrian's hand. That same smile stayed on his face when he approached you. Placing his hand on your hip, he planted a brief but tender kiss on your cheek. “Hi, babe.” He raised an eyebrow, and you stopped yourself from snorting a laugh. Bucky intended to be painfully obvious.

“Want something to drink, babe?”

Bucky glanced at your lips, then smirked. “No, I’m good.”

He put his helmet down on the desktop and took a seat in your chair. At that moment he looked stunning – very bossy; you could easily imagine him taking the throne of the Underworld; becoming the head of his Family. 

“So,” Adrian began, “you ride motorcycles, Mr. Barnes?”

“Among other things, yeah,” he confirmed without any desire to elaborate, therefore dropping the subject. “Aren't the working hours already over?” Bucky cleared his throat. “If I were insanely jealous I would think you are keeping my wife on purpose. To spend more time with her.” Again that fake, but not blatantly fake smile. 

“Are you insanely jealous?”

A short, dry laugh left Bucky's mouth. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

Holding the drink prepared for you – a few ice cubes poured over a relatively small amount of gin and tonic – you handed the other glass of whiskey to Adrian, then perched on the edge of the desk. You needed your sponsor happy, so in an attempt to make amends for Bucky's behavior, you turned a blind eye to the fact that in this position your dress showed a little more of your body. 

“Well…” Having taken the bait, Adrian started again. “Y/N is not sitting here for free, so personally I don't see any problem. I pay for every hour.”

You didn't know if he intentionally used those exact words, but what you did know was that it took a really trivial reason for Bucky to stand up for you. And that ‘standing up’ was – in most cases – all about painful, harsh physicality. It wasn’t a problem, not for you, but it could be for your business. 

“You'd better pay her a lot, Mr. Lancy.”

You gave Adrian an apologetic look, though he didn't seem offended. But looking at that unsettling, indefinable expression on his face, you would have preferred him to be.

He emptied his glass with one tilt, then got up from his seat. “I'll get going.”

You slid off the desk, and as the men shook hands again, you walked Adrian to the door. Usually you would have accompanied him all the way to the exit of the gallery, but this time you both decided not to get under Bucky's skin any deeper.

Having closed the door, you leaned your back against its surface. Bucky was standing by the desk with his hands in his pockets. He was looking at you with a softness you didn't think you deserved, but there was something else to it.

“You didn’t punch him…” You squinted curiously. “Why?”

Taken aback, Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Did you want me to punch him? I can still catch up to him-”

“No, it's not necessary,” you said, ignoring the tease in his tone. You tilted your head to the side, folding your arms. “I'm just wondering why you spared him.”

“You almost showed him your pants,” he replied, shrugging indifferently. You parted your lips, ready to express offense, but Bucky was right – indeed, you almost showed Adrian your pants. “I gathered he must be important for you. That's why I didn't want to blow it.”

You smiled with affection.

“I'm not sure how to feel about all this,” Bucky continued, squinting slightly. “I'm not surprised. Jealous, yes, but not surprised.” 

“Meaning..?”

“I’m impressed by how you act on men. How you deal with them,” he said. “John Walker, now Adrian, and even... Even me. You wrap everyone you meet around your finger. But I knew that. I knew that from the very beginning,” he stated, frowning. “You're a fucking magnet.” He snorted quietly. 

“Are you mad..?” you asked, your voice so soft it surprised him.

“No, of course not,” he assured immediately. “It's… pretty amazing. But they think they can say and do whatever they want. And that's the part that worries me. That one of these men will go too far, and I won't be around to stop them.” 

You lowered your gaze. You didn't even realize when your fingers began to play nervously with the fabric of your dress. Bucky was right – you were able to deal with men in a way that would benefit you. But it wasn’t like that with him; you didn't want his money, you didn't want favors, you didn't care if he agreed to your every request. You just wanted to be liked by him. Tolerated by him.

“Do you need money, Y/N?” Bucky asked calmly. “Do you need Lancy’s money?”

Lifting your head so fast your neck almost snapped, you looked up at Bucky. A wave of unpleasant heat spread all over your body. You didn’t say a word about that, yet he knew everything. “No,” you lied. 

“Are you sure? Because I have money. And now it's your money, too.”

“Yes, I know,” you replied, giving him the most beaming grin you could afford – hoping to dissuade him from any possible doubts. “Can you take me home now?”

Bucky also smiled, so you got the impression that he believed you, and as a result, wouldn't return to the subject. He grabbed your purse, took his helmet off the desk and walked to you. He watched you with the same cocky smirk when you tried to take your purse from him, but at first he didn't want to let it go.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Barnes?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said casually, shrugging, then reached behind your back to open the door. “Mrs. Barnes.” He nodded. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach – without much effect – you gave him an indulgent look.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

The rays of the harsh morning sun broke in through the huge window, casting a bright glow directly on the bed. The beams of irritating light brushed your face, and you immediately regretted that last night the thought of drawing the curtains hadn't crossed your mind. But there was no room in your head for rational thinking or predicting the future; you were too excited, too overwhelmed for that.

Driven by your instinct to stay awake, instead of falling into further sleep, you lifted your eyelids with difficulty, and your eyes fell involuntarily on the figure lying next to you. For the first time in nearly three months, you had a man in your bed; or rather, it was he who had returned to his bed, and had no choice but to accept that you had usurped it. Eventually, you were both in your shared space, and for the first time you had the opportunity to wake up next to Bucky.

He was sleeping on his stomach, with only one leg under the covers and the rest of his body outside; half of his face was buried in the pillow, the other half was covered by his hair falling down. You admired him with fascination – your eyes ran over his broad back and the muscles it showed; over his strong arms, kissed by the Italian sun. He wasn't doing anything special, nothing spectacular – just breathing, slowly and steadily – yet you could watch him for hours. You feared, however, that he might sense this and wake up, and interrupting Bucky's sleep was the last thing you felt like doing. He had been working hard for the last few months and now he was finally being given a rest. You weren't going to deprive him of the comfort of sleeping in his bed, in a safe, familiar space, so you slipped carefully out from under the covers and headed to the bathroom.

Your sore feet still reminded you of last night – of the hours spent in the club, the alcohol consumed and the men looking at you. Bucky was right – some were looking at you with a strange longing, and at the time you hadn't wondered what it meant. Now, although the question was only just seeking a place in your mind, you were curious about something else: did they know that you belonged to him? You wore the ring, you carried his name, but you haven't yet had the chance to show yourselves in public even once. You assumed that it was the soldiers of the Barnes Family, not leaving your side, let everyone know that you had also become a member of this house. Regardless of whose wife you were, your new name was a kind of warning sign.

As the pleasant stream of warm water washed over your body, your mind was flooded with more questions. For the past few months you had been a wife, but without a husband around. What was your life going to look like from now on? Was Bucky going to fit into your mode, you were going to be forced to fit into his, or were you both going to lead your own separate lives, ignoring each other; your existing routines, habits and needs? 

The water fell on the shower floor and crashed against the tiles with loud splashes; nevertheless, the characteristic click of the door closing reached your ears. You looked over your shoulder, spotting Bucky, and your breath involuntarily stuck in your throat. He was standing by the entrance; with his hair only brushed through with a careless, accidental sweep of his fingers, his boxers framing his hips tightly and such a hungry, raw expression on his face that it instantly made your heart beat faster. You forgot about the fact that you were completely naked; the thought of satisfying this primal need took over your consciousness. Anyway, he soon returned the favor – without taking his determined gaze off you, he removed his underwear and joined you in the shower. Or rather, he attacked you as if you were his helpless prey.

His huge, hard body collided with yours; his arms immediately surrounded you with the purpose of protection from any possible loss of balance due to this sudden, violent push. Bucky's lips – which had reminded you of their existence the previous night, of the pleasure that came from them, and which you still craved – pressed onto yours in a desiring kiss. His beard irritated your tender skin in that strangely pleasurable way, but the truth was that whatever he would do, it would bring you nothing but pleasure. You couldn't imagine doing anything other than simply surrendering to him – you wanted the same thing after all, and you couldn't let him leave you starving and lusting even for a moment; you needed his attention, you needed compensation – you needed him to reward you for those few months during which you had been dying of hunger.

“Fucking missed you, Y/N,” he muttered into your lips.

“Me? Or did you miss this?” you asked innocently, and although he smiled with mild amusement, there was something punishing hidden in that smile. 

“I've thought about fucking you. Many times,” he agreed bluntly, and his hands slid through the sides of your body, from your hips to your ribs, making you shiver. “But I missed you. All of you. Even those stupid questions.”

You stretched your mouth in a wide, bright grin, and looking at him – so beautiful, so ravenous and all yours – you kissed him, placing your hands on his rough cheeks. Bucky's arms once again wrapped around your body and strengthened their hold even tighter than before. You moaned softly, crushed by his own body he pressed you to; you moaned because there was no way he could keep you any closer. Soon you felt the coolness of the tiles on your back – they were like a sharp sting on your heated skin, making you gasp shortly in surprise. Bucky stepped back slightly and stared at your face for a moment. His hand went to your neck, his fingers clenched carefully around it, and when you tried to pull away from the wall in order to get back to his lips, he held you in place without the slightest effort.

“What are you doing, Jamie?” The innocence and helplessness in your voice made Bucky hold his breath at first, then let it out with a loud gasp. As if he was savoring your softness, but in no way intending to take advantage of it. He knew you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“I want you to stay here. For better stability,” he replied with calmness and patience; your heatedness fully deserved just such an approach. 

“Stability..?”

Without taking his eyes off you, he knelt down. He carefully grabbed your ankle, and you obediently allowed him to lift your leg, which he finally put over his shoulder. You parted your lips, watching him with astonishment.

Bucky's eyes bore relentlessly into yours, his hands rested on your hips and his tongue slid lazily over your swollen, throbbing clit. You let out a shuddering breath, then sank your teeth into your lower lip. Bucky's hands clenched more securely on your body and his tongue began to rub against your knot – exploratory at first, since he was more than happy to learn your body's reactions and draw conclusions, and when he finally found the right rhythm, you knew your end was near, but you weren't about to deny yourself from being thrown into that abyss.

One of your hands found its way to his head; you slipped your fingers into his hair, and, whimpering in a desperate search for an outlet for all the pleasures building up inside you, you squeezed them there reflexively as Bucky sucked on your more and more sensitive clit. He closed his eyes, his fingers digging into your hips in a slightly painful, yet terribly satisfying way. You watched him from between half-open eyelids, and if at all possible, you got the impression that he was getting even more pleasure out of it than you were. And instead of weakening in intensity, he wanted more and more; he was no longer massaging your clit, expecting the desired reactions – he was devouring you for his own selfish fulfillment; he was devouring you like a starving man, and his appetite grew as he ate. You could feel his frustration; you could feel that he himself was left unsatisfied, and it was these desperate actions that pushed you to the edge. Leaning you against the wall earlier was a clever move - now it was keeping you safe, as your legs grew softer and softer until they finally refused to cooperate completely. Fortunately, there was Bucky under you.

Your chest rose and fell along with quick, short breaths. Not only were they coming out of your throat, but also the moans that accompanied them. For the past few months, not once had you thought the long wait would be worth it – you didn't think anyone could have given you such pleasure. Now it was growing in intensity in your lower stomach until it finally exploded, shaking your weak body with strong spasms. 

“I've got you, baby,” you heard, and the soft tone hardly matched the character of what Bucky had been doing just moments before. But you didn't think about it. You weren't actually thinking about anything; you were fighting for consciousness with the effects of overflowing pleasure. And you were losing, as your legs finally gave up under its weight.

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder, but held it so that when he got up from his knees, it hung at the level of his hip. He put his free hand around his length, and again you felt strangely fascinated by this – he hadn't touched himself once; until now his hands had rested only on your hips. Yet, his cock was hard, wet with precum, twitching in need. It slid into you without any difficulty, but you still felt its thickness stretching you. 

Your lips parted even more, letting out a hollow gasp, and Bucky moaned softly, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't relish the sensation for too long – he started pounding into you, and unlike the previous times, he didn't begin with gentleness. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't wait any longer; not since he finally had the chance to satisfy a need that had been piling up inside him for months – the need to fuck you. To fuck his wife.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, pressing your nails uncontrollably into his heated skin. You tilted your head back against the tiles, and this time their coolness did not bring you the same sobriety. And although you were once again intoxicated almost to the point of unconsciousness, your gaze wandered to the space between you – appearing there only when Bucky withdrew his hips. You watched as he thrust in and out of you, while Bucky observed your face; he absorbed your every grimace and every wince. 

His tongue left you sore and swollen, so his rubbing cock was driving you crazy with every movement. Finally, his hips were slamming against yours so fast, and your position provided you with such a perfect angle that your consciousness began to slip away again.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?” he breathed, adjusting his grip under your thigh.

“Y-yes,” you cried out.  

“How much?”

You forced yourself to look at his face, although your arching back made it difficult for you to do so. You were unable to put together a coherent thought; you were unable to speak it out loud. 

“Huh? How much?” he inquired. His face, too, revealed the near end; his mouth wasn't able to stay closed for more than a split second, and his nostrils flared, trying to provide as much precious air as possible. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me hear it, baby.”

You couldn't take it any longer; every bit of you had waited far too long. And once again, that shattering feeling came over you; this time it shot into every part of your body. You let out a few short, loud moans, and darkness spread before your eyes. Bucky came right after you – seeing the look on your face, the pleasure spreading all over it; hearing those sinful sounds leaving your mouth, his body couldn't act any differently. He went still, making a single, low growl, caught up with a series of heavy breaths as his body relaxed and pressed limply against yours. He still held your leg around his hip, and with the rest of the strength he had, he put his other hand on the wall right next to your shoulder, giving you both support. For the time you needed to recover.

Shortly after, Bucky turned off the water, and then you felt his hands on your body again; one somewhere on your back, the other under your thighs. You were exhausted and still dizzy, but you embraced his neck loosely for a better grip. And when you ended up in your husband's arms, your body was finally able to rest.

This time, the bedroom was pleasantly dim. You've had a nap once or twice since leaving the bathroom; although you slept through the whole night, there were several things that contributed to absorbing all your energy. 

You looked over your shoulder at Bucky lying next to you. Breathing slowly and quietly, he seemed to be asleep. You sat up carefully, and the mattress bending under your movements alarmed him. Not enough to wake him, but his fingers twitched nervously. If you had made another move, you would probably have snapped him out of this blissful state. So you waited for a moment, sitting still.

Finally, you lowered your feet to the floor, got up and moved silently to the bedroom door, mindlessly fixing Bucky's t-shirt – he gave it to you after the shower, since you needed something comfortable to put on. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

With your hand on the doorknob, you froze, then looked back slowly. Bucky's eyes stayed closed. 

“Nowhere,” you replied in a whisper; his not fully conscious state didn't require a louder tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. You didn't want to give him a chance to say anything more, to get his mind going. So you left the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Having stepped into the kitchen, you involuntarily followed the routine you had developed over the past months – a thoughtless peek into the fridge, turning on the coffee maker, then back to the fridge, and only then did you consciously consider a meal. You reached for the eggs, and despite the coffee maker already working, you got yourself a glass of cold water. 

You stretched, then rested your palms on the countertop, your eyelids still heavy, a bit swollen. This time you didn't despise the sun, but happily exposed your face to it.

Something told you to open your eyes. Having turned your head, you rested your chin on your shoulder. Bucky was standing in the entrance to the kitchen – he was watching you, leaning against the doorframe, and when you finally noticed him, he took a seat in a high chair by the kitchen island.

“Can't sleep without me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Looks like it,” Bucky bit back. “Actually…” he began, and his tone as well as his expression indicated that he was going to say something sincere; to break out a little from the unserious atmosphere of your conversation. “I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I guess in…” His mouth curved into a half-smile as he vaguely thought about it, “three years.” 

Your stomach knotted, forcing you to inhale deeply. 

“Did I say something wrong..?”

“No, of course not,” you protested right away. “I just didn't expect that…” you paused, unsure of what to actually respond.

“That you would work on me like that?” Bucky's calmness took away the seriousness of the situation, but that didn't mean your heart accepted this position; it pounded hard, almost painfully. “Neither did I. I get why my body acts like the body of a horny teenager around you, but I don’t get this.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back an indulgent, amused smile. 

Bucky slipped from his seat and reached for a cup to fill it with coffee. Watching him curiously, you leaned against the edge of the countertop. Until a while back, he was a stranger to you; you limited yourselves to brief glances and seemingly meaningless conversations, which in the end brought you closer together. Although you were still strangers to each other, in theory, Bucky was the closest person to you. Marriage didn't terrify you as much as it used to, because you ended up with him.

“What?” Bucky's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You must have been looking at him while drifting off.

“It’s… weird.” You squinted. He gave you a confused look. “You. Here,” you explained. “I’m not used to this. To having someone around,” you continued, coming to realize all this while making Bucky understand your thoughts. “We haven't- We haven’t really had the chance to... you know, live as a married couple.” 

“Yeah…” he agreed, looking away. 

You thought you were strangers to each other, yet you knew perfectly well that absent-minded gaze; the one combined with the thoughtless nibbling of the inside of his lower lip. You didn't want him to cast doubt on every decision that led him to this place.

“But we probably shouldn't think too much about it,” you suggested. “Do what you feel like doing. It's your home and…” You shrugged.

“My home and my wife?” Bucky tilted his head slightly, this time watching you with a somewhat challenging look.

You just smiled, considering it the only appropriate response to this gentle provocation, and turned around with the intention of continuing to prepare your meal. You managed to reach for the pan and set it on the stove when Bucky stood behind you. You heard his approaching footsteps, but rather thought he was going to put his cup in the sink. Instead, you felt his body almost against your back; he wasn't touching you, but his presence was nearly tangible.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” he asked in a low voice, and as your breath caught in your throat, his brushed your neck.

“I think so,” you didn't have to whisper, but your tone automatically matched his. 

Bucky moved as close to you as possible; his torso was in contact with your back so tightly that you could feel the quickened, uneasy beating of his heart. His arms wrapped around your body at rib height, and your hands reflexively rested on his forearms. Bucky leaned his chin on your shoulder. You didn't speak, absorbing this closeness in silence. For a moment, you forgot about the months of separation; about the fact that you weren't actually connected by true, deep affection – in that moment, it felt like you had known him forever.

He placed a light kiss on your neck, making you shiver; your shoulder lifted up to your ear, trying to cover that area.

“That’s scratchy.” You chuckled quietly. 

“I'll shave in a minute,” he muttered into your skin.

“You don't have to,” you protested right away. “I like how it feels. I don’t really mind. Besides…” You shrugged. “It suits you.”

You felt Bucky's lips, still on your neck, stretch in a smile. 

“Leave it,” he spoke after a while. “I'll get us some breakfast,” he added, and only then did you realize what he was actually talking about. 

“It's not like I was going to prepare a three course meal.” You raised your eyebrows. “Anyway…” you hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “I have to be at the gallery soon.”

Bucky groaned. “Today? Why?”

You turned around carefully enough not to break out of his embrace. You looked at his face – besides the obvious disappointment, from this distance you could see perfectly well how tired he was. You pressed your lips together, and as if that would make things better, you raised your hands to his cheeks. It appeared that you were right – the helpless displeasure in Bucky's eyes eased; he softened, relaxed under your touch.

“We are organizing a bigger exhibition. I started it while you were away, and I didn't know when you would return. I don't want to rush it,” you explained. Bucky looked at you carefully, as if to help himself process your words and come to terms with their meaning. “I also have a meeting scheduled with one investor today, so I need to be there.”

“Sure, I understand…” Bucky sighed. You were a little surprised by his stance – you thought he would appreciate a few hours to catch his breath; a few hours just for himself. Apparently, he liked you more than you assumed, and it honestly made you happy. “But I'll drive you there. And then I'll pick you up.” 

“Okay.” You beamed in a way that teenage girls used to give to boys waiting in the parking lot of the school after classes were over. “I'll go get dressed.”

When you moved away from him, Bucky imperceptibly pinched your ass, making you giggle and quicken your step towards the exit from the kitchen.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You looked directly at Adrian, saw his lips moving, but no, you weren't listening to him. At least not for the past few minutes, when the conversation began to gently drift away from the subject of the gallery. Instead of concentrating on what at some point turned into a monologue, you kept returning to your last moments with Bucky – to him showing up in the bedroom shortly after you; he had settled back on the bed, leaning on his elbow, unceremoniously watching you get dressed. Although, you didn't rid of his t-shirt until you'd put on your underwear, Bucky seemed satisfied with the view – focused almost to the point of forgetting the rest of the world, he observed you slipping into a short dress; short enough that he didn't have to put particularly much effort into getting to you when you were both filled with desire all over again.

So no, you weren't listening to Adrian. You were thinking about a quickie before work.

“Of course I am.” You smiled playfully.

“Yeah? So what did I say?”

Adrian wasn't really your investor – he didn't benefit financially. You met him through Connie, so you trusted that relationship to some extent. And at the very beginning you hoped that Adrian – as a young, fearless man – would not have hidden motivations. It quickly became clear that he was interested in you, and that you couldn't draw a hard line. His money was a comfortable addition to the gallery's business; paradoxically, it gave you more freedom. You were young and the gallery was a relatively fresh venture to say no to anyone who had shady intentions towards you.

“The usual. Y/N, go out with me. I'm begging,” you said, making Adrian laugh. Fortunately.

“So maybe you should actually consider it?” He tilted his head. “And what are you thinking about so hard anyway?”

“About my husband,” you responded without hesitation. “You know I have a husband, right? You saw the ring.”

“The thing is…” Adrian sighed. “The last time we saw each other was when? Two days ago? And you didn't have the ring. I'm sorry, but I don't believe you've managed to get married since then.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there is actually no husband,” he continued. “You just don't want to be nagged by men. You are one of those women who are firmly convinced that they can live without one.” 

“Oh, Adrian…” you winced. “Such a pretty face, but what you just said... It ruined everything.”

“So you do like me.”

The buzz of the phone saved you from going any further on this topic. You glanced at the lit up screen.

I’m here.

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Is this some friend of yours? You asked her to pretend to be your ‘husband’ and get you off the hook?” Adrian almost burst out laughing. 

“Mhmm. Something like that…” you mumbled, at the same time replying to Bucky:

Can you come to my office?

You put the phone away, your gaze back on Adrian. “Do you want something to drink?” This suggestion was not only due to the fact that you preferred to treat your sponsor with appropriate courtesy; you didn't want to return to the subject of the husband he didn't believe in, and you couldn't bear to sit in silence and stare. “Because I do,” you confessed, mainly to get up from your seat and take at least a few steps away. 

“I’d love to.”

From the cabinet you kept alcohol in, you reached for a bottle of an expensive whisky. “The usual, right?” 

But Adrian had no chance to answer. He was overtaken by a knock and soon after, Bucky appeared in the entrance. Wearing the leather jacket you last saw that evening after your father's funeral, holding a helmet. Your attention, however, was caught by something else – the brief moment of confusion crossing his face. 

“Jamie,” you uttered softly. He didn't immediately shift his gaze to you. “Jamie,” you repeated after a moment – way more conscious than the first time – having remembered that you were not alone, “this is Adrian Lancy, my investor. Adrian, this is James Barnes-”

“The husband,” Bucky said, an insincere smile stretching his mouth as he shook Adrian's hand. That same smile stayed on his face when he approached you. Placing his hand on your hip, he planted a brief but tender kiss on your cheek. “Hi, babe.” He raised an eyebrow, and you stopped yourself from snorting a laugh. Bucky intended to be painfully obvious.

“Want something to drink, babe?”

Bucky glanced at your lips, then smirked. “No, I’m good.”

He put his helmet down on the desktop and took a seat in your chair. At that moment he looked stunning – very bossy; you could easily imagine him taking the throne of the Underworld; becoming the head of his Family. 

“So,” Adrian began, “you ride motorcycles, Mr. Barnes?”

“Among other things, yeah,” he confirmed without any desire to elaborate, therefore dropping the subject. “Aren't the working hours already over?” Bucky cleared his throat. “If I were insanely jealous I would think you are keeping my wife on purpose. To spend more time with her.” Again that fake, but not blatantly fake smile. 

“Are you insanely jealous?”

A short, dry laugh left Bucky's mouth. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

Holding the drink prepared for you – a few ice cubes poured over a relatively small amount of gin and tonic – you handed the other glass of whiskey to Adrian, then perched on the edge of the desk. You needed your sponsor happy, so in an attempt to make amends for Bucky's behavior, you turned a blind eye to the fact that in this position your dress showed a little more of your body. 

“Well…” Having taken the bait, Adrian started again. “Y/N is not sitting here for free, so personally I don't see any problem. I pay for every hour.”

You didn't know if he intentionally used those exact words, but what you did know was that it took a really trivial reason for Bucky to stand up for you. And that ‘standing up’ was – in most cases – all about painful, harsh physicality. It wasn’t a problem, not for you, but it could be for your business. 

“You'd better pay her a lot, Mr. Lancy.”

You gave Adrian an apologetic look, though he didn't seem offended. But looking at that unsettling, indefinable expression on his face, you would have preferred him to be.

He emptied his glass with one tilt, then got up from his seat. “I'll get going.”

You slid off the desk, and as the men shook hands again, you walked Adrian to the door. Usually you would have accompanied him all the way to the exit of the gallery, but this time you both decided not to get under Bucky's skin any deeper.

Having closed the door, you leaned your back against its surface. Bucky was standing by the desk with his hands in his pockets. He was looking at you with a softness you didn't think you deserved, but there was something else to it.

“You didn’t punch him…” You squinted curiously. “Why?”

Taken aback, Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Did you want me to punch him? I can still catch up to him-”

“No, it's not necessary,” you said, ignoring the tease in his tone. You tilted your head to the side, folding your arms. “I'm just wondering why you spared him.”

“You almost showed him your pants,” he replied, shrugging indifferently. You parted your lips, ready to express offense, but Bucky was right – indeed, you almost showed Adrian your pants. “I gathered he must be important for you. That's why I didn't want to blow it.”

You smiled with affection.

“I'm not sure how to feel about all this,” Bucky continued, squinting slightly. “I'm not surprised. Jealous, yes, but not surprised.” 

“Meaning..?”

“I’m impressed by how you act on men. How you deal with them,” he said. “John Walker, now Adrian, and even... Even me. You wrap everyone you meet around your finger. But I knew that. I knew that from the very beginning,” he stated, frowning. “You're a fucking magnet.” He snorted quietly. 

“Are you mad..?” you asked, your voice so soft it surprised him.

“No, of course not,” he assured immediately. “It's… pretty amazing. But they think they can say and do whatever they want. And that's the part that worries me. That one of these men will go too far, and I won't be around to stop them.” 

You lowered your gaze. You didn't even realize when your fingers began to play nervously with the fabric of your dress. Bucky was right – you were able to deal with men in a way that would benefit you. But it wasn’t like that with him; you didn't want his money, you didn't want favors, you didn't care if he agreed to your every request. You just wanted to be liked by him. Tolerated by him.

“Do you need money, Y/N?” Bucky asked calmly. “Do you need Lancy’s money?”

Lifting your head so fast your neck almost snapped, you looked up at Bucky. A wave of unpleasant heat spread all over your body. You didn’t say a word about that, yet he knew everything. “No,” you lied. 

“Are you sure? Because I have money. And now it's your money, too.”

“Yes, I know,” you replied, giving him the most beaming grin you could afford – hoping to dissuade him from any possible doubts. “Can you take me home now?”

Bucky also smiled, so you got the impression that he believed you, and as a result, wouldn't return to the subject. He grabbed your purse, took his helmet off the desk and walked to you. He watched you with the same cocky smirk when you tried to take your purse from him, but at first he didn't want to let it go.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Barnes?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said casually, shrugging, then reached behind your back to open the door. “Mrs. Barnes.” He nodded. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach – without much effect – you gave him an indulgent look.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

The rays of the harsh morning sun broke in through the huge window, casting a bright glow directly on the bed. The beams of irritating light brushed your face, and you immediately regretted that last night the thought of drawing the curtains hadn't crossed your mind. But there was no room in your head for rational thinking or predicting the future; you were too excited, too overwhelmed for that.

Driven by your instinct to stay awake, instead of falling into further sleep, you lifted your eyelids with difficulty, and your eyes fell involuntarily on the figure lying next to you. For the first time in nearly three months, you had a man in your bed; or rather, it was he who had returned to his bed, and had no choice but to accept that you had usurped it. Eventually, you were both in your shared space, and for the first time you had the opportunity to wake up next to Bucky.

He was sleeping on his stomach, with only one leg under the covers and the rest of his body outside; half of his face was buried in the pillow, the other half was covered by his hair falling down. You admired him with fascination – your eyes ran over his broad back and the muscles it showed; over his strong arms, kissed by the Italian sun. He wasn't doing anything special, nothing spectacular – just breathing, slowly and steadily – yet you could watch him for hours. You feared, however, that he might sense this and wake up, and interrupting Bucky's sleep was the last thing you felt like doing. He had been working hard for the last few months and now he was finally being given a rest. You weren't going to deprive him of the comfort of sleeping in his bed, in a safe, familiar space, so you slipped carefully out from under the covers and headed to the bathroom.

Your sore feet still reminded you of last night – of the hours spent in the club, the alcohol consumed and the men looking at you. Bucky was right – some were looking at you with a strange longing, and at the time you hadn't wondered what it meant. Now, although the question was only just seeking a place in your mind, you were curious about something else: did they know that you belonged to him? You wore the ring, you carried his name, but you haven't yet had the chance to show yourselves in public even once. You assumed that it was the soldiers of the Barnes Family, not leaving your side, let everyone know that you had also become a member of this house. Regardless of whose wife you were, your new name was a kind of warning sign.

As the pleasant stream of warm water washed over your body, your mind was flooded with more questions. For the past few months you had been a wife, but without a husband around. What was your life going to look like from now on? Was Bucky going to fit into your mode, you were going to be forced to fit into his, or were you both going to lead your own separate lives, ignoring each other; your existing routines, habits and needs? 

The water fell on the shower floor and crashed against the tiles with loud splashes; nevertheless, the characteristic click of the door closing reached your ears. You looked over your shoulder, spotting Bucky, and your breath involuntarily stuck in your throat. He was standing by the entrance; with his hair only brushed through with a careless, accidental sweep of his fingers, his boxers framing his hips tightly and such a hungry, raw expression on his face that it instantly made your heart beat faster. You forgot about the fact that you were completely naked; the thought of satisfying this primal need took over your consciousness. Anyway, he soon returned the favor – without taking his determined gaze off you, he removed his underwear and joined you in the shower. Or rather, he attacked you as if you were his helpless prey.

His huge, hard body collided with yours; his arms immediately surrounded you with the purpose of protection from any possible loss of balance due to this sudden, violent push. Bucky's lips – which had reminded you of their existence the previous night, of the pleasure that came from them, and which you still craved – pressed onto yours in a desiring kiss. His beard irritated your tender skin in that strangely pleasurable way, but the truth was that whatever he would do, it would bring you nothing but pleasure. You couldn't imagine doing anything other than simply surrendering to him – you wanted the same thing after all, and you couldn't let him leave you starving and lusting even for a moment; you needed his attention, you needed compensation – you needed him to reward you for those few months during which you had been dying of hunger.

“Fucking missed you, Y/N,” he muttered into your lips.

“Me? Or did you miss this?” you asked innocently, and although he smiled with mild amusement, there was something punishing hidden in that smile. 

“I've thought about fucking you. Many times,” he agreed bluntly, and his hands slid through the sides of your body, from your hips to your ribs, making you shiver. “But I missed you. All of you. Even those stupid questions.”

You stretched your mouth in a wide, bright grin, and looking at him – so beautiful, so ravenous and all yours – you kissed him, placing your hands on his rough cheeks. Bucky's arms once again wrapped around your body and strengthened their hold even tighter than before. You moaned softly, crushed by his own body he pressed you to; you moaned because there was no way he could keep you any closer. Soon you felt the coolness of the tiles on your back – they were like a sharp sting on your heated skin, making you gasp shortly in surprise. Bucky stepped back slightly and stared at your face for a moment. His hand went to your neck, his fingers clenched carefully around it, and when you tried to pull away from the wall in order to get back to his lips, he held you in place without the slightest effort.

“What are you doing, Jamie?” The innocence and helplessness in your voice made Bucky hold his breath at first, then let it out with a loud gasp. As if he was savoring your softness, but in no way intending to take advantage of it. He knew you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“I want you to stay here. For better stability,” he replied with calmness and patience; your heatedness fully deserved just such an approach. 

“Stability..?”

Without taking his eyes off you, he knelt down. He carefully grabbed your ankle, and you obediently allowed him to lift your leg, which he finally put over his shoulder. You parted your lips, watching him with astonishment.

Bucky's eyes bore relentlessly into yours, his hands rested on your hips and his tongue slid lazily over your swollen, throbbing clit. You let out a shuddering breath, then sank your teeth into your lower lip. Bucky's hands clenched more securely on your body and his tongue began to rub against your knot – exploratory at first, since he was more than happy to learn your body's reactions and draw conclusions, and when he finally found the right rhythm, you knew your end was near, but you weren't about to deny yourself from being thrown into that abyss.

One of your hands found its way to his head; you slipped your fingers into his hair, and, whimpering in a desperate search for an outlet for all the pleasures building up inside you, you squeezed them there reflexively as Bucky sucked on your more and more sensitive clit. He closed his eyes, his fingers digging into your hips in a slightly painful, yet terribly satisfying way. You watched him from between half-open eyelids, and if at all possible, you got the impression that he was getting even more pleasure out of it than you were. And instead of weakening in intensity, he wanted more and more; he was no longer massaging your clit, expecting the desired reactions – he was devouring you for his own selfish fulfillment; he was devouring you like a starving man, and his appetite grew as he ate. You could feel his frustration; you could feel that he himself was left unsatisfied, and it was these desperate actions that pushed you to the edge. Leaning you against the wall earlier was a clever move - now it was keeping you safe, as your legs grew softer and softer until they finally refused to cooperate completely. Fortunately, there was Bucky under you.

Your chest rose and fell along with quick, short breaths. Not only were they coming out of your throat, but also the moans that accompanied them. For the past few months, not once had you thought the long wait would be worth it – you didn't think anyone could have given you such pleasure. Now it was growing in intensity in your lower stomach until it finally exploded, shaking your weak body with strong spasms. 

“I've got you, baby,” you heard, and the soft tone hardly matched the character of what Bucky had been doing just moments before. But you didn't think about it. You weren't actually thinking about anything; you were fighting for consciousness with the effects of overflowing pleasure. And you were losing, as your legs finally gave up under its weight.

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder, but held it so that when he got up from his knees, it hung at the level of his hip. He put his free hand around his length, and again you felt strangely fascinated by this – he hadn't touched himself once; until now his hands had rested only on your hips. Yet, his cock was hard, wet with precum, twitching in need. It slid into you without any difficulty, but you still felt its thickness stretching you. 

Your lips parted even more, letting out a hollow gasp, and Bucky moaned softly, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't relish the sensation for too long – he started pounding into you, and unlike the previous times, he didn't begin with gentleness. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't wait any longer; not since he finally had the chance to satisfy a need that had been piling up inside him for months – the need to fuck you. To fuck his wife.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, pressing your nails uncontrollably into his heated skin. You tilted your head back against the tiles, and this time their coolness did not bring you the same sobriety. And although you were once again intoxicated almost to the point of unconsciousness, your gaze wandered to the space between you – appearing there only when Bucky withdrew his hips. You watched as he thrust in and out of you, while Bucky observed your face; he absorbed your every grimace and every wince. 

His tongue left you sore and swollen, so his rubbing cock was driving you crazy with every movement. Finally, his hips were slamming against yours so fast, and your position provided you with such a perfect angle that your consciousness began to slip away again.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?” he breathed, adjusting his grip under your thigh.

“Y-yes,” you cried out.  

“How much?”

You forced yourself to look at his face, although your arching back made it difficult for you to do so. You were unable to put together a coherent thought; you were unable to speak it out loud. 

“Huh? How much?” he inquired. His face, too, revealed the near end; his mouth wasn't able to stay closed for more than a split second, and his nostrils flared, trying to provide as much precious air as possible. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me hear it, baby.”

You couldn't take it any longer; every bit of you had waited far too long. And once again, that shattering feeling came over you; this time it shot into every part of your body. You let out a few short, loud moans, and darkness spread before your eyes. Bucky came right after you – seeing the look on your face, the pleasure spreading all over it; hearing those sinful sounds leaving your mouth, his body couldn't act any differently. He went still, making a single, low growl, caught up with a series of heavy breaths as his body relaxed and pressed limply against yours. He still held your leg around his hip, and with the rest of the strength he had, he put his other hand on the wall right next to your shoulder, giving you both support. For the time you needed to recover.

Shortly after, Bucky turned off the water, and then you felt his hands on your body again; one somewhere on your back, the other under your thighs. You were exhausted and still dizzy, but you embraced his neck loosely for a better grip. And when you ended up in your husband's arms, your body was finally able to rest.

This time, the bedroom was pleasantly dim. You've had a nap once or twice since leaving the bathroom; although you slept through the whole night, there were several things that contributed to absorbing all your energy. 

You looked over your shoulder at Bucky lying next to you. Breathing slowly and quietly, he seemed to be asleep. You sat up carefully, and the mattress bending under your movements alarmed him. Not enough to wake him, but his fingers twitched nervously. If you had made another move, you would probably have snapped him out of this blissful state. So you waited for a moment, sitting still.

Finally, you lowered your feet to the floor, got up and moved silently to the bedroom door, mindlessly fixing Bucky's t-shirt – he gave it to you after the shower, since you needed something comfortable to put on. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

With your hand on the doorknob, you froze, then looked back slowly. Bucky's eyes stayed closed. 

“Nowhere,” you replied in a whisper; his not fully conscious state didn't require a louder tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. You didn't want to give him a chance to say anything more, to get his mind going. So you left the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Having stepped into the kitchen, you involuntarily followed the routine you had developed over the past months – a thoughtless peek into the fridge, turning on the coffee maker, then back to the fridge, and only then did you consciously consider a meal. You reached for the eggs, and despite the coffee maker already working, you got yourself a glass of cold water. 

You stretched, then rested your palms on the countertop, your eyelids still heavy, a bit swollen. This time you didn't despise the sun, but happily exposed your face to it.

Something told you to open your eyes. Having turned your head, you rested your chin on your shoulder. Bucky was standing in the entrance to the kitchen – he was watching you, leaning against the doorframe, and when you finally noticed him, he took a seat in a high chair by the kitchen island.

“Can't sleep without me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Looks like it,” Bucky bit back. “Actually…” he began, and his tone as well as his expression indicated that he was going to say something sincere; to break out a little from the unserious atmosphere of your conversation. “I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I guess in…” His mouth curved into a half-smile as he vaguely thought about it, “three years.” 

Your stomach knotted, forcing you to inhale deeply. 

“Did I say something wrong..?”

“No, of course not,” you protested right away. “I just didn't expect that…” you paused, unsure of what to actually respond.

“That you would work on me like that?” Bucky's calmness took away the seriousness of the situation, but that didn't mean your heart accepted this position; it pounded hard, almost painfully. “Neither did I. I get why my body acts like the body of a horny teenager around you, but I don’t get this.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back an indulgent, amused smile. 

Bucky slipped from his seat and reached for a cup to fill it with coffee. Watching him curiously, you leaned against the edge of the countertop. Until a while back, he was a stranger to you; you limited yourselves to brief glances and seemingly meaningless conversations, which in the end brought you closer together. Although you were still strangers to each other, in theory, Bucky was the closest person to you. Marriage didn't terrify you as much as it used to, because you ended up with him.

“What?” Bucky's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You must have been looking at him while drifting off.

“It’s… weird.” You squinted. He gave you a confused look. “You. Here,” you explained. “I’m not used to this. To having someone around,” you continued, coming to realize all this while making Bucky understand your thoughts. “We haven't- We haven’t really had the chance to... you know, live as a married couple.” 

“Yeah…” he agreed, looking away. 

You thought you were strangers to each other, yet you knew perfectly well that absent-minded gaze; the one combined with the thoughtless nibbling of the inside of his lower lip. You didn't want him to cast doubt on every decision that led him to this place.

“But we probably shouldn't think too much about it,” you suggested. “Do what you feel like doing. It's your home and…” You shrugged.

“My home and my wife?” Bucky tilted his head slightly, this time watching you with a somewhat challenging look.

You just smiled, considering it the only appropriate response to this gentle provocation, and turned around with the intention of continuing to prepare your meal. You managed to reach for the pan and set it on the stove when Bucky stood behind you. You heard his approaching footsteps, but rather thought he was going to put his cup in the sink. Instead, you felt his body almost against your back; he wasn't touching you, but his presence was nearly tangible.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” he asked in a low voice, and as your breath caught in your throat, his brushed your neck.

“I think so,” you didn't have to whisper, but your tone automatically matched his. 

Bucky moved as close to you as possible; his torso was in contact with your back so tightly that you could feel the quickened, uneasy beating of his heart. His arms wrapped around your body at rib height, and your hands reflexively rested on his forearms. Bucky leaned his chin on your shoulder. You didn't speak, absorbing this closeness in silence. For a moment, you forgot about the months of separation; about the fact that you weren't actually connected by true, deep affection – in that moment, it felt like you had known him forever.

He placed a light kiss on your neck, making you shiver; your shoulder lifted up to your ear, trying to cover that area.

“That’s scratchy.” You chuckled quietly. 

“I'll shave in a minute,” he muttered into your skin.

“You don't have to,” you protested right away. “I like how it feels. I don’t really mind. Besides…” You shrugged. “It suits you.”

You felt Bucky's lips, still on your neck, stretch in a smile. 

“Leave it,” he spoke after a while. “I'll get us some breakfast,” he added, and only then did you realize what he was actually talking about. 

“It's not like I was going to prepare a three course meal.” You raised your eyebrows. “Anyway…” you hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “I have to be at the gallery soon.”

Bucky groaned. “Today? Why?”

You turned around carefully enough not to break out of his embrace. You looked at his face – besides the obvious disappointment, from this distance you could see perfectly well how tired he was. You pressed your lips together, and as if that would make things better, you raised your hands to his cheeks. It appeared that you were right – the helpless displeasure in Bucky's eyes eased; he softened, relaxed under your touch.

“We are organizing a bigger exhibition. I started it while you were away, and I didn't know when you would return. I don't want to rush it,” you explained. Bucky looked at you carefully, as if to help himself process your words and come to terms with their meaning. “I also have a meeting scheduled with one investor today, so I need to be there.”

“Sure, I understand…” Bucky sighed. You were a little surprised by his stance – you thought he would appreciate a few hours to catch his breath; a few hours just for himself. Apparently, he liked you more than you assumed, and it honestly made you happy. “But I'll drive you there. And then I'll pick you up.” 

“Okay.” You beamed in a way that teenage girls used to give to boys waiting in the parking lot of the school after classes were over. “I'll go get dressed.”

When you moved away from him, Bucky imperceptibly pinched your ass, making you giggle and quicken your step towards the exit from the kitchen.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You looked directly at Adrian, saw his lips moving, but no, you weren't listening to him. At least not for the past few minutes, when the conversation began to gently drift away from the subject of the gallery. Instead of concentrating on what at some point turned into a monologue, you kept returning to your last moments with Bucky – to him showing up in the bedroom shortly after you; he had settled back on the bed, leaning on his elbow, unceremoniously watching you get dressed. Although, you didn't rid of his t-shirt until you'd put on your underwear, Bucky seemed satisfied with the view – focused almost to the point of forgetting the rest of the world, he observed you slipping into a short dress; short enough that he didn't have to put particularly much effort into getting to you when you were both filled with desire all over again.

So no, you weren't listening to Adrian. You were thinking about a quickie before work.

“Of course I am.” You smiled playfully.

“Yeah? So what did I say?”

Adrian wasn't really your investor – he didn't benefit financially. You met him through Connie, so you trusted that relationship to some extent. And at the very beginning you hoped that Adrian – as a young, fearless man – would not have hidden motivations. It quickly became clear that he was interested in you, and that you couldn't draw a hard line. His money was a comfortable addition to the gallery's business; paradoxically, it gave you more freedom. You were young and the gallery was a relatively fresh venture to say no to anyone who had shady intentions towards you.

“The usual. Y/N, go out with me. I'm begging,” you said, making Adrian laugh. Fortunately.

“So maybe you should actually consider it?” He tilted his head. “And what are you thinking about so hard anyway?”

“About my husband,” you responded without hesitation. “You know I have a husband, right? You saw the ring.”

“The thing is…” Adrian sighed. “The last time we saw each other was when? Two days ago? And you didn't have the ring. I'm sorry, but I don't believe you've managed to get married since then.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there is actually no husband,” he continued. “You just don't want to be nagged by men. You are one of those women who are firmly convinced that they can live without one.” 

“Oh, Adrian…” you winced. “Such a pretty face, but what you just said... It ruined everything.”

“So you do like me.”

The buzz of the phone saved you from going any further on this topic. You glanced at the lit up screen.

I’m here.

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Is this some friend of yours? You asked her to pretend to be your ‘husband’ and get you off the hook?” Adrian almost burst out laughing. 

“Mhmm. Something like that…” you mumbled, at the same time replying to Bucky:

Can you come to my office?

You put the phone away, your gaze back on Adrian. “Do you want something to drink?” This suggestion was not only due to the fact that you preferred to treat your sponsor with appropriate courtesy; you didn't want to return to the subject of the husband he didn't believe in, and you couldn't bear to sit in silence and stare. “Because I do,” you confessed, mainly to get up from your seat and take at least a few steps away. 

“I’d love to.”

From the cabinet you kept alcohol in, you reached for a bottle of an expensive whisky. “The usual, right?” 

But Adrian had no chance to answer. He was overtaken by a knock and soon after, Bucky appeared in the entrance. Wearing the leather jacket you last saw that evening after your father's funeral, holding a helmet. Your attention, however, was caught by something else – the brief moment of confusion crossing his face. 

“Jamie,” you uttered softly. He didn't immediately shift his gaze to you. “Jamie,” you repeated after a moment – way more conscious than the first time – having remembered that you were not alone, “this is Adrian Lancy, my investor. Adrian, this is James Barnes-”

“The husband,” Bucky said, an insincere smile stretching his mouth as he shook Adrian's hand. That same smile stayed on his face when he approached you. Placing his hand on your hip, he planted a brief but tender kiss on your cheek. “Hi, babe.” He raised an eyebrow, and you stopped yourself from snorting a laugh. Bucky intended to be painfully obvious.

“Want something to drink, babe?”

Bucky glanced at your lips, then smirked. “No, I’m good.”

He put his helmet down on the desktop and took a seat in your chair. At that moment he looked stunning – very bossy; you could easily imagine him taking the throne of the Underworld; becoming the head of his Family. 

“So,” Adrian began, “you ride motorcycles, Mr. Barnes?”

“Among other things, yeah,” he confirmed without any desire to elaborate, therefore dropping the subject. “Aren't the working hours already over?” Bucky cleared his throat. “If I were insanely jealous I would think you are keeping my wife on purpose. To spend more time with her.” Again that fake, but not blatantly fake smile. 

“Are you insanely jealous?”

A short, dry laugh left Bucky's mouth. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

Holding the drink prepared for you – a few ice cubes poured over a relatively small amount of gin and tonic – you handed the other glass of whiskey to Adrian, then perched on the edge of the desk. You needed your sponsor happy, so in an attempt to make amends for Bucky's behavior, you turned a blind eye to the fact that in this position your dress showed a little more of your body. 

“Well…” Having taken the bait, Adrian started again. “Y/N is not sitting here for free, so personally I don't see any problem. I pay for every hour.”

You didn't know if he intentionally used those exact words, but what you did know was that it took a really trivial reason for Bucky to stand up for you. And that ‘standing up’ was – in most cases – all about painful, harsh physicality. It wasn’t a problem, not for you, but it could be for your business. 

“You'd better pay her a lot, Mr. Lancy.”

You gave Adrian an apologetic look, though he didn't seem offended. But looking at that unsettling, indefinable expression on his face, you would have preferred him to be.

He emptied his glass with one tilt, then got up from his seat. “I'll get going.”

You slid off the desk, and as the men shook hands again, you walked Adrian to the door. Usually you would have accompanied him all the way to the exit of the gallery, but this time you both decided not to get under Bucky's skin any deeper.

Having closed the door, you leaned your back against its surface. Bucky was standing by the desk with his hands in his pockets. He was looking at you with a softness you didn't think you deserved, but there was something else to it.

“You didn’t punch him…” You squinted curiously. “Why?”

Taken aback, Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Did you want me to punch him? I can still catch up to him-”

“No, it's not necessary,” you said, ignoring the tease in his tone. You tilted your head to the side, folding your arms. “I'm just wondering why you spared him.”

“You almost showed him your pants,” he replied, shrugging indifferently. You parted your lips, ready to express offense, but Bucky was right – indeed, you almost showed Adrian your pants. “I gathered he must be important for you. That's why I didn't want to blow it.”

You smiled with affection.

“I'm not sure how to feel about all this,” Bucky continued, squinting slightly. “I'm not surprised. Jealous, yes, but not surprised.” 

“Meaning..?”

“I’m impressed by how you act on men. How you deal with them,” he said. “John Walker, now Adrian, and even... Even me. You wrap everyone you meet around your finger. But I knew that. I knew that from the very beginning,” he stated, frowning. “You're a fucking magnet.” He snorted quietly. 

“Are you mad..?” you asked, your voice so soft it surprised him.

“No, of course not,” he assured immediately. “It's… pretty amazing. But they think they can say and do whatever they want. And that's the part that worries me. That one of these men will go too far, and I won't be around to stop them.” 

You lowered your gaze. You didn't even realize when your fingers began to play nervously with the fabric of your dress. Bucky was right – you were able to deal with men in a way that would benefit you. But it wasn’t like that with him; you didn't want his money, you didn't want favors, you didn't care if he agreed to your every request. You just wanted to be liked by him. Tolerated by him.

“Do you need money, Y/N?” Bucky asked calmly. “Do you need Lancy’s money?”

Lifting your head so fast your neck almost snapped, you looked up at Bucky. A wave of unpleasant heat spread all over your body. You didn’t say a word about that, yet he knew everything. “No,” you lied. 

“Are you sure? Because I have money. And now it's your money, too.”

“Yes, I know,” you replied, giving him the most beaming grin you could afford – hoping to dissuade him from any possible doubts. “Can you take me home now?”

Bucky also smiled, so you got the impression that he believed you, and as a result, wouldn't return to the subject. He grabbed your purse, took his helmet off the desk and walked to you. He watched you with the same cocky smirk when you tried to take your purse from him, but at first he didn't want to let it go.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Barnes?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said casually, shrugging, then reached behind your back to open the door. “Mrs. Barnes.” He nodded. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach – without much effect – you gave him an indulgent look.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

The rays of the harsh morning sun broke in through the huge window, casting a bright glow directly on the bed. The beams of irritating light brushed your face, and you immediately regretted that last night the thought of drawing the curtains hadn't crossed your mind. But there was no room in your head for rational thinking or predicting the future; you were too excited, too overwhelmed for that.

Driven by your instinct to stay awake, instead of falling into further sleep, you lifted your eyelids with difficulty, and your eyes fell involuntarily on the figure lying next to you. For the first time in nearly three months, you had a man in your bed; or rather, it was he who had returned to his bed, and had no choice but to accept that you had usurped it. Eventually, you were both in your shared space, and for the first time you had the opportunity to wake up next to Bucky.

He was sleeping on his stomach, with only one leg under the covers and the rest of his body outside; half of his face was buried in the pillow, the other half was covered by his hair falling down. You admired him with fascination – your eyes ran over his broad back and the muscles it showed; over his strong arms, kissed by the Italian sun. He wasn't doing anything special, nothing spectacular – just breathing, slowly and steadily – yet you could watch him for hours. You feared, however, that he might sense this and wake up, and interrupting Bucky's sleep was the last thing you felt like doing. He had been working hard for the last few months and now he was finally being given a rest. You weren't going to deprive him of the comfort of sleeping in his bed, in a safe, familiar space, so you slipped carefully out from under the covers and headed to the bathroom.

Your sore feet still reminded you of last night – of the hours spent in the club, the alcohol consumed and the men looking at you. Bucky was right – some were looking at you with a strange longing, and at the time you hadn't wondered what it meant. Now, although the question was only just seeking a place in your mind, you were curious about something else: did they know that you belonged to him? You wore the ring, you carried his name, but you haven't yet had the chance to show yourselves in public even once. You assumed that it was the soldiers of the Barnes Family, not leaving your side, let everyone know that you had also become a member of this house. Regardless of whose wife you were, your new name was a kind of warning sign.

As the pleasant stream of warm water washed over your body, your mind was flooded with more questions. For the past few months you had been a wife, but without a husband around. What was your life going to look like from now on? Was Bucky going to fit into your mode, you were going to be forced to fit into his, or were you both going to lead your own separate lives, ignoring each other; your existing routines, habits and needs? 

The water fell on the shower floor and crashed against the tiles with loud splashes; nevertheless, the characteristic click of the door closing reached your ears. You looked over your shoulder, spotting Bucky, and your breath involuntarily stuck in your throat. He was standing by the entrance; with his hair only brushed through with a careless, accidental sweep of his fingers, his boxers framing his hips tightly and such a hungry, raw expression on his face that it instantly made your heart beat faster. You forgot about the fact that you were completely naked; the thought of satisfying this primal need took over your consciousness. Anyway, he soon returned the favor – without taking his determined gaze off you, he removed his underwear and joined you in the shower. Or rather, he attacked you as if you were his helpless prey.

His huge, hard body collided with yours; his arms immediately surrounded you with the purpose of protection from any possible loss of balance due to this sudden, violent push. Bucky's lips – which had reminded you of their existence the previous night, of the pleasure that came from them, and which you still craved – pressed onto yours in a desiring kiss. His beard irritated your tender skin in that strangely pleasurable way, but the truth was that whatever he would do, it would bring you nothing but pleasure. You couldn't imagine doing anything other than simply surrendering to him – you wanted the same thing after all, and you couldn't let him leave you starving and lusting even for a moment; you needed his attention, you needed compensation – you needed him to reward you for those few months during which you had been dying of hunger.

“Fucking missed you, Y/N,” he muttered into your lips.

“Me? Or did you miss this?” you asked innocently, and although he smiled with mild amusement, there was something punishing hidden in that smile. 

“I've thought about fucking you. Many times,” he agreed bluntly, and his hands slid through the sides of your body, from your hips to your ribs, making you shiver. “But I missed you. All of you. Even those stupid questions.”

You stretched your mouth in a wide, bright grin, and looking at him – so beautiful, so ravenous and all yours – you kissed him, placing your hands on his rough cheeks. Bucky's arms once again wrapped around your body and strengthened their hold even tighter than before. You moaned softly, crushed by his own body he pressed you to; you moaned because there was no way he could keep you any closer. Soon you felt the coolness of the tiles on your back – they were like a sharp sting on your heated skin, making you gasp shortly in surprise. Bucky stepped back slightly and stared at your face for a moment. His hand went to your neck, his fingers clenched carefully around it, and when you tried to pull away from the wall in order to get back to his lips, he held you in place without the slightest effort.

“What are you doing, Jamie?” The innocence and helplessness in your voice made Bucky hold his breath at first, then let it out with a loud gasp. As if he was savoring your softness, but in no way intending to take advantage of it. He knew you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“I want you to stay here. For better stability,” he replied with calmness and patience; your heatedness fully deserved just such an approach. 

“Stability..?”

Without taking his eyes off you, he knelt down. He carefully grabbed your ankle, and you obediently allowed him to lift your leg, which he finally put over his shoulder. You parted your lips, watching him with astonishment.

Bucky's eyes bore relentlessly into yours, his hands rested on your hips and his tongue slid lazily over your swollen, throbbing clit. You let out a shuddering breath, then sank your teeth into your lower lip. Bucky's hands clenched more securely on your body and his tongue began to rub against your knot – exploratory at first, since he was more than happy to learn your body's reactions and draw conclusions, and when he finally found the right rhythm, you knew your end was near, but you weren't about to deny yourself from being thrown into that abyss.

One of your hands found its way to his head; you slipped your fingers into his hair, and, whimpering in a desperate search for an outlet for all the pleasures building up inside you, you squeezed them there reflexively as Bucky sucked on your more and more sensitive clit. He closed his eyes, his fingers digging into your hips in a slightly painful, yet terribly satisfying way. You watched him from between half-open eyelids, and if at all possible, you got the impression that he was getting even more pleasure out of it than you were. And instead of weakening in intensity, he wanted more and more; he was no longer massaging your clit, expecting the desired reactions – he was devouring you for his own selfish fulfillment; he was devouring you like a starving man, and his appetite grew as he ate. You could feel his frustration; you could feel that he himself was left unsatisfied, and it was these desperate actions that pushed you to the edge. Leaning you against the wall earlier was a clever move - now it was keeping you safe, as your legs grew softer and softer until they finally refused to cooperate completely. Fortunately, there was Bucky under you.

Your chest rose and fell along with quick, short breaths. Not only were they coming out of your throat, but also the moans that accompanied them. For the past few months, not once had you thought the long wait would be worth it – you didn't think anyone could have given you such pleasure. Now it was growing in intensity in your lower stomach until it finally exploded, shaking your weak body with strong spasms. 

“I've got you, baby,” you heard, and the soft tone hardly matched the character of what Bucky had been doing just moments before. But you didn't think about it. You weren't actually thinking about anything; you were fighting for consciousness with the effects of overflowing pleasure. And you were losing, as your legs finally gave up under its weight.

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder, but held it so that when he got up from his knees, it hung at the level of his hip. He put his free hand around his length, and again you felt strangely fascinated by this – he hadn't touched himself once; until now his hands had rested only on your hips. Yet, his cock was hard, wet with precum, twitching in need. It slid into you without any difficulty, but you still felt its thickness stretching you. 

Your lips parted even more, letting out a hollow gasp, and Bucky moaned softly, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't relish the sensation for too long – he started pounding into you, and unlike the previous times, he didn't begin with gentleness. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't wait any longer; not since he finally had the chance to satisfy a need that had been piling up inside him for months – the need to fuck you. To fuck his wife.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, pressing your nails uncontrollably into his heated skin. You tilted your head back against the tiles, and this time their coolness did not bring you the same sobriety. And although you were once again intoxicated almost to the point of unconsciousness, your gaze wandered to the space between you – appearing there only when Bucky withdrew his hips. You watched as he thrust in and out of you, while Bucky observed your face; he absorbed your every grimace and every wince. 

His tongue left you sore and swollen, so his rubbing cock was driving you crazy with every movement. Finally, his hips were slamming against yours so fast, and your position provided you with such a perfect angle that your consciousness began to slip away again.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?” he breathed, adjusting his grip under your thigh.

“Y-yes,” you cried out.  

“How much?”

You forced yourself to look at his face, although your arching back made it difficult for you to do so. You were unable to put together a coherent thought; you were unable to speak it out loud. 

“Huh? How much?” he inquired. His face, too, revealed the near end; his mouth wasn't able to stay closed for more than a split second, and his nostrils flared, trying to provide as much precious air as possible. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me hear it, baby.”

You couldn't take it any longer; every bit of you had waited far too long. And once again, that shattering feeling came over you; this time it shot into every part of your body. You let out a few short, loud moans, and darkness spread before your eyes. Bucky came right after you – seeing the look on your face, the pleasure spreading all over it; hearing those sinful sounds leaving your mouth, his body couldn't act any differently. He went still, making a single, low growl, caught up with a series of heavy breaths as his body relaxed and pressed limply against yours. He still held your leg around his hip, and with the rest of the strength he had, he put his other hand on the wall right next to your shoulder, giving you both support. For the time you needed to recover.

Shortly after, Bucky turned off the water, and then you felt his hands on your body again; one somewhere on your back, the other under your thighs. You were exhausted and still dizzy, but you embraced his neck loosely for a better grip. And when you ended up in your husband's arms, your body was finally able to rest.

This time, the bedroom was pleasantly dim. You've had a nap once or twice since leaving the bathroom; although you slept through the whole night, there were several things that contributed to absorbing all your energy. 

You looked over your shoulder at Bucky lying next to you. Breathing slowly and quietly, he seemed to be asleep. You sat up carefully, and the mattress bending under your movements alarmed him. Not enough to wake him, but his fingers twitched nervously. If you had made another move, you would probably have snapped him out of this blissful state. So you waited for a moment, sitting still.

Finally, you lowered your feet to the floor, got up and moved silently to the bedroom door, mindlessly fixing Bucky's t-shirt – he gave it to you after the shower, since you needed something comfortable to put on. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

With your hand on the doorknob, you froze, then looked back slowly. Bucky's eyes stayed closed. 

“Nowhere,” you replied in a whisper; his not fully conscious state didn't require a louder tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. You didn't want to give him a chance to say anything more, to get his mind going. So you left the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Having stepped into the kitchen, you involuntarily followed the routine you had developed over the past months – a thoughtless peek into the fridge, turning on the coffee maker, then back to the fridge, and only then did you consciously consider a meal. You reached for the eggs, and despite the coffee maker already working, you got yourself a glass of cold water. 

You stretched, then rested your palms on the countertop, your eyelids still heavy, a bit swollen. This time you didn't despise the sun, but happily exposed your face to it.

Something told you to open your eyes. Having turned your head, you rested your chin on your shoulder. Bucky was standing in the entrance to the kitchen – he was watching you, leaning against the doorframe, and when you finally noticed him, he took a seat in a high chair by the kitchen island.

“Can't sleep without me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Looks like it,” Bucky bit back. “Actually…” he began, and his tone as well as his expression indicated that he was going to say something sincere; to break out a little from the unserious atmosphere of your conversation. “I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I guess in…” His mouth curved into a half-smile as he vaguely thought about it, “three years.” 

Your stomach knotted, forcing you to inhale deeply. 

“Did I say something wrong..?”

“No, of course not,” you protested right away. “I just didn't expect that…” you paused, unsure of what to actually respond.

“That you would work on me like that?” Bucky's calmness took away the seriousness of the situation, but that didn't mean your heart accepted this position; it pounded hard, almost painfully. “Neither did I. I get why my body acts like the body of a horny teenager around you, but I don’t get this.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back an indulgent, amused smile. 

Bucky slipped from his seat and reached for a cup to fill it with coffee. Watching him curiously, you leaned against the edge of the countertop. Until a while back, he was a stranger to you; you limited yourselves to brief glances and seemingly meaningless conversations, which in the end brought you closer together. Although you were still strangers to each other, in theory, Bucky was the closest person to you. Marriage didn't terrify you as much as it used to, because you ended up with him.

“What?” Bucky's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You must have been looking at him while drifting off.

“It’s… weird.” You squinted. He gave you a confused look. “You. Here,” you explained. “I’m not used to this. To having someone around,” you continued, coming to realize all this while making Bucky understand your thoughts. “We haven't- We haven’t really had the chance to... you know, live as a married couple.” 

“Yeah…” he agreed, looking away. 

You thought you were strangers to each other, yet you knew perfectly well that absent-minded gaze; the one combined with the thoughtless nibbling of the inside of his lower lip. You didn't want him to cast doubt on every decision that led him to this place.

“But we probably shouldn't think too much about it,” you suggested. “Do what you feel like doing. It's your home and…” You shrugged.

“My home and my wife?” Bucky tilted his head slightly, this time watching you with a somewhat challenging look.

You just smiled, considering it the only appropriate response to this gentle provocation, and turned around with the intention of continuing to prepare your meal. You managed to reach for the pan and set it on the stove when Bucky stood behind you. You heard his approaching footsteps, but rather thought he was going to put his cup in the sink. Instead, you felt his body almost against your back; he wasn't touching you, but his presence was nearly tangible.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” he asked in a low voice, and as your breath caught in your throat, his brushed your neck.

“I think so,” you didn't have to whisper, but your tone automatically matched his. 

Bucky moved as close to you as possible; his torso was in contact with your back so tightly that you could feel the quickened, uneasy beating of his heart. His arms wrapped around your body at rib height, and your hands reflexively rested on his forearms. Bucky leaned his chin on your shoulder. You didn't speak, absorbing this closeness in silence. For a moment, you forgot about the months of separation; about the fact that you weren't actually connected by true, deep affection – in that moment, it felt like you had known him forever.

He placed a light kiss on your neck, making you shiver; your shoulder lifted up to your ear, trying to cover that area.

“That’s scratchy.” You chuckled quietly. 

“I'll shave in a minute,” he muttered into your skin.

“You don't have to,” you protested right away. “I like how it feels. I don’t really mind. Besides…” You shrugged. “It suits you.”

You felt Bucky's lips, still on your neck, stretch in a smile. 

“Leave it,” he spoke after a while. “I'll get us some breakfast,” he added, and only then did you realize what he was actually talking about. 

“It's not like I was going to prepare a three course meal.” You raised your eyebrows. “Anyway…” you hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “I have to be at the gallery soon.”

Bucky groaned. “Today? Why?”

You turned around carefully enough not to break out of his embrace. You looked at his face – besides the obvious disappointment, from this distance you could see perfectly well how tired he was. You pressed your lips together, and as if that would make things better, you raised your hands to his cheeks. It appeared that you were right – the helpless displeasure in Bucky's eyes eased; he softened, relaxed under your touch.

“We are organizing a bigger exhibition. I started it while you were away, and I didn't know when you would return. I don't want to rush it,” you explained. Bucky looked at you carefully, as if to help himself process your words and come to terms with their meaning. “I also have a meeting scheduled with one investor today, so I need to be there.”

“Sure, I understand…” Bucky sighed. You were a little surprised by his stance – you thought he would appreciate a few hours to catch his breath; a few hours just for himself. Apparently, he liked you more than you assumed, and it honestly made you happy. “But I'll drive you there. And then I'll pick you up.” 

“Okay.” You beamed in a way that teenage girls used to give to boys waiting in the parking lot of the school after classes were over. “I'll go get dressed.”

When you moved away from him, Bucky imperceptibly pinched your ass, making you giggle and quicken your step towards the exit from the kitchen.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You looked directly at Adrian, saw his lips moving, but no, you weren't listening to him. At least not for the past few minutes, when the conversation began to gently drift away from the subject of the gallery. Instead of concentrating on what at some point turned into a monologue, you kept returning to your last moments with Bucky – to him showing up in the bedroom shortly after you; he had settled back on the bed, leaning on his elbow, unceremoniously watching you get dressed. Although, you didn't rid of his t-shirt until you'd put on your underwear, Bucky seemed satisfied with the view – focused almost to the point of forgetting the rest of the world, he observed you slipping into a short dress; short enough that he didn't have to put particularly much effort into getting to you when you were both filled with desire all over again.

So no, you weren't listening to Adrian. You were thinking about a quickie before work.

“Of course I am.” You smiled playfully.

“Yeah? So what did I say?”

Adrian wasn't really your investor – he didn't benefit financially. You met him through Connie, so you trusted that relationship to some extent. And at the very beginning you hoped that Adrian – as a young, fearless man – would not have hidden motivations. It quickly became clear that he was interested in you, and that you couldn't draw a hard line. His money was a comfortable addition to the gallery's business; paradoxically, it gave you more freedom. You were young and the gallery was a relatively fresh venture to say no to anyone who had shady intentions towards you.

“The usual. Y/N, go out with me. I'm begging,” you said, making Adrian laugh. Fortunately.

“So maybe you should actually consider it?” He tilted his head. “And what are you thinking about so hard anyway?”

“About my husband,” you responded without hesitation. “You know I have a husband, right? You saw the ring.”

“The thing is…” Adrian sighed. “The last time we saw each other was when? Two days ago? And you didn't have the ring. I'm sorry, but I don't believe you've managed to get married since then.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there is actually no husband,” he continued. “You just don't want to be nagged by men. You are one of those women who are firmly convinced that they can live without one.” 

“Oh, Adrian…” you winced. “Such a pretty face, but what you just said... It ruined everything.”

“So you do like me.”

The buzz of the phone saved you from going any further on this topic. You glanced at the lit up screen.

I’m here.

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Is this some friend of yours? You asked her to pretend to be your ‘husband’ and get you off the hook?” Adrian almost burst out laughing. 

“Mhmm. Something like that…” you mumbled, at the same time replying to Bucky:

Can you come to my office?

You put the phone away, your gaze back on Adrian. “Do you want something to drink?” This suggestion was not only due to the fact that you preferred to treat your sponsor with appropriate courtesy; you didn't want to return to the subject of the husband he didn't believe in, and you couldn't bear to sit in silence and stare. “Because I do,” you confessed, mainly to get up from your seat and take at least a few steps away. 

“I’d love to.”

From the cabinet you kept alcohol in, you reached for a bottle of an expensive whisky. “The usual, right?” 

But Adrian had no chance to answer. He was overtaken by a knock and soon after, Bucky appeared in the entrance. Wearing the leather jacket you last saw that evening after your father's funeral, holding a helmet. Your attention, however, was caught by something else – the brief moment of confusion crossing his face. 

“Jamie,” you uttered softly. He didn't immediately shift his gaze to you. “Jamie,” you repeated after a moment – way more conscious than the first time – having remembered that you were not alone, “this is Adrian Lancy, my investor. Adrian, this is James Barnes-”

“The husband,” Bucky said, an insincere smile stretching his mouth as he shook Adrian's hand. That same smile stayed on his face when he approached you. Placing his hand on your hip, he planted a brief but tender kiss on your cheek. “Hi, babe.” He raised an eyebrow, and you stopped yourself from snorting a laugh. Bucky intended to be painfully obvious.

“Want something to drink, babe?”

Bucky glanced at your lips, then smirked. “No, I’m good.”

He put his helmet down on the desktop and took a seat in your chair. At that moment he looked stunning – very bossy; you could easily imagine him taking the throne of the Underworld; becoming the head of his Family. 

“So,” Adrian began, “you ride motorcycles, Mr. Barnes?”

“Among other things, yeah,” he confirmed without any desire to elaborate, therefore dropping the subject. “Aren't the working hours already over?” Bucky cleared his throat. “If I were insanely jealous I would think you are keeping my wife on purpose. To spend more time with her.” Again that fake, but not blatantly fake smile. 

“Are you insanely jealous?”

A short, dry laugh left Bucky's mouth. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

Holding the drink prepared for you – a few ice cubes poured over a relatively small amount of gin and tonic – you handed the other glass of whiskey to Adrian, then perched on the edge of the desk. You needed your sponsor happy, so in an attempt to make amends for Bucky's behavior, you turned a blind eye to the fact that in this position your dress showed a little more of your body. 

“Well…” Having taken the bait, Adrian started again. “Y/N is not sitting here for free, so personally I don't see any problem. I pay for every hour.”

You didn't know if he intentionally used those exact words, but what you did know was that it took a really trivial reason for Bucky to stand up for you. And that ‘standing up’ was – in most cases – all about painful, harsh physicality. It wasn’t a problem, not for you, but it could be for your business. 

“You'd better pay her a lot, Mr. Lancy.”

You gave Adrian an apologetic look, though he didn't seem offended. But looking at that unsettling, indefinable expression on his face, you would have preferred him to be.

He emptied his glass with one tilt, then got up from his seat. “I'll get going.”

You slid off the desk, and as the men shook hands again, you walked Adrian to the door. Usually you would have accompanied him all the way to the exit of the gallery, but this time you both decided not to get under Bucky's skin any deeper.

Having closed the door, you leaned your back against its surface. Bucky was standing by the desk with his hands in his pockets. He was looking at you with a softness you didn't think you deserved, but there was something else to it.

“You didn’t punch him…” You squinted curiously. “Why?”

Taken aback, Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Did you want me to punch him? I can still catch up to him-”

“No, it's not necessary,” you said, ignoring the tease in his tone. You tilted your head to the side, folding your arms. “I'm just wondering why you spared him.”

“You almost showed him your pants,” he replied, shrugging indifferently. You parted your lips, ready to express offense, but Bucky was right – indeed, you almost showed Adrian your pants. “I gathered he must be important for you. That's why I didn't want to blow it.”

You smiled with affection.

“I'm not sure how to feel about all this,” Bucky continued, squinting slightly. “I'm not surprised. Jealous, yes, but not surprised.” 

“Meaning..?”

“I’m impressed by how you act on men. How you deal with them,” he said. “John Walker, now Adrian, and even... Even me. You wrap everyone you meet around your finger. But I knew that. I knew that from the very beginning,” he stated, frowning. “You're a fucking magnet.” He snorted quietly. 

“Are you mad..?” you asked, your voice so soft it surprised him.

“No, of course not,” he assured immediately. “It's… pretty amazing. But they think they can say and do whatever they want. And that's the part that worries me. That one of these men will go too far, and I won't be around to stop them.” 

You lowered your gaze. You didn't even realize when your fingers began to play nervously with the fabric of your dress. Bucky was right – you were able to deal with men in a way that would benefit you. But it wasn’t like that with him; you didn't want his money, you didn't want favors, you didn't care if he agreed to your every request. You just wanted to be liked by him. Tolerated by him.

“Do you need money, Y/N?” Bucky asked calmly. “Do you need Lancy’s money?”

Lifting your head so fast your neck almost snapped, you looked up at Bucky. A wave of unpleasant heat spread all over your body. You didn’t say a word about that, yet he knew everything. “No,” you lied. 

“Are you sure? Because I have money. And now it's your money, too.”

“Yes, I know,” you replied, giving him the most beaming grin you could afford – hoping to dissuade him from any possible doubts. “Can you take me home now?”

Bucky also smiled, so you got the impression that he believed you, and as a result, wouldn't return to the subject. He grabbed your purse, took his helmet off the desk and walked to you. He watched you with the same cocky smirk when you tried to take your purse from him, but at first he didn't want to let it go.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Barnes?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said casually, shrugging, then reached behind your back to open the door. “Mrs. Barnes.” He nodded. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach – without much effect – you gave him an indulgent look.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

The rays of the harsh morning sun broke in through the huge window, casting a bright glow directly on the bed. The beams of irritating light brushed your face, and you immediately regretted that last night the thought of drawing the curtains hadn't crossed your mind. But there was no room in your head for rational thinking or predicting the future; you were too excited, too overwhelmed for that.

Driven by your instinct to stay awake, instead of falling into further sleep, you lifted your eyelids with difficulty, and your eyes fell involuntarily on the figure lying next to you. For the first time in nearly three months, you had a man in your bed; or rather, it was he who had returned to his bed, and had no choice but to accept that you had usurped it. Eventually, you were both in your shared space, and for the first time you had the opportunity to wake up next to Bucky.

He was sleeping on his stomach, with only one leg under the covers and the rest of his body outside; half of his face was buried in the pillow, the other half was covered by his hair falling down. You admired him with fascination – your eyes ran over his broad back and the muscles it showed; over his strong arms, kissed by the Italian sun. He wasn't doing anything special, nothing spectacular – just breathing, slowly and steadily – yet you could watch him for hours. You feared, however, that he might sense this and wake up, and interrupting Bucky's sleep was the last thing you felt like doing. He had been working hard for the last few months and now he was finally being given a rest. You weren't going to deprive him of the comfort of sleeping in his bed, in a safe, familiar space, so you slipped carefully out from under the covers and headed to the bathroom.

Your sore feet still reminded you of last night – of the hours spent in the club, the alcohol consumed and the men looking at you. Bucky was right – some were looking at you with a strange longing, and at the time you hadn't wondered what it meant. Now, although the question was only just seeking a place in your mind, you were curious about something else: did they know that you belonged to him? You wore the ring, you carried his name, but you haven't yet had the chance to show yourselves in public even once. You assumed that it was the soldiers of the Barnes Family, not leaving your side, let everyone know that you had also become a member of this house. Regardless of whose wife you were, your new name was a kind of warning sign.

As the pleasant stream of warm water washed over your body, your mind was flooded with more questions. For the past few months you had been a wife, but without a husband around. What was your life going to look like from now on? Was Bucky going to fit into your mode, you were going to be forced to fit into his, or were you both going to lead your own separate lives, ignoring each other; your existing routines, habits and needs? 

The water fell on the shower floor and crashed against the tiles with loud splashes; nevertheless, the characteristic click of the door closing reached your ears. You looked over your shoulder, spotting Bucky, and your breath involuntarily stuck in your throat. He was standing by the entrance; with his hair only brushed through with a careless, accidental sweep of his fingers, his boxers framing his hips tightly and such a hungry, raw expression on his face that it instantly made your heart beat faster. You forgot about the fact that you were completely naked; the thought of satisfying this primal need took over your consciousness. Anyway, he soon returned the favor – without taking his determined gaze off you, he removed his underwear and joined you in the shower. Or rather, he attacked you as if you were his helpless prey.

His huge, hard body collided with yours; his arms immediately surrounded you with the purpose of protection from any possible loss of balance due to this sudden, violent push. Bucky's lips – which had reminded you of their existence the previous night, of the pleasure that came from them, and which you still craved – pressed onto yours in a desiring kiss. His beard irritated your tender skin in that strangely pleasurable way, but the truth was that whatever he would do, it would bring you nothing but pleasure. You couldn't imagine doing anything other than simply surrendering to him – you wanted the same thing after all, and you couldn't let him leave you starving and lusting even for a moment; you needed his attention, you needed compensation – you needed him to reward you for those few months during which you had been dying of hunger.

“Fucking missed you, Y/N,” he muttered into your lips.

“Me? Or did you miss this?” you asked innocently, and although he smiled with mild amusement, there was something punishing hidden in that smile. 

“I've thought about fucking you. Many times,” he agreed bluntly, and his hands slid through the sides of your body, from your hips to your ribs, making you shiver. “But I missed you. All of you. Even those stupid questions.”

You stretched your mouth in a wide, bright grin, and looking at him – so beautiful, so ravenous and all yours – you kissed him, placing your hands on his rough cheeks. Bucky's arms once again wrapped around your body and strengthened their hold even tighter than before. You moaned softly, crushed by his own body he pressed you to; you moaned because there was no way he could keep you any closer. Soon you felt the coolness of the tiles on your back – they were like a sharp sting on your heated skin, making you gasp shortly in surprise. Bucky stepped back slightly and stared at your face for a moment. His hand went to your neck, his fingers clenched carefully around it, and when you tried to pull away from the wall in order to get back to his lips, he held you in place without the slightest effort.

“What are you doing, Jamie?” The innocence and helplessness in your voice made Bucky hold his breath at first, then let it out with a loud gasp. As if he was savoring your softness, but in no way intending to take advantage of it. He knew you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“I want you to stay here. For better stability,” he replied with calmness and patience; your heatedness fully deserved just such an approach. 

“Stability..?”

Without taking his eyes off you, he knelt down. He carefully grabbed your ankle, and you obediently allowed him to lift your leg, which he finally put over his shoulder. You parted your lips, watching him with astonishment.

Bucky's eyes bore relentlessly into yours, his hands rested on your hips and his tongue slid lazily over your swollen, throbbing clit. You let out a shuddering breath, then sank your teeth into your lower lip. Bucky's hands clenched more securely on your body and his tongue began to rub against your knot – exploratory at first, since he was more than happy to learn your body's reactions and draw conclusions, and when he finally found the right rhythm, you knew your end was near, but you weren't about to deny yourself from being thrown into that abyss.

One of your hands found its way to his head; you slipped your fingers into his hair, and, whimpering in a desperate search for an outlet for all the pleasures building up inside you, you squeezed them there reflexively as Bucky sucked on your more and more sensitive clit. He closed his eyes, his fingers digging into your hips in a slightly painful, yet terribly satisfying way. You watched him from between half-open eyelids, and if at all possible, you got the impression that he was getting even more pleasure out of it than you were. And instead of weakening in intensity, he wanted more and more; he was no longer massaging your clit, expecting the desired reactions – he was devouring you for his own selfish fulfillment; he was devouring you like a starving man, and his appetite grew as he ate. You could feel his frustration; you could feel that he himself was left unsatisfied, and it was these desperate actions that pushed you to the edge. Leaning you against the wall earlier was a clever move - now it was keeping you safe, as your legs grew softer and softer until they finally refused to cooperate completely. Fortunately, there was Bucky under you.

Your chest rose and fell along with quick, short breaths. Not only were they coming out of your throat, but also the moans that accompanied them. For the past few months, not once had you thought the long wait would be worth it – you didn't think anyone could have given you such pleasure. Now it was growing in intensity in your lower stomach until it finally exploded, shaking your weak body with strong spasms. 

“I've got you, baby,” you heard, and the soft tone hardly matched the character of what Bucky had been doing just moments before. But you didn't think about it. You weren't actually thinking about anything; you were fighting for consciousness with the effects of overflowing pleasure. And you were losing, as your legs finally gave up under its weight.

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder, but held it so that when he got up from his knees, it hung at the level of his hip. He put his free hand around his length, and again you felt strangely fascinated by this – he hadn't touched himself once; until now his hands had rested only on your hips. Yet, his cock was hard, wet with precum, twitching in need. It slid into you without any difficulty, but you still felt its thickness stretching you. 

Your lips parted even more, letting out a hollow gasp, and Bucky moaned softly, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't relish the sensation for too long – he started pounding into you, and unlike the previous times, he didn't begin with gentleness. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't wait any longer; not since he finally had the chance to satisfy a need that had been piling up inside him for months – the need to fuck you. To fuck his wife.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, pressing your nails uncontrollably into his heated skin. You tilted your head back against the tiles, and this time their coolness did not bring you the same sobriety. And although you were once again intoxicated almost to the point of unconsciousness, your gaze wandered to the space between you – appearing there only when Bucky withdrew his hips. You watched as he thrust in and out of you, while Bucky observed your face; he absorbed your every grimace and every wince. 

His tongue left you sore and swollen, so his rubbing cock was driving you crazy with every movement. Finally, his hips were slamming against yours so fast, and your position provided you with such a perfect angle that your consciousness began to slip away again.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?” he breathed, adjusting his grip under your thigh.

“Y-yes,” you cried out.  

“How much?”

You forced yourself to look at his face, although your arching back made it difficult for you to do so. You were unable to put together a coherent thought; you were unable to speak it out loud. 

“Huh? How much?” he inquired. His face, too, revealed the near end; his mouth wasn't able to stay closed for more than a split second, and his nostrils flared, trying to provide as much precious air as possible. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me hear it, baby.”

You couldn't take it any longer; every bit of you had waited far too long. And once again, that shattering feeling came over you; this time it shot into every part of your body. You let out a few short, loud moans, and darkness spread before your eyes. Bucky came right after you – seeing the look on your face, the pleasure spreading all over it; hearing those sinful sounds leaving your mouth, his body couldn't act any differently. He went still, making a single, low growl, caught up with a series of heavy breaths as his body relaxed and pressed limply against yours. He still held your leg around his hip, and with the rest of the strength he had, he put his other hand on the wall right next to your shoulder, giving you both support. For the time you needed to recover.

Shortly after, Bucky turned off the water, and then you felt his hands on your body again; one somewhere on your back, the other under your thighs. You were exhausted and still dizzy, but you embraced his neck loosely for a better grip. And when you ended up in your husband's arms, your body was finally able to rest.

This time, the bedroom was pleasantly dim. You've had a nap once or twice since leaving the bathroom; although you slept through the whole night, there were several things that contributed to absorbing all your energy. 

You looked over your shoulder at Bucky lying next to you. Breathing slowly and quietly, he seemed to be asleep. You sat up carefully, and the mattress bending under your movements alarmed him. Not enough to wake him, but his fingers twitched nervously. If you had made another move, you would probably have snapped him out of this blissful state. So you waited for a moment, sitting still.

Finally, you lowered your feet to the floor, got up and moved silently to the bedroom door, mindlessly fixing Bucky's t-shirt – he gave it to you after the shower, since you needed something comfortable to put on. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

With your hand on the doorknob, you froze, then looked back slowly. Bucky's eyes stayed closed. 

“Nowhere,” you replied in a whisper; his not fully conscious state didn't require a louder tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. You didn't want to give him a chance to say anything more, to get his mind going. So you left the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Having stepped into the kitchen, you involuntarily followed the routine you had developed over the past months – a thoughtless peek into the fridge, turning on the coffee maker, then back to the fridge, and only then did you consciously consider a meal. You reached for the eggs, and despite the coffee maker already working, you got yourself a glass of cold water. 

You stretched, then rested your palms on the countertop, your eyelids still heavy, a bit swollen. This time you didn't despise the sun, but happily exposed your face to it.

Something told you to open your eyes. Having turned your head, you rested your chin on your shoulder. Bucky was standing in the entrance to the kitchen – he was watching you, leaning against the doorframe, and when you finally noticed him, he took a seat in a high chair by the kitchen island.

“Can't sleep without me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Looks like it,” Bucky bit back. “Actually…” he began, and his tone as well as his expression indicated that he was going to say something sincere; to break out a little from the unserious atmosphere of your conversation. “I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I guess in…” His mouth curved into a half-smile as he vaguely thought about it, “three years.” 

Your stomach knotted, forcing you to inhale deeply. 

“Did I say something wrong..?”

“No, of course not,” you protested right away. “I just didn't expect that…” you paused, unsure of what to actually respond.

“That you would work on me like that?” Bucky's calmness took away the seriousness of the situation, but that didn't mean your heart accepted this position; it pounded hard, almost painfully. “Neither did I. I get why my body acts like the body of a horny teenager around you, but I don’t get this.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back an indulgent, amused smile. 

Bucky slipped from his seat and reached for a cup to fill it with coffee. Watching him curiously, you leaned against the edge of the countertop. Until a while back, he was a stranger to you; you limited yourselves to brief glances and seemingly meaningless conversations, which in the end brought you closer together. Although you were still strangers to each other, in theory, Bucky was the closest person to you. Marriage didn't terrify you as much as it used to, because you ended up with him.

“What?” Bucky's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You must have been looking at him while drifting off.

“It’s… weird.” You squinted. He gave you a confused look. “You. Here,” you explained. “I’m not used to this. To having someone around,” you continued, coming to realize all this while making Bucky understand your thoughts. “We haven't- We haven’t really had the chance to... you know, live as a married couple.” 

“Yeah…” he agreed, looking away. 

You thought you were strangers to each other, yet you knew perfectly well that absent-minded gaze; the one combined with the thoughtless nibbling of the inside of his lower lip. You didn't want him to cast doubt on every decision that led him to this place.

“But we probably shouldn't think too much about it,” you suggested. “Do what you feel like doing. It's your home and…” You shrugged.

“My home and my wife?” Bucky tilted his head slightly, this time watching you with a somewhat challenging look.

You just smiled, considering it the only appropriate response to this gentle provocation, and turned around with the intention of continuing to prepare your meal. You managed to reach for the pan and set it on the stove when Bucky stood behind you. You heard his approaching footsteps, but rather thought he was going to put his cup in the sink. Instead, you felt his body almost against your back; he wasn't touching you, but his presence was nearly tangible.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” he asked in a low voice, and as your breath caught in your throat, his brushed your neck.

“I think so,” you didn't have to whisper, but your tone automatically matched his. 

Bucky moved as close to you as possible; his torso was in contact with your back so tightly that you could feel the quickened, uneasy beating of his heart. His arms wrapped around your body at rib height, and your hands reflexively rested on his forearms. Bucky leaned his chin on your shoulder. You didn't speak, absorbing this closeness in silence. For a moment, you forgot about the months of separation; about the fact that you weren't actually connected by true, deep affection – in that moment, it felt like you had known him forever.

He placed a light kiss on your neck, making you shiver; your shoulder lifted up to your ear, trying to cover that area.

“That’s scratchy.” You chuckled quietly. 

“I'll shave in a minute,” he muttered into your skin.

“You don't have to,” you protested right away. “I like how it feels. I don’t really mind. Besides…” You shrugged. “It suits you.”

You felt Bucky's lips, still on your neck, stretch in a smile. 

“Leave it,” he spoke after a while. “I'll get us some breakfast,” he added, and only then did you realize what he was actually talking about. 

“It's not like I was going to prepare a three course meal.” You raised your eyebrows. “Anyway…” you hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “I have to be at the gallery soon.”

Bucky groaned. “Today? Why?”

You turned around carefully enough not to break out of his embrace. You looked at his face – besides the obvious disappointment, from this distance you could see perfectly well how tired he was. You pressed your lips together, and as if that would make things better, you raised your hands to his cheeks. It appeared that you were right – the helpless displeasure in Bucky's eyes eased; he softened, relaxed under your touch.

“We are organizing a bigger exhibition. I started it while you were away, and I didn't know when you would return. I don't want to rush it,” you explained. Bucky looked at you carefully, as if to help himself process your words and come to terms with their meaning. “I also have a meeting scheduled with one investor today, so I need to be there.”

“Sure, I understand…” Bucky sighed. You were a little surprised by his stance – you thought he would appreciate a few hours to catch his breath; a few hours just for himself. Apparently, he liked you more than you assumed, and it honestly made you happy. “But I'll drive you there. And then I'll pick you up.” 

“Okay.” You beamed in a way that teenage girls used to give to boys waiting in the parking lot of the school after classes were over. “I'll go get dressed.”

When you moved away from him, Bucky imperceptibly pinched your ass, making you giggle and quicken your step towards the exit from the kitchen.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You looked directly at Adrian, saw his lips moving, but no, you weren't listening to him. At least not for the past few minutes, when the conversation began to gently drift away from the subject of the gallery. Instead of concentrating on what at some point turned into a monologue, you kept returning to your last moments with Bucky – to him showing up in the bedroom shortly after you; he had settled back on the bed, leaning on his elbow, unceremoniously watching you get dressed. Although, you didn't rid of his t-shirt until you'd put on your underwear, Bucky seemed satisfied with the view – focused almost to the point of forgetting the rest of the world, he observed you slipping into a short dress; short enough that he didn't have to put particularly much effort into getting to you when you were both filled with desire all over again.

So no, you weren't listening to Adrian. You were thinking about a quickie before work.

“Of course I am.” You smiled playfully.

“Yeah? So what did I say?”

Adrian wasn't really your investor – he didn't benefit financially. You met him through Connie, so you trusted that relationship to some extent. And at the very beginning you hoped that Adrian – as a young, fearless man – would not have hidden motivations. It quickly became clear that he was interested in you, and that you couldn't draw a hard line. His money was a comfortable addition to the gallery's business; paradoxically, it gave you more freedom. You were young and the gallery was a relatively fresh venture to say no to anyone who had shady intentions towards you.

“The usual. Y/N, go out with me. I'm begging,” you said, making Adrian laugh. Fortunately.

“So maybe you should actually consider it?” He tilted his head. “And what are you thinking about so hard anyway?”

“About my husband,” you responded without hesitation. “You know I have a husband, right? You saw the ring.”

“The thing is…” Adrian sighed. “The last time we saw each other was when? Two days ago? And you didn't have the ring. I'm sorry, but I don't believe you've managed to get married since then.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there is actually no husband,” he continued. “You just don't want to be nagged by men. You are one of those women who are firmly convinced that they can live without one.” 

“Oh, Adrian…” you winced. “Such a pretty face, but what you just said... It ruined everything.”

“So you do like me.”

The buzz of the phone saved you from going any further on this topic. You glanced at the lit up screen.

I’m here.

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Is this some friend of yours? You asked her to pretend to be your ‘husband’ and get you off the hook?” Adrian almost burst out laughing. 

“Mhmm. Something like that…” you mumbled, at the same time replying to Bucky:

Can you come to my office?

You put the phone away, your gaze back on Adrian. “Do you want something to drink?” This suggestion was not only due to the fact that you preferred to treat your sponsor with appropriate courtesy; you didn't want to return to the subject of the husband he didn't believe in, and you couldn't bear to sit in silence and stare. “Because I do,” you confessed, mainly to get up from your seat and take at least a few steps away. 

“I’d love to.”

From the cabinet you kept alcohol in, you reached for a bottle of an expensive whisky. “The usual, right?” 

But Adrian had no chance to answer. He was overtaken by a knock and soon after, Bucky appeared in the entrance. Wearing the leather jacket you last saw that evening after your father's funeral, holding a helmet. Your attention, however, was caught by something else – the brief moment of confusion crossing his face. 

“Jamie,” you uttered softly. He didn't immediately shift his gaze to you. “Jamie,” you repeated after a moment – way more conscious than the first time – having remembered that you were not alone, “this is Adrian Lancy, my investor. Adrian, this is James Barnes-”

“The husband,” Bucky said, an insincere smile stretching his mouth as he shook Adrian's hand. That same smile stayed on his face when he approached you. Placing his hand on your hip, he planted a brief but tender kiss on your cheek. “Hi, babe.” He raised an eyebrow, and you stopped yourself from snorting a laugh. Bucky intended to be painfully obvious.

“Want something to drink, babe?”

Bucky glanced at your lips, then smirked. “No, I’m good.”

He put his helmet down on the desktop and took a seat in your chair. At that moment he looked stunning – very bossy; you could easily imagine him taking the throne of the Underworld; becoming the head of his Family. 

“So,” Adrian began, “you ride motorcycles, Mr. Barnes?”

“Among other things, yeah,” he confirmed without any desire to elaborate, therefore dropping the subject. “Aren't the working hours already over?” Bucky cleared his throat. “If I were insanely jealous I would think you are keeping my wife on purpose. To spend more time with her.” Again that fake, but not blatantly fake smile. 

“Are you insanely jealous?”

A short, dry laugh left Bucky's mouth. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

Holding the drink prepared for you – a few ice cubes poured over a relatively small amount of gin and tonic – you handed the other glass of whiskey to Adrian, then perched on the edge of the desk. You needed your sponsor happy, so in an attempt to make amends for Bucky's behavior, you turned a blind eye to the fact that in this position your dress showed a little more of your body. 

“Well…” Having taken the bait, Adrian started again. “Y/N is not sitting here for free, so personally I don't see any problem. I pay for every hour.”

You didn't know if he intentionally used those exact words, but what you did know was that it took a really trivial reason for Bucky to stand up for you. And that ‘standing up’ was – in most cases – all about painful, harsh physicality. It wasn’t a problem, not for you, but it could be for your business. 

“You'd better pay her a lot, Mr. Lancy.”

You gave Adrian an apologetic look, though he didn't seem offended. But looking at that unsettling, indefinable expression on his face, you would have preferred him to be.

He emptied his glass with one tilt, then got up from his seat. “I'll get going.”

You slid off the desk, and as the men shook hands again, you walked Adrian to the door. Usually you would have accompanied him all the way to the exit of the gallery, but this time you both decided not to get under Bucky's skin any deeper.

Having closed the door, you leaned your back against its surface. Bucky was standing by the desk with his hands in his pockets. He was looking at you with a softness you didn't think you deserved, but there was something else to it.

“You didn’t punch him…” You squinted curiously. “Why?”

Taken aback, Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Did you want me to punch him? I can still catch up to him-”

“No, it's not necessary,” you said, ignoring the tease in his tone. You tilted your head to the side, folding your arms. “I'm just wondering why you spared him.”

“You almost showed him your pants,” he replied, shrugging indifferently. You parted your lips, ready to express offense, but Bucky was right – indeed, you almost showed Adrian your pants. “I gathered he must be important for you. That's why I didn't want to blow it.”

You smiled with affection.

“I'm not sure how to feel about all this,” Bucky continued, squinting slightly. “I'm not surprised. Jealous, yes, but not surprised.” 

“Meaning..?”

“I’m impressed by how you act on men. How you deal with them,” he said. “John Walker, now Adrian, and even... Even me. You wrap everyone you meet around your finger. But I knew that. I knew that from the very beginning,” he stated, frowning. “You're a fucking magnet.” He snorted quietly. 

“Are you mad..?” you asked, your voice so soft it surprised him.

“No, of course not,” he assured immediately. “It's… pretty amazing. But they think they can say and do whatever they want. And that's the part that worries me. That one of these men will go too far, and I won't be around to stop them.” 

You lowered your gaze. You didn't even realize when your fingers began to play nervously with the fabric of your dress. Bucky was right – you were able to deal with men in a way that would benefit you. But it wasn’t like that with him; you didn't want his money, you didn't want favors, you didn't care if he agreed to your every request. You just wanted to be liked by him. Tolerated by him.

“Do you need money, Y/N?” Bucky asked calmly. “Do you need Lancy’s money?”

Lifting your head so fast your neck almost snapped, you looked up at Bucky. A wave of unpleasant heat spread all over your body. You didn’t say a word about that, yet he knew everything. “No,” you lied. 

“Are you sure? Because I have money. And now it's your money, too.”

“Yes, I know,” you replied, giving him the most beaming grin you could afford – hoping to dissuade him from any possible doubts. “Can you take me home now?”

Bucky also smiled, so you got the impression that he believed you, and as a result, wouldn't return to the subject. He grabbed your purse, took his helmet off the desk and walked to you. He watched you with the same cocky smirk when you tried to take your purse from him, but at first he didn't want to let it go.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Barnes?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said casually, shrugging, then reached behind your back to open the door. “Mrs. Barnes.” He nodded. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach – without much effect – you gave him an indulgent look.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰