KINDA LIKE SUNSHINE | mob bucky x wife reader
authors notes: a couple of people asked for a part 2 of this mob bucky little thing that i wrote, and this is basically that. is it gonna be a series? who knows, not me! (i don't think it's gonna be) but this was super fun to write so hopefully you enjoy!
warnings: i don't think there's any major ones? arranged marriage (with a happy ending), vague mentions of bucky losing his arm (literally so vague that i haven't even figured out how he lost it), kinda fluffy, grumpy x sunshine trope if you squint.
word count: 2.2K
summary:
being forced into a marriage with someone as cold and hardened as bucky was supposed to be the worst thing that happened to you, but slowly, the ice starts to melt and you realise that maybe it could be worse.
masterlist!
he was trying to be respectful. god help him, he was. he was trying to be a good husband despite the fact his hands were covered in the blood he'd shed over the years—but he was also trying to balance being respectful with being the cold and calculated mob boss that he was.
but god, he'd be lying if he said that his heart didn't do something every time you walked past his office door that he'd intentionally started to leave open, just in case. just in case you floated in like something so innocent, wrapped up in light and warmth that he didn't deserve. you'd started to do that a lot, sit in his office. even when he was sharp and gruff and all but told you to go away, you still gravitated towards the couch on his office, usually tucked away with your book in hand. all the space in the world, and you ended up in his.
you knew that logically, you were supposed to hate him. you hadn't agreed to this, you had no real desire to be married. you'd been nothing more than a pawn in his game for years. about a week in, the anxiety that had consumed you since the wedding day had shifted. a subtle shift, but one nonetheless. for a while, you genuinely wondered if it was some kind of twisted stockholm syndrome. he wasn't exactly cruel towards you, no harsh words or blows exchanged, just a coldness that he wielded like a shield. you couldn't blame him, you weren't entirely convinced that he was sold on the whole thing either.
but slowly, the weeks all blurred into one and you were six months into this whole ordeal and things had changed. his hand lingered on the small of your back as he guided you through crowds, he was quick to jump at any opportunity to shrug his jacket off and drape it across your shoulder when the temperature dropped even a degree, kisses pressed to your temple before he left a room. his words still carried that same coldness, but his actions told a whole different story.
you contemplated bringing it up for three days before you actually did.
you were curled up in bed—the side closest to the window that he'd vacated for you after a half asleep confession one night that you slept better that way—watching him unbutton his shirt slowly and shrug it off, the low light gleaming off the metal of his prosthetic arm. something else that you didn't ask questions about. everyone who talked about it had their own version of how it happened. rivals, car accidents, deals gone wrong.
"you've been acting…" your voice trailed off as you propped yourself up on your elbows, breath hitching ever so slightly as you just looked at him. he was massive, intimidatingly so sometimes, all hard muscle and scars mapped out across his skin like constellations in the night sky. "different."
"different." he repeated, eyebrow raised as he turned just enough to look at you. "different." he wasn't a stupid man, he was far from it, but it never crossed his mind that you'd picked up on it. he thought he was being subtle about it. on the outside, he was the same cool and composed him that he'd always been, but on the inside his heart did a stupid little stutter. "i don't know what you're on about."
"right." you nodded once before you lay back down properly, letting your head sink into the pillow as you stared up at the ceiling. didn't know what you were on about. maybe it was all in your head. that wouldn't be entirely shocking. he was probably just being civil and your brain had managed to work it into something that it wasn't.
you were pulled out of your thoughts by the mattress dipping next to you, his warmth slipping under the blankets next to you. you reached over and knocked the light off, letting the darkness swallow you. the silence stretched on so long that you were almost sure that he'd fell asleep when you felt him shift next to you. there was always a perfectly measured gap between the two of you, even on your wedding night when space was supposed to be the last thing on your minds. but tonight, he scooted closer. close enough that his hip bumped against yours.
it felt like you'd brushed past a livewire, sending a shiver down your spine. touching him wasn't knew, and maybe this was still all in your head, but it felt differently charged to all the others. you just lay there, trying to keep your breathing steady so it didn't betray how you were actually feeling.
both of you were waiting for the other to move, and you were at a stalemate. you spent so long like that that sleep was slowly starting to pull you down. bucky noticed, of course he did. he noticed the way your eyes closed a couple of seconds longer as you fought to keep them open.
when you finally let it take you, it wasn't big or dramatic until it was. right before your eyes closed for good, you rolled over and flung your arm over his waist, face nuzzling into the crook of his neck and he froze. his eyes flickered down but you were already gone, breath evened out and eyes closed.
for the first time in probably forever, he didn't know what to do. he wiggled his arm out from underneath you where you'd just flopped over on it, hand hovering as he tried to decide where the hell he was supposed to put it. he settled your lower back, his thumb rubbing soft circles at the base of your spine.
fuck.
he was fucked.
he didn't fit into a lot of spaces, but he definitely did not fit in the tiny little florists downtown that his family had been using for years. he'd been stood there for half an hour, eyeing up the different kinda of flowers with way too much suspicion. he didn't know which ones were your favorite—which was a great start—so he was already going in half blind.
you didn't seem like a roses person. they were too dark, too thorny, not enough like you. lillies reminded him of death, especially in white, so they were a no go. "if you don't see what you're after, i can always give you a hand." the girl behind the counter offered, setting the bouquet she was working on to the side. "make you something up."
bucky turned to her slowly, almost like he'd forgotten that she was there. "i don't really know her favorite type. she's—" he stopped himself, leaning against the wall as he tried to find the word that he was searching for, the feelings he'd spent hours pushing down. "warm. happy, kinda like sunshine, if that helps any." the woman nodded as she stepped out from behind the counter and making a beeline for different types of flowers. "sunshine." she repeated. "so…lots of yellow, whites, how do you feel about purple?"
bucky nodded once, eyes fixed on her as she worked. purple felt a good option, safe enough. "okay, so… you ever heard about flower language?" she asked as slipped back behind the counter, laying everything out before she started to work. "so, lavender. means a lot of things, usually devotion and constant love. white tulips are purity, respect sometimes. respect, if you're in her bad books."
he scoffed at that, one eyebrow raised. bad books, right. he wasn't even sure he had any of those. he carried on watching, listening to each explanation of every flower that went into the bouquet, your bouquet. each flower meant something, represented another feeling that he couldn't quite vocalise yet. he looked ridiculous as he left the shop with a bunch of flowers bigger than his head. a man like him looked ridiculous with flowers full stop, but it was worth it. you were worth it. he'd known that about thirty seconds into you being stood in front of him at the altar when he'd first realised how done for he really was.
he was so gentle with them on the way home that it was laughable. hands that had bargained and killed and made people disappear were buckling flowers into the front seat like they had a life to lose. but they weren't just flowers. they were yours. and that made them important. he wasn't sure when the switch was flipped, when he developed such a strong urge to protect you—and your things—but it was there and it felt like it was burning him alive the whole ride home.
"sweetheart?" he called out as he cracked the front door open, and then quickly froze in his tracks. the smell of fresh something being baked had taken over the entire house, something deep and rich and chocolatey, the kind that had his mouth watering without permission. you panicked when you heard him, time had completely managed to slip away from you in the middle of your little baking session, and you'd promised yourself mentally that you'd have it cleaned up by the time he got back.
"uh, yeah, no, gimme a sec!' you called back, followed by bowls and utensils clattering together as you haphazardly shoved everything into hiding in the dishwasher. "i just—oh." you whirled around, almost flying into him. you hadn't heard him, you never did, he was good at moving around undetected. what you weren't expecting was the biggest bunch of flowers you'd ever seen in your life peeking out from behind his back.
"oh."
"yeah, oh." he repeated as he presented them with a flourish, a smile spreading across his face as you stared at them with something that looked a lot like awe. you were speechless. "i figured that you, uh—i—for you." he nodded. "for me." you repeated as you took them from him. you looked a mess, flour all over your front, chocolate at the corner of your mouth from taste testing and holding a bouquet that was more than just 'i was thinking about you' flowers. the weight of them was unspoken, but still there. "they're beautiful, really. i don't—i don't really know what i did to deserve them." you said honestly, eyes scanning for a free spot in the middle of the chaos around you to put them down in.
"you don't have to deserve them, sweetheart. not how this works." he shook his head as he scooted some stuff out of the way for you to put them down. he opened his mouth to say something else and quickly closed it again like a fish out of water when he realised that he didn't know what he was going for.
because you make me feel human.
because you make me feel things i didn't know i still had in me.
because i think i'm in love with you.
the tension crackled between the two of you as you just looked at him, and it felt like someone had kicked you straight in the solar plexus. he looked younger. less hardened than he was. like he cared.
you cared.
you'd realised that, somewhere between the first week of being his wife and the night you fell asleep on him and he thought you were asleep while he whispered soft promises, you'd fallen. hard. he felt less like an obligation and someone you actually wanted to know more about, more than just the same stories they heard out on the street. you wanted to know him and you couldn't deny that it would have been a whole lot nicer if it was on your own terms, but that was a luxury you weren't afforded.
this was the here and now and you were moving before either of you realised what was going on. the kiss wasn't clean, it was lips crashing together and tongues fighting for dominance. it wasn't a fairytale, but it was real. it was yours, he was yours. you moaned softly as he pulled back to breathe, chest heaving as he looked at you.
"i'm not good with words. or feelings. or being a husband, i don't know what i'm doing." he admitted as he reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "and i'm not a good person, god, i'm not. but i want—i want you."
he wanted you.
if you weren't speechless before, you were now. you'd known it. you'd known for a while that he wasn't as indifferent as he made out. you'd known since that night in the bedroom when he told you it was nothing and you were convinced it was all in your head. it wasn't in your head. it probably never was, you knew that now.
you had no idea what came next, what this marriage was supposed to look like—it was still the furthest thing from normal—but it felt a little less uncertain than it did earlier. "for the record, i don't know much about being a wife either." you chuckled as you turned to the oven. "i made chocolate brownies. they're my mom's recipe, and she always said that a way to a guys heart is chocolate brownies."
"isn't it food in general?"
"ssh. brownies." you nodded as you pulled them out of the oven, beaming as you turned around. it wasn't perfect, you were still in the dark, but for the first time in weeks—you were looking forward to whatever came next.