mac&jimmy

2

“I wanted Jimmy because Jimmy produced Tom, because I loved Tom’s records. Jimmy’s like ’you don’t know Tom, Tom doesn’t know you, and when Tom comes over here, you’ll have to hide in the basement.’ So I did because it was a nice basement and actually there was a whole rock and roll 101 outside of Fleetwood Mac for me when Tom would come over, and of course I would be like, you know…”

Bucky Barnes x Plus size reader Fingerpainting

Word Count: 2K+

Warnings: Cursing(as usaual, ya’ll know I gots a potty mouth from hell) and teetH ROTTING COTTON CANDY FLAVORED FLUFF. Daddy! Bucky has my whole heart.

Growing up, your household had been vibrant, drenched in color, music filling every nook and cranny. Your mother had been something of a free spirit; You’d been raised on Fleetwood Mac and Jimmi Hendrix, on dancing in circles and bubbling laughter. Now, as an adult you cherished those memories, they we’re such a big part of who you are. And as a mother yourself, you made sure the tradition had continued on.

Made sure your children grew up with that same magical wonder that you had.

It’s what Bucky had noticed about you first, that sparkle in your (y/c) eyes, the curiosity and mischievousness. Cat like, as he liked to refer to them. You we’re his little cat; playful and full of life. And yeah, you had a vicious set of claws, but mostly you liked to be stroked. Both figuratively and literally.

You had this way about you, one that was like sunshine. That bubbly laughter of your contagious, your dimpled smile blinding.

Falling completely fucking in love with you had been easy, natural. He instinctively sought your light and you were more then willing to share it with him, give it to him. Light him up from the inside in a way that made him get a little awestruck because he’d never thought that he’d ever find something like you. He’d accepted the frigidness that had consumed him and here you came, like an Indian summer. All plump curves and saccharine words and butterfly kisses.

And he assumed that it couldn’t get any better; to have a woman that truly deeply loved him. Despite everything… well, what could top that?

And then you’d gotten pregnant and proceeded to set his universe into technicolor chaos once more. He hadn’t even realized he could still have children, that that was still an option for him.

You gifted him with something he hadn’t even realize he’d been craving; his first child. A daughter.

Faye Rebecca Barnes.

Who had your eyes, same spark and everything. But his pretty little up turned nose and his thick, dark hair. She was a tiny hummingbird of a girl, as soon as she could walk she was off in all directions; and he followed close behind, like he always would. Where there was Faye’s chiming laughter, Bucky was close by. The bond that those two had…was something that you couldn’t even fathom sometimes. It was beautiful, to watch them. To know that you had helped to create something so pure.

…Two somethings so pure. Your stomach had never been flat; had always been plush and jiggly, but at the moment it strained out round and firmly, stretching your skin taught. Like some had stuck a basketball under your shirt.

They say pregnancy the second time around is easier. Fucking hah, who ever said that didn’t have a three year old darting around. But still- you tried to stay positive. Tried to focus more on the beautiful parts of pregnancy…even though the ugly, irritating ones came in spades. Oh, how you desperately fucking missed not having to pee every ten minutes.

Baby Barnes number two had made it a game to tap dance on your bladder.

It’s a stormy Wednesday afternoon, nothing particularly exciting or special going on: you’re sitting on the living room floor because its the only place you can seem o get comfortable with Faye, the large glass coffee table in front of you littered with oil pastes and colored pencils. Discarded papers blotches with swirls of color dispersed all over as the two of you drew idly. Bucky was laying on the couch behind you, the one that you lean against, reading the newspaper as Dumbo played on the flat screen in the background.

“Mommy what’s your favorite animal?” Faye inquires, not looking up from her paper and the long erratic strokes she’s making with a teal colored pencil. She was only three, and she’d seemed to inherit your “artistic nature” as Buck liked to call it.

“Seahorses…Or maybe flamingos. I cant decide” You scrunch your nose, focused on your own art. Sunsets and constellations stare back at you, you use your thumb to blend the smooth pastel colors into one hypnotic shade. “What’s yours, Honeybee?”

“Mermaids” Faye shrugs as though its obvious “I like pink elephants too”

From behind the newspaper, Bucky has a large grin on his face. Shaking his head a little at the two of you.

“Is that why we’ve been watching Dumbo on repeat?” He wonders, his gruff voice amused as he reads an article on ‘Stark Industries new Holliday Season Technology.’

“It’s my favorite” Faye nods. Favorite of the week, that is. Last week had been the Aristocats, the week before that Moana.

Bucky could literally sing “Your Welcome” from start to finish. Faye insisted her father be Maui for the upcoming Halloween because he had “pretty hair” just like him. You’d laughed HARD at that, but whispered to him that you wouldn’t mind seeing him only in a grass skirt, your tone had him grabbing at your plump ass.

“Really? It used to scare me a little bit. Especially the pink elephants on parade part. Super trippy if you ask me” You laugh, looking up from your page at your daughter. Her dark hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head,

“I like ‘em. I think they pretty” The three year old defends.

“It does make my head spin a little. I remember reading somethin’ about Walt Disney being all hopped up on dr-” Bucky stops himself, shooting Faye a look “-…Sugar, when he made a lot of these movies”

You laugh. It’s uncanny how similar it sounds to your daughters.

Bucky thinks that’s part of a reason the little girl has such a tight hold on his heart. Obviously, she was his child, and he would love her regardless of what she looked like. But the fact that she was a mini version of you was really what got him.

Faye laughed like sunshine too.

“Yeah I’ve heard that too! And it makes so much sense, this was a trip gone bad…or good I guess. Since you know, its a classic” You add.

“A trip to where, mommy?”

You snort and Bucky puts the paper down a little bit so that he can not only see your reaction, but your response. One of his eyebrows raise.

“Umm, to a place where only adults go. We’ll talk about it when your in college?” You test the waters. Even after years, this whole parenting thing was still touch and go to you.

You didn’t think you’d ever fully have it down.

Bucky’s little chortle from behind you makes you turn around and shoot him a glare to which his hand, the metal one, comes down and rubs your shoulder in apology; his cool fingers massaging the muscle near your neck in a way that had you leaning into him.

You still love the feeling of his hands on your skin, still makes goosebumps rise. You hope you never loose this feeing.

Faye, as usual, looses interest with what she’s doing before her movies even over.

“I’m bored” She whines dropping her pencil “I wanna go swing”

“No, Faye. It’s raining and you’ll not only get all muddy, but you’ll get sick” You try to explain to her the reason why your such a kill joy. Of course she doesn’t seem to hear any of it.

“Daddy?”

You breathe through your nose. Of course.

Bucky was what people call “the good parent”. What you said no to, she’d usually be able to convince her father into letting her do.

She really was manipulative for a three year old.

“Where do you think she gets that from?” Nat had taunted once, looking at you with laughing eyes and you’d shoved her shoulder.

“No baby, you’re moms right. You’ll get really sick and then you wont get to go play at Uncle Steves this weekend. And you’ve been so excited to see Noah” Bucky sides with you, trying to convince her with the promise of seeing her god brother, Steve and Sharon’s one year old son.

Faye huffs and pushes her paper away from her so hard that it, along with a few pastels, flies off the table. She then lets her head fall to the glass with a hard thunk, one that made Bucky wince.

“I’m so bored” She cries dramatically. You know how people talk about the terrible two’s? Yeah you we’re starting to think the troublesome threes were worse.

“Do you want to watch a different movie?”

“No”

“You could come help mama make lunch? Chicken fingers, you favorite?”

“No”

“We could go find Kit? I think she’s scared of the thunder, she’s probably under your bed-” Bucky offers, he knows how much Faye loves that cat.

“NO DADDY” Faye interrupts him with a snap.

“Faye Rebecca Barnes, you do not talk to any adults that way, much less your dad. You probably hurt his feelings” Your tone is not cutting, but authoritive . She knows better then that. She doesn’t look up but you hear her sniffle as she turns her head, facing away from you.

You purse your lips, before leaning your own head back, enough that it rests on Buckys thigh. Your eyes closed. Did you hate making her cry(even if you knew she was just faking?) Yes. But you also wanted to make sure she grew up to be a decent member of society that other people could stand. And that meant teaching her that she couldn’t snap to get her way.

Bucky knew that too…he also knew you had way more resolve then him. So instead of making it worse, he kept his mouth closed and let you handle it. Smart man, your husband.

…as the minutes ticked by, the silence a little overwhelming you realized that you too, were bored.

Making you empathize with your little one. Boredom, the death of creativity. It had always made you antsy, being idle. You feel Buck’s hand in your hair, the metal one, and you get a passing idea.

Remembering a time when your mother had let you and your siblings finger paint on her back…

“Hey, Faye” You call to her, and she mutters a small “What” without looking at you. She could pout with the best of them.

Something she’d inherited from both of you.

“Wanna do something fun?” Your voice is eager and it makes both Faye and Bucky give you almost identical looks.

“Like what?”

You just grin and manage to heft yourself off of the floor(with Bucky’s arm steadying you) and waddle out of the living room, towards your art closet.

“Where’s she goin?” Faye questions her father and he shrugs but sits up, anticipating your next move.

“I don’t know, but knowin’ your mother- it’ll be something messy” Bucky guesses as he looks down at Faye, taking a minute to bop her on her little bun. She beams up at him, grabbing at her hair.

“Hey!”

“Sorry pumpkin” He chuckles, before bopping her again. He’s ready for her when she launches herself into his lap.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings” Faye whispers against his scruffy cheek as he holds her.

“It’s okay” Bucky scratches her back lightly “I’m a big boy, I got over it”

“Okay, lets do this” You announce as you come back in the room and both of their heads turn to meet you. In your arms, resting on your stomach, is your plastic container full of washable paints and glitters. Body paint…

“Told you. Messy” Bucky tells Faye who squeals and makes grabby hands at you.

An hour later, you’ve managed to lay the news paper that Buck was reading out on the floor. Protecting your rugs from the splashes of paint. The three of you sit on the hardwood, Bucky has stripped off the hoodie he was wearing and now sits in just his white singlet, holding his metal arm steady and still as you Faye paint on the surface of it. Both of your fingers covered in multicolor paint as they swirl colors onto the sleek metal.

Faye draws purple clouds and orange seahorses(or at least she tries) and you work on an intricate, realistic looking array of wild flowers with a detailed sunflower in the middle of them.

He squirms a little as your fingers trace the edge where his steel shoulder meets warm flesh.

“Don’t move, daddy!” Faye barks at him and you giggle.

“Yeah, daddy” You stress the word, biting your lip and shooting him a devious little smirk that your daughter misses “Don’t move”

“It tickles!” He protests with an exasperated laugh, but stays still all the same. He cant tear his eyes off of you, so concentrated. Little specks of yellow paint smeared on your soft cheek, your belly swollen with his second baby. He reaches out with his flesh hand to rub at the bump tenderly.

You’d given him everything.

“I love you, sweets” He whispers, watching your short fingers delicately trace details into the flowers. You look up, breaking your concentration to smile at him.

“I love you too, Buck” You reach up and press a kiss to his stubbly jaw, then another to his chin. And finally laying a big one on his cheek.

When he feels another set, of smaller lips, press a quick peck to his other cheek his heart swells.

“Love you, daddy” Faye chirps, as she settles back down. “Momma do seahorses have three eyes or four?”

“Four” You answer with a smile.

-Okay I know this wasn’t smut but this was requested and I felt like I needed to write some Dad! Bucky because I love him so much and he’s such a cinnamon roll and wouldn’t he just make the best dad? I wanted their daughters name to be something old fashioned, but still interesting because this Readers an artist and I just think she’d want her children to have unique sounding names? Idk. Enjoy. Cry. Do what you must💘😂

10 COMMANDMENTS: STEVIE NICKS - Q Magazine, March 2017

THE FLEETWOOD MAC SINGER DELIVERS HER GOLDEN RULES FOR LIVING. 

1 MAKE LIKE A BOY OR GIRL SCOUT: BE PREPARED 

I’m scared, that’s what I am. Before shows, some people – me, Mick [Fleetwood, [ drummer], we get panic attacks. I have always been terribly nervous before shows. So I am so rehearsed and ready that I could be dead and stand up there and still sing the right words and do the right thing. Cocaine almost killed me. It’s better to just not do it. Eventually you’ll have to stop so start saving your money for rehab now. 

2 THE DRUGS DON’T WORK, THEY JUST MAKE IT WORSE 

Touring with Fleetwood Mac in the ’70s, cocaine was almost part of the daily routine. But when I talk about it now, I would never want the kids of today to think that I’m saying it was something good. Cos it really wasn’t something good. It almost destroyed my life. It almost killed me, and almost killed a lot of people I know. So if anybody thinks it’s safe now – it’s not. It’s better to just not do it. Because you will eventually have to stop, so start saving your money for rehab now. It’s so expensive. 

3 LYRICISTS! WATCH YOUR CUSS WORDS 

I’ve been listening to The Weeknd’s records. I play them one after the other when I’m in my bathroom getting ready to go out, or just hanging out with myself. He’s brilliant. And his voice – he could have come straight out of 1975 – he could have been like Stevie Winwood. He’s over-talented. But if I were to meet him, I would probably say: “You say over and over again words that I would prefer you didn’t say. I think they’re unnecessary. However, even though I think a lot of your songs are super-dirty, I still really like ’em! So I’ve given you a pass on that!” 

4 SINGERS! WATCH YOUR SYLLABLES 

I saw Adele at the Grammys [Adele had to restart a performance of George Michael’s Fastlove], and that song was a very hard song to sing for George Michael. It’s all about the syllables. I have a song on my 24 Karat Gold album, Mabel Normand, that’s exactly the same. That’s the reason we’re not doing it onstage. Because if you take a breath, you get off the beat. You’re one word too late, you can never get back on, and you’re dead in the water. 

5 YOU’RE A ROCK STAR – THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A SICKIE 

Onstage is the one time you can’t bemoan how you feel. Even if you have pneumonia, you have to say: “I’m leaving that in the dressing room and I’m walking out and I’m gonna be great. And when I come offstage, then I can burst into tears.” 

6 WRITING TIMELESS POP OR EPIC FANTASY – EACH IS AS HARD AS THE OTHER

I love Game Of Thrones. [Author Author] George RR Martin is my age [68 ] and it blows my mind that he’s able to create this vast, interlinked world. As a songwriter I write little movies, but I can’t imagine writing even one small book. But then, probably, somebody like him would say, “I couldn’t imagine writing Landslide.” 

7 DON’T FEAR THE PRODUCER 

In the 24 Karat Gold show, I’m singing songs that are new old songs – the ones that should have gone on [Fleetwood Mac’s] Tusk and Tango In The Night, and on [solo albums] Bella Donna, The Wild Heart and Rock A Little. And they didn’t: not because they weren’t good enough, but because I didn’t like how they were done at the time. I didn’t like the producers’ concept, whether it was Lindsey [Buckingham, Fleetwood Mac bandmate] or Jimmy Iovine. So I pulled them. So the way the songs are recorded on 24 Karat Gold is exactly how they were done as demos. 

8 LEARN FROM THE GREATS. AND TAKE FROM THE GREATS

I give Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and [Jefferson Airplane singer] Grace Slick the three nods. From Grace I got her slinky-ness. Janis was just little with a big attitude and big hair and feathers, and a drop-dead amazing voice. And Jimi was completely and utterly humble. So from those three people I got slinky, attitude and humility – and that was my stage performance. 

9 RESPECT OTHER ARTISTS, WHEREVER THEY ARE ON THE BILL 

Chrissie Hynde and I have been touring America together. She’s just fantastic. A lot of the people in her group say they haven’t seen her that happy in 30 years. And I love that so much. Because I never wanted Chrissie to feel like she was opening for me. I wanted her to feel that it was a complete and utter double bill. But because the tour was my idea, I got to go on last, basically.

10 BE AN EASY WRITER, AND AN EASY ROCKER

I’ve always loved Tom Petty, from Refugee to Breakdown, all thosesongs. Tom’s an easy writer – very unlike Lindsey, more like myself. When Tom goes up there onstage, he might as well be in his studio or his living room with the stereo banging. 

Stevie Nicks plays BST Hyde Park on 9 July. Tickets are available now.

Anyway, what’s your “I think I encountered a celebrity who was supposed to be dead.” story because I encountered an old man version of James Dean on the Ocracoke ferry. He was on a motorcycle and he was feeding the seagulls and he threw bread in our convertible with the full intention of getting us attacked by birds. Thanks Jimmy.