Marvel Oneshots X Male reader

Bucky Falls for a Jazz Singer in the Noir Era

Requested by Marckleorbl. I hope you like it!

Rain tapped softly against the windows of the jazz club in Brooklyn. Low, warm lighting bathed the room in a mellow glow as patrons sipped drinks, chatted quietly, or let the music carry them away. On stage, a piano hummed under the fingers of a skilled player, accompanying the local singer, Y/N, whose voice wove effortlessly through the smoky air.

Most of the visitors were there to unwind after a long day, not specifically for the singer. Even rarer was someone coming just to hear Y/N.

As the final notes lingered, applause filled the room. Y/N and the pianist exchanged a grateful bow before stepping off stage for a brief break. Making his way to the bar, Y/N called out. "One whisky, please."

Micheal, the bartender and a longtime friend, had already anticipated the order. "Seems like you've gained a real fan." He said with a grin. "Someone already paid for your drink—and left a note."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Who?"

Micheal shrugged. "They wanted to remain anonymous. A guy came in, handed over cash, and said to give you this envelope."

Sliding the envelope across the counter, Micheal walked away, leaving Y/N staring at the plain white paper. He tore it open carefully and read the note inside:

First, let me start with this—thank you for reading this. I've enjoyed your performances for some time now; they always calm me after a long and hard day at work.
Anyway, I hope one day we can speak face to face. When that day comes, I'll make sure to buy you another drink.
—From B.

Y/N hummed softly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. Curious, intrigued... he wondered if he'd ever meet the mysterious B in person.

-

A week passed, and no word came from the mysterious admirer. Though Y/N's curiosity lingered, he continued doing what he loved, performing night after night.

Another rainy evening settled over Brooklyn. The jazz club hummed with the quiet chatter of patrons. A man entered, his fedora shielding his hair from the drizzle. His eyes immediately found Y/N on stage. After ordering a whisky, he made his way to a dim corner of the room, letting the music wash over him from afar.

Minutes later, the singer received another round of applause. As he stepped to the bar to grab a drink, a waiter approached, carrying a glass.

"From the gentleman in the corner." The waiter said, nodding toward the shadowed figure now smoking quietly.

Y/N's eyes met the man's briefly. Startled, he quickly ducked behind his hat, breaking eye contact.

Micheal, observing from behind the bar, frowned. "I'd stay away from him."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Part of the local gang. Pretty sure his name's James Barnes."

"Barnes..." Y/N murmured, the connection clicking instantly with the 'B' from the letter.

Micheal shrugged. "Goes by Bucky. But I'd call him a psychopath. Lucky I can't kick him out." With that, he returned to his work.

The man in the corner sipped his whisky, eyes occasionally glancing toward the singer. After a moment of hesitation, Y/N straightened and walked across the room, approaching the brunette.

Bucky looked up as Y/N slid into the seat beside him.

"Barnes, right?" Y/N asked.

The man lowered his gaze behind his hat. "Bucky. Yeah."