The first night of the rest of your life | Bucky Barnes{
Pairing; Bucky Barnes x black!reader
Word Count; 5,042
Warnings; drug use, drug sales, language, smut, sex, oral sex (female receiving)
Summary; You need a change. Youāre tired of your life, youāre tired of LA, youāre tired of being tired⦠and then you spot Bucky on the dance floor.
Authorās Note; This is for @asadmarveltrashbagāā writing challenge! The prompt is 70s AU. This is heavily inspired by Clay Appuzzo (look at that swag), Tony Manero (young John Travolta had a profound effect on me), and the Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack and movie (Starz was playing it literally all weekend long - perfect timing).
You flick the butt of your cigarette with your thumb, riding it of the grey ash at the tip. Your eyes move around the packed club and over the people on the dance floor. The multi-color lights bounce off of the glass disco ball on the ceiling and throws it back down on the floor. Night Fever plays loudly, the beat thumping against the walls. Studio One is the place to be on a Friday night.Ā
Laughter from behind you pulls your attention to your boyfriend, Ray, and a few of his friends. You turn in time to see him slapping hands with a slightly shorter man, palm to palm, making the exchange. They hug quickly and then the shorter man moves back into the crowd and Ray goes back to leaning against the wall. Heās in a good mood; making money always puts him in a good mood.Ā
You turn back around to face the dance floor and slam your back into the chair. Your elbow rests on the table, your cigarette placed gently between your index and middle finger as it burns down, a scowl covers your face. Youāre not necessarily in a bad mood, but you arenāt in a good one either. Youāre stuck, and youāre sick of it. Youāre sick of being Rayās girlfriend, youāre sick of being a retail clerk, youāre sick of coming to Studio One every fucking Friday and Saturday night⦠youāre sick of Los Angeles.Ā
You had plans - big plans, but here you are, about to bring in 1978 and you are no better off that what you were when you moved here five years ago. You bring the cigarette to you lips and take a long drag as your mind races and your eyes scan the dance floor again. Pushing out the grey smoke from your mouth and nostrils, you sigh loudly.Ā
Youāre just fucking sick of it.
Keep reading
tags:
Keep reading
















