#arranged mob!bucky barnes

[thefallennightmare]

Just so yall know, there will be a bit of smut in the next chapter for Arranged. 😉😉

[winterarmyy]

Around My Scars

Glimpses of mafia!bucky and his wife's arranged married life.

Summary: A careless decision leads to Bucky almost losing his wife.

Note: Read 《 Plot Twist 》 for backstory of the couple.

Words: 5.1k++

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, physical assault (not from bucky), sexual assault (not from bucky), graphic violence, reader is lowkey a badass, pussyjob, reader on top but bucky in control, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, extra soft!bucky, fluff, tiny angst, etc.

P/S: If you have not read the original story yet. You can read it first for backstory. If not, you still can read it as standalone. And for those who came from plot twist series, I noticed there's a lot of you wanting more from this couple. So here's one of the glimpses of what happen somewhere in the future. Enjoy ♡

Read my other works here: Masterlist

All her life, she never thought a kiss could be this gentle. In fact every time Bucky's lips graced on her skin, it was impossibly tender. His kisses trailed along her bare back, from the center of her waist up to the back of her shoulder.

His lips followed the surrounding shape of her scarring wounds, as if he was tracing the shadows of them. His hot breath fanning against her cold skin and the deep, and subtle hum of his voice lulled her to near slumber.

Unlike his soft pillowy lips, his hands however were the opposite. His right was calloused and warm while the other was smooth and cold. Yet both of them were cupping her bare breasts perfectly; they felt so good on her skin.

It felt good like this; nothing in between them. Not even a single piece of clothing separating them apart. Bare and naked.

"Bucky..." a quiet moan was drawn from her lips as his hands squeeze her softness before they roamed around her frame.

Bucky only tightens his hold on her upon hearing her voice. It was if he was afraid that she was not real. As if she was just an illusion he was despretely holding onto.

He pulled her impossibly closer, his metal arm wrapped around her waist, gripping on the side while his right hand palming her chest, right above where her heart was beating.

She's real. She's here.

His own voice reassured his doubtful mind.

However, Y/N was getting nothing from her husband. Only grunts and growl and him snuggling into her, "Bucky, baby? What's wrong, honey?" she coaxed him softly as her hand reached back to played with his hair.

It took a few moments of silence before Bucky finally replied, his voice sounded like regret, "It's my fault, y/n."

~ ~ Flashback ~ ~

It was a normal day for the couple. A lovely day, in fact. They were on one of their 'undercover' dates. At least, that what Y/N called it. A name she came up with that makes Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Apparently, after the diner date they had before, they find themselves wanting more of it. The normality of life outside of the reality they lived in. And they surely made it a weekly schedule. Not that it was chore for them though, it never was, never will be.

After visiting the Brooklyn Book Festival and basically almost hauling the displays, they were planning to eat the new cafe near the location. But, as soon as they find the seats, Bucky got a call.

He was not supposed to even received any call.

That was one of the rules he set himself; no business during their dates. For whatever reason, this one got through him.

"Probably something huge." Y/N guessed as she watched Bucky excuses himself to pickup the call.

And her hunch was true. It was a huge deal. Especially when she saw his expression when he was approaching their table.

"I'm sorry, sweets. I really hate to leave you like this." He apologized when Y/N said she was okay to eat lunch alone.

"It's okay, I'm already here so it'd be a waste to completely cancel the plan." She continued to justify her decision for the reasons that the new café was hard to book a table, as if Bucky couldn't just book the whole goddamn café everyday for the rest of their life for her.

But, in the end, she did managed to persuade him. Bucky gentlely pulled her by the chin, before placing a soft kiss on her lips; whispering promises to make it up for her.

As his promises were laced with sweetness and sin, Y/N couldn't help but to smile against his lips, humming in agreement before watching him jog to the car.

She waved him a final goodbye and smiled at Steve who came to pick him up. The car drove away, leaving two of Bucky's men behind to look after Y/N.

If only Bucky knew how careless his decision was to leave those particular men in charge of his wife. Both were high on drugs and was not in a condition to be on duty. Especially a duty as important as protecting the lady of mansion.

At first it wasn't clear why she felt a little out after her lunch. She thought she would be fine after a little walk at the nearby park but she was wrong. Utterly wrong; especially when her vision went dark all of the sudden.

When she woke up in that basement, it clicked her. Her drink or food must have been spiked.

How long has it been since? How far away is she now from Bucky? Y/N woke up knowing nothing. Not knowing the place she was in nor the duration she had passed out.

Her heart was pumping fast, all the while her body was deadly cold. She was expecting to be tied up on a chair, at least she could try wiggle herself out of it but luck wasn't on her side.

Metal chains securely cuffed around her wrists as well as her ankles. Her movement was limited as the end of the chains were attached to the wall behind here. Anxiety threatens her to cry but she tried to stay calm.

Y/N looked at her surroundings. It seems to be a run down basement. There's lack of natural light source; the very little lighting were coming from the dim fluorescent lamp right above her head and another two in different location.

Clearly some empty bottles of alcohol were scattering all over the place. But none of those items were close enough for her to reach out to. Y/N heard laughs from behind the rusty metal door. It had two distinct voices; one deep and another was rather squeaky.

A clacking sound seemed to indicate that someone was unlocking the door. As the door opened, a man in his mid 30s walked in with a cruel smile.

He walked closer followed by two other man behind him; both were armed. Y/N frantically crawled back to meet her back to the walls behind her, the metal chains rubbed with each other, breaking the silence in the room.

"Stay back!" she warned.

The brutal man took a chair and sat in front of her. He looked like that type of person who would do anything for power. He had nothing but fiery eyes.

He look down and said "What's your name, sweetheart?" his voice demand nothing but a clear answer.

Y/N glared up to him, "I'd tell you, but I don't like being labelled." If hatred was visible the air would have been scarlet. The man could see she was not afraid to bite if he reach his hands out.

He chuckled darkly, "You're funny..." But unfortunately, he wasn't the type to reach out, he's more likely to; lash out.

The silenced room was once again tainted with sound, but this it wasn't just the moving chains but there was also the sound created from the impact of the harsh slap across Y/N's face.

The back of his hand hit and she fell with the force of it, "Urghh.." she groaned as she fall flat on the ground. The man continued, "... but not funny enough."

She can taste the coppery liquid on her tongue; she must have injured herself. Her cheeks stings as hell but Y/N was never the type to stay quiet and cry in front of people, especially to her enemies.

She giggled eerily as she sat back up, the undying flames in her eyes burn brighter, "Well that was fucking weak." she spat out the blood right on his shiny black shoes.

The man slipped out hysterical laugh, "I see why he like to keep you around." he smirked and stood from the chair. He dragged the rickety wooden chair away and threw it farther away than the original position.

Y/N had her gaze as strong as her will to live. The man look back to the tiny woman on the dusty floor before walking away. "Sir, what do we do with the girl?" One of the guards asked.

The man stopped midway through the door and stay silence for awhile, a wicked thought came through him, "Do whatever you want to do. As long as she remains alive." he snapped his head back to display a meaningful malicious grin and closed the doors behind him.

It was just a second of a glimpse, but the man clearly saw Y/N's despair in her expression. Too bad he had to go so soon.

As the doors closed, the two man look at each other and back to Y/N. A person doesn't need be a genius to read the mood. She knew exactly what's going to happen and for the first time a long time, she was petrified. For the first time in forever, she was scared for her life.

She couldn't breathe, it felt as if someone was choking her. Her heart was racing and all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wait for someone to save her. But no one would, no one was there.

A choked cry for help forced itself up her throat, "Get away! Don't come any closer!" she felt a drop run down her cheek. It seemed as if this was the end of the road for her.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Y/N roared hoping the two man had a little bit fear but considering her position, that obviously not going to happen.

The man fearless and shamelessly grabbed her despite she was crying out pleads. "Come now, sweets. Make this easy for us."

Sweets. It sounds so disgusting coming from another man.

One of the man grabbed a hold of her wrists while another took his time feasting her with his eyes.

"P-please don't d-do this..." she sniffled as her strength were getting weaker, despite all of the quarrels and battle she had gone through before, she should be fearless.

But, when one is looking into eyes that lurked with such dark lust as those she was seeing right now; fear is bound to creep in. No matter how strong-willed a person see themselves as.

"Don't worry, we'll be gentle if you behave." he licked his upper lips as he run his hand along her waist up to her chest.

It was disgusting, every cells on Y/N's body was rejecting his touch; her throats seemed like it was trying to force her to puke something out but there's nothing but the nausea.

Tears kept falling down as they escape from the corner of her eyes. She was beyond terrified, even with her struggling; it seemed to be useless.

The man grabbed on the fabric of her sundress that was framing her collarbone and forcibly ripped them apart, exposing Y/N in her bra. The man scanned her body once more, cock straining in his pants.

Damn, she looked like sin.

He managed to gripped her hands together in one hand before she could protest even more. His other hand reaching to her breast.

No.

His rough grip on her breast was only bringing her pain than pleasure. But he was rather enjoying the tenderness of her body.

No.

He dipped in closer; he stuck his tongue out to lick the valley of her breasts, leaving trails of his disgusting stickiness behind.

Stop.

He hummed in satisfaction, approving the way she tasted. His bulge rubbing against her clothed core, humping for pleasure. Y/N couldn't look at him.

Please, stop.

But the moment she looked away, she made eye contact to the other man behind him. He had his cock in his hand, lazy strokes and a wicked smile when the tears fell down from her eyes.

"So pretty, baby" he mouthed.

For a moment there Y/N stopped struggling. She sat still like a doll who loses its' battery power, the man's statement rang in her head in an infinite loop.

"You're beautiful, y/n" Bucky's voice resurfaced in her mind.

"You're always going to be mine." the voice continued.

"I'm always going to be there to protect you, sweets."

The flashbacks run through her head faster than a bullet train.

Seeing how Y/N stopped moving, they thought she gave up. But then again, some people never learn. Don't ever underestimate your opponent.

She get the hold of herself, pulled her head back and headbutt the man in front of her. She didn't even care if she could get a concussion herself from the impact. The man ended up falling back on his ass as he grunts in pain.

"Stay. The Fuck. Away. From Me." She threatened.

Though her defiant only spark anger from the man, rather than fear. When he regained his balance, he slipped the leather belt from his pants, "You asked for this little girl. So be it." he grunts as he pulled a hand back.

His palm strikes her on already stinging cheeks, making her fall on her chest. Before she could pushed herself up, she was forced to stay down as the man pressed his boots at the back of her head.

"You need to be trained like a bitch. And I'm gonna give you exactly that." His words only sounded like a warning to her.

Which was exactly it, when she felt the first strike of his belt across her back. It was one of many mean and harsh whipping on her delicate skin. Until she was aching, bleeding.

As sick as he was, enjoying the thrill of torturing a defenseless girl, the other man was much more twisted, as he kept stroking himself as he watched Y/N bleed and whimpered.

It was disgusting, it was painful; And at one point her hands were reaching around only to clung on the man's other foot.

Surprisingly he stopped, "Learnt your lessons yet, mutt?"

Y/N can hear his sinister smile despite her face planted on the floor. She didn't reply, the only sound can be heard from her, is her unstable breathing.

Wanting as answer, he foolishly pulled his foot away from her head, "Are you deaf? Answer me!" He pushed.

Foolish he was.

Y/N fought against the agonizing pain on her back and took the advantage to pull his leg as hard as she could, making his fall on the floor. She was swift with her next move; she hit the man's groin with her elbow, automatically lower the protection his other part of his body.

As he was busy tending his wounded balls, Y/N slide behind him and wrapped the chains around his neck, she yanked the man as she tighten the crossover metal chains.

"You better stay the fuck away from me or he's dead." She warned the other man who was trying to get to her, he called her bluff. He took a step closer, still pushing his luck.

Y/N strengthen her grip as well as pulling the chain as hard as she could, practically strangling and knocking out the breath out of his throat. "S-Stop. S-stay there." the dying man stuttered.

The other obliged and had his hand up in the air as a sign of surrender. Y/N glared up to the man, "Lay your filthy hands on me again, I won't hold back." she growled in his ears before drifting his head towards the wall, knocking him unconscious.

Upon seeing his accomplice slouched to the floor with a bleeding head, the other man tried to grabbed and hold her down. But she quickly grabbed the gun from the unconscious man, and pulled the trigger.

Her aim was off but enough to disarm him. His right shoulder now had a hole through it. He grunted to agonizing pain on his shoulder, but he should've known to not let his guard down. Then, it hits him. Another hole through the shins of his left leg.

He screamed and wailed, sucking air in and out of his mouth, holding on to the last cliff of his life as he fell into his knees and down to the floor.

Despite the lack of protest from the man, Y/N didn't let her guard down as she still holding on the gun in her grip.

At this point, Y/N was losing more than just her blood, but her strength and vision too. She blinked slowly, waiting for glimpse of threat from the entrance.

Even if the two men were rendered immobilized, however she knew gunshot will alert the others. Anyone could barge in at any point of time. And she needed to be ready for them.

The door was getting blurry in her point of view and the cracking headache greeted as painful as the other wounds all over her back.

The dark silence didn't last long as Y/N can clearly heard a lot of movements from the level above her. One time she heard multiple footsteps running around and another she heard loud cracks much resembles a sound of a "Gun shots..." she breathed.

It took a single kick on the rusty old metal door; Y/N's body jumped out of reflex to the sound of the door fall from it's frame. As the door fell down, it revealed the face of a man who Y/N thought she could never see ever again.

His face were painted with the colour of crimson, almost covering half of his beautiful features; but his sapphire eyes shines the same. Even if her hearts was pumping fast, it seemed like the man was more desperate for air than she herself.

A sense of relief hit her like the crashing wave as she called out his name, "Bucky..."

Bucky stood there,dark and dangerous; just a few steps away from the woman he claimed as his. His heart seemed to stop for a split second; there she was — crawled in the corner of the dim lit room, both hands and legs chained to the wall behind her.

It's not that Bucky couldn't see there were others in the basement besides her; he knew that, he could see them but the nudity of his wife's chest caught his attention and he could see the pieces of her torn clothes were near her wounded ankles and wrists.

The cuts on around her skin, cause by the metal cuffs symbolizes her struggles. The bright pair of eyes that Bucky had always admired; they glint, however, in pain and tears.

A sight that Bucky never wanted to see.

Frozen in his spot, Y/N gathered all the strength she had left, to shout his name once again, "Come here, Bucky..." the sound of the strained metal chain echoed along with her shaky plead, as she reach her arms out towards her husband.

Pleading for his touch, his warmth.

It took less than a second after hearing her calling, for Bucky to sprint towards her. Completely ignoring the riot of bullets echoed from above them, even stepping on the men on the floor.

He had lost her for less than seven hours, but it felt like forever. Bucky fell down to his knees as he wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her head to his chest. He hold onto her tightly, as if someone was trying to rip her away from his grasps.

It was slight, but Bucky could clearly feel her body shivering body in his embrace as she cried to his chest, a piercing pain struck his heart, "I'm here. I'm here." he whispered softly.

His hand found it's way to her back, wanting to give her a tender stroke of reassurance but he found himself frozen to the sensation on his palm.

At first he felt it; wet and sticky. But when he brought his hands up to the light, he finally saw how his whole palm were covered in blood. Her blood. His wife's blood.

A wave of pure rage reigned his whole being and what happen that day had become one of the things Bucky's men will never forget.

Bucky made sure it rain blood that day.

And it was truly a gruesome sight to see.

~ ~ End of Flashback ~ ~

Since the day Y/N woke up in their bed, Bucky never left her side. Not even for his business, for weeks now Bucky had temporarily place the authority to Steve and he had spend his day tending his wife as he should.

Now, weeks later from that day, Bucky is claiming that it was his fault that she was kidnapped?

No, it absolutely was not. Far from it. How is y/n getting kidnapped is his fault? How is y/n getting tortured is his blunder? That does not make any sense. Not in any universe.

"I should've been there with you." He explained.

Bucky's kisses took a halt in the crook of her neck, he relishes the sweet scent emitting from her as his lips rested on her weak spot. Where does the scent coming from? Was it from her body lotion or from her shampoo. Eitherway, it was intoxicating.

He almost felt guilty for finding a calming relief from it. He wasn't nearly worthy enough to find peace in her. And yet here he was; selfish and greedy for the friction of her touch, the influence of her scent, the melody of her moans, all of her.

Y/N release herself from his embrace and swiftly changed her position to straddling him. His eyes searched her face, wondering if she was uncomfortable and how can he please her.

She run her hands through his hair as she chooses her words carefully, "Yes, you should. But that doesn't justify why you blame yourself for it." She leaned into him, brushing the tip of her nose on his.

Before Bucky can protest, Y/N shuts him up with a kiss on his lips, "It was not your fault. No one knew that they going to spike my drink. No one knew that they managed to drug up your men. Honey, it was an accident. It was not your fault, it never was and never will be." She was only speaking the truth, even Bucky couldn't argue.

He leaned his forehead on her before speaking up, "I just hate seeing you get hurt, sweets." Bucky sighed, as a frown formed on his face.

Y/N does not want Bucky to dwell in this darkness again. He kept doing it for the past weeks, and though some days she managed to pull him out, some other she failed. This worries her; it scared her.

Bucky might not notice it right now since his mind was blurry with worry; but if he was more aware of his surroundings he might just notice how Y/N was slowly leaking on his cock. His girth was slotted perfectly between her pussy and the sight of it turns her on.

It's been awhile since they feel each other; due to her injuries Bucky was constantly worrying about hurting her during sex.

And she was desperate for him, she want him to remove all the bad memories of that day. Douse her with his touch, mark her body so the traces of the man will no longer bear any meaning to her.

Her cunt twitches to the thought, she couldn't help but to grind her hips. Letting his cock glides through her folds; getting it wet from her fluids, "Then love on me, Bucky." It was an instant respond from Bucky, his cock was growing hard on command.

His gaze briefly fell on where his cock was buried between, before looking up to her hazy eyes. "...If you don't want to see me hurt. Then make love to me, let me show you how good you make me feel." She coaxed as her hips continues to grind on him.

Each movement causing throbs of need on her clit. She kept brushing it along his length, presses a little force when it reached to the tip of cock. Bucky moaned in sheer pleasure everytime she did that.

"Please, Bucky I miss you..” She mumbled softly, rolling her hips a bit, making him groan as he melted, "I miss you too, babydoll." He breathes out deeply before placing a sweet kiss on lips.

Bucky held her by the side of her hips and pushes her down further, as he slowly thrusted his hard throbbing cock in between the wet slit of her pussy.

The immense sensation on her was beyond words to describe. She thought she knew pleasure before but turn out she was wrong. Unable to even utter a single coherent word, Bucky on the other hand wasn't planning disappoint her.

Bucky's thrusts get faster and rougher by time until he started to hump her almost uncontrollably, letting out these little desperate groans.

"Feel so good, Buck-- ah shit--" Y/N moaned, her face flushed pink, mouth hanging open as her pussy throbbed against his drenched cock. Every time he push forward, he could feel himself spreading the lips of her pussy apart.

His pace did not drop as his goal is to make her cum just by him fucking through her folds alone. He want see her feeling good. And sure enough, she began to whimper, "I'mma cum. Bucky, please don't stop. I'm cumming."

Bucky leaned into her ears and whispered, "Go ahead, babydoll. Cum for me. Let me see your face when I make you cum. That's it baby, hmmm, so pretty. Can feel ya clenching. Feels good doesn't it, sweets. Yeah you do." He held her still as he thrusted against her slick again and again, letting her ride her high; his pace was faster and maybe a bit more desperate than before while she from her orgasm.

Bucky caught her from falling back into the mattress, he leaned her body towards himself. Letting her rest on his chest. Slow drag of his cock on her pussy felt so good, she might have had a mini orgasm from it.

"Babydoll, gonna make you feel even more better. Gonna stuff your pussy full. Can I? Promise it'll make you feel so good. Want that, sweets?" Bucky coaxed her with sinful temptation that she couldn't resist.

"Yes please. Wanna be stuffed and full of you and your cum. Please?" She didn't need to beg like that for Bucky to comply.

His hand searched for hers before he interlock her fingers with him. He sit her up on her knee, using one of his free hand to line the tip of his cock at her entrance. 

Y/N's whole body trembled when he thrust himself up into her one swift movement. He watch as her eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. Her knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and his hand.

Oh she was so full. So full of him.

Bucky bite his lip at the feeling of being inside her, the clenching her walls around his needy cock. He lift her up off him slowly, ceating a slow but deep pace, she let the sounds of his deep groans fill her ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as moan of pleasure.

"You’re so good for me, Bucky."  She praise breathlessly. "So good".

His hips buck up and she hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into her deeper than before. "God," he almost whined, lost at the feel of her warm cunt.

Y/N was also feeling as good. The sting of the stretch was amazing. She bite back her moan as he rubbed all over her favourite spots inside, "Hmmpph! Buck- ahh. please, ahh-- fuck me so good." She let out a breathy mumbling noises as he continue drill his cock in and out of her.

"Feels amazing being inside you, sweets. So warm, so wet. Fuck-- yeah just that, milk me like that yeahh" Bucky's hips moved upwards and downward as he fucks her rough and messy, holding her tightly against his body as he bounces her up and down on his cock.

Both of the pair of eyes never left each other. Eyes roaming to stare either at each others fucked-out face or to where their sex was connected.

How lewd it was; the way he languidly pumps himself in and out of her. How her small little hole could swallow his cock perfectly in each of his hips thrusts. How beautiful the sweat glistens across her skin;

The way Bucky dips his head into her to pepper kisses on her neck, the way his brows furrow when he gives a particularly deep thrust. Every single thing about it was beautiful.

Bucky felt so thick inside of her and he's hitting so deep, it felt fucking incredible. She can feel the pressure building inside of her, "i'm gonna cum again... oh god, bucky baby,-- ahh fuck-- "

Bucky encouraged her with with low growl and she moaned raggedly as she came on his cock; squeezing him tight, and his thrusts become even wilder, "fuck yes, squeezing me so nice. Gonna cum inside ya, sweets. Will have my load leaking from your pussy baby." his groan were starting to sound more desprete.

Still high on orgasm, she nods in agreement, "yes, Bucky. Wanna feel you leaking please" She pleaded as she felt another wave of pleasure was trying to burst.

Bucky's thrusts loses it's pattern as he chased his high, "oh fuck, i'm cummin' inside ya, sweets! Fuck fuck fuck" strings of curses spilled before he let out a long moan as his cock burst on his high, filling her to the brim with his thick hot cum.

Naturally, she came as well, accompanied by a sweet mewl as her walls pulsed around him while he empties ropes and ropes of his cum inside her, whimpering into her ear.

When he's finally finished he gives a long, contented sigh he slowly lay on the bed, gently bringing her along as he rested her head on his chest. With his cock still resting in her throbbing pussy, Bucky thought of going for round two.

But when he heard the soft snores coming from his wife, he put that thought in a backlog, and instead decided to help clean his babydoll up so she could get a better rest as she deserved.

By the time she was well taken care of, Bucky scrolled through his text messages with Steve. The 'temporary in charge' was apparently also in charge of depriving life out of the two men who had assaulted Y/N.

"Are they dead yet?" Bucky prompted.

"No. They beg to though." Steve replied.

"Then, let them beg to death." Bucky ended the conversation, before placing his phone aside.

Though he takes pleasure in torturing his prey with his own bare hands however nothing is more important than being by his wife's side when she needed him the most.

Besides, those scum will live long enough for Bucky to come down there and bring hell to them himself. He will make sure of that. But until then, nothing matters to Bucky than being here for his babydoll.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

P/S: I love reading feedbacks so drop your comment in the comment section or reblogs.

There is no actual taglist. So, I only include those who reblogged with comments and/or commented on the previous series. However, do tell if you want or do not want to be tagged.

Taglist: @melsunshine @splendidreads @florence-end @spn-obession @my-lady-of-the-various-sorrows @buuuuuuucky @raevyng @kamaria-sweet-writes @chemtrails-club @just-another-writer-05 @touchstarvedforbuckybarnes @thezombieprostitute @wifeofbarnes @oldermenaremyreligion @bemysugarbean @thischubbydumpling @barnes1031 @winterslove1917 @barnesstanbucky @butterflyimmortality @iamfandomwasted @goldensunflowe-r

[sarahowritesostucky]

Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago. 

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.” 

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?” 

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

“M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared. 

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?” 

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.” 

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear. 

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs. 

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer. 

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no— 

“Looking for this?” 

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.”  He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.” 

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?” 

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?” 

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.” 

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger. 

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger. 

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for. 

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?” 

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.”  He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens. 

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”  

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.” 

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you. 

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. 

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.” 

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.” 

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you. 

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?” 

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss. 

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?” 

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?” 

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.” 

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.” 

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch. 

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little, 

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?” 

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.” 

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?” 

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him. 

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen. 

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?” 

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there. 

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him. 

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word. 

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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[buckrecs]

Hey honey ! Do you happen to have anything with Bucky and arranged marriage with a happy ending ? I’ve been dying for something like it 🥰

Arranged Marriage

masterlist | req masterlist

Yours To Claim by @buckyalpine

Your first night with the king.

protector by @vxntagedior

the moment bucky fell in love with you

Plot Twist by @winterarmyy

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

Arranged by @the-fallen-nightmare

Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

[fluffysucker]

Whisperer

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Mob Au)

'Liberation comes in whatever form to save me. I hit bottom, and then the whisper comes. Your whisper in the breeze. Your whisper's what I needed. Quiet words. Soothe the hurt whisperer.'

It is written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. Part three coming soon.

Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

TW: Violence. Cursing. Mentios of physical abuse.

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Masterlist.

Some time had passed. Not long, but enough for Bucky to gather his thoughts. He couldn't listen to you. Absolutely no. The medical report sitting on his desk was a reminder. An alert that you were always in danger. And he couldn't live like this. He couldn't live knowing a monster was taking advantage of you in every way. He had to get you out of there. He didn't know how. He wanted to plan and do it correctly so you wouldn't get hurt more. It wasn't easy. But he was never going to give up. If it cost his life, he would still do it. You mattered the most.

However, he never thought the opportunity would present itself like this.

It was the middle of the night. Your father requested your and Rumlow's presence in his office. And you went. The meeting lasted for too long, and you couldn't tell what it was even about. Midway through the meeting, you left your father and Rumlow to carry on. You stayed in your father's office. You couldn't help but smile when you noticed your father only had pictures of your mother. Not you. Not even a family picture. He loved your mother dearly, but never you. Your mother died when you were a teenager. And from then on, it felt like he was punishing you. For a mistake that hurt you just the same.

After some time, one of your husband's men came and told you that they were waiting for you in the car. You followed him down. You couldn't hide your surprise when your father told you he would be joining on the way because his car broke. You didn't believe him, but who were you to object?

The ride was silent. You could feel something wasn't right, but you didn't say anything. If something was bothering Brock, then you would be the first to know when you got home. Unfortunately, it took you a bit to notice that you weren't on your way home. You were taking another route, and suddenly, you were on a deserted road. You tried to calm down. But Brock's voice ordering the driver to stop made you more nervous. Then he ordered you to go out. And you followed right away. Brock wasn't the guy to disobey.

The three of you got out of the car to stand on the deserted road. Then you noticed the car filled with Rumlow's men who had been following you. You looked around, trying to get any idea of what you were doing here. You gasped loudly when you saw your father punch Brock in the face. Brock's laugh made you stand still in your place. He turned to your father with the most evil smile you had ever seen, and he punched him too. You moved back when the punching continued. You looked at the men standing by the car, but none of them moved. It was like only you could see what was happening. But Brock and your father kept punching at each other until they drew blood.

Then Rumlow turned to you as he wiped the blood from his mouth. You couldn't possibly understand what was happening right now. You were too scared and confused. The next thing you felt was Brock's hand slapping you. Your head turned to the other side after the impact. You yelped as Brock grabbed a handful of your hair.

"You think you can do this to me, bitch?" Despite the smile on his face, you could tell Brock was angry.

"You think you are so clever that I wouldn't know." His grip on your hair tightened as he slapped again.

"Brock, what are you talking about?" You were holding his hand, trying to get away.

"Acting stupid too, ha." He hit you, and you couldn't help but cry out.

"Don't want to talk?" He hit you again. There was no winning with Rumlow. Whether you talked back or stayed silent, he still got angrier. You learned that the hard way.

"You and Barnes." He got tired of your silence, so he told you as he continued to hit you.

"What do you mean, me and Barnes? I have nothing to do with Barnes." You said it between your tears. Somehow, that angered him more. He threw you on the rocks, which left small cuts on all your exposed skin.

"You think I don't know about your history with him?. That you spent years loving him?" Brock's words almost sent you into a heart attack. Had he known all these years? Was this why he had been treating you like this?

"That you don't sleep next to me, thinking about him." Brock hit you with his feet, causing you to scream.

"Brock, I swear nothing has happened since we got married. I only saw him when you were there." You tried to defend yourself. Yes,you still loved Bucky, but your relationship ended before the marriage.

"Is that why he had his hands all over you at the party?" If Brock saw it, then you were as good as dead.

"I swear it's not how it looked." You didn't know what you could say, but you had to save yourself.

"Shut up." Rumlow leaned down to continue his aggressive assault on you. All while your father and men watched.

Once he was done, you were in so much pain, crying loudly. You didn't know how you were going to get out this time.

"But thanks to your stupid ass. I can finally have what I want." Rumlow said as he got up to stand next to your father.

"See if you died, and it turns out Barnes was the one to kill you. The city will be ours. It's a win without war."

"Oh, and why did Barnes kill you? To get rid of you because you wouldn't leave with him."

You tried to process how someone could be so evil, but you didn't understand. And fate hated you so much to get you stuck with them. Rumlow calling out with man made you flinch. As Josh, one of his loyal men, stood behind him, your mind quickly followed up on what was about to happen.

"No. No, Brock, you don't understand." You began to beg for your life in between your tears and sobs.

"Oh, I understand. It's two birds with one stone." His evil smirk made your bruised skin crawl.

"You know what to do, Josh." Rumlow ordered the man , as he was about to leave.

"No, Brock, please." You got up quickly despite the shooting pain in your body.

"Please, Brock, don't. I will do whatever you want me to do." You were used to begging, Rumlow. To stop hitting you. Stop touching you. It was nothing new. However, this time, you were begging for your life.

He threw you one more time on the ground and moved to get in the other car. You called out for your father, screaming for him to help you. But he didn't even give you a second look. If he hated you so much, why did he even have you? To watch as another man kills you. Quite literally.

Your sobs became so loud as Josh brought his gun out, and the engine of the car started and then drove away. Tears were like falls on your face. You couldn't believe that was it. Your life was about to end. Alone, scared, and betrayed. Maybe, finally, you would have real peace.

You tried to stop crying when Josh lifted the gun to your face. You are going to die. And it hurt knowing you had achieved nothing. You spent your whole life trapped and suffering. The only time you were free was when you were with Bucky. Bucky. You wish you could warn him. You wish you could tell him you loved him. One last time.

You put your hand on your mouth to console your sobs as you prepare yourself for death. You screamed as the shots were fired from the gun.

You waited for the pain to hit. To feel the blood. To see the light. All of it. But there was nothing. You lifted your head to look at Josh. He had the gun aimed above your head. He never meant to shoot you. You looked at him, baffled. He brought the gun back to its holster and threw you a phone.

"You make one call, then destroy it." He instructed you. You can only nod.

"And don't show yourself." He continued as he looked at the road to make sure nobody was there. He looked at you one more time before he went to the car you were in.

"Thank you." You spoke weakly. He saved your life. It's the least you can do. He smiled at you as he drove off.

You took the phone off the ground with shaky hands. You opened the screen and went to the contacts. But who could you possibly call? Fortunately, you only memorised one number, and it happened to be the number of the only person who could help you.

You dialled the number you knew by heart from your dating days, hoping he hadn't changed it. You couldn't help the sob that broke out of you when his sleepy voice reached your ears.

"Bucky, help me, please."

Bucky was driving like a madman. The second he heard your crying voice on the phone, he shot out of bed. He was glad he trusted his gut and answered the unknown number. It was a matter of seconds before he was out of the house and driving to the location you sent him. He tried to keep you on the phone, but it went off. Bucky has never driven faster in his life. He needed to get to you.

The location led him to a deserted road. He didn't care what happened or how you ended up here. If you called him, that meant one thing. The situation was so bad. So he had to get you somewhere safe immediately.

Bucky saw one car parked by the side of the road and two men who looked like punks who just got out of prison. The men were standing outside the car, hovering over a girl, trying to take her with them. Bucky could hear your screaming.

Bucky didn't even care to park the car correctly. He got out, brought his gun out, and shot the men dead. No hesitation. No thought.

You turned quietly to Bucky, and despite the dim light, he could see your state. Smudged mascara. Tears stained cheeks. Bruises and marks on your face, neck, and arms. Multiple cuts on your clothes. Bucky could feel the rage running through his body. Uncontrollable anger. Bucky wanted to go on a killing spree. Hunting down those who dared to do this to you. But now wasn't the time. You needed him.

Bucky called your name softly as he moved towards you. He didn't want to disturb you anymore.

"It's just me." He tried to reassure you that he was here now.

"Bucky." You whispered his name to make sure it was really his.

"Yes, doll." The use of a unique pet name was a good call. Because only Bucky has ever called you this. It was associated with happy and comforting feelings.

And it was like the pet name stirred everything once more. You started crying again, almost falling to the ground, but this time Bucky caught you in his arms. You were crying hysterically, holding onto Bucky like he was all you had. It was true. He was all you had.

"I'm here, doll. Nobody is going to hurt you anymore. You are safe now." Bucky kept whispering sweet, comforting words to your ears as you wept and clung to him.

But he meant it. Nobody was ever going to touch you again. Even if it meant war. He didn't care. You are all that matters. And you were back in his arms.

After a bit of time, Bucky was able to get you into the passenger seat of his car. Your crying had stopped, but your sniffles filled the car. You held Bucky's hand with both of your hands, resting it on your lap. Both of you needed the simple touch. You needed to know you weren't alone. That you had someone to hold onto. And Bucky needed to feel you. He needed to make sure you were right by his side. That you were safe. He would keep you safe.

Bucky stopped the car in front of his mansion. He didn't waste any time. He got out of the car and went to your side. He opened the passenger's door and carried you bridal style. You rested your head on his chest. His heartbeats were soothing. It was strange how the second you stepped foot in his house, feelings of comfort and security engulfed you like a warm blanket. This house was filled with good memories and happy moments. Despite being in pain, being with Bucky made it easier than usual.

You failed to notice the other presence who had been following you up since you got inside until Bucky put you softly on a bed. Bucky immediately took in your unease when you saw the other man. He was quick to reassure you that it was Bruce, a friend of his who was a doctor and was here to check on you. Bucky texted Bruce to come over once you got in the car. You tried telling him that it was nothing, but he didn't bother to listen. He needed to be sure you were okay. Physically, at least.

Bucky knew he should have left the room and given you some privacy, but he just couldn't. He was already holding himself back from telling Bruce to check on you while you were in his arms. He was unbelievably desperate for you. And desperate to make sure you were safe. This is why he had to control his breathing whenever you winced or groaned in pain as Bruce was patching you. Bucky was going to make them all pay for ever hurting you.

After Bruce had finished patching you up and reassuring Bucky that you didn't need to go to the hospital, you just needed rest, Bucky led Bruce outside and came back to you right away. It was like he could read your mind. He showed you the en-suite bathroom and told you to take your time. You closed the bathroom door to be faced with the big mirror. You had looked worse before. You had been beaten up way worse before. But this time, it somehow hurt more. You didn't know if it was your father's willingness to kill you, if it was the gun pointed at your head, or if it was being alone on a deserted road in the middle of the night. Or maybe if it was all

You shook the thoughts away as you moved to turn on the water and set the temperature. Then you stripped off your clothes and threw them in the corner, and you stepped under water. It was comforting to feel the water on your bruised skin. To let the water wash out all the remains of this terrible night.

While you were taking the shower, Bucky left some of his most comfortable clothes on the bed for you. He changed his clothes into a t-shirt and sweatpants, then went to the kitchen to get you a bottle of water and some snacks. He got back upstairs, and when he couldn't hear the water running, he knocked on the door.

You smiled pathetically at yourself as you finished putting on the hoodie. It had been so long since someone had asked for permission to enter your room. You let Bucky in. The sight of you in Bucky's clothes was heartwarming. You still never managed to fit into his clothes. They always looked so big on you. And he always loved it, too. How he missed this sight. He would never forgive himself for letting this happen to you. But he was going to make it right.

Both of you sat on the coach that occupied a part of the room. You sat in silence as he forced you to eat something. You were surprised to see him hand you your favourite snack. But Bucky had always been thoughtful, especially when it came to you. He then handed you the bottle of water, which you almost chucked right away.

"Thank you." You were the first to break the silence. You didn't know if you meant for the snack and water or for everything. Bucky assured you that it was nothing.

You gathered every bit of courage you had in your body to speak your next words.

"I can leave if you want to." With all your courage, it still came out like a whisper.

"What do you mean?" Bucky didn't try to hide his confusion.

"I will find somewhere else. This is so messy. I will understand if you don't want to be involved." You tried to let your voice be strong and stop the shakiness, but failed miserably.

Bucky couldn't believe his ears. How selfless did you have to be to ask something like this? How oblivious were you to his undying love for you that you thought he wouldn't burn down the world to ashes for you? He would walk through hellfire and over oceans for you.

"Sweetheart, you aren't going anywhere." He still didn't know what happened, but from the looks of it, it wasn't good. And nowhere seemed safe enough for him other than his own house under his watch.

"If it involves you, that means it involves me as well. No matter how bad it is, you will never face it by yourself. Not anymore. I will be damned if I let you walk away again." Bucky was a wise man who learned from his mistakes, and watching you leave was his biggest regret. So he had no intention of letting you

You couldn't help but smile at him weakly but it was a genuine smile that made its way to your face. After a long day of betrayal, Bucky made you feel wanted. And you were thankful.

After putting away the stuff on a nearby table, Bucky helped you move and lay on the bed. As he was about to leave the room, thinking it was what you wanted, you grabbed his hand. He turned to look at you, and his heart almost broke. You looked so vulnerable, like a lost kid in the big park. Your eyes were finally showing their truth. Deep hurt and fear. You were scared to be alone. And Bucky understood. Without a word, he joined you in bed, pulling you closer to him and wrapping his arms around you protectively. He laid a soft kiss on your forehead as a sign that he was here now.

Wearing his clothes and being in his arms, you were surrounded by Bucky. And it felt too good. It felt like a dream. Maybe Josh did kill you and ended up in heaven. Because after all you had been through, that was it. The most peaceful you had been in a long time You couldn't help but think of how you were ripped away from this to be thrown into the wild by yourself. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the possibility of losing Bucky again.

The idea was scary. More scary than before. Because now you know what life looks like without him. It was unbearable. You found yourself nuzzling closer to him as if you were trying to disappear from the world inside of him. Unknowingly to you, your thoughts came out as hot tears that Bucky felt on his neck.

"I've got you now, doll." Bucky pulled you impossibly closer to him, rubbing his hand up and down your back with soft kisses to your hair.

You finally gave up and let down your guard, admitting that you could no longer take it. Your unfair life was no longer fit for you. That here with Bucky was where you belonged.

"I missed you."

You kept your eyes closed a bit longer. Maybe you would fall asleep again. When you didn't, you opened your eyes slowly, adjusting to the lights. It took your mind a moment to keep up with what happened and where you were, but the ache in your body served as a reminder. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar. It was the only thing you had ever felt for two years straight. You knew how to deal with it, how to live with it, and how to hide it.

However, this time felt different. Pain wasn't the only thing you were feeling. You didn't know how to describe it. But you felt relaxed in some ways. Maybe because that was the best night's sleep you had in a very long time. It was nice falling asleep in the arms of a man you didn't fear and spend your night afraid he might snap any minute. You fell asleep with a man who was always the only one to make you feel loved, appreciated, and, most importantly, safe. You felt safe with Bucky. A feeling that became so foreign to you. Having it back was pleasing.

It could be easy to just ravish in the comfort of these secure emotions. But you were realistic. You knew they were in for the short term. Your life would eventually catch up to you. If Brock and your father found that you were still alive, the outcome would be catastrophic.

You sat up, resting your back on the headboard, letting your mind race between the what-nows and what-ifs. Could you survive this, or was this your convalescence before death? You didn't know.

The soft knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. You turned to the door as it opened to show Bucky, still in his home clothes. You reassured him quickly that you were already awake before he started apologising for waking you. Bucky started talking about how he prepared food if you wanted it or if you wanted to come down or just stay in bed. But you interrupted him.

"Bucky, you should know what happened last night." He was being too sweet and caring. He should know what he was getting himself into.

Bucky signed and came to sit next to you on the bed, keeping a little distance between you.

"You don't have to tell me now. Whenever you're ready." Bucky didn't care about anything other than your wellbeing.

"I think you have to know." You could feel yourself wanting to shrink away, but you had to tell him. He was at risk as well.

Before you could start telling him what happened, he spoke first.

"Just so you know. Whatever happened, whatever you say, It will change nothing. I'm neither leaving nor letting you leave. If I have to stand in front of the devil, I will do it." Bucky didn't have a problem saying it a million times. He needed you to be sure. He's got you. No matter how ugly it was.

You smiled thankfully at him. But despite being thankful, you hated how willing he was to risk it all for you because you loved him just as much as he did. You breathed heavily as you started telling him what happened.

You tried to give him as many details as you could recall. Everything from your father's call until you called him As you were talking, your voice began to shake, and your eyes were watering. You immediately felt Bucky's hand holding yours, fingers intertwined. He would draw small circles on your palm whenever it got hard to talk.

Bucky listened with full attention, not missing a thing that came out of your mouth. It was so hard to keep his anger inside, to not let emotions take over and burn down the city, but he was aware that now wasn't the right time. He needed to think straight. With all the information you filled him in with. Rumlow and Pierce knew about the both of you, and they already had a plan in motion to get rid of him. He was already in danger. However, he would keep you safe even if it cost his life.

The most important question for him was why Josh let you go and didn't listen to his boss. He needed to know if this was a trap, and both of you walked right into it. But you had a good answer. Rumlow was a cheap man regarding his men. He barely paid them enough. And you knew about this right away. And Josh was no different from Rumlow's way of working. So when Josh's little brother fell ill and needed money for surgery and medication, Rumlow didn't even consider it. You, on the other hand, gave him all he needed and a bit more once you found out. You even went and visited his brother in the hospital and brought him gifts. And it wasn't just Josh. You did this with all Rumlow's men and the housemaids. You were helping whoever needed it. You kept it all from Rumlow because you knew the consequences wouldn't be pretty. You couldn't help or save yourself, so you found serenity in helping others. A way to give what nobody could ever give you. But here you were. An act of kindness saved your life.

Bucky couldn't say he was surprised. Your kindness and good heart were what drew him to you in the first place. You didn't fit in this world. You were too good. Even in your darkest time, you managed to be the light for others.

So he promised you and himself that you would not shed a single tear again. That nobody was going to touch you again. And those who did were going to pay. Before you could stop him and tell him it wasn't worth it, he told you it wasn't up for discussion.

It was personal since he found out, but now that he knew Rumlow knew about your relationship and he still chose to hurt you. It became revenge.

You couldn't help the smile when he told you that he would handle everything and that you didn't have anything to worry about. You tried to tell him how impossible that was, but he knew how to silence you.

"They are coming for me now anyway. So let this be my problem while you rest."

And you listened to him. You spent the rest of the day with Bucky doing nothing. He took care of everything. Whatever you wanted came right to you. And you got to keep his company, which was something you missed dearly. Light conversations were going on between the both of you. You expected some awkwardness, but there was none. You felt at home. You were home.

After taking the medication that Bruce prescribed for you to help your recovery, you felt a little sleepy. He brought you back to the bedroom, telling you to let him know if you wanted anything. You thanked him, feeling truly grateful for all his help.

After you went to bed, he sat in his office, trying to figure out a plan. What should the next move be? He needed to play this wisely. He was interrupted by Steve and Sam's arrival. They showed up to find out why he didn't come to work today. Even if they could tell his excuse was a ridiculous lie, they didn't call him out for it. Bucky didn't want to tell them what had happened just yet. He trusted the two men with his life. But this was your life. He was extra careful.

However, his wishes didn't come true.

After Steve and Sam had stayed to hang out for some time, They heard noise coming from right outside the mansion. They left the office to be greeted with a very angry-looking Brock Rumlow and Alexander Pierce shouting at Bucky's men to let them in. Bucky took the lead, with his bestfriends following behind.

"Gentlemen, to what do I own the honour?" Even though Bucky had a pretty good idea why they were here, it was his time to put on his best act.

"Where the hell is my wife, Barnes?" Rumlow shouted as he pushed the man to go stand in front of Bucky.

"Why would I know this?" Bucky put his hands in his pockets to avoid punching Rumlow in the face.

"You know damn well why. Where is she? What have you done to her?" Bucky wanted to laugh at Rumlow's fake act of the worrisome husband.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." He wanted to see how this was going to play out.

"Like you didn't send your men on us last night and take my daughter." Pierce moved to join Rumlow, facing Bucky.

"No, I didn't." Bucky could see the cuts both men had on their faces. It must be from the punching session you talked about.

"Only you could pull a stunt like this."

"I have no reason to do so."

"Because you're still mad, she chose me over you. Your ego can't take it."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"She told me, Barnes. You like her and have been harassing her to get with you. And you took her. Where is she?"

"None of this is true. I only have respect for Mrs. Rumlow. That's all."

"So you aren't going to tell us where she is?"

"If I find anything, I won't hesitate to inform you."

"You are playing a dangerous game. If anything happened to my daughter, you wouldn't stand a chance."

"Let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

With a fake smile on their faces, Pierce and Rumlow left. They really stuck to their act. The loving husband and caring father It was laughable. Painting him as the bad guy was a smart move. He would give them that. However, he was smarter than them.

He turned to find Sam and Steve looking at him suspiciously. For someone to find out the love of his life was missing, he was too calm. And his reaction to the whole encounter was telling them that something was off.

Without a word, Bucky excused himself to go upstairs. He went straight to the room you were occupying. He needed to check on you. He walked in after knocking. The sound of the water was the only thing to stop his panic when he came in and saw the empty bed. He turned around when he heard the unlocking of the bathroom's door.

"Hey." You spoke with a smile when you saw him standing in the middle of the room.

"Hey. How are you feeling now?" He didn't hide how his eyes kept moving all over your body to check on you.

"Better. Thanks," you answered him with a soft voice.

"I thought I heard....." You were the first to bring up the real reason why he was here.

"Nothing. It was nothing." Bucky didn't let you finish.

"Like I said. You have nothing to worry about." He was quick to reassure you.

"Thank you." You lost count of how many times you said the word in less than a day. But you were truly thankful.

"Why don't you continue your nap while I make dinner for when you wake up?" You almost wanted to cry. Nobody ever cared this much. Expect Bucky. It had always been Bucky.

Bucky left the room as you made your way back to the bed. He smiled at you before he closed the door.

If it wasn't for his steady personality, he would have screamed like a baby when he turned to see Steve and Sam standing outside your door with the same suspicious look on their faces.

"Is there something we should know, Bucky?" Steve spoke first, knowing his friend was already hiding something.

With a sigh, Bucky knew he had to tell And he did.

"I can't ask you to help me with this. You have families and people you care about. But she is my family. I can't turn my back on her again." Bucky spoke after he had finished telling them what happened. It was going to be risky, and he didn't want to force his bestfriend to feel like they had to join him.

"So what are we doing next?" Both Steve and Sam knew they didn't need to talk to make a decision. They were kind of offended when Bucky suggested they wouldn't back him up instantly. Yes, both had families. Bucky was a big part of this family. So this was their fight, too.

"I don't know." Bucky gave them an honest answer. He didn't know what the right next move should be.

"It's quite clear, Barnes." A fourth voice added. The three men turned around quickly, hands ready on their guns.

"What are you doing here, Fury?" It seemed lots of people were remembering Bucky today.

"I just wanted to check on you." Nick walked in to sit on the big couch in the office, facing three of them.

"What do you want?" Bucky didn't have time for whatever game Nick was playing.

"Nothing. Just want to check on the girl and see what you are going to do next?" Bucky knew better than to let his surprise show.

"What girl?" He kept the neutral tone and expression up.

"Pierce's daughter." Maybe Nick is here to trick him. At the end of the day, nobody really knew where Nick Fury's allegiance lay.

"I said.."

"I know you were the one who went and got her last night. After Pierce and Rumlow left her."

Silence filled the place for a few seconds. The three of them are trying to process Nick's words. He knew?

"How do you..."

"I know everything. I know what Pierce and Rumlow were planning to do. I didn't know when. So I threw you the information about their marriage."

In any other situation, the stunned reaction the three men held would be very funny.

"What? Do you think I go around talking about other people's business? You needed to know. So you can move. So when this happened, the girl had somewhere to go."

"What made you think I would help her?"

"Cut the crap, James. You're in love with her. You love her so much that you wouldn't have had a problem standing in front of Alexander to marry her. If it wasn't for Rumlow,"

It appeared that Bucky didn't do a good job at hiding your relationship back then.

"So you knew they were going to kill her and did nothing?" He couldn't help the venom filling his voice as his mind caught on to Nick's words. He put you in danger.

"I knew they were going to let some of their men do it. I knew their men loved and respected her. They wouldn't do it."

"You couldn't be sure of this."

"They didn't do it, did they?"

"Why are you here, Nick?"

"To help you take down Pierce and Rumlow once and for all. Because if someone can do it, it can only be you."

Taglist: @ozwriterchick @vicmc624 @pattiemac1 @kandis-mom @dexter99

[missvelvetsstuff]

Guarded Heart

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N is the daughter of a powerful mob boss who only cares about her horses and making it to the Olympics but her father expects her to marry an equally powerful boss to help strengthen his business. Bucky is looking for a wife to help his business but already has a long term girlfriend, Natasha.

I tried to keep my reader as generic as possible but like always she's female and taller than average.

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky x Natasha, Reader x Thor

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

[sebastianstansqueen]

Peace

A/N: I when onto tiktok for like five seconds and this popped up on my FYP and I decided I was going to write it, tell me what you think, i hope you all like it, feedback is always appreciated, if you want to be Tagged, either send an ask or comment on this or click on Taglist open.  

Wordcount:  1,096

Warnings: Arranged marriage, angst, mentions of grooming, Thor being a dick, and mentions of blood, I think that's it let me know if I'm missing anything.

Masterlist //  Tagglists

Taglist: @cherryblossomsky - @babylooneytoonz - @wonderlandfandomkingdom - @miraclesoflove - @amelia-song-pond - @leyannrae - @avengerlex - @pineprincess -@nik2writes - @dorothea-hwldr - @rosie-posie08 - @scxrletrecsmarvel

Peace, that's all that really mattered, to you, your father, mother, and him. That's what this is for, that is why you stood in a room at the church pacing, out of fear or because of how un-sure you were of this working. You loved your family, and knew surely that James Barnes couldn’t be that bad of a husband. The biggest deal was that James' family was your fathers rivals, and this would bring peace like all of you wanted finally.

Soon enough you walked down the aisle with your father, James’ blue piercing eyes stared at you, his dark brown hair slicked back, every intricate detail perfect on him, you and around the room. That was the day you were sure your life would have changed forever. 

You and James didn’t really mind one another, both of you were married, and you both understood that you and he had very different days. You'd get up, get Coffee, and then go to the in-home gym, and you wouldn't see much of James until dinner. 

Bucky, he would wake up with the sun, much earlier than you, he could admire your beauty for a few moments before getting up and heading for his in home gym before he took a shower and ate breakfast then he usually had business to attend to till dinner in which is where both of you would end your day with small conversation. 

The two of you didn’t know each other well. This marriage was business after all, but both of you had an already underlying love, and care for one another. But you both just sit and stir and sit there. 

One morning you decided to get out, it wasn’t like you couldn’t leave the house, you got into your car, and went to a small coffee shop, then to a random gym. When you were done, you got to your car opening the door, when you were stopped by Thor. “What the hell are you doing?” You asked, you hadn’t seen him since before the wedding day, he was your old bodyguard. 

“Look I couldn’t do this then and definitely shouldn’t do it now, but Y/n.” He cut himself off by kissing you. “I love you.” 

You shook your head, you and Thor had a friendship that all you ever saw it as, you never had romantic feelings for him. “I-I can’t- I don’t.”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on!” He yelled. “Y/n, I spoiled you, I gave you almost anything any time you wanted, I didn’t just protect you, I cared about you, I gave you all of it so you’d grow to love me.”

A face of disgust washed over your face. Thor was ten years older than you and he became your body guard when you were ten, you realized all the trips to amusement parks, and diamond necklaces from out of nowhere were all sinister for him.“Oh my god, you’ve known me since I was a kid!” You yelled. 

“Let's not do this out here.” Thor tsked, as he went to grab your arm and pull you away. 

You pulled away. “No get the hell away from me Thor!” You fight back by getting away from him. “You basically groomed me!” 

“Oh! Don’t call it that!” He hissed, rolling his eyes. “Come on Y/n, don’t act like you care for Barnes.”

“He’s still my god damn husband, and he hasn’t done anything as fucked as that!” You fought back, you rushed to get into your car, rushing as you drove away, tears rolled down your cheeks, you tried viciously to wipe away your tears before you got home.

You pulled into the garage, and found Bucky with most of his men. “Shit.” You hissed to yourself as you wiped away to clear your tears, you came up with something to say, you grabbed your purse and gym bag. You opened the door and got out, trying to get by without being noticed, James noticed though, he followed you through the door back into the house. 

“Y/n, are you okay?” He asked, as you kicked off your shoes in the mudroom. 

You nodded. “Yeah, i-it’s just a headache, I’ll take some medicine and then be fine.” You shrugged off, about to walk away. 

“What’s actually wrong?”  He asked following you. “Don’t lie to me this time.” 

You sighed. “It’s nothing.” 

Bucky sighed at your passiveness. “Come on, what happened? Y/n, if someone hurt you I should know.” 

“I wasn’t hurt physically, it’s just my old body guard, he probably followed me when I left, and then he talked to me after I went to my car, and he kissed me-”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” Bucky growled out. 

You shook your head. “Don’t start shit by killing him, my parents are coming tomorrow for dinner, talk to my dad then and he’ll deal with it.”

Bucky sighed out. “Fine, I’ll wait, we’re leaving for something, I’ll be back later.” Is all he said before leaving. 

The next night you waited, with your family for Bucky, this wasn’t looking good. “Does he do this often?” Your dad asked, you could hear the irritation in his voice. 

You shook your head. “No, he’s always on time. I don’t know where he would be.” 

Your dad tsked. “If he is fucking around and just expecting you to sit around I’ll pull you out of this marrage.”  You shook your head in exchange for saying no.  

Then the dining room doors opened. “Sorry I’m late.” James spoke, sitting at the head of the table, as he began to eat his stake. Blood was splattered on his face but his suit seems to be fine and pristine, not a drip on it. 

“Give us a moment.” You said to excuse yourself and your husband, you both headed to the kitchen wearing down a rag to wipe away the blood on his face. “What the hell did you do?” 

He shrugged then mumbled. “He touched what’s mine.” 

Your brows furrowed barely understanding what he said. “What?”

“He touched. My. Wife.” He stated, now loud and clear. “He wasn’t going to just get away with it.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Bucky.” You sighed. “You don’t own me.” 

“I know I don’t but you own me, and I will do this over and over until all of New York knows not to fuck with James Barnes’ queen.” He spoke softly, before pulling you into a soft kiss. “Let's go have dinner, I'm sure your parents have questions.” 

[foreversecrets]

Disgruntled Drysdales

Rogers Family Expansion

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Victoria (OC)

Summary: Things were going great, he was preparing to say the "L' word, so naturally it was time for everything to go to shit.

Though they’d gotten off to a hesitant start, once they started cohabitating Ransom and Tori found themselves comfortable with one another. About six months in he was nearly ready to use the ‘L’ word. IT surprised him how easy it was to be a husband, especially when he didn’t work and his wife willingly took on the breadwinner role. Not that he was cooking or cleaning around the house like a proper house husband, he hired people to handle those responsibilities, but he made an effort to always be home before her so he could welcome her home and assist in her decompressing from work as well as kissing her goodbye every morning. It inadvertently made him live a healthier life, he wasn’t staying out all night getting drunk or stoned, his schedule was pretty lax but improvement nonetheless. He woke up to his wife off for the day with a kiss and a cup of coffee, breakfast at one of his many siblings homes, spend a few hours at the gym, lunch with his shitty mother and step or other members of the Thrombey Family, and then head home to be with Tori. That was another massive change for him, he genuinely cared about Tori’s well being and happiness which was reciprocated without requirements or terms. Tori's harsh exterior could melt away and become relaxed, even playful when it was just the two of them. He’d never admit it to his siblings but he was grateful to his family for forcing him into this arrangement. 

Victoria found herself in similar musings, she’d loved her life before but there was something about knowing someone who cared for you at home waiting for you to unload day and unwind together. It didn’t matter the capacity, it could be chilling and watching television together or fucking the day away. It has surprised her to learn Ransom’s mommy issue had manifested as a kink, where this grumpy man turned into a bottom in the bedroom, something Victoria adapted to once she cleared the air about not wanting to actually become a mother. His relief and willingness to ensure they didn’t have kids but could play in the bedroom however they decided. It was the final nail in Tori’s coffin, she could no longer state she didn’t love her husband. 

A year into marriage that happiness was threatened when Tori went to see the doctor. She had had a cold her doctor prescribed antibiotics for but a month later she was starting to feel sick again and was concerned something more serious might be wrong with her. As a concerned husband, Ransom accompanied her to the appointment where the doctor ordered some tests to be run. 

“Good news, you aren't sick but you are pregnant,” the doctor's smile immediately dropped at the expecting parents' reactions. Ransom’s face reddened, his whole body tense while Tori was completely frozen, like she wasn’t present in the moment. 

“I’m on birth control and we always use protection.”

“Birth control isn’t always 100%, it was probably negated by the antibiotics you were previously on. As for condoms: they break, they expire, they can be faulty, or applied correctly.” 

“Ransom?” Tori looked up to her husband, fighting back angry tears that wanted to fall. But instead of receiving the supportive husband she needed, she was faced with the cold version of Hugh Drysdale, the man who was normally reversed for visits to his mothers family. 

“What are our options?” There was no emotion in his voice as he put space between himself and Tori, like her condition was contagious and he’d catch it if he stood too close. 

“Um … there’s-”

“Thank you for your assistance. I will be keeping my child.” Tori snapped, gathering her clothes, escaping from the examination room. 

She found sanctuary in the restroom where she practically ripped the paper examine gown off, tossed it to the floor and collapsed on top of it finally letting her tears fall. Looking down at her flat stomach and crying even harder. How was this fair? Annie was actually trying to have a kid and it kept resulting in miscarriages not to mention the difficulties getting pregnant in the first place and here she was accidentally pregnant not knowing what to do. She knew what Ransom wanted, what they both had agreed on but that was no longer an option. Their family of two would never be that again, regardless of the decisions that followed. If she aborted or put the kid up for adoption she’d never have peace again she would be consumed with the what ifs and pain of terminating the pregnancy or full of concern over the child's life once she signed away her rights. She’d had students who made those choices and the mental turmoil they endured for months after the fact was ever prevalent in her mind, so no, she wouldn’t choose either of those options. They’d fucked up and now she would endure the consequences either with her husband or alone. Raising the kid herself she knew she had the financial means to provide for the kid and they would be given every opportunity to succeed. 

Did she want to have a baby? No. Did she want to give it away? No. Did she want to terminate the pregnancy? No.

“Babe, open the door.” Ransom’s angry voice came through the door, snapping her out of her self pity. “We need to talk about this!” 

No, she wasn’t ready to talk. She got dressed, washed her tear streaked face and exited the bathroom where Ransom was waiting for her. He opened his mouth to speak but she put her hand up to stop him. “Dont. I don’t want to talk about this right now. I’m still processing and your anger isn’t helping.” 

“Of course I’m-”

She couldn’t handle him right now, she walked past him pulling out her phone and ordering an uber, Ransom trailed behind her. She’d handled him mad before, that was him anytime he was around his mother but right now she was vulnerable and full of her own self hate. She kissed his cheek throwing him off guard long enough for her to get into the uber and drive off. 

She went to Juliana; she'd become close to the other mafia born wife of the Rogers since she herself joined the family given their commonalities in upbringing. Though the two of them were close but Jewls was unpredictable. She needed to talk to someone about the pregnancy that was objective, granted she didn’t know how Jewls would react but she was her best bet. None of the siblings had kids yet, with the exception of Frank and Daphne who were raising Mary so she could have theoretically gone to anyone but Annie and Steve. But she choose Jewls because of their connection and Ransom’s fear of the psycho woman who he was convince would one day murder him. 

Jewls wasn’t expecting company but as always she welcomed Tori in with open arms, the two getting comfortable on the couch with a bottle of wine. The refusal of a wine glass sent Tori into a spiral as she confessed everything to her friend. 

“You are the one who has to live with whatever decision is made and if Ransom fights you on it let me know.” Jewls put her hands together and wiggled her fingers. “Lloyd bought me a sexy new sniper, I’d be happy to give it a trail run on your husband.”

“You’re not killing my brother.” Lloyd signed entering the room with a bag of peanuts. He dropped a kiss to his wife's forehead and plopped down in the arm chair. “He occasionally deserves your ire but he is family.”

“Baby,” Jewls purred, an evil flint in her eyes. “How would you react if I said I was pregnant?”

Lloyd choked on the peanut he tossed in the air to catch with his mouth, Jewls bursting into laughter while Lloyd coughed and tried to dislodge the small nut from his esophagus. “I thought we agreed to wait, Princess?” Recovering from choking he didn’t give a shit about Tori seeing the softer side of himself he reversed solely for his wife.

“Relax, I’m not but your asshole brother blew up. You at least tried to be composed, whereas Ransom nearly demanded an abortion on the spot without even considering Tori.”

Relieved he wasn’t the problem he relaxed back into his chair as his wife had instructed. “Congrats?” he asked Tori. “Are we happy or not?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed, pressing on her temples to try and ease the stress headache that had formed. 

“Well would you be okay killing it?” Lloyd asked simply, Tori shook her head. “What about having someone else raise it?” another head shake. “Well there you go mommy/”

“Gross, don’t call me that!” Tori groaned, finally laughing. “Only Ransom calls me that.”

It was Lloyd’s turn to cringe in disgust, “Great now I have to put a bullet in my head.”

“You set yourself up for that,” Jewls laughed. “You can stay here if you’d like tonight.”

“Thanks but I should go home and talk to Ransom, but I will probably be back.”

The Drysdale’s had had minor disagreements and spate throughout their marriage but never as bad as they fight that ensured that night when Tori returned home. She confided that she wasn’t happy about the situation but now that she was pregnant she was going to raise this child with or without him. Ransom’s choice taken from him without regard for his thoughts or arguments was reminiscent of how his family had treated him only enraging him further. It's like he could just not be involved, by the contact of their marriage they were required to reside together 8 months out of the year. And he was always home so that put the majority of the responsibilities on his shoulder. A point he mentioned that she wanted him to fulfill but his opposition had her countering with hiring a nanny. 

That night Ransom slept on the couch, unable to reason or resolve things with his wife. Several weeks he spent sleeping on that couch he’d previously loved but now despised before they moved into a two bedroom place and Tori started sleeping on an air mattress in what would be the nursery, leaving their bed for him. His hard demeanor nearly cracked at the nonverbal act of care for his well being, even while their marriage was on the rocks. Then her baby bump began to show and his frustration was reinvigorated, his stubbornness winning out.

He found himself falling back into old habits of drugs and alcohol but try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to revert into his manwhore ways. The thought of him sleeping with someone who wasn’t his wife was unappealing which left him unable to perform even while indulging in porn. Which was probably for the best, if their current estrangement could be overcome cheating would have ultimately been the straw to fully break their marriage. 

Throughout Tori’s pregnancy his brothers and their partners were the ones to support and care for Tori, even trying to reason with Ransom but he was unphased. 

It was during the third trimester he decided he didn’t want to lose Tori, he still wasn’t sure how to handle the baby situation but he decided to take things one step at a time. To get back into his wife's food graces he had Curtis assist him in preparing the nursery and building all the furniture Tori had ordered. In doing so, Ransom discovered he was having twin daughters. For the first time in his life, Ransom pushed past his anger and continued the task listening to his older brother for how Tori had wanted the nursery painted. Apparently the twins would be identical so in an effort to not confuse the two Tori had a set color scheme: baby 1 would be pink and green while baby 2 would be purple and yellow. Combinations he wouldn’t have personally chosen but then he saw the linens of soft yellows with lavender and then bubble gum pink with blue-green linens and found it worked. 

The happiness on his huge wifes face as she waddled toward him and threw her arms around him have been the reward for his efforts. The night they resumed sleeping in their bed together, things weren’t as tense, their relationship was being repaired but Tori was mindful of his continued hesitance and tried to avoid discussing the topics. Ransom tried to be better, not able to stomach the idea of losing her. He would check in with her, rub her back, and assist her in shaving as she’d grown too big to do so herself. 

It wasn’t until Tori finally gave birth and Ransom was holding one of his two daughters while Tori breastfed the other that a switch flipped within him. He suddenly found himself fully devoted to Sophia and Penelope Drysdale, the surge of bliss that filled his heart as he held his daughter brought tears to his eyes. Holding his daughter to his bare chest as Tori’s audio book had advised he felt the bond forming that it had said would, he knew he’d protect them even over his wife and himself. All it took was one look and one touch and he was at the mercy of the two girls who couldn’t even feed themselves. He was ready and willing to be the stay-at-home dad that Tori had initially wanted but now he was ready to be all in. So much that Tori couldn’t help smirking when Ransom had to hand Sophie over to be fed and instantly started pouting. 

“All those months of animosity and all I had to do was put a baby in your hands.” Tori said softly as she positioned Sophie to feed and Ransom got Penny comfortable in his arms. 

“No, I think it would have made things worse but these girls ….” he trailed off.

“They have your beautiful blues.”

“I think they are going to take after you though.” 

Penny fell asleep easily in his arms, he was content to hold her there but when Sophie fell asleep and he registered the exhaustion on his wifes face he resigned himself to tucking both babies into the bassinets. 

Tori gave him a goofy smile, eyes closed. “Ran?” her voice only contributes to her tired state. “I love you.” 

It was the first time either had said those words and he wasn’t even sure she was fully awake, he didn’t want to diminish the moment so he simply kissed her forehead with a personal vow to tell her first thing when she woke up. Adding on that none of his girls would ever go to bed again without hearing those words, nor would they ever be separated without knowing how much they were cared for.

Ransom was reformed. He was a dad now and nothing had ever been so appealing as taking on the responsibility of raising and showing his daughter how loved they were so they would never have the family discord he had with his own mother. 

[gutsby]

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

[thefallennightmare]

Sorry folks, no update for Arranged tonight. I’m exhausted and going to sleep right after my kids do. It’ll be out tomorrow(2/7.)

Love y’all. Nighty nighty

[winterarmyy]

Plot Twist | Part I

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

Run-through: I just need to get this out of my system. Most of arranged marriage mob/mafia!au I've read has a strong/bratty reader. And a really mean/asshole Bucky. Which is absolutely fine btw but its getting repetitive for me. I wanted to see a reader who's actually soft but fierce when she wants to be. And Bucky who is generally cold and seems to be married to his job but notices small things that the reader do, thus subconsciously started to care about her. They don’t hate each other, nor do they are infatuated. I don’t know if this exist, so I decided write it myself just in case. Enjoy!

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III* (end) | Extra

Words: 1.1k++

Pairing: beefy mafia!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just fluffy and wholesome stuff here. Nothing graphic or explicit.

P/S: I like to write in 3rd pov btw. There's a few mentions of y/n sometimes too. Beware of the grammar mistakes, English is not my first language. This might be 2-3 parts type of fic, so tell me what you think so far.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

“He's late.”

The soft clinking sounds of his rings colliding with each other and onto the dresser woke her up from her deep slumber. Though her body remained still, her mind continued to wonder,

“Late. Again.”  She thought.

The sound of fabrics rustling about hinted her of what was happening beyond her closed eyes. The shut of the bathroom door confirmed her speculations.

“So, what if he came back home late? Why does it concern you?” She questioned herself.

Only a fool would believe if she said that she didn't care at all about the whereabout and well-being of this man. He is her husband after all.

Six months ago, she stood on the alter with that man. They swore an oath. They sealed the kiss. He was hers and she was his.

James Buchanan Barnes; Bucky was what he preferred to called. He is what every man wants to become, and every woman wants to be with.

An Adonis of a man; impossibly tall, 6'5"; body armored with thick layer of muscles. Bucky is huge, that if he trapped her against the wall, she might just see the resemblance of him to a grizzly bear. His dark hair flowed just above his shoulder and his steel blue eyes were as cold as his personality.

Though she wouldn't compare him to a frozen blizzard during the winter, he was more like the first day of snow, when the white flakes started to fall.

Cold enough to make you shiver and warm enough to lure you out but most importantly, obscenely beautiful.

However, of course, the main reason of the marriage set up by her father was not because of how beautiful he is, but to fulfil his hunger for power. As if the territories that their family has wasn't enough, her father arranged this union to extend his reign.

Y/N protested at first but knew better than to fight against her father. Being raised in such family, at a very young age she learned to think always ahead; pass the emotions and intuitions. What's the rational and logical way to solve a problem.

Took her a week to wrap her head around the matter, research about Barnes and go through the agreement between her father and her then husband to be. Barnes had listed some main demands regarding the union and although most of them were about their business, but one particular demand had caught her attention.

“After marriage, the couple must be faithful to one another. Any romantic/sexual relationships prior must be severed/resolved immediately. Failed to do so will result to termination of the contract.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” She thought.

Not that she was in any relationship at the time, and all the research result to possibly positive outcome. So, in the end, she complied.

Which then explained why she was sleeping in Bucky's bed six months later.

“I know you're awake.” Bucky's gravel voice startled her internal thoughts. She could feel the indentation of the mattress on his side of the bed, the fresh and clean scent wafting from him. She nearly purred from a sniff of it.

She slowly opened her eyes as if she was trying to peep and god what a sight to see after a restless sleep; Bucky's idea of pajamas was basic pants and nothing above and Y/N didn’t know what to feel about that. Does she hate it? Absolutely not. Does she like it? Well, he is easy on the eye indeed.

The room was dimly lit, but she could see his slightly damp hair; it looked longer than it is dry. Her eyes followed the outline of his body leaning against the bed. The soft light reflected on his metal arm particularly follows the gold lines decorating the dark surface.

She often had intrusive thoughts of tracing the lines; what would it feel like against her fingertips. Does he feel anything? Is it cold? Will it feel good? 

“You do know that it’s a waste your time to wait for me, right?” He huffed a heavy breath. She could hear the fatigue in his sigh.

And how does Bucky know that she waited for him before admitting her defeat to the drowsiness? Somehow, Bucky always managed to know things, to the littlest matter, even when he’s million miles across the world.

Just like when she found a copy of Pride and Prejudice on the bed a few months ago. The day before she received it, her copy was drenched in coffee; a young woman bumped into her in front of the café she often visit. He was in Russia that time. “Was it Clint? Did he tell Bucky?” she wondered.

“Whoever said I was waiting for you?” She scoffed, yet if the room was well lit enough, Bucky would’ve seen how playful her expression was.

He hummed a deep voice, “Hmm.” there’s a hint of doubt in his tone.

Y/N quickly follow her previous sentence, “I was simply enjoying my reading, that I lost track of time.” She shifted to face him and tucked herself further into the blanket, hiding the lower half of her face as she looked up at him. She wondered if he could tell that she was smiling just from her eyes.

Bucky’s gaze remained still on her, as if he was trying to reach into her soul, before he leaned closer to peek on the book on the table. Pride and Prejudice written on it.

He chuckled, which was rare. At the least the real ones are.

Of course, she had seen him smile and laugh countless of time. Especially during those gala they often attend. But those were just another set of armor he wore on a daily basis.

Bucky tried to bite back a smile, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, “Lost track of time, huh?” Yet, somehow Y/N can hear the smile in his tone.

“A good read?” he asked as if he did not know why his wife brought up about the book. She never said anything about the gift; not a thank you or a complaint. 

She simply cherish it in her own way. He heard from Clint that she rearranged her whole bookshelf just to make space for the book he gave her. Maybe this was her way of saying thank you.

He had been giving her books every week, since.

She pulled the blanket away from her face, lips curled into a genuine smile, “Always.”

Bucky preened to her reply before suddenly, “Okay, enough chit chat. It’s late.” he said almost monotone sounded, as he made himself comfortable under the blanket.

Before she could overthink of what went wrong, why the sudden drop of chemistry; that was when she felt his hand roamed to find hers. Bucky brought her palm closer to his face, she could feel his hot breath against her cold skin. 

He leaned his lips on her palm, leaving a soft and tender kiss as he mumbled, “Goodnight, doll.”

Rush of red shades bloomed on her cheeks, before caving into the feeling of his stubble on her hand. She gently caresses the side of his cheeks, hoping it soothes him to sleep. 

The corners of her lips curved upwards into a smile, "See? Like, the first day of snow."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: It’s my first fic so... share your thoughts? ily 🤍

[sarahowritesostucky]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, non-con, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", mating, breeding, hate to strong affection, yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the alpha who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

Masterlist

Daddy's Home (Series teaser)

Episode 1: A Clever, Tricky Little Kitty Cat: Just like Her Mommy

Episode 2: Taking Back What's His

Episode 3: The Lap of Luxury

Episode 4: Motherhood Suits You

Episode 5: Should've Done this Years Ago

Epilogue: A Storybook Romance Once Again

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" shlyukha = "slut" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" milashka = "cutie patootie" malen'kiy = "little one"  malyshka = "little girl" pchelka = "little bee"

@cjand10, @violetwinterwidow01, @ppbhquinn, @myfavbuckyfics, @liannafae, @sadsackssss, @timidquindim, @dakotali, @rayofdawnworld, @wintrsoldrluvr, @lindasweetie

[yourmidnightlover]

forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents. 

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place. 

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely. 

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be. 

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite. 

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady. 

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light. 

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much. 

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life. 

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together. 

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door. 

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe. 

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight. 

-

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting. 

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls. 

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile. 

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline. 

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun. 

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting. 

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you. 

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway. 

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men. 

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips. 

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates. 

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned. 

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes. 

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with. 

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often. 

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip. 

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be. 

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband. 

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins. 

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away. 

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you? 

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this. 

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think. 

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted. 

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly. 

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.” 

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident. 

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth. 

and then there was a knock at the door. 

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting. 

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements. 

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft. 

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was. 

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again. 

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.” 

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you. 

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing… 

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed. 

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point. 

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad. 

[navybrat817]

" Scraping their teeth over your neck to have a shiver of arousal run down your spine. "

With Bucky. 🥺

This probably didn't go the way anyone wants, nonnie, and I'm sorry!

Give Me a Name

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Agent!Female Reader Summary: Someone put their hands on you and Bucky can't let it go. Word Count: Over 1.1k Warnings: Tension, threat of violence (not against reader), very minor injury, pet names, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Because who doesn't want a mob boss obsessed with them? ❤️ Edit by the talented @nixakimbo. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Today was a not-so-friendly reminder that mistakes in your job weren’t so easy to fix. You had been in pursuit of a target for weeks and finally managed to catch him. The rookie agent, however, didn’t secure the cuffs and the bastard managed to get a hard hit in when he broke free. The dizziness from the blow was enough to let him get away.

The rookie went after him, but you knew he wouldn’t catch him. You’d have to start all over with tracking him and you didn’t even get a chance to go home to lick your wounds. Not when Bucky’s men showed up and put you in a car.

You should’ve known they were close by.

“I can walk!” You argued minutes later when they brought you to the Barnes mansion. The mob boss had a few homes, but this one had been in the family for years. He had invited you here before, but never took you by force.

Until today.

The men carefully arranged you on a leather sofa in the den before one of them went to get their boss. He hadn’t left the room before the door flew open, the very man he went to find standing there with a look thunderous enough to kill. He snatched something out of one of his soldier’s hands before he went to you, no one daring to speak a word.

You held your breath as you glanced at Bucky. He had the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up as he assessed you, the veins in his arms popped out as he clenched his fists. He was built like a soldier with his massive frame, his life story told in the tattoos and scars that adorned his covered skin. The notorious crime lord more than earned his reputation and he promised he’d tell you his story himself one day.

Today wouldn’t be that day.

He brushed some of his long hair from his eyes before crouching down beside you. He didn’t take his eyes off you as he dabbed at your cheek with the cloth. He stopped when you winced, but you gave him a small smile to let him know he could continue. You didn’t expect tenderness from such a rough man, but you were different to him, weren’t you? You had been since the two of you crossed paths some time ago. Why?

What made you so special?

“Who did this to you?” He asked in a low voice. You could hear that he tried to keep the raging storm inside of him, but his icy eyes showed you everything. The growing fury was bound to come out. Who would he destroy in his path to sate the beast?

“Bucky. I’m fine,” you croaked as you tried to sit up more, but he stopped you from moving. “The guy got lucky and it isn’t anything I haven’t faced before. Just let me get back to work,” you said.

You noticed most of the men nearby avoided eye contact when you looked around. They had every reason to be afraid. James Buchanan Barnes was downright terrifying when crossed.

And crossing you was a worse offense in his eyes.

“Give me a name,” Bucky demanded, though he didn't raise his voice. “Tell me his fucking name so I can take care of it.”

“I can’t,” you whispered. If you did, he’d kill him. No, he’d torture him first. Likely for days on end before he begged for death. And you needed him alive.

That was your job.

Yet, you could never find it in yourself to bring Bucky in.

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

You froze at the cold tone before you realized Bucky didn’t direct that statement at you. One of his men standing feet away turned his head to the side because he got caught staring. You should’ve known better. Whatever cat and mouse game you and the mob boss were playing, it was for him to catch you in his trap, but never hurt you.

Not when he wanted to keep you.

“I’m sorry, boss,” the man promised, his tone wavering when Bucky reached for one of his pistols. “I-”

“‘Cause I’ll do it in a heartbeat and never look back if you glance at her again,” he promised. He was a man of his word. “Leave us. All of you. Now.”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” you assured him as they filed out. The men were dangerous, but you weren’t about to let him shoot the poor guy for looking your way.

“It isn't okay. Someone put their hands on you,” he nearly growled, the soft touch to your cheek a stark contrast to his voice. “You think I can let that go? I can’t. I won’t.”

You brought a hand up to tuck a few strands of his hair behind his ear. His eyes shut for a moment and grabbed your wrist before you could pull away. He dragged your fingers through the short beard along his jaw, like he was starved of your touch and needed more. You didn’t want to admit how much you wanted him.

Not when you belonged in different worlds.

“You don’t have to ‘avenge’ me, Bucky, because I’m not yours,” you said carefully. Were you telling him for his sake or yours? “Let it go. Please.”

The storm continued to rage in his eyes when he opened them and you wondered who would win the battle of the wills. You held your breath again when he moved close, the scent of his woodsy cologne making your head spin. Instead of brushing his lips against yours, he brought his mouth to your neck. Scraping his teeth over your pulse, you couldn’t stop the shiver of arousal that moved down your spine.

“You are mine, Kisa,” he whispered, giving your neck another nip as you tried not to whimper. “And I’m going to find out who did this whether you tell me or not. And I’m going to kill him.”

Your heart shouldn’t have raced faster at his declaration. “If I tell you, will you let me go home?”

“You are home,” he replied, pulling away and looking into your eyes so you could see how serious he was. “And I’d feel a lot better if you got some rest in my bedroom.”

You shuddered because you both knew you wouldn’t get a wink of rest if he took you to bed. And if you slept with him, there would be no turning back. “You can’t keep me prisoner here, Winter.”

The cold and ruthless man who only wanted you.

“You’re not my prisoner, Kisa,” he said, pressing his lips softly to your pained cheek. “But I’m never letting you go.”

He’d prove that to you.

I don't know about you lovelies, but I kind of love them. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do. 

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating. 

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business. 

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it. 

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table. 

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee. 

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty. 

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her. 

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed.  “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything. 

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window. 

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them. 

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food. 

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed. 

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock. 

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.” 

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements. 

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city. 

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now. 

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows. 

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows. 

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask. 

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are. 

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?” 

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you. 

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off. 

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar. 

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day. 

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy. 

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.” 

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead. 

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried. 

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away. 

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?” 

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile. 

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[fluffysucker]

Say Something.

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Mob Au)

'You are the one that I love, and I'm saying goodby'

It is written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

A/N: I was writing a request that was so fluffy but couldn't shake this from my head. I had to let it out. Let me know if you want part two. Also, if any of you wanted to in a taglist, you are so welcome. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

TW: Mentions of physical abuse. Mention of miscarriage.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to focus on the good things. Your hair was combed to perfection. Not a single strand of hair falling from its place. The hairpieces made the hairstyle ravishing. The simple makeup look you asked for was excellently done. Highlighting your best features with colours that work best with your skin tone. However, the best thing yet was the dress. It was your dream dress. It hugged your body like it was made specially for me, which it was. From the material, the shade of the white, to its exact length in centimetres, the dress was dazzling. And the look was beautifully finished with the white flowers you were holding.

You looked stunning. The most gorgeous you have ever been. However, you didn't feel like it. You wanted to get out of here. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to hide from everyone. It was becoming too real. There was no escape. Before the panic could take over and make you break down on the floor, the door to your room knocked. You turned to see your father enter the room.

On this day, they said fathers get emotional. They would tear up or cry. You would be able to see the undying love they have for their little girls as they grow up. But you could only see one thing in your father's eyes. Victory. He was about to have the biggest deal of his life finalised today, no matter what it cost. You wondered if the signs had always been there. That your rocky relationship with your father would lead to this. The lies you used to tell yourself that your father loved you were never true. That your happiness mattered nothing in the face of his interests. At least he had the decency to tell you that you looked beautiful.

You locked your hand between his arms as he led you outside, where everyone was waiting. You tried to ease your nerves and draw the biggest smile your face could handle. You stood in front of the door as it opened. There was no going back now.

You tried to focus on the music playing and the bright blue sky instead of the people staring at you. You wanted the aisle to be longer. You didn't want to reach the end. Because for you, it was the end of everything. Your wishes weren't granted. Your father came to a stop. He pressed a kiss to your cheek as he handed you to your future husband.

It took a lot from you to keep a smile on your face. Standing in front of your husband-to-be, holding your hands between his foreign hands. You were trying to convince yourself that the smile on his face was genuine and that maybe it wasn't just an accord with him. Maybe there was still hope. Which is why you avoided his eyes so you wouldn't be disappointed.

But you should have known better. You should have known that it was not his eyes that you should have avoided. It was the ocean blue eyes that never left you. But the moment you noticed him, you couldn't turn away. His eyes spoke loudly. So loud. Pain and defeat are coated with anger and rage.

You remember vividly your last conversation together. Your crying and begging for him to understand. His accusations of not loving him enough. But you did. You loved him enough. You loved him too much. Which is why you refused to let him stand in the face of your father. You couldn't let him risk his life. You couldn't let this kind of danger fall on him. And most certainly not because of you. Your father was neither understanding nor loving. So if you had to live miserable lives, he could live his life. That is a sacrifice you were willing to make. And just like that, your three-year relationship was down the drain.

You couldn't help but stare at the man who meant everything to you. who your heart beats for. The love of your life. He was sitting close, yet so far. It should have been him standing here. It should have been the happiest day of your life. But fate was never on your side. Starting with making you fall in love with your father's rival

You thought about the days you spent together behind closed doors so nobody would see you. The lazy morning in bed with you cuddled up in his arms The movie nights that would always end with heated makeout sessions. The secret dates under nobody's eyes. The stolen getaways so you can finally be free and act like the so deeply in love couple that you were. The happiest days of your life. Now they were memories you kept so close to your heart.

You collected yourself quickly before your act would fall as your fiancé squeezed your hand. You heard him say the two words, and you wanted to cry. You wanted to shout and scream. You wanted to throw a tantrum like a child. That was how desperate you were. But you never did. The officiate turned to you to ask you the same question. You wanted to have the courage to say no. Stand your ground. Tell the truth. Run away with the man who has ever truly loved you. But you couldn't. There was too much to lose.

With one last look at the man who would always have a hold on your heart, you kept the tears inside, and with a heavy breath, you turned to the officiate and said, "I do".

"And now, I announce you as husband and wife." Waves of clapping and cheers filled the decorated garden while dreed filled you.

And just like this, you went from being a Pierce to being a Rumlow. And you lost Bucky Barnes.

Twirling the straw between your manicured fingers, you were standing at the bar. Taking a break from all the chatting and loud laughter. You were delaying rejoining the others. The act has been getting harder lately. You were trying to stay a little bit longer in the peaceful corner of the venue. Until you heard his voice. Your thoughts stopped. Your heartbeat went faster. You knew he was in here. Your circle of acquaintances would usually cross. You would meet on these occasions. But you never talked or acknowledged each other. Stolen glances were all you had ever done.

You gave in to the urge and turned to look at him. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your lips. You hadn't been that close since before the wedding. He looked so good. The expensive black suit. The huge frame. The low bun. The well-trimmed beard. The strong perfume. You felt the tears gather in your eyes. You missed him terribly. Beyond what you ever thought.

Your staring must have caught his attention, and he turned his sight in your direction. He didn't expect to find you here. He knew you went off to hide somewhere for a little bit. He didn't know it would be at the bar. You always tried to steal some time away from these events. He often kept an eye on you whenever he knew you were an attendee. It was a force of habit. A habit he couldn't break despite how hard he tried.

After the wedding, he hoped that every time he met you again, he wouldn't feel his heart move from its place. But this time, it never came. Every time, he was taken back by your beauty and grace. Your captivating eyes and sweet smile. You were always the most beautiful.

And there you were, sitting close to him. Yet so out of reach. How he wished he could take you away and escape this world. The bartender placing his order in front of him broke you both out of your trace. You regained control of yourself, pulling the drink to your lips to take a sip. That's when he saw it. The reason for the distance between you. The reason for your downfall. The wedding ring with a big diamond ornamenting your finger

"Mrs. Rumlow." He cleared his throat before he spoke his bitter word.

The last name was never music to your ears. However, for him, it was like a hit in the gut.

"Mr. Barnes." You understood why he would choose to be so formal. To the world, you were rivals acting civilised. Nobody knew what you both meant to each other.

God, he missed your sweet-like-honey voice. It soothed him and put his mind at ease. Now, it was a harsh reminder of a harsher reality.

"Congratulations on the new deal. I heard it was very successful." Despite the bar being less crowded, you were still surrounded by people. You couldn't let them know the truth or even sense something. You had to act normal. Like you never knew him outside of this room.

"Thank you." The shortness and stiffness delivered the message. And you heard it loud and clear. Your attempts were unwelcome. So you decided to leave. Your time hiding away was running out anyway.

However, as you were getting up, you miscounted your steps, making your long dress tangle with the stall. You expected to fall down and make an embarrassment out of yourself, but the pain never came. You only felt a familiar, strong metal arm wrapping around your waist, catching you. This time, you were so close. You could feel his hot breath on your face. His eyes stare so deeply into your soul. His arm tightened around you. You almost gave up. You prayed your eyes weren't showing it all. But they were. It would explain the confused expression on his face. Your eyes were screaming at him. Sadness wrapped in pleas for help. A complex look. He should have let you go now, but he couldn't. He missed having you in his arms. He missed everything about you.

The call for your name brought you both back. He steadied you to your feet before ripping his arm away. You straightened your posture, regaining your composure after this accidental slip. An immediate smile was drawn on your face as you saw your husband approaching. He came to a stop next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"Been looking for you, baby." Your husband spoke as he kissed your cheeks.

"I was getting us a drink." You didn't lie. Usually, you would bring him a drink so he wouldn't get suspicious of your absence.

"Always so considerate." He laid another kiss on the top of your head. Being overly affectionate in public was something you were used to from your husband.

"Ain't I the luckiest guy in the world, Barnes?" He turned to Bucky, who was still standing in front of you.

"Yes, of course." Despite his neutral tone, he meant it. Any man who had you had the biggest blessing. He envied this man with every fibre of his being.

Both men talked about work very briefly. It was a formality. An act to go with the night. It was very well known. Bucky Barnes and Brock Rumlow don't get along. Their mobs weren't on the same page. But for the sake of the bigger picture, both had to learn how to coexist. Temporarily, at least.

"This reminds me. Are you free next week?" The bizarre question caught Bucky off guard.

"I'm throwing a party for our second-year anniversary. Would love it if you could come." Brock pulled you closer to him as you laid your hand on his chest, your smile not breaking for a second.

"I want to celebrate the best day of my life." It's the irony of the world that Brock's best day is Bucky's worst. He still remembers the heart-wrenching feeling of watching you marry another man. The excruciating pain of losing you

He was about to turn down the invitation. But he remembered the look in your eyes. Sheer helplessness and hurt Even if it was for a split second. Even if you looked so happy now. He wasn't going to take his chances. He couldn't turn away from your call for help, even if you didn't voice it.

"I wouldn't miss it." And he didn't. And he never regretted something more.

The party was a blast. A beautiful celebration of love. You and Brock looked so happy. A perfect couple. He wanted his instincts to be right. But only came face-to-face with his worst fear. You were happy with another man. A man that wasn't him. And could never be him.

Between the gala and the party, Bucky tried to look around. See if he could find anything out. To get a glimpse of your life behind the lights. And he got nothing. Only good things. Maybe his longing for you made him misread the signs.

After the wonderful speech Brock gave about you and your marriage, Bucky couldn't take it anymore. He had to leave. And most importantly, he had to let you go.

You barely met again after that day. He avoided even the galas that he would see you at. He needed to move on. He needed to forget you. He needed to let go of the girl who turned his whole being around. even though it was going to crush him. He had to.

He spent more time at work. More than he ever did. He started doing the dirty work again. Something he stopped doing for years. But he needed an outlet for the pain and rage. An escape from the brutal reality.

He knew how pathetic he was being. It's been two years, and he can't let you out of his mind. He tried to see other people. But it would only be physical. He couldn't find it in himself to be vulnerable or emotional with any other woman. Only you managed to tear his walls apart. Only you invaded his being. Sometimes he wishes he had never met you in the first place. The sweet girl sitting in a corner by herself in the over-the-top gala. He knew Alexander Pierce was your father. But he couldn't resist. You took his breath away the moment his eyes landed on you. And when he got to know you, you blew his mind away as well. You were nice, kind, polite, understanding, trusting, smart, and everything good. He had to have you. And he did. He fell head over heels for you. You gave meaning to his life. Bucky was madly and deeply in love with you. He still is.

And by some miracle, you loved him too. You let him have you. He remembers, after your first time together, As he held your exhausted form to his chest, he heard your sleepy voice whispering something he should have expected. "Please, when it's time to leave, let me down slowly." Of course, you would think he was only using you for something. He couldn't blame you. So he made it his mission. He would show you how much you meant to him. How much he loved and cherished you.

So maybe he should have fought for you? Shouldn't have chosen the city's peace and safety over you? Should have risked it all?

But this means nothing now. He had to move on.

Now, he was sitting in his office in his mansion. Sitting on the couch with his drink in hand and Steve and Sam on each side, They were joined by a dear guest. Nick Fury. Nick is a huge part of the mob. He started it off with Pierce at Hydra, but both of them grew too big. Then Pierce showed his true colours. So now he was playing on both sides. And nobody could stop him. A lot tried. But no one succeeded. Nick Fury was too dangerous of a man.

It wasn't a formal meeting. It was just a gathering. It wasn't planned. Nick showed up at Bucky's house. They talked about work for a bit, but the conversation drifted with time. With Steve's girl falling asleep in his lap, they found themselves talking about parenthood. How family and their line of work don't usually go together. However, those who did have families always managed to be the best. However, nothing could have prepared Bucky for the turn the conversation was about to take.

"Not all of them turn out to be good. You've got Pierce, for example. I have never seen a worse father in my life." The mention of the man's name caught Bucky's attention. Pierce definitely didn't win the Father of the Year award, but what does it mean?

"What do you mean?" It seemed Steve was thinking the same way as Bucky.

"That man married off his daughter to a beast and watched as he ate her off." The statement didn't sit well with Bucky.

"What are you talking about?" Bucky couldn't help, but he asked, wanting to know more.

"Alexander knows exactly what Rumlow does to his girl." Nick's answer wasn't enough for Bucky.

"What does he do?" He didn't care how desperate he looked or sounded. He needed to know everything.

"I think the scars on her body speak for themselves." It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. His blood ran cold. His lungs almost stopped working.

"Rumlow hurts his wife?" Sam was one to speak, knowing his best friend wasn't in the right state anymore.

"Hurt doesn't even begin to describe it. Poor girl has been hospitalised ten times in the last two years." His tight grip on the glass almost made it shatter in his hand. They have been doing this to his girl.

"How do you know this?" Steve couldn't help his curiosity.

"I know everything. And Pierce doesn't put much effort into hiding it from those close to him."

"How come nobody else knows?"

"I said only those close to him."

"But they look so happy. He seems to love her."

"Of course they do. Rumlow wants to be seen as a good family man. The perfect husband So they need to be a picture-perfect couple. Not a single flaw. It's easy to paint when you beat somebody that much."

"Why didn't she try to leave?"

"And go where? Her father has no problem with it. I heard that Rumlow slapped her in front of him. And Pierce did nothing."

Bucky was grateful for his bestfriends who kept the questions going because he needed to know everything. But he couldn't speak. Nick seemed to be talking about some stranger he barely knew. And it was true. But not to Bucky. That was you. His whole entire world. And someone was hurting you. And you couldn't do anything. You were helpless. He should have trusted his instincts.

"How bad does it get?" He mastered the neutral tone, so not even Nick would know the fire burning through him.

"I don't know. All I know is if that was my daughter, Rumlow would be dead a long time ago." Instinctively, Steve pulled his daughter closer to him and laid a soft kiss on her head. How can any father not protect his daughter with his life? Steve would never know.

"But the girl is tough. Despite it all, she is still nice and caring to everybody." Nick added. And it somehow hurt Bucky more. For godsake. You even tried to be friendly with him. He, who left you, was a deer in a wolf's den.

"Have you ever met her?" Nick asked, looking at Bucky.

"Only on parties and occasions." He could never tell Nick that you were the love of his life.

Nick stayed for a little longer before he left. And Bucky couldn't recall a single thing after Nick told them the truth. Steve and Sam wanted to stay with their friends, but they knew better. He wanted to be alone right now. And he did. He went upstairs to the master bedroom. He opened a drawer in the side table and looked at a small album he kept hidden from the world. He tried to get rid of it but never had enough courage. It had all your pictures together. This album meant more to him than all of his good fortune.

Looking at the pictures, he felt like he was drowning. They took you away from him, only to hurt you. Bucky didn't know what to do. He must think straight, because if he didn't, he would go over and kill them all right now. It would be a bloodbath. But you were worth it. so worth it.

Before he could make any wise decision, he reached for his phone, dialling the number of the person who would help him.

"Bruce, I need a favour."

Bucky was standing by the bar, watching people talk and laugh in their very expensive attire. It was all so fake that he wanted to throw up. But maybe the act wasn't the only thing bothering him.

Bruce was able to do him the favour he asked for. And he gave it to him today. Your medical reports. All of them.

Bucky was stunned, to say the least. He regretted asking, but he had to know. How could anyone do this to you?

Broken bones. Internal bleeding. Deep Cuts. Concussions. Vaginal bleeding. Three miscarriages.

Bucky couldn't help the tear that fell on his face as he read the last report. It was two months ago. Two weeks before he met you again. A week before the anniversary party. You were recovering from another miscarriage and a broken elbow. Yet nobody could tell. You put on the act to perfection that even Bucky believed. You managed to trick Bucky, who claimed to have known you best. His heart ached to see how much Brock had to beat and break you to fool everybody that you are so happy. Bucky was a strong man who everybody feared, but he had to read how a nobody hurt his girl. Yes, you were his girl. You were always going to be his girl. He needed to figure out a way to get you out of there.

Which is why his eyes never left you since you walked in. It took all his willpower to not go and beat the hell out of Rumlow. But he knew better. All he could was wait and think. He watched your moves and your voice. You were such a good actress. With all you went through, you acted the happiness so well. He wondered how you were really behind closed doors.

He didn't plan to do anything tonight, but the moment offered itself when you walked to the garden alone. He followed you out instantly. Not knowing what to do. But he had to do something.

You were breathing the fresh breeze ear. You needed to a moment of peace, or you would have lost your mind. This morning, Brock lost his temper, and your body was still aching. It wasn't something you hadn't seen before. You mastered the ability to look and act fine by now. You just needed a moment away. You were glad there was a garden so you could enjoy the view of the stars

The familiar voice calling your name made you stop in your place.

"Mr. Barnes." You turned to him with a smile on your face. Even if you were alone, you weren't dropping the formality. Also, it looked like he never wanted you to

"I want to talk to you." He didn't know how he was going to approach the topic, but he had to do something. Say something, at least.

You gave him your full attention. What do both of you have to talk about? And after all these years. You weren't sure if you could even hold a conversation with him.

"Are you okay?" The question caught you off guard. It was a strange question to ask.

"I'm fine, thank you." You tried to keep a smile on your face. You haven't talked in years, and that is what he wanted to say?

"How are you and Brock?" Bucky was a feared mob boss, yet he couldn't get a word out that made sense.

"We are great." You couldn't hide your surprise. The last thing you expected was for you to talk about your relationship. Let alone with Bucky, from all the people in the world.

"Are you sure?" He should have thought about what to say first before he followed you.

"Yes, pretty sure." You weren't really seeing where this conversation was going.

"No, it's not great." Way to go, Bucky. He thought.

"I beg your pardon." Yes, of course, your relationship wasn't great, but that wasn't for Bucky to know.

"I know your relationship isn't that great." Bucky was hoping to get any reaction from you other than your pretty smile.

"I don't think that's for you to judge." You were taken back by his statement. So you went in defence mood.

"No, it's. It's when you aren't safe." You tried not to let your emotions take over your face. He didn't mean it this way, did he?

"I think I would be perfectly safe with my husband." You prayed he didn't catch your lie. You were a good liar by now.

"Does he make you memorise this?" Bucky was frustrated. Not with you. But with your situation.

"Does he tell you to always pretend you are happy?" Bucky was done with your act.

"Mr. Barnes, I don't think we should be talking about my marriage. And you can't talk about my husband like this." You knew you had to be direct and forward. Even if nobody was around, this wasn't a chance you were going to take.

"Do you have anything else you want to talk about?" You received silence, but you could tell he had a lot to say.

You turned to leave because you couldn't stay and have this conversation. Even if you wanted so desperately to stay in Bucky's company.

"How many more hospitalisations will it take for you to admit the truth? How many more babies do you have to lose before you leave?"

You froze in your place. It was like time had stopped. You were trying to process what Bucky just said. Every cell in your body was working overtime to keep you from shutting down. You turned again to look at him with your pale face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like this." Bucky felt guilty for throwing it like this in your face. But he saw you leave, and he had to stop you.

"How do you know?" The question may be irrelevant, but for you, it was important.

"It doesn't matter." Bucky tested the water by taking small, little steps towards you. You didn't move.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I know." He was itching to hold you. Wrap you in his arms and protect you from the world.

"I'm okay, Bucky." It had been so long since you said his name, but it still felt the same. And you were back on track with your act quicker than you thought.

"No, you aren't. Nobody should ever go through this." He came to a stop in front of you. You saw empathy in his eyes you hadn't seen in a long while.

"Let me help, please." Bucky had no problem getting on his knees and beseeching you to allow him to step in.

"You can't help me." Your voice was tiny. You felt exposed. That part of your life wasn't to be known.

"No, I can. I have to try." Bucky wanted to help you, not just for your sake but for his too.

"No. It's my life now. I'm okay." You knew Brock wasn't going to get a trophy for being the best husband when you married him. However, it got so much worse than you thought.

"Stop saying that. You aren't." Bucky hated the surrender in your eye. The shakiness of your voice. He hated how you were choosing to accept this life when you deserved nothing but the best.

"There is nothing me or anybody could do." You made your peace with this fact long ago. Since Brock first hit you and nobody moved.

"I can. I should have never let you marry him in the first place." He moved even closer to you.

"Then it would have been the both of us, now. Either dead or suffering. I'm okay with it being me." You were. Maybe that is the reason you managed to survive up to now. That Bucky was okay

"You think I'm not suffering this way?" He followed his instincts and placed his flesh hand on your cheeks.

He prepared himself for you to flinch or move away quickly. But you didn't. On the contrary, your face softened. You were craving Bucky's gentle touch. You missed him so much. Bucky took this a sign and let the next words fall from his tongue.

"I still love..."

"Please, don't.

You stopped him right away. Did you still love Bucky? With all your heart and even more. But it was way more complicated than this.

"There nothing you could have done or can do to change it. It's my life, and I can't escape it." He should move on. He shouldn't even be standing with you here.

"I was doomed from the beginning. I'm so sorry I dragged you with me."

You shouldn't have let him love you. You should have heard his name and went the other way. You should have spread him all this pain and mess. If you failed to do it, then you would now. You moved away from, already missing his touch.

"Thank you, Mr Barnes. But I can never leave." You put on the act again, keeping your tears inside. You wished you weren't that helpless or broken, but you were. You were surrounded by monsters that can never let you break away.

You gave Bucky one last smile before you turned to get back inside. You didn't want to anger Brock more. And you didn't want to drag Bucky deeper. Even if your heart longed for him dearly. It wasn't right. You were a tragedy from the start.