meeting the family
You took Bucky’s hand, his hands an oxymoron of sorts; calloused, yet manicured and pristine – the tan skin touching yours created a swarm of teal blue butterflies in your tummy. He led you just down the block, cobblestones under your sneakers one tap at a time. You felt warm as he led you down the street, your skin entangled with his for the moment. It was something you hadn’t felt in so long and for good reason, but for some reason you were too caught up and too encapsulated by everything that Bucky was. Whether he was a liar or not was out of your brain. Either way, you knew this was a means to an end and the truth was on the edge of coming out eventually. He stopped in front of you briefly, opening the door to a black suv and ushering you inside with gentle fingertips against your skin. The ride to Bucky’s office was silent but peaceful; gentle touches of your knee from his calloused fingers providing you with comfort, though you knew they probably shouldn’t. You were convinced that he was this ambiguous, enigmatic thing but the tiny voice in the back of your head kept whispering sweet nothings to you, suggesting that maybe he was just a guy and you were just a girl and this was simply – fate. You were brought out of those very intrusive thoughts as the tires underneath you halted and before you could think, Bucky was out of the car and opening your door, reaching out his giant palm for you. You placed your tiny hand in his, accepting his aid in your step down from the suv and thanking him with a kind smile. You stood there awkwardly for a moment and he faced you, looking you over and making sure you were secure and safe, feet on the ground. When he was satisfied, his eyes met yours again, ever present with longing and what seemed to be a gleam of regret. You were confused at the notion.
“Doll, this is it, okay? After this – this is all of me, all cards out on the table. If you want me to leave you be, I will.”
You didn’t dare speak in response to his vulnerability, only nodding your head in an attempt to make him understand you were acknowledging what he said. Once you did, he led you inside, his large hand at the small of your back. The first thing your eyes and brain simultaneously registered was the giant white block letters on the wall above the receptionist's station, the spread reading Barnes incorporated. His name being on the wall sent exclamation points to your brain, but you quickly pushed them away, soothing your thoughts with the comfort that he might be a boss, but that didn’t mean he was a mafia boss like he had previously told you. Just as your eyes flickered from the letters on the wall back to Bucky, he guided you down a hallway. It was long and winding and the carpet beneath your feet was expensive. You could tell by how soft it felt, even under your shoes. Bucky stopped just outside of a wooden set of french doors and you watched as he let out a labored breath before opening it and leading you inside. As you made it through the threshold of the door, you were greeted by a group of men. The blonde one was the first one you took a glance at, his presence brought familiarity and warmth, much like Bucky’s.
“You must be Buck’s Tulip.”
The man with honey colored skin spoke and your eyes flicked over to him, a smile spreading at the notion that you were Bucky’s – anything.
“That w-would be me.”
You responded, grimacing at the stutter that escaped your lips, hoping no one noticed. But, Bucky did and you knew as soon as his hand met the small of your back again soothing you with his warmth.
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Sam and these goons are Steve and Clint. There’s some other guys you’ll meet soon enough, but we are the main three.”
You nodded in the direction of the men, smiling as kindly as you could.
“Pleased to meet you. My name is y/n, but Bucky calls me tulip because I own a flower shop.”
The boys chuckled at your words, noting how Bucky-like the nickname was.
“Come on, angel. I’ve got some things to show you.”
Bucky muttered, tugging at your hand again and leading you out of the room and down the hall to an office the size of your entire brownstone. You moved to sit in the leather chairs that were placed directly in front of his desk to which he quickly followed, leaning against the wood in front of you and holding your hands in his.
“So, I've met your boys, when are you going to tell me what you do? When are you going to tell me who the real Bucky Barnes is?”
You questioned, looking up at him in challenge.
“I can’t tell you all of it, for your own protection.”
You rolled your eyes and moved to get up and away from him.
“I’ll tell you some of it, doll. Calm down, okay? I just need you to understand that some things you can’t know – you can’t be involved in.”
You nodded slowly in response.
“Barnes incorporated is involved in a lot of things; philanthropy, art dealing, property development, but all that is a cover for drug running.”
Your mouth opened to speak but no words came out, so you gave him a simple nod again.
“Can you say something, doll?”
He looked at you with pleading eyes.
“Are you as mean as they say? Do you really kill innocent people?”
You questioned and he knelt down before you, his hands rubbing circles against your cheeks.
“No, baby. I’ve never killed an innocent person. The people that I deal with are dangerous and sometimes I have to take care of business to show them they can’t walk all over me.”
He said, sadly.
“Okay.”
You whispered.
“Okay? Baby, what does that mean? Are you gonna go and never talk to me again? I wouldn’t – I couldn’t blame you if you did.”
He hung his head low as he waited on your response, a pregnant silence filled the air.
“No, Buck. I’m not gonna go.”
His head jerked up in response, blue eyes filled with water and before you could even blink his lips were on yours.
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