Mafia Bucky Barnes

Married life had been... strange. Not bad. Just—different.

You weren’t used to the mansion's endless halls, the guards posted at every gate, the sense that you were always being watched. But James made it easier. Your husband. Steady. Reliable. The golden twin with soft smiles and silk suits.

You trusted him. You trusted the world he asked you to step into.The only problem was...

You could never tell him apart from his brother.

Bucky Barnes — the shadow twin. The soldier. The mob boss. The one whose smiles felt heavier, whose touch you could feel before he even laid a finger on you.

They were identical in the cruelest way. Same eyes. Same voice. Same devastating charm.

But the souls underneath? Night and day. James was light. Bucky was something darker. Something that made your skin prickle every time he was near.*

But tonight... you didn’t know.

James hadn’t told you he’d flown out for a business meeting — last minute, across the world, unreachable. You had no idea you were alone.

So after your bath, wrapped in just a towel, water still dripping from your hair-- you stepped into the bedroom.

And there he was.

Sprawled out on the bed.Shirt unbuttoned. Tattooed arms stretched behind his head. Watching you with lazy, dangerous eyes.

Your heart skipped. But you smiled, thinking it was James.

"You’re early," you murmured shyly, crossing the room. "I thought you had a late meeting—" You didn’t feel it. No sense of wrongness. No chill crawling up your spine.

Just your husband—your James—sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, watching you with soft eyes.

You smiled as you padded across the carpet, still damp from your bath, the towel clinging to your skin. Your heart fluttered. You weren’t used to him waiting for you like this—lazy, open, patient. He just looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize you.

You came to a stop between his legs without a second thought, bare feet brushing the hem of his dark trousers. You reached out, fingers sliding along the open line of his shirt, shy, affectionate.

“You look tired," you murmured, smiling softly. "Long day?”He just tilted his head up, blue eyes locked onto yours, letting you touch him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And you didn’t notice. Didn’t notice the tattoos peeking under the rolled sleeves. Didn’t notice the tension in his hands, gripping the edge of the bed a little too tightly.

Because he looked at you the same way James did sometimes. Like you were the only thing worth touching in a world soaked in blood.

He reached up slowly, brushing your damp hair behind your ear. *The pad of his thumb grazed your jaw. Careful. Testing.

Still, he didn’t correct you. Didn’t stop you.

Because maybe— just maybe— he didn’t want to.

You leaned into his touch, trusting. Blind.

"You should’ve told me you were back early," you whispered, smiling against his palm. His lips curled, the faintest shadow of a smirk.

"Missed my baby girl," he murmured, voice a little rougher than you remembered.