Trouble in Mind
Summary: Las Vegas, 1952. James Buchanan Barnes is the newest, and youngest, Capo in town. But amid the glitz and shadows of the Strip, he never expects to find you, the beautiful singer who vanished from his life six years ago without a trace. Bucky wants you back. And he wants answers. But you're only willing to give him one of those things.
Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Lounge Singer!Reader
A/N: This is an absolute fever dream inspired by #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Mafia Bucky.
I went back to 50's Vegas because I need another world to get lost in. This is a little longer because this world is so fetch. I can't quite decide if he is going to be dark!Mafia! Bucky after this. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Angst. Lots of cigarette smoking, longing, forbidden romance, Steve and Sam (they are warnings!), Bucky is an ass, cocky Bucky, smooth talker Bucky, young love, heart break, a slap (which he deserves), rough sex, wall sex, 50's foundation garments, long time no sex, oral (f receiving) squirting praise kink, raw p in v, lies, deceit, and crime, along with 1950's race relations and allusions to Jim Crow. Whew.
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-------
Las Vegas, 1952
Vegas glittered at night.
Neon lights buzzed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and money. And tonight, a set of eyes was watching you that you thought you’d left far behind.
You felt his gaze before you even saw him. It burned into you from the darkest corner of the club. The kind of stare that made your skin prickle, which was both a warning and a temptation.
Bucky.
You’d heard a new Capo was coming to take over the casino, an up and comer from the East Coast, one of the youngest Bosses ever.
You never imagined it would be Bucky Barnes.
------
Brooklyn, 1946
Bucky saw you before you ever looked his way.
James Buchanan Barnes was fresh out of the war and already sinking into the life waiting for him back home.
The one his mother prayed he’d stay away from.
The one he walked into anyway.
The scent of fresh bread drifted from the bakery down the block as Bucky leaned outside the corner store, trading laughs with his boys, cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching the world pass him by.
Then you walked past, on the way to your vocal lessons.
Your head was high, shoulders squared, exuding the kind of confidence that was ingrained. Your dress clung just right, swaying with each step, and Bucky swore he forgot how to breathe.
He knew your type, a daddy’s girl, from a family with expectations. A good girl from Bed-Stuy, the kind who kept her nose clean and didn’t look twice at trouble.
Trouble, like him.
Down on the corner, they could hear your voice carry over the city noise, rising like a bird above the clatter of the el train.
Lark. That’s what they called you when you weren’t listening. Never to your face.
They knew better than to get too close, and Bucky knew better than to look too long.
But he looked anyway.
And when you finally met his eyes, something in you flickered.
Your father had warned you about guys like Bucky Barnes.
‘Young punks’, he called them, hanging outside that shop owned by the local boss. Nothing but dead ends and broken hearts. He told you to keep your head high and your eyes forward, and to remember who you were.
And if that warning wasn’t clear enough, there was another, unspoken one layered beneath it: Girls like you don’t mix with boys like him. Not in this world.
But when Bucky looked at you with those blue eyes, you knew you were already ruined.
He found ways to get close.
Catching your eye when you passed by, a slow smirk when you looked away too fast. Holding the door open a second too long, letting his fingers brush yours when he handed over your change. Words, always words, low and teasing, dangerous for a girl with a mind like yours.
Words were your weakness.
"You gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t see me, Doll?" he asked one evening, stepping into your path as you left the bakery.
You could smell his cologne and feel his heat and why were you thinking that his lips were nice? What was the tingle in your lower back that you just knew would go away if he touched you there?
You shook your head, remembering you couldn’t entertain this.
"You gonna keep acting like it don’t matter?" you shot back, heart pounding.
You continued on your way but that night you couldn’t sleep for thoughts of him.
One day, he whistled as you walked by. And that day, you stopped.
"You want a problem, Barnes?"
He smirked, looking you over blatantly and licking his lips.
"A problem’s not what I want, Doll. Just enjoyin’ the view."
That should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.
You should’ve ignored him. Should’ve listened to your father. But you didn’t.
Because Bucky Barnes had a way of making himself impossible to ignore.
It was stolen glances at first, then hushed conversations on the stoop when the sun was setting. His voice curled around your name, making it sound like something precious. It was the thrill of his hand ghosting over yours, his fingers rough but careful, like he was afraid you’d pull away.
Except you never did.
You knew the risks. You knew people talked. In a world that kept its lines drawn thick and unyielding, Bucky chasing after you was a dangerous thing.
But Bucky never cared about lines.
He didn't care when people whispered, when your father tightened the reins, when your friends warned you that even if he wasn’t afraid, the world wouldn’t be kind.
“You scared?” he asked one night, his voice soft but steady.
"Of what?"
"Of what happens if you let yourself want this as bad as I do.”
You should have been. But you weren’t.
At first, you told yourself it was just curiosity, just a bit of rebellion before you settled down and did what was expected of you. But curiosity turned into something more, something dangerous.
Something like love.
Because when he kissed you for the first time, heat pressing against heat in the shadow of an alleyway, you didn’t care about the rules. Bucky tasted like smoke and sin and the promise of something reckless. And suddenly, all the warnings in the world didn’t matter.
Didn’t matter that Brooklyn had unspoken rules. Because Bucky knew what he wanted. And he knew you wanted him back.
He savored those stolen nights in dark alleys, the way you melted under his touch, the way you let yourself need him, even if only when no one else could see.
And you knew that it wasn’t just about the thrill of sneaking around, or the way he could make your breath hitch with a single look. It was about him, the way he softened when it was just the two of you. The way his fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, memorizing you like you were something sacred.
The way he made you feel like you belonged to him.
Maybe you did. Because you gave him your innocence.
But love like that didn’t come without consequences.
What Bucky hadn’t expected, what he hadn’t planned for, was how deep he’d fall for you, how much he’d care.
You weren’t just a good time. You weren’t just a secret thrill. You were it.
The one thing that made the rest of the world fade away.
And maybe that’s why he didn’t see it coming.
One day you were there, warm and real beneath his hands. And the next, you were gone.
No warning. No note. No goodbye. Just vanished, into thin air.
And for six years, he told himself it didn’t matter. That if you wanted to leave, then fine. That he wasn’t the type to chase ghosts.
But then he saw you again, standing under the lights of a Vegas stage, your voice carving its way through the smoky haze.
And in that moment, Bucky Barnes knew one thing for certain.
This time, he wasn’t letting you run.
—-
Vegas, 1952
The man that you had to leave in the middle of the night was sitting in the lounge that you sang in. The man that you dreamed about at night as you sang love songs was right here in the room with you.
And you didn’t know how to act.
You should have run. But you didn’t.
He was seated in the VIP section, flanked by two other men in sharp suits, but he was the only one that mattered. The way he lounged, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he never relinquished his ownership of you, made your head spin.
—--
Bucky leaned back in his seat, cigarette burning low between his fingers, letting the familiar hum of the casino settle into his bones: the money, the women, the men who thought they were untouchable.
Las Vegas glowed like sin, neon and greed dripping down its streets. It wasn’t Brooklyn, but it had its own kind of pull, its own kind of power. And now, it belonged to him.
It all revolved around him.
But none of it held his attention. Not like you did.
He saw you before you saw him, and for a moment, the world tilted as the air sucked straight out of the room.
Then you stepped onto that stage, looking like something spun from a dream, and for the first time in years, Bucky almost believed in fate.
He’d spent too long clawing his way up in this world to let anyone, or anything, decide his future for him. But seeing you again? It felt like something supernatural.
Because here you were.
In his city.
Singing like you owned the damn room.
You had changed. Not just older, not just more poised. It was in the way you carried yourself, the way you commanded the stage with a presence that made every other woman in the world fade to nothing.
And your body. It was a marvel, showcased in shimmering fabric that clung to curves he remembered all too well.
Now you had fuller hips and softer edges; your body was made to be held. If he got his hands on you again, he knew there would be more of you to worship, to savor.
You weren’t that wide-eyed girl from Brooklyn anymore. And yet, you were still his Lark.
He saw the exact moment you felt his gaze, the subtle tension in your spine, the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around the mic. Even after all these years, you could still feel him.
Then your eyes found him in the dim glow of the club, and Bucky saw it, the sharp inhale, the slight part of your lips, as if you were about to say his name.
It was enough to make his chest ache.
—--
You should’ve kept walking.
You should’ve ignored the butterflies in your belly and that tingle in your back that only Bucky Barnes had been able to inspire.
But you didn’t.
Instead, after your set, you let your feet carry you straight to his table.
Bucky smirked, his fingers tapping lazily against the glass in front of him.
Like he knew you would come to him.
Six years gone, and yet the moment your eyes locked with his, it was like no time had passed at all. But you weren’t that girl anymore. And Bucky wasn’t that boy.
He was something else now. Something more defined. The suit fit too well, the watch on his wrist cost too much, and the men flanking him sat too still, waiting for his command.
Still, when he looked at you, it wasn’t the infamous new Capo of Las Vegas James Buchanan Barnes staring back.
It was him. Your Bucky.
The boy who once kissed you breathless in the back of a borrowed car.
The boy who called you ‘Baby’ like the word belonged to him.
The boy you left behind in the dead of night, never looking back.
Until now.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, keeping your voice steady.
His smile was the same one that decimated you back in the day.
“Funny,” he said, tapping ash from his cigarette. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show.
Bucky had always been too good at reading you. Way too good. And then he did something dangerous. He nodded to the empty seat beside him.
“Sit with me, Doll.”
The way he said it, low and easy, like it was a foregone conclusion made your body obey like you had long ago. Your fingers twitched at your side. But instead of walking away, you lowered yourself into the seat beside him, your skin prickling with goosebumps under his gaze.
And when he smirked again, just a little, like he’d just won something, your breath hitched.
Because you both knew.
Six years apart hadn’t changed a gotdamn thing.
—--
The moment you sat down, you knew you’d already lost something. Maybe the upper hand, maybe your damn mind, but something shifted the second you met his eyes and made the choice to stay.
Bucky took another slow drag from his cigarette, like he was savoring this moment. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, peering at you through it with those blue eyes, then finally turned to the two men sitting beside him, as if he’d just remembered they were there.
“Fellas,” he drawled, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “this here is Trouble.”
Your lips parted slightly, a profane retort ready to go, but before you could snap back, he continued.
“Trouble, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.”
Steve, the blonde with the sharp blue eyes, nodded at you, his expression unreadable. He was the kind of man who didn’t say much but noticed everything.
Sam, on the other hand, smiled a beautiful gap-toothed grin.
“Trouble, huh?”
He extended a hand, and you hesitated before taking it, but his grip was warm and firm.
“I gotta say, any woman that can put that look on Barnes’ face is someone I gotta know.”
You arched a brow, tilting your head.
“And what look is that?”
Sam’s grin widened.
“Like he just won the jackpot.”
Your stomach tightened, but you kept your face neutral. Instead, you turned back to Bucky, leveling him with a look.
“Trouble?”
Bucky’s lips curled, and something wicked danced in his eyes.
“You always were.”
You didn’t blink.
“And you always loved it.”
There was a silence thick with sex between you, and again the other men were forgotten.
Then, Steve cleared his throat.
“How do you two know each other?”
Bucky chuckled darkly, and leaned back in his seat.
“Let’s just say…” His eyes met yours, heat simmering beneath the surface. “She used to belong to me.”
The words struck your chest like lightning. You’d learned enough curse words to set his head on fire since you’d known him last, but you didn’t lace the room with profanity.
Your fingers curled into a fist in your lap, but you kept your expression steady.
You weren’t the girl anymore who let Bucky Barnes own her with a smile and a whispered promise in the dark.
So you tilted your head, letting your lips curve.
“Used to,” you repeated, voice smooth as velvet. “Interesting choice of words.”
Bucky’s smile didn’t drop, but he clutched his glass tighter, and you saw the way his jaw ticked.
Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show.
“Damn. She’s quick.”
Steve, ever the observer, just watched the exchange with a smirk.
You leaned in slightly, just enough to make Bucky’s eyes flicker to your mouth and down to your cleavage before he dragged them back up.
“If I remember right, I was the one who left.”
Bucky exhaled a slow breath through his nose, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray again, his voice a shade lower now.
“That’s what you think?”
You raised a brow.
“That’s what I know.”
He made a sound low in his throat before taking another sip of his drink. He gazed at you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you now that you were sitting right in front of him again.
Then his eyes narrowed just a fraction.
“So tell me, Trouble. If you walked away so easy, why are you sitting here now?”
That’s the question, you thought.
So instead of answering, you reached for his glass, plucked it from his fingers, and took a slow sip before setting it back down.
Then you met his eyes and smiled.
“Maybe I just wanted to remind you,” you said softly. “That you don’t own me anymore.”
Bucky stared at you, unreadable. That muscle in his jaw twitched again.
Then, slowly, that wicked smirk crept back onto his face and he tilted his head at you, those blue eyes sparkling.
“We’ll see about that, Lark.”
—----
Bucky watched as you set his glass back down, the ghost of your lipstick staining the rim, taunting him. Six years apart, and you still knew how to get under his skin with a single look, a single move.
A single sentence.
Maybe I just wanted to remind you… that you don’t own me anymore.
You challenged him in ways no one else dared to. And Bucky fucking loved it.
Steve and Sam were watching, though they had the good sense to stay quiet. Sam was chuckling, and Steve’s face held a small crooked smile, one that appeared after Bucky said Lark.
Bucky didn’t give a damn about either of them right now.
His eyes stayed on you. You were trying to be tough, but you had to be feeling the same pull that he was. Bucky leaned forward, closing the space just enough to catch your scent and see your pupils blow wider.
Gotcha.
“Never needed to own you, Doll.”
His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it.
“That was never the game.”
Your lips parted slightly, but you caught yourself, chucking your chin up instead.
“Then what was your game, James?”
He smiled again. He wasn’t about to hand you that answer.
Yet.
Instead, he sat back, dragging his gaze over you slowly, and licking his lips.
You were still the most beautiful thing in the damn room, and you had to know it. That dress, those eyes; every man in this club was probably watching you, and wanting you.
But only one of them had ever had you.
And only one of them was going to again.
He tapped his fingers once against the table before rising smoothly to his feet.
“C’mon.”
You blinked, “What?”
He nodded toward the back of the club, where the private booths were. Where you two could talk without an audience.
“Walk with me.”
A challenge. A test. A door you could still choose not to open.
Bucky saw you hesitate, for just a moment, but then you stood, smoothing out your dress and holding your head high like you hadn’t just made a decision that would change everything.
Bucky’s smirk widened.
That’s my girl.
—-
Bucky’s smirk deepened when you stood, like he’d known you would. That alone made something tighten in your chest, but you swallowed it down, lifting your chin as you followed him through the club.
The noise of the club, the conversations, the clinking of glasses, the jazz band, it all blurred as he led you toward the back, past the heavy velvet curtain that separated the VIP section from the private rooms. It infuriated you how easy it was to fall into step with him, how your body remembered before your mind could protest.
The moment you were away from prying eyes, he turned.
“You still listen like a Good Girl,” he murmured, voice smooth as smoke and just as dangerous.
You crossed your arms, shielding yourself from his stare as he leaned back against the small table between you, eyes skimming the curves of your dress like he had every right to.
“And you’re still a little asshole, Bucky.”
His smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened. He pulled out a cigarette, tapping it against his lighter before the soft flicker of flame cast his face in gold. He inhaled slow, exhaled even slower.
“I think you know I’m not ‘little,’ Baby,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Bet you that cunt still curves to my dick.”
You didn’t think. Your palm met his cheek in a resounding slap before you could stop it.
Bucky only grinned.
“You must wanna see if it’s true,” he murmured, stepping closer, “because you know that turns me on.”
Your breath hitched, anger curling hot in your gut, and you turned to leave, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm.
“Sorry, Doll.”
You knew he was anything but.
Although he let you go the moment you glared at his hand, the heat of his touch lingered.
“Stay,” he said, quieter this time. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”
You lifted a brow. “About?”
He studied you like he was searching for the right words.
“You left Brooklyn.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a wound, still fresh after six years.
You met his stare, steady.
“I did.”
“Didn’t say a damn thing to me.”
You thought of the reason why, of the tiny heartbeat that changed your life forever, and you folded your arms tighter across your chest.
“Would it have mattered?”
Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he took another drag of his cigarette.
“That’s cute, Doll.”
His voice was rough.
“You really think I would’ve let you go?”
Your stomach clenched, but you didn’t flinch.
“That might be why I didn’t tell you.”
His jaw ticked, frustration creeping into the lines of his face. He leaned in, forearms bracing against the table, his eyes locking onto yours.
“You ran. Fine.”
His voice was softer now, laced with something you couldn’t name.
“But tell me this. Was it worth it?”
The air left your lungs. You thought of why you ran. What was expected of you. What would’ve happened if you’d stayed.
Six years of building a life from scratch. Six years of trying to convince yourself you made the right choice. Six years of missing him. Six years of seeing his eyes every day both in your dreams and when you woke.
“Absolutely.”
Bucky’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something, doubt, regret, a lie. But he didn’t find it.
His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “You were mine.”
You exhaled slowly.
“I’m not sorry for what I did, Bucky. But I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
You meant it. Every word.
But you belonged to someone else now. Someone more important than James Barnes.
—---
Bucky’s eyes flashed, then he sat back in his seat, appraising you yet again.
“It’s okay, Doll. I turned out okay. And here we are, together again.”
“We’re not together, Bucky.”
He took another drag of his smoke.
“Only a matter of time, Baby.”
You took a breath, steadying yourself, lifting your chin.
“I have another set.”
Bucky smiled at you.
“I know.”
Of course, he knew. He ran this town and he always paid attention, always saw more than you wanted him to.
You stood, ready to walk away, to put some space between the past and the present before you lost yourself in it again. But before you could take a step, something small and cool slid against your palm.
You looked down.
A key.
Bucky’s fingers lingered over yours just long enough to make your pulse jump. He looked into your eyes and leaned down and it was like your lips were connected by magnets.
He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and regrets as his tongue slid into your mouth, establishing ownership yet again.
He pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.
“Royal Sierra Hotel. Top floor,” he gruffed. “I’ll be waiting.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
You should have dropped the key right back into his palm. Should have told him no, should have walked away, should have done a thousand things.
But you did none of them. You just curled your fingers around the key, just for a second, then slipped it into your dress pocket like it meant nothing.
Bucky didn’t call you on it. Didn’t press. He just smiled, slow and knowing, then stepped back.
“See you soon, Doll.”
Then he was gone, and you were left standing there, with a key in your pocket and a storm in your chest, knowing damn well you were about to make a mistake.
——
Your second set of the night flew by in a blur. Your voice soared through the rafters, full of emotion, carrying the weight of things you couldn’t say out loud. The memories all spilled into the songs, wrapped in melodies that weren’t yours but might as well have been.
You poured your soul into every note, and the crowd felt it. They responded with enthusiastic applause and with generosity for the waitresses and bartenders. At the end of the night, the club manager pressed extra bills into your hand, murmuring something about record-breaking tips.
You barely heard him.
Your mind was already made up.
You stepped out into the cool night air, exhaling as you raised your hand to hail a cab, but before you could, a smooth voice cut through the darkness.
“Need a ride?”
You turned, heels clicking against the pavement as you took in the sight before you.
Steve Rogers, all broad shoulders and quiet authority, leaned against a gleaming black Continental, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Your brows lifted.
“Didn’t peg you for a chauffeur.”
Steve chuckled.
“Just trying to be nice.”
He nodded toward the passenger seat.
“We’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Your gaze shifted past him to Sam, watching you from inside the car, his smile just visible through the window.
“And if I need to go home?” you asked, testing.
Steve shrugged.
“Then we’ll take the lady home. But if you’re looking for a little more excitement…”
“We know a place or two,” Sam finished, his voice tinged with amusement.
Despite yourself, you smiled. You liked them. Even if they were Bucky’s men, and even if they saw more than they let on.
“I’ll take you up on that,” you said, sighing as you stepped forward.
“Standing on a stage in heels all night isn’t exactly easy on the legs.”
Steve’s gaze flickered down, tracing the slit in your dress, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip.
“Those legs look just fine to me,” he murmured.
You arched a brow. Was Steve Rogers flirting with you? And was Sam giving you the same once over from the passenger seat?
And more importantly, what would Bucky do if he knew?
You didn’t have time to wonder. Steve was already holding the door open, waiting. You slid inside, sinking into the plush leather seats, and shot him a tired, knowing smile as he shut the door behind you.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirror, his eyes catching yours in the reflection.
“Which way, Miss Y/L/N?”
You hesitated.
Bucky was making this hard.
You closed your eyes, reaching back, searching for the girl you were six years ago. The girl who ran. The girl who had every reason to. But she was gone, her memories worn thin, fragile as cigarette paper.
You could stand to make some new ones.
And they would have to last. Because this would only be one night.
“The Royal Sierra,” you said softly.
Steve’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You two do this often?” you asked as the car rumbled to life.
Steve and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes.
“I’ve known Bucky for three years,” Sam said, voice lighter than his meaning. “And I’ve never seen him give a woman the time of daylight.”
You let out a soft laugh.
“It’s nighttime, Sam.”
“Exactly,” he said, grinning.
“He’s never introduced me to a dame before. Plenty have tried to get to him through us, but he doesn’t let ‘em. He just shoos ‘em off like stray dogs.”
Sam’s smirk deepened.
“But you? You’re different.”
Something in your chest tightened. You turned toward the back of Steve’s head.
“What about you, Mr. Rogers?”
Steve cleared his throat, his hands flexing on the wheel.
“I’ve known Buck since we were kids in Brooklyn,” he said after a pause.
“And he’s only ever talked about one woman to me.”
The weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t have to say it. You knew.
Steve’s voice was softer when he added, “But he stopped talking about her about five and a half years ago.”
Your heart clenched.
You didn’t ask any more questions after that. You just let the city lights blur past the window, let the neon colors bleed together as they carried you to the man waiting at the top of the Royal Sierra.
Waiting for you.
——-
The Royal Sierra was a loud kind of quiet. The kind that came from power. Bucky’s kind of place.
Steve pulled up to the entrance, stepping out with effortless authority, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he belonged here. Like you belonged here. No one stopped you. No one asked questions.
His presence alone was a key. A shield.
Bucky Barnes’ reach extended farther than Mr. Crow’s.
Before you knew it, you were stepping into the elevator, watching the floors tick by, your pulse a slow, deliberate drum in your throat. And by the time you reached the penthouse, your body had made a decision your mind refused to acknowledge.
You lifted a gloved hand and slid the key into the lock.
The door opened instantly.
And then, there was Bucky.
His gaze collided with yours, stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you, burning you into his memory like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.
Then his hands were on you.
Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, desperate and deep, like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know that six years hadn’t dulled his hunger for you.
You melted, even though you knew better.
You knew this was dangerous. That this wasn’t just about lust, or longing, or the years between you. But none of it mattered as you wound your arms around him, tangling your fingers in the dark curls you missed too damn much.
Bucky groaned, dragging you flush against him. His hands roamed lower, exploring this new version of you, the one with fuller curves, wider hips, a body that had known things he hadn’t been there to witness.
He needed to erase it all.
He deepened the kiss, his breath ragged as he backed you against the wall, pinning you there, swallowing the soft sound you made.
God, that sound.
He had dreamed about it.
You pulled back. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, you were beautiful. But there was something else in your eyes.
A flicker of hesitation.
Bucky smirked.
He didn’t want to talk. Not tonight. He wanted to taste you, to relearn every inch of you.
He brought your hand up to his mouth, taking the glove off your hand with his teeth, one finger at a time.
Your mind short circuited, forgetting what you wanted to say, the only thought that your panties would burst into flames, but the liquid at your center would surely put the fire out.
Bucky Barnes was still so goddamn hot.
“You staying?”
His voice was hoarse with desire.
Your lips parted slightly. Then, slowly, you nodded. That was all he needed.
With deliberate slowness, he backed you toward the couch, his blue eyes never leaving yours.
He didn’t know why you left.
Didn’t know why you were in Vegas.
Didn’t know how long he had.
And tonight, he wasn’t asking.
"Missed this," he murmured against your throat, his breath hot, his fingers digging into the roundness of your ass. His voice sent a shiver down your spine.
He turned you, fingers finding the zipper of your dress. You felt it slide down, the cool air kissing your bare skin as the rich fabric slipped from your shoulders, revealing the decadent silk and lace beneath.
Bucky let out a rough exhale.
The longline bra molded perfectly to your curves, the underwire and boning lifting your breasts high, the lace trim barely concealing your peaked nipples. The silk garter belt cinched your waist, accentuating the swell of your hips, its straps fastened to sheer stockings that clung to your legs like a whisper.
Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands ghosting over your sides, gripping, kneading.
“Jesus, Doll… you always did know how to drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasped.
He trailed a finger along the edge of your bra, teasing you through the lace with his knuckles grazing the soft swell of your breast.
“Look at you… all wrapped up like a goddamn present,” he muttered, voice thick with reverence.
His hands slid down, and his thumbs traced slow, reverent paths along the edge of your garter, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin of your thighs. He tilted his head, lips curving against your jaw.
“Been dreamin’ about this,” he whispered, voice dripping with possession.
“And now it’s real.”
You shivered beneath his touch, and Bucky smirked, satisfied. He trailed his fingers lower, slipping beneath the garter belt to palm your ass, squeezing greedily, pulling you flush against him.
“Missed these fuckin’ curves,” he groaned, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he needed you.
He was losing patience. Six years was too damn long.
His hands found the hooks of your bra, and he made quick work of them, peeling the garment from your body and tossing it over his shoulder. He pulled back for just a second, just long enough to admire the sight of you, bare, breathless, your eyes fully dilated.
“Damn, Doll” he whispered, voice almost reverent.
Then his mouth was on you, trailing down your neck hotly, over your collarbone, lower, until his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking, groaning when your fingers tangled in his hair, when your body arched into his mouth.
“Feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice wrecked.
His hands roamed lower, curling around your thighs, gripping hard as he lifted you effortlessly, walking you backward until your spine hit the cool surface of the wall.
Bucky looked up at you then, eyes burning, voice nothing but gravel.
“Hold on tight, Baby. I ain’t letting you go this time.
Bucky pressed a kiss into you, his hard length grinding against your soaked panties. The heat of him, the sheer size of him, had you trembling.
"Need inside you, Doll… so fucking hard for you," he groaned, his voice rough with need.
You gasped as he rocked into you, your damp panties and his boxers doing little to separate the friction between you. Your hips rolled in response, dragging a throaty grunt from his lips.
"Fuck!"
Bucky hooked a finger into your panties, yanking them to the side. The first brush of his bare cock against your slick folds sent a shudder through you. It was heaven. The aching kind. The kind you felt.
"Bucky, please!"
You needed to feel him again after so long.
His thick cock slid through your folds, coating himself in your arousal, teasing your clit with every slow stroke. You felt everything, the ridges, the veins, the swollen head nudging at your entrance.
At the same time, his mouth latched onto your nipple, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. His calloused fingers kneaded the roundness of your ass, pulling unashamed whimpers from your throat.
"Mine," Bucky growled.
Your breath hitched. But just as you prepared for that first, deep thrust, he pulled back.
You gasped in protest.
"Gonna fuck you proper, though. In a bed."
You let out a breathless laugh as Bucky scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom. He laid you out, spreading your legs as he loomed over you, devouring the sight. His manicured nails dragged over your thighs in a slow, teasing stroke.
Your breath stuttered with anticipation.
"Be a good girl for me," he murmured, eyes dark with intent. "And grab my hair if you need to."
Confusion flickered in your eyes, until you felt your legs being thrown over his shoulders. Then, Bucky was between your thighs.
You scrambled up on your elbows, heat rushing to your face as he spread you open with two fingers, stroking the sensitive, slick folds hidden beneath. His gaze locked onto your glistening sex, mesmerized.
"So beautiful, Lark."
Your breath came in shallow gasps as he ran his fingers through your wetness, spreading it.
"So wet… dripping… coating my fingers, Baby."
The filthy words, the intensity of his stare, made fresh arousal seep from you. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, aching for more.
"Pinch those nipples for me," Bucky rasped,
Your lips parted in shock, but his stare was unwavering. With a shaky breath, you obeyed.
The added sensation sent pleasure rippling through you, making your back arch, your ass pressing into the mattress as Bucky pumped his fingers nice and slow. The other hand fisted around his cock, stroking in time with the movement inside you.
Your gaze dropped to watch him touch himself as he touched you. Fuck.
A gush of slick spilled from you. Bucky cursed under his breath, scissoring his fingers, stretching you, preparing you.
"So fucking tight, Doll. Need to get you ready."
Then, his head dipped lower. Your gasp filled the room. Bucky smirked.
"Why so shocked?" he taunted. "You act like you haven’t had sex since I borrowed Johnny’s car—"
He stopped.
Your face must have given you away because his own softened instantly.
"Oh, shit."
His tone was different now, understanding.
"It’s okay, Baby. I got you."
Determination flashed in his blue eyes as he leaned down again, brushing a featherlight kiss against your most sensitive place. It was intimate. Like he was kissing your mouth.
Then, he licked into you, slow and deliberate, and your world shattered. Lightning coursed through your veins as your thighs instinctively clamped around his head. Your fingers fisted in his curls, tugging mercilessly.
Bucky groaned in approval, his tongue swirling, sucking, worshiping. Every swipe, every firm drag, every deep flick had you writhing beneath him, riding his face, chasing oblivion.
When he pried your thighs apart and plunged two fingers back inside, curling them just right, you detonated.
Your orgasm ripped through you, your body seizing, your walls fluttering around his fingers as a flood of wetness spilled into his mouth.
"Bucky!"
He pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.
"S’okay, Baby. It’s natural."
Then he leaned down again. And drank from you like a man dying of thirst.
You whimpered, overwhelmed, your body trembling as he held you down, refusing to let you escape. The overstimulation was brutal, unbearable.
Too much, too good.
"Really have been such a good girl for me…" he murmured against your sensitive skin.
Then, his voice dropped to something sinful.
"Gonna give you this cock you been waiting for."
When he finally kissed you, his lips slick with you, the last shred of restraint dissolved.
You moaned into his mouth as he lined himself up, dragging the thick, swollen head of his cock through your drenched folds. He parted your lips, teasing you with tiny, torturous strokes. Then, with a sharp slap, he tapped his cock against your clit, making you cry out.
"Shit, Doll…"
Bucky’s voice was strained, his jaw tight as he fought for control. You rolled your hips, desperate, pleading.
"Inside, please!"
"You’re gonna feel… so… goodddd…"
He bit it out through clenched teeth as he pushed forward slow, steady, and stretching you inch by inch. You choked on a moan as he filled you. He was so big. You had forgotten how thick, how deep, how perfect he felt inside you.
"Ohhhhhh, Bucky!"
"Right here, Baby."
His eyes locked onto you, greedily drinking in your bouncing breasts, your trembling stomach, the way your body took him. The sight alone nearly ended him. His head dropped back, his grip on you tightening as he bottomed out, grinding his hips into yours, making you wail in pleasure.
"You feel amazing… so fucking good. Never felt anything like this, I swear, Lark."
Your walls clenched around him, and Bucky’s face twisted, his control slipping.
"I need you to cum all over my dick."
You gasped as his hand found your clit, circling it with the same practiced precision that always ruined you. His other hand pinched your nipple, sending another bolt of pleasure straight to your core.
"Cum for me, Doll."
You had no choice. Your body seized, pleasure obliterating you as you came, gushing around his cock, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through you.
Bucky’s grip turned bruising as he drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His breath caught.
"Mine!" he growled.
And his release filled you, thick and hot, as his body shuddered violently against yours.
And in that moment, tangled together, sweat-slicked and sated, you both knew
You were his again.
—--
Bucky collapsed beside you, chest heaving, staring blankly at the ceiling.
You did the same, but while he was basking in the afterglow, warmth spreading through his chest like hope, your stomach twisted into knots.
"Where you going, Lark?"
His voice was thick with exhaustion, but he still caught the way you shifted, the way your body tensed before you sat up.
"Bathroom," you murmured, already moving. "Need to clean up."
Something flickered in his eyes, something soft, something real. But the moment you slipped away, his hope dimmed just a little.
You disappeared into the harsh fluorescent glow of the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.
—--
Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, watching as you slipped your shoes back on. You moved quickly, deliberately. Like you’d planned your exit before you ever walked through his door.
"You don’t have to run out like this," he said, voice rough.
You hesitated, just for a second, before fastening your coat.
"I have to get home."
Bucky’s fingers flexed against the sheets.
"Home."
He rolled the word over his tongue. He didn’t like the way it tasted.
Your gaze lifted, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered there, regret, and sorrow buried so deep he almost missed it.
Bucky nodded, jaw tight. He had questions. Too many. But he knew you wouldn’t answer them.
So he let you go.
But that didn’t mean he was letting this go.
—-----
Bucky sat in the back of the Continental, silent as Steve drove.
He hadn’t said a word since Steve muttered, “I’ll take you to where she lives.”
Vegas never slept, but the streets were quiet this early. Bucky stared out the window, jaw clenched.
He should’ve stopped you from leaving. Should’ve asked the damn questions instead of letting you walk out. But you were good at slipping away. You’d done it before.
Not this time.
Steve glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
"You sure about this?"
Bucky’s eyes stayed on the road ahead.
"Just drive."
Steve sighed but didn’t argue. The car veered off the Strip, where the lights weren’t as bright, where the buildings weren’t as tall, where the money wasn’t as loud. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it sure as hell wasn’t where Bucky expected you to be.
The car slowed.
A modest duplex came into view, its porch light flickering on.
Bucky barely registered anything beyond you were here. Until he saw the front door open.
You stepped out, wrapped in a housecoat, makeup gone, hair wrapped in a scarf. Then you walked to the neighboring unit. And knocked. The door cracked open.
And out ran a little boy.
Bucky sat up straighter, his breath hitching as the kid bolted toward you, dark messy hair bouncing, big blue eyes shining as he laughed, launching himself into your waiting arms.
You caught him effortlessly, hugging him close, whispering something into his ear.
Like you’d done it a thousand times before.
Because you had.
The realization hit like a bullet to the ribs.
You had a son.
Bucky’s world tilted.
Then, the boy’s voice, small and sleepy, carried through the quiet street.
"Mama, you’re home."
His breath left him in a rush.
"Yes, Jamie, I’m home."
Steve tensed, hands gripping the wheel.
Bucky’s hands curled into fists.
"Buck—"
"Drive," he rasped. The word barely made it past his lips.
Steve hesitated.
"Now."
The car pulled away, but Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on you.
Six years.
Six years, and you had kept this from him.
—---
The moment Jamie crashed into your arms, the world melted away.
"Mama, you’re home!"
You exhaled shakily, smoothing his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Miss Thea stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her housecoat, watching with quiet understanding. She didn’t ask questions. Never had. Just gave you a slow nod before retreating inside.
Jamie yawned, burrowing into your shoulder, his little arms tightening around your neck.
"You smell funny," he mumbled sleepily.
You huffed a quiet laugh, shifting him in your arms.
"Yeah? What do I smell like?"
Jamie blinked up at you, barely awake.
"Like trouble," he sighed.
Your breath caught.
A chill danced down your spine, one you always felt when Bucky was near. Slowly, your eyes lifted, scanning the street.
Nothing. No car. No sign of him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been here.
You swallowed hard, clutching Jamie closer as you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. You couldn’t shake the feeling.
Bucky knew.
And no matter how much you wanted to believe you could keep him away….You knew better.
James Buchanan Barnes was coming for you.
For both of you.
——-
Read The Trouble With Love Is
