Blue Moon - Chapter 4: Good Girls
✦Read on a03! - Series Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Chapter Three✦ ✦pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader✦ ✦summary: Bucky courts you.✦ ✦warnings/tags: fluff, meet cute, Bucky being a charming boy, slight slow burn, fluff, no use of y/n✦ ✦author's note: oh to be wooed by Bucky Barnes✦
There are things Bucky wants to do before marrying you. Proper things, that you thought people only did in the books you were never supposed to read. Things like going out together, kissing—and nothing more—in quiet corners, and eating food together in your apartment.
At first, it feels like tests. Something you could fail, that could make you lose him in a single breath. The first time he comes over to meet Etta, you’re wound so tight you’re almost a grenade, set to go off the moment he knocks on the door.
You’d worked overtime, to scrape together enough money for the good food, from the parts of town you have to keep your chin high to be allowed into. You bought only the best you could find, you cleaned until your forearms hurt, you made yourself and Etta new dresses, because Bucky knows you’re poor but he’s never seen it. You even gave Earl a bath, as Etta hovered in the corner with an amused expression.
“You really like him.” She says, and you sigh.
“I do. He’s a good man.” He’s perfect.
“You say there aren’t good men.”
“Well, it seems I found the one.”
“Have you told him that you love him?”
“Yes. And,” you wipe your hands on your skirt, fighting your smile. “He said it back.”
“And he gave you money.” Etta adds. “Miss Robinson says that what marriage is for-“
“Miss Robinson is a bitter old twat.” You mutter, mostly to yourself, and Etta’s mouth falls open.
“I don’t think that’s a good word.” She whispers, like God is going to hear it, and you smile to yourself.
“I know. It isn’t. Bucky taught it to me.”
“Hm. Miss Robinson says nice boys don’t swear-“
“Bucky’s not a boy anymore.” You shrugs. “And I think he’s plenty nice, for teaching me new words.”
You return to washing Earl, and decide not to tell Etta the other words he taught you. He’d asked if you knew of marriage talk, and you’d told him the truth. You knew the mechanics—you’d stolen a book for boys, back when you still went to Miss Robinson’s—and you knew what happened. How it worked legally, and that if Bucky’s father wasn’t dead and his mother wasn’t a good woman, there might be people angry at him for marrying you.
They’d say the match doesn’t fit. That you have no money or prestige to offer him—if anything, you’re dragging him down—and Bucky would be better off with another girl who’s never worked a day in her life, without a sick sister he has to pay for, without an attitude he has to put up with.
But Bucky’s the man of his own house. He—for whatever strange reasons—has decided that he wants you. And friends—mainly Steve, which is all that’s important—and his mother like you plenty, and that’s all you really need.
It’s a good thing Etta didn’t you stressing that day. It was even worse than now. You’d done your hair five times until you were happy with it, you bathed for so long your skin felt raw, you’d paced and picked at your nails and thought about calling it off, because it had been foolish to think that Bucky would ever go through with this, with you, you must have tricked him in some way, and his mother was going to see right through it-
Bucky had found you pacing. He’d taken your hands between his, and kissed your knuckles.
“I love you.” He’d murmured, eyes shining. “So they’re going to like you just fine.”
“But what if they don’t.”
“They will.”
“But if they-“
Bucky had said your name firmly, and you’d shut your mouth.
He doesn’t use that voice with you often. The stern one, that really makes you feel dizzy and giddy all at once.
“They will.”
And once again, he proved you wrong. His mother loves you. His sisters like you maybe more than they like him. And Bucky had just sat there at the table, looking happy and proud with a hand resting on your leg.
He doesn’t do I told you so. He’d just kissed you in the car when he dropped you off, and murmured that he’d be back in the morning.
He was. For all the other stuff.
Walking in the park, going down to Coney Island, introducing you properly to his friends.
First Steve, the most important one. Bucky had been right, that first night. You could snap him like a twig.
But when you’d shaken his hand, his grip had been firm. Determined. He’d looked you up and down, and said in a firm voice.
“Never heard Bucky talk about anyone, as much as he talks about you.”
You’d flushed. “What kind of things has he said?”
“That you’re beautiful and smart.” Steve had smiled. “And that he didn’t think you were interested. That he was lucky a girl like you just put up with him.”
“A girl like me?” You’d stiffened, shooting a nervous-looking Bucky a glare over your shoulder, and he’d been a red-eared. “What kind of girl am I, James?”
He’d stuttered, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, then looked to Steve. “Stevie… c’mon…”
He’d been begging. Steve hadn’t seemed to care.
“Above his batting league.” Steve had said. “And he was right. But I also told him that you wouldn’t put up with him if you weren’t interested, so I guess I’m also right.”
“And you win?” You’d asked, and Steve shrugged.
“No. I think Bucky wins this one, even he’s wrong.” He’d smiled again. “He’s an idiot for you.”
“Steve.” Bucky had hissed, but you’d just smiled and leaned into Bucky’s side.
Your affection seemed to save Steve from getting shouted at, and when he told him you liked Steve on the drive home, his shouldered had done their relieved slump.
“That’s good.” He’d muttered. “That’s real good. I love you.”
You’d smiled, and taken his hand when he offered it. He just ends sentences like that sometimes. You don’t complain.
Meeting his other friends had gone fine. They’d mostly just teased Bucky about punching real high, and he’d grinned proudly the whole time.
Then one of his friends had said something you didn’t understand. About you looking tight.
Bucky had socked him in the face. Made him apologize, and given a warning that made you understand why these friends—the college friends—weren’t put in the same category as Steve.
He’d asked you about marriage talk on the drive home, that night. And you’d told him everything about the books and the terms and the transactions. You’d thought you hit all your bases.
But Bucky had chuckled to himself, and shaken his head.
“There are… Other things.”
“Like what?” You’d asked, and he’d glanced at you with a strange expression.
“You don’t know?”
“Well, I-“
“S’alright that you don’t.” He’d said quickly, squeezing your leg. “Just strange to know something you don’t. They taught it to us in grade school.”
“Well.” You’d grabbed his hand, turning it over to play with his fingers. “Girls don’t get to go to school. And I have you now. To tell me things I wasn’t supposed to know.”
Bucky had swallowed, his jaw oddly tight as he stared out at the road. You’d leaned forward, dropping your voice to a whisper.
“Are they bad words?”
They’re words you’re not supposed to say in public.” He’d muttered, giving you one of those hopeless looks that—in Bucky—meant please don’t push me because I love you and I’m going to fold.
You love that look.
“Please?” You’d propped your chin on his shoulder, and he’d swallowed.
Caved, because he loves you, and you don’t think he hates knowing things you don’t as much as he claims.
He’d seemed quite happy telling you all about sex. About how it could feel good, real good, if you both cared about it feeling good. About how he cared about you feeling good, so he’d help you figure out what that looked like.
And you’d asked how. And Bucky had groaned, given you that pleading look, and caved again.
You learned a lot of new words that night. Words good girls certainly didn’t get to know, words that felt dirty to say in a way you liked, and that made Bucky almost groan when you said them.
Words about hands and mouths and body parts between your legs. Words about things he could do, that you could do, that made you get that big heat feeling hearing them.
You’d asked Bucky about that, because he seemed to know things.
He’d groans, and told you it was called being turned on.
“You’ve felt that the whole time?” He’d asked when he parked outside your house, his voice a rasp, and you’d nodded.
“Have you?”
“Yes. But I- Christ.” He run a hand over his face, slumping in his seat.
“Bucky? What’s- It’s not bad, right?” I didn’t do something bad, is what you meant, and he’d heard it.
He’d reached for you with a small smile. “No, doll. It’s- I’d been feelin’ that- Heat. A lot. Had to- Uh- Touch myself. To get rid of it. Kills me waitin’ for when I can touch you, that’s all.”
“Oh.” You’d paused, and come up with what you thought was a good solution. “You can touch me now.”
Bucky had made that hopeless face again, groaned louder than before, and protested that he couldn’t. That it was something you had to be married to do the way he wanted to.
“But there are other ways.” You’d said slowly, and his eyes had widened.
He’d said your name like a plea, and you’d crawled into his lap.
“There are, right? Because just touching is allowed. And-“ You’d pressed your body forward, his thigh pressing against your burning core. “It helps?”
Bucky had swallowed. Looked at you like you were putting all the stars in his hand.
He’d still told you no. That he wasn’t doing this in the car.
But he’d also told you what he could do, once he had a bed. Told you everything he’d want to do.
Held your hips and dragged you back on his thigh, whispering things that made you feel like your head was floating in the clouds. Making your heart pound and touching you, telling you every way a woman can feel good, calling you all kinds of sweet things that make you ache just thinking of them-
“You’re doin’ it again.” Etta rips through your thoughts, and you sort of forgot she was there. “You’re makin’ your Bucky face.”
“I don not have a Bucky face-“
“Yes, you do. And it’s like that.”
You hit her with your rag, and she squeals, jumping back.
“I do not.” You snap. “And don’t tell him I do. Go get dressed.
Etta sticks her tongue out, but stomps away.
The doctor has been working. Bucky found a good one, and paid for it himself.
“Call it a dowery.” He’d said, kissing you on the cheek. You’d frowned.
“I’m supposed to be giving you the dowery.”
“Then it’s a wedding gift.”
“We’re not married-“
“We will be. Soon.”
You’d wrinkled your nose. “We could be now.”
He’d kissed your nose, and just mumbled, “Soon. Gotta finish everything else first.”
You’d pouted, but allowed. It’s important to him, and that’s enough to convince you.
He calls all this courting, but it just seems to be a real fancy word for trying to make you love him more.
“Brought flowers.” He says when he arrives. “One for you, one for your sister. Wasn’t sure what she liked. Got roses.”
Bucky holds out the two bouquets nervously, and your smile threatens to etch itself permanently onto your face. You grab his wrist and pull him forward, over the threshold of house, rising up to kiss him harsh and firm.
You love kissing Bucky. It always feels right. He always holds you so close, drops whatever he’s holding so he can hold you.
The flowers thud at your feet, as he picks you up and spins you around. You giggle, kicking your feet, and Bucky grins against your lips.
“Missed you.” He murmurs, and you laugh.
“You saw me this morning.”
“I know.” He kisses you again, pulling your lower lip a little between his teeth. “Still missed you a whole lot.”
You giggle again, and Etta clears her throat from the hall.
Bucky’s eyes widen, and he puts you down fast. Straightening his coat and standing tall, like a solider called to attention. You squat down to grab the flowers for him, holding onto your own and passing the roses in his hands.
He coughs, and sticks them out for Etta with a nervous smile.
“Hello.” He’s using the charming voice he uses when he wants something. “You must be Etta. I got these for you.”
Etta eyes him carefully, glancing to the other set of flowers in your hands. Then to you, and the smudge of your lipstick. You flush and wipe it with your hands. She tilts her head, and looks back to Bucky.
“You made my sister laugh.” She says plainly, and Bucky clears his throat.
“Well, I- Uh- I like her a whole lot.
’S nice, hearing her laugh.”
Etta narrows her eyes. “Do you love her?”
“Etta.” You hiss, and she gives you an annoyed look.
“I’m just asking-“
“That’s- You can’t-“
“It’s okay, doll.” Bucky’s free hand rests on your lower back, and it’s like pushing a button to make you relax. “I got it.”
You nod tightly, glaring daggers at Etta because she knows what she’s doing, and she just smiles right back.
“I do love her.” Bucky says, voice calm and measured. “Love her a lot. And I’d like to marry her, if I can earn your blessing.”
Etta perks up a little at that. Takes a firm step forward to snatch the flowers out of Bucky’s hand, then stomps away. Bucky deflates a little, and you rub his arm.
“She likes you, Bucky. She’s just testing you. You’ll love her once she…” You trail off, because you’ve never actually seen that gear from Etta before. Not like that. “She’ll like you.” You repeat. “You’re convincing.”
Bucky smiles weakly, and you lean up to kiss his cheek.
“You got me.” You offer nervously, and that makes him smile for real.
“Yeah.” He puffs out his chest, almost glowing from within. “I did. I love you.”
He kisses your lips once, soft and sweet. You smile, and something about your words seems to have set him off. His chin is raised, his laugh relaxed and assured like before, and his charming dial seems to have been turned up to a million.
Etta tries to be snappy, through dinner. But she’s not half as good at it as you are, and even if she was, Bucky broke you too. By the end of the night, she’s looking at him with moon eyes and telling him everything she can seem to think of before he can even ask a question. You’re a little worried she likes him more now, and you wouldn’t blame her. He’s the one who saved her life.
Then you go to clear the dishes, and turn the water down low so you can hear them in the kitchen.
Etta’s talking quiet, like she wants to hide her words. Bucky isn’t bothering to do so at all.
“My sister doesn’t laugh.” Etta tells him. “You make her laugh a lot.”
Bucky hums. “I love her a lot.”
“Are you ever gonna leave her?”
“Not unless someone drags me away kickin’.”
“Hm.” You can picture Etta’s skeptical look as she thinks. “Okay. You can marry her.”
“Thanks, kid.” Bucky chuckles. “Runs in the family, huh. Telling me what to do.”
“You should be grateful.” Etta snips. “We don’t do that ‘less we know you can do it.”
You laugh to yourself, because you don’t know what she’s talking about. She doesn’t order anyone around but Earl.
But Bucky’s smiling, when you get back to the table. He puts a hand on the back of your thigh and squeezes, and the apartment—with him and Etta and the flowers in vases on the table—feels like home.
Bucky comes around a lot after that. He helps you clean and cook, he sits with Etta during her doctor’s appointments, sits with you while you sew. He teaches you how to dance in the living room, your hands folded together and bodies pressed close.
You teach him how to sew, with him sitting at your feet and kissing your knee with every other word.
Sometimes he stays overnight. In your room. Never doing the Act—the marriage one—but certainly not doing proper things.
You can’t seem to bring yourself to mind what’s proper when he’s over you. It’s not even a gnawing fact in the back of your brain, when he touches you and makes you feel this good. If Bucky’s made of the sky, his attention and talents make you feel like you’re flying.
He was right about it curing the heat, but it always seems to come back stronger than before. You whine and squirm for him, and he chuckles and kisses you so deeply you’d think he’s trying to breathe you in.
Your bed squeaks too much. Etta mentions it, and Bucky chokes on his coffee and fixes it that afternoon.
She’s still getting better. Bucky showed her how to train Earl, and now he follows her everywhere on the street as well. It makes you feel more comfortable, when she goes to Miss Robinson’s by herself. She’s safe.
Bucky makes things safe.
He shows you his father’s grave. Introduces you like the man is still breathing, and makes a tight joke about how Pa says he likes you.
You smile at him, because that’s what he needs. You hold him in your bed when you get home, because he doesn’t cry, but he gets real quiet and you know he just needs you to be there.
He got you a radio, so he could dance with you and you could listen to the news. You sit near it and stitch angrily as you listen to updates of the war, and tell Bucky all your opinions over dinner. You tell him he should listen to the news. He tells you he likes your version of it better, and makes you dance with him when you’re done.
He brings you books from his Father’s study, and asks you for help with his job, and kisses you after you do damn near anything. His mother starts to send you books as well—good books, that aren’t boring—and you send Bucky back with pastries. A secret languages you get to speak, only with Bucky’s mom.
One day you send her a dress, and suddenly she’s asking you to make another for her friend. And another. And you try a new pattern and design that you came up with yourself, and Bucky says his mother has friends clamoring to get it first.
You haven’t pulled a trick on the streets in months. You introduce the Barnes’ wealthier friends to Kathrine and Georgina, and they can make good jewelry and shoes when people are willing to fund them, just like you.
Life is… Good. So strangely good, in a way you’ve never know.
You think this is what your mother meant, by growing a garden. You have a world full of life, and a house that no longer smells like death. Your feet are on the ground, because everything pulls the sunlight down into your hands, and you’d never want to be anywhere that you couldn’t take Bucky with you.
He likes you quite well as you are.
You let Bucky meet your mother, in her grave.
He brings her flowers as well, and holds you in his lap when you get home, and press your face into his shoulder.
“I got you a ring.” He says, and you lean back with wide eyes.
“Bucky, you don’t have to-“
“Don’t say that. Wanted to for almost ever.”
You smile, tears streaming down your face, and Bucky wipes them away with a soft hand.
“It was my mother’s.” He murmurs, voice gentle. “She wants you to have it. I do too-“
“James-“
“I’d like do it soon. They- You know they say we might be going over to join the war, with what happened in Hawaii. I was-“ He chuckles dryly. “Was hopin’ that I’d be able to do the whole proper proposal with you, like my parents did. But if we don’t know what’s comin’- I’m worried I waited too long.”
You press your lips together, dropping your brow against his. Your fingers come up to the collar of his shirt, clinging tight, because you know. You know better than he does, really, what America entering the war means for men of his age. You know of the horrors, better. You’ve read about them. Seen the women your mother used to know, a little bit older, who had husbands who went off in the first war and never came back.
You know Bucky is a good man, with a foolish heart that’s made of hope. That even if his number gets pulled, he’ll want to help. And you know that there’s far more strategic benefit to being a soldier’s wife than his fiancé.
And you know you’re not going to want to let him go.
But if you have this ring on your finger, at least you’ll have proof he existed. A little bit of evidence, that he’s going to come back.
“Okay.” You whisper. “We can go in the morning.”
Bucky hums, and kisses you slow and deep.
“I love you,” he mutters, and you wrap your arms tight around his neck, like that could maybe keep him on earth at your side.
“I love you too.”
You mean it. Bucky knows you mean it.
And you really have been married in everything but name for a while now.
So this time when you ask, he doesn’t tell youno. Bucky picks you up, moves you to the bedroom, and folds himself over you the same way he always does.
Like he belongs there. Like he’s still trying to memorize you, even when you’re in his arms.
You touch the stars, with his heat molding into your body. You kiss him hard, so distance won’t let him ever forget that you love him just as much as he loves you.
Morning comes, and you get married in city hall with Etta and Steve as witnesses. He gives you his mother’s ring, and it’s a blue diamond worth more than almost anything else you’ve ever owned.
But you mostly like it because it reminds you of Bucky’s eyes.
And you love him, because he’s your sky.
No matter where you go, he’ll always be right there.
✦Chapter Four✦ ✦End note: bucky barnes i'd wait a million years for you✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)
For my birthday?!?!?! I love this so much even if I know it's going to hurrrrt
