#mafia!bucky x y/n

[wntrs0ldier]

AN OFFER II · 04

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,4k warnings: mafia, language, violence, mature themes, dark themes, smut, punishing, spanking, edging, toxic behavior,

Bucky brought his hand up to your face. “You know I won’t hurt you,” he said. His hand slid a little lower; it gripped your jaw, and his fingers dug almost painfully into your cheeks. “But,” he licked his lips, shrugging, “you lied to me. And you won't get away with it.”

series masterlist

The situation you got yourself into was strikingly similar to your last date with John Walker — you were sitting in a fancy restaurant, trying not to show how much you needed some man's favor. There were also a few differences; seated in front of you was not John, but Adrian Lancy, it was not about a marriage proposal and your future, but the future of your gallery, and most importantly, Bucky had no idea about any of this. Although, he knew you were going out — he would have noticed your disappearance anyway — but you told him you were having dinner with Connie. You didn't think Bucky would want to make sure that was really the case, but you preferred to be safe than sorry, and asked your friend to lie if necessary. Connie didn't even think about it; she agreed before you finished your sentence.

Earlier, you didn't see Adrian as a threat — he didn't seem like someone who would go too far to get his way. Nevertheless, you were all smiles between the meals. Why? Because facing the fact that you had a husband, rather than just imagining it, caused some unexplained change in him, and from a sensible young man you were pinning your hopes on, he became someone gripped by a obsession; his propositions for meetings sounded a little more aggressive, lost their previous lightness, and you eventually grew afraid. Not about yourself — whenever the ring on your finger entered your field of vision, you forgot about any fear. It seemed to you that no one could hurt you, not when you bore the name of Barnes. 

But the gallery was different.

“I'm going to Paris soon,” Adrian began. “On business, of course, not for pleasure,” he added, as if you were to take him for a man who has nothing to do but travel. 

“Mhmm.”

“I thought you could come with me,” he continued. Surprised by the processes that must have occurred in his mind, you raised your eyebrows. “You know about art,” he hurried to clarify, “and I'd love to buy some pieces for my new apartment. I will pay you for this service.”

“You know that there are people you can actually hire for this. People you won't spend that much on.” You tilted your head to the side, watching him carefully. “Because I am expensive. Very expensive,” you said, hoping to discourage him. 

“I want you.”

“Adrian…” you sighed. “I can't come to Paris with you just like that.” 

Not hiding his disappointment, he pressed his lips tightly together. “Well,” he shrugged casually, “if you don't go with me, you won't see any more of my money. And I'll make sure that no one will ever invest in you again. In short, I will destroy you, Y/N. So you'd better think it over and give me an answer by the end of the week.”

Refusing to let any negative expression cast a shadow on your face, you watched him. You couldn't give him the satisfaction, even if, when agreeing to this meeting, you didn't expect it to turn out this way. The change you feared earlier had just taken a full turn — much faster than you thought. “Sure.” You forced a sweet smile. “I’ll think about it.”

A waiter appeared at the table. At first you thought it was just a routine check; that he was making sure you weren't missing anything. Only after you gave him a little more conscious attention did you notice a bottle of wine in his hands. A very expensive bottle. As if Adrian wanted to let you know that he had the resources you needed, and that he was spending his fortune on something as unnecessary as wine, which was only meant to impress.

But Adrian seemed confused, too. “There must be some mistake. I didn’t order any wine.” 

“I was told it is from Mr. Barnes.”You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling an unpleasant warmth spilling all over your stomach. You stared at the bottle in a stupor. So he knew — Bucky knew very well where you were, which meant he also knew who you were with.

You weren't sure how long you had been standing in front of the door to your apartment, but eventually realized that such behavior qualified as absurd — the accompanying fear, that you had been convinced you lacked only a few hours earlier, was undoubtedly irrational. Or at least that's what you had to trick yourself into thinking in order to finally grab the door handle. 

You hung up your purse on a hanger and slipped the high heels off your feet. You were able to name at least five much scarier situations that had occurred in your entire life, yet you couldn't recall the last time you felt this kind of anxiety. You didn't even understand where it was coming from; after all, Bucky cared about you; he couldn't harm you. 

When you turned around, ready to go deeper into the apartment, Bucky was standing at the end of the hall, right by the exit. His damp hair, loose t-shirt and sweatpants, fresh wounds on his knuckles indicated that he must have been after training with Steve. You swallowed hard at the thought that Bucky, having found out where and with whom you were actually spending time, needed to beat something, in this case, fortunately, a punching bag.

“Was it good?” Bucky asked, approaching you slowly. “The wine,” he clarified. Without taking your eyes off him, you nodded cautiously, causing him to squint. “What is it?” His mouth curved into a playful smirk. “You’re not scared, are you?” 

“I can’t really tell…”

Bucky brought his hand up to your face. “You know I won’t hurt you,” he said. His hand slid a little lower; it gripped your jaw, and his fingers dug almost painfully into your cheeks. “But,” he licked his lips, shrugging, “you lied to me. And you won't get away with it.”

You gawked at him — at the stern expression on his face, at his darkened eyes and reddened, slightly parted mouth. Whatever he intended, you could feel yourself getting wet.

He grabbed your wrist; it ached from the power of the pressure Bucky wielded, but the feeling only intensified the sensation. He dragged you behind him, and you almost tripped over your own feet — he wasn't walking that fast; it was your limbs that seemed frail and numb. 

“Bed,” Bucky commanded as soon as you reached the bedroom. Massaging your sore wrist by instinct, you went in that direction, your steps wobbly. You settled on the middle of the mattress. Bucky came closer. “Turn around.” 

Captivated by his massive, heavy frame, under which you hoped you were about to end up, fascinated by the calmness and dominance he radiated, you couldn’t stop looking at him. 

“Turn around,” he said again, much slower than before. “I’m not gonna ask you again.” 

Your mouth went dry. Finally obeying his order — not in fear of the consequences, but looking forward to further development of the situation — you turned around. Bucky placed his hand between your shoulder blades and with pressure forced you to lean forward; so you landed on your knees, additionally supporting your hands on the mattress. 

He lifted your dress above your hips, a quiet snort escaped his mouth. “You fucking kidding me?” Bucky clicked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head, hooking his fingers under the hems of the lace pants you were wearing. He pulled the material lower, completely exposing your ass, sending a wave of heat over your entire body. 

You got up one knee first, then the other, making it easier for Bucky to strip you of your underwear. Then, he grabbed a piece of your dress and pulled you to him; as your hands detached from the mattress, he reached for them and tied tightly with your pants. The fabric, digging into your wrists, turned out to give you a surprising amount of pleasure.

Bucky pushed you forward again, this time far harder. Deprived of the possibility to support yourself, the front of your body fell on the bed, while your ass still remained up. All you could do was turn your head to the side — other than that, you were completely helpless, dependent on his mercy.

It seemed, however, that he didn't have any for you. You realized this when you felt a sharp, piercing pain, accompanied by a loud clap — Bucky’s hand landed on your ass cheek, and it landed hard. Shocked by this new and unfamiliar sensation, you shouted, your eyes filled with tears. 

Bucky spanked you again. Your body trembled, and only a muffled gasp came out of your mouth this time. 

Another slap — you felt your skin burning and stinging in that spot, getting more and more tender; you were painfully aware of this as his hand, once again, smacked your ass rapidly. You moaned, your back arching, your pussy almost dripping, asking to be filled. But that sweet torture was nearly as good. 

“More?” he rasped, breathing heavily. You weren't sure how to respond; he was punishing you, so if you asked for more, would he actually give you what you wanted? And if you refused, would he stop? 

“Y/N,” Bucky pressed. 

“More,” you replied quickly, your voice weak. 

“More what?”

At that moment, your mind wasn't in the best place for the logical, coherent sentences he always expected from you. “I want you to spank me more. Please,” you exhaled.

“You don’t wanna talk, so I’ll make you use your words. Make that pretty mouth of yours work.” 

Bucky fulfilled your request, and you almost jumped up on the mattress, clamped your eyelids shut and let out a loud whine — that one was definitely stronger than the others, causing goosebumps all over your heated body. 

The bed sunk behind you, signaling his arrival. The t-shirt he had thrown off landed silently somewhere on the floor. Your lips parted, releasing a long moan as the tip of his cock brushed hard against your wet, throbbing cunt. He buried into your core painfully slowly and lazily; you felt his hardness spreading inside you, filling all the space you could give him. 

Bucky clenched his hands on your hips and began to thrust into you. The pain radiating from your cheeks mixed with the surging pleasure, creating a combination you could quickly become addicted to. Gasping loudly, he pounded into you again and again; immediately he reached to your head, slipped his fingers into your hair and tightened them there. He turned your head to the side so he could see at least part of your face — the changes taking place on it. He wanted to control your pleasure. Because as you, stimulated by spanking and waiting, began to get closer to an orgasm faster than you could expect, Bucky suddenly stopped. He slid out, leaving behind only emptiness and a devastating lack of satisfaction.

“Jamie, please-” you choked out. 

“Don’t Jamie me,” Bucky replied sternly. He leaned forward, putting the weight of his body on yours. He pulled your head slightly away from the mattress, his mouth hanging right next to your ear. “You lied to me today, Y/N.”

You nodded immediately, ready to agree to everything he wanted. 

“You know that what you did was wrong? Hmm?”

“Yes. Yes, I know. And I'm sorry.”

“I don't want your sorry. I want you to never lie to me again. You are my wife and I won't have it, do you understand?” he said, the words seeping out through his teeth. 

“I understand, but please-”

Bucky clenched his fingers harder in your hair. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“You promise what, Y/N?” he inquired impatiently, although at that moment it seemed like he had all the time in the world.

Taking another deep breath, you gathered the strength and all the concentration you had in you to say those few words he cared so much about. “I-I promise to never lie to you again.”

Bucky moved slightly away, left a kiss on the nape of your neck, then straightened up. He entered you again, and again you felt that blissful fullness. At first you got the impression that he was still fucking some discipline into you, but the rising sensations made you think that he was actually rewarding you for understanding your mistake and promising to do better.

In that position — with your hips up — his dick quickly found the right spot and hit exactly where it needed to. Wet, well lubricated with all your juices, it was sliding in and out smoothly, bringing you more rapture than you could beg for. With loud, desperate cries, you were praying to your god, taking his name in vain — the one who was just fucking you senseless. Because Bucky couldn’t be just a human; he was too perfect, too beautiful, too merciful as he forgave your sins. 

You clenched around his cock, your eyes rolled back as consciousness left your mind. Apart from the overwhelming release, you also felt Bucky's load spilling into you; he, too — with a few last thrusts — let out a few whimpers, crowned by a throaty growl, and his body slumped against yours. His chest, pressed to your back, rose and fell as he tried to normalize his breathing. He pulled away from you to free your wrists as quickly as possible; your hands dropped lifelessly, too weak and too useless.

“Let’s clean you up, hmm?” Bucky suggested; surprisingly gently for the man he was just a moment ago. 

“I want to stay here,” you muttered with half of your face still in the bed sheets. Once again you felt his body pressing against yours as laid a tender kiss behind your ear.

You woke up to an empty bed. 

Your sore body covered with a blanket, the curtains closed. The watch on the nightstand said four in the morning. 

The urgent need to use the toilet dissuaded you from further sleep. You didn't feel fully awake until you were in the shower — as the warm water washed over your body, you wondered where Bucky had gone at such an early hour. You hoped that three months of hard work in Italy would give him some more space here in New York.

You got out of the shower, removed the remnants of your makeup, brushed your teeth, then returned to the bedroom. Curiosity was stronger than tiredness, besides, you felt rested enough, maybe even too awake for any more sleep. You put on one of Bucky's t-shirts, rummaged from his side of the closet, and left the room. You didn't have to search for long — the warm glow pouring out of the living room immediately caught your attention.

Bucky was sitting on the couch — under the light of the lamp standing over him, he was looking through some papers scattered on the coffee table. Full concentration on his face, marked by a deep wrinkle between his brows.

“What are you doing?” you spoke. 

He glanced up at the sound of your voice. “Checking the account statements from Sapphire Dune and Marble Aurora.” Rubbing his eye, Bucky sighed with clear tiredness. 

Your forehead creased as the names of your father’s casinos rang in your ears. You haven't thought about them once lately, so you wouldn't expect it from Bucky either. On the other hand, your Family's affairs were now his concern. 

With your arms folded across your chest, you walked closer to the couch and peeked at the documents. “Something wrong with them..?”

“No,” he assured, smiling softly. “They’re doing really… decently.” 

“So maybe I should stick to them…” you murmured. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows, watching you with a surprise. He reached out his hand to you in an inviting gesture. You took it and sat down right next to him; so close that your thighs touched. He didn’t say a word, waiting for you to tell him everything that was bothering you.

“I lied to you earlier too,” you confessed. “I lied that I don’t need money. And it’s not like I have to close the gallery in a week or something, but…” You gasped. “Some funding is always useful. And Adrian seemed like the perfect sponsor until-” you hesitated, shrugging. “But now he is acting weirder than ever and-”

“Did he do something to you?” Bucky asked right away, interrupting you.

“No, he didn’t,” you protested. “A couple hours ago, he offered me a trip to Paris,” you began, and Bucky’s forehead furrowed at those words. “He said no one will ever invest in the gallery again if I turn him down. And I can't afford it, I can't ask for your money, because I want to make money, not take it out of the house-”

“Y/N, you make money,” Bucky claimed, demonstratively lifting one of the papers. “It's all here,” he added, his brows drew together. “Besides, is using my — our — money really worse than selling your time to this fucking creep?” 

Feeling more and more resigned, you let out a heavy breath. “Bucky…”

“You don't like him, you don't feel comfortable around him, the business isn't going as you would like it to. Or am I wrong?” He was looking at you expectantly, although he didn't actually need any confirmation — he saw the answer written all over your face. He touched your cheeks, his fingers spread on your skin, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones. “You are my wife, and it is my job to take care of you. You have to let me do exactly that, Y/N.” 

Staring relentlessly into his eyes, filled with sincerity and concern, you took his hand off your face and placed a tender kiss inside it, brushing your lips over the scar there; the scar bonding you forever. “Okay,” you whispered. 

You pulled your legs up onto the couch and snuggled into his side. Bucky put his arm around you and rested his cheek on the top of your head. 

A silence settled in, filled only with your peaceful breathing — it didn't bother you or Bucky, since neither of you felt the need to break it. You thought it would be much more difficult; that you would need far more time to get used to him, especially after his last absence. But having a huge couch with plenty of space to occupy, you decided to deprive yourself of whatever space there was.

“Are you going to elaborate, in any way, on what you did to me earlier..?”

“Elaborate…” Bucky repeated. He exhaled, blowing some of the air out of his lungs, then rested his head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I've wanted to do it since that night when I saw you in that little nightgown of yours.” He raised his brow. “And that's about it.” 

You sat up straight, your eyes on Bucky’s face. “That night?” you asked in disbelief. “As a punishment for what?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Did it really feel like a punishment to you?” 

Even if you were able to answer him without hesitation, you looked away to think about it. Or pretend to think about it. You bit your lip.

“Did it feel good..?” Bucky inquired, his tone gentle and careful. 

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Very good,” you said, not sure if you should really admit it. “We can do it more often,” you suggested, and Bucky’s eyebrows rose instantly. Taken slightly aback, he peered at you with sudden liveliness, his eyes sparked with fascination that struck him like a speeding train. “What?” you laughed softly, but then understood something — you always sensed a gentle restraint in him, keeping him in check; the chains holding him down. Now, you were able to hear them break. Was it you who destroyed them? Your innocent permission?

Bucky smirked, shaking his head, letting you know he wasn’t going to be too harsh on you. But as harsh as you’d allow him to be. 

He leaned forward, putting his forearms on his knees, and reached for one of the papers so he could return to analyzing the documents. You clung to his back, placing your chin on his shoulder blade. He immediately located his free hand on your arm, wrapped around his torso. 

“Go back to bed,” he said, his eyes still focused on the statements. 

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No, of course not,” Bucky assured right away, “but aren’t you tired, sunshine?” He turned his head as far as he could to glance at you at least from the corner of his eye. Taking the opportunity, you stretched out further, to reach his face, and planted a few quick but tender pecks on his cheek, making him laugh softly.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

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[stuckymonkey]

Stolen

Mafia Bucky Au

Pairing - mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Summary - y/n lived an ordinary life as a surgical resident in New York. Her father left when she was young, and her mother recently passed away. Bucky was promised by her father to get his firstborn daughter, unfortunately for y/n, that fits her description perfectly. Kind of enemies to lovers.

Warnings - violence, angst, being taken against will/kidnapping, mentions of death, stitches and medical things, mentions of suicide, mild cursing

Word count - 3.5k

a/n - i was feeling some angst, let me know what you think! feedback is always appreciated!

masterlist bucky masterlist

"Clamp" Joe said from across to table to one of the scrub nurses. "Lap pads" I said. We were doing a coronary artery bypass graft on a six year old patient. Five hours in and Lena was doing really well. She had maintained stability the entire time, making recovery look good for her.

I was about to irrigate when the door to the OR burst open. Me and Joe didn't look up, too focused on finishing Lena's cabg, starting to close up her heart with delicate sutures. "Y/n Y/L/N?" a low masculine voice boomed out. My head shot up to meet Joe's eyes, silently asking what to do. Her eyes were almost as wide as mine.

That voice belonged to James Barnes, head of the Brooklyn mafia. They had access to anywhere and everywhere in Brooklyn, no questions asked.

After having a silent conversation, we both opted to go back to Lena's heart. The voice boomed again, this time louder and much closer. "Y/n, scrub out." Joe whispered. I couldn't scrub out. Not now. Not while it was just me and Joe with a few scrub nurses. She couldn't close alone. "No." I kept suturing, almost to the point where we could start to close up entirely. "What?!" her head jerked up "I said no. You can't close on your own. Lena has been my patient for six months. I know everything about her, and her family. I am finishing this surgery with you and I will be there when they see their baby girl for the first time in six hours." I clipped the last suture, ready to close up her chest. "Y/n, I think you should listen to Joe and scrub out."

I suddenly felt cold metal pressed to my temple. "Put the tools down Y/L/N. I'm not afraid to pull this trigger." I heard the click of a bullet sliding into place at the end of his threat. I was shaking with tears running down my cheeks at this point. "I'm sorry," I said to Joe, it was obvious that I was crying. Through blurry eyes, I saw a tear slide down her cheek too.

What was going to happen to Lena? And her family? What would Joe tell them? I stepped back from the table and let Mike, my favourite nurse, help me take off my gown and relieve my trembling hands from my sterile blue gloves.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go back to that table. By pressing a gun to my head, James had broken the sterile field. "Well done," James spoke lowly into my ear. I hadn't noticed when, but his hand was wrapped securely around my arm. He led me away from the table, out of the OR and into the hallway where he stood in front of the elevator. The entire time my sobs never ceased and neither did the grip he had on my arm.

He let go before we left the elevator. Outside, many of what were probably his men waited for us. They lined the hallways. I felt like a sheep being herded by big, powerful, scary wolves. Tears were still running down my face as I made eye contact with my Chief of Surgery and Resident Chief. I had grown close with them over the years, and now they were watching me be escorted out of the hospital.

They knew what this meant. I was taken. The mafia had me now. Tears ran down their faces, and the faces of my coworkers who I loved like family. I tried to keep my head up to let them know I would be okay, but I couldn't help the way my shoulder shook from my sobs.

James helped me into a black car. In the front seat was a blonde, with a driver who had dark skin and short hair. I didn't try to hide the fact that I wanted to be anywhere but here. I felt exhausted, more emotionally than mentally.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "Home." James said, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt. "I hate you, James Barnes." I said, defeat laced in my tone. "Please, call me Bucky." he said. He sounded sad. That bastard. How did he have the nerve to be sad when he is the one who chose to steal me out of my OR. "What are you going to do when I kill myself?" I asked. "You won't kill yourself." the driver spoke up. "Sam-" the blonde said in a nervous and warning tone.

"She won't." he said, looking at the blonde. "You're y/n y/l/n. You're a surgeon." he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. Everyone's attention was on him as he refocused on the road. "You saved my sister's life, Sarah Wilson. Pancreatic cancer. Four hours after being in your OR she was cancer free. We were told to start planning her funeral. I was signing paperwork to legally adopt my nephews, but you saved her life." he looked into the rearview mirror at me again. "Thank you."

We arrived at "home". During the long ride to the outskirts of Brooklyn, I learned that the blonde's name is Steve. He and Sam were Bucky's seconds in command. Steve helped with the dirty stuff like interrogations, and dealing with orders and shipments of weapons. Sam helped as well but he was also really good at chauffeuring Bucky wherever he needed to go.

There was a very very long gravel driveway leading up to Bucky's huge mansion. It was pretty, I had to admit. Nice dark brick with ivy, a beautiful garden that I bet Steve helped out with, and a peaceful fountain in the center of the drive. I noticed more fountains in the garden area. We had passed tall black iron gates on the way in, giving me an eerie feeling of what the interior of the mansion would be like. Probably dark and scary.

Boy, was I wrong. The inside was beautiful. White marble stairs, golden curtains and natural light everywhere. It felt soft and safe, while still looking professional and wealthy. I was scared to touch anything, it all looked so clean and like everything was in its place.

Bucky dismissed Sam and Steve, leading me up the stairs and to the right of the hall. We walked for quite a bit before he turned into a room. "This is yours. You are to sleep here and I will have all of your stuff here in the next two weeks." He turned to face me, "My office is down the hall to the left, first hall to your right. My room is down the hall to the right, first room on your left hand side. If you need anything, ask me, Sam or Steve. Nobody else lives here but the four of us." he sounded so calm and collected. Did he steal people often?

"I don't live here." I corrected him. The quirk in his eyebrow let me know I shouldn't have spoken. I didn't care. It couldn't get any worse than this. "You do live here. You will not leave this property until you ask me for permission and you have been assigned an escort." "I do not live here! You do not own me, and I am going home. I have to go to work, and I will not stay here." I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to say something.

"Y/n, you live here. Your father promised me his first born daughter just before your mother got pregnant. He was a horrible man, you knew that. Your mother never knew about the deal. You are mine and you will not be leaving. Are we clear?" I hated how the tone of his voice made me clench my thighs together, but I hated even more how he was speaking to me and how he thought he could just keep me here.

"No! I will not stay here! You stole me out of my OR while I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A SURGERY! An open heart surgery. A poor young girl's life was in my hands, Bucky!!!! You could have killed her!! She was INNOCENT!! I hate you. She could have died. Her parents have been in and out of hospitals with her for six years!! Six years, Bucky! She is six years old and her whole life has been within the walls of hospitals and I had a chance to change that. You could have ruined her life and I hate you." I was so angry, tears were running down my face again. I felt warm and exhausted. The urge to just sleep and hope this was a really really bad dream came over me. "Get out." I spat through my teeth, daring him to challenge my order.

He almost looked pitiful as he left my room and closed the door behind him.

The bed was uncomfortable, and I had none of my own possessions. Bucky had come in later to apologize, which fell on deaf ears. He had thankfully given me one of his shirts and some sweatpants before he went back to his office. The sheets on the bed were scratchy, and his pants were too warm.

At around 2 a.m, after no luck at sleeping, I slipped out of my room and headed towards his office, just like he had directed. I figured he would be there, being a surgeon I know what it's like to stay up late to get work done, especially if you're stressed. Which I assume he was after kidnapping someone.

I opened the door slowly to reveal Bucky. His jacket was discarded and a few of the buttons on his shirt were undone. "What are you doing here?" He asked after looking up at me. I felt his gaze rake over my body, now only clad in his shirt and a pair of my underwear. "I need your help," I said calmly. I was desperate after only a few hours with this man. I felt pathetic.

Bucky's eyebrow quirked, encouraging me to continue. "My dog, Joe is probably watching her. I wouldn't know because you took my phone, but that's what I'm assuming." he looked intrigued, with his head tilted to the side and his hands still instead of typing. "If Joe isn't watching her, she only has enough food and water for one day, unless she drinks out of the toilet bowl, but I don't really want her to do that, not that it isn't clean! But she's a big dog and-" "y/n." His cold voice stopped me right in my tracks. Shit. This is probably where he refuses to help me get my dog.

"Please," my eyes began to water at the thought of her at home, all alone, wondering where I went, and then possibly starving to death without anyone to take care of her. "She's my best friend, and I promise she won't be any trouble, I'll pay for everything, I'll even pay a rent fee or something! I just really need my dog back." I think he could see my lip wobble because that look of pity from earlier came back.

"I used to have a dog," his voice surprised me just as much as his words. I looked up at him inquisitively, "She was a Great Dane named Nala. I get it. I'll arrange to pick her up tomorrow, and some of your things later in the week." "Thank you." I whispered before turning to leave his office.

"What's her name?" I heard just before I reached the door. "Hazel," I smiled at the memory of her. "She's an Irish wolf hound." I said sheepishly. at my confession, he smiled. "Goodnight y/n." "Goodnight Bucky."

It's been a week since we got Hazel, and Bucky has seemed kinder and kinder every day. It was probably just because Hazel was such a good dog, but a part of me hoped I helped to make him happier too. When I brought it up to Steve and Sam they had both agreed it wasn't just my dog.

Another night rolled around and I still didn't have anything else of my own. I had been sharing clothes with all three of the men, including underwear. The night was the worst time for me, always leaving me frustrated at my inability to get comfortable enough to sleep. Hazel had no problems, sleeping soundly at the foot of my bed just like she would at home. Or my old house? Was this place really my home?

At 1 a.m, when I hadn't heard any movement in a while I snuck out to Bucky's bedroom where I knew he wouldn't be. He was still in his office working, I knew because I hadn't heard him walk to his room, something he doesn't usually do until at least 3 a.m. Hazel had decided to follow me, making this a bit harder to get away with when being followed by a huge Irish wolfhound.

Slowly, I opened the door to his bedroom. It was gorgeous. He had an abundance of pillows, a soft blanket at the end of his bed and thick creamy coloured duvet. Dark wood furniture decorated the room, complemented by dark curtains and hunter green walls. The place was gorgeous and very well decorated. I moved closer to his bed and found an extra soft blanket under the duvet. I slid it out and draped it over Hazel's back so my hands could hold other stuff. I grabbed a body length grey pillow, deciding he wouldn't miss it for one night.

Before he came to his room, we scurried back to my bed as quietly as possible, Hazel not dropping the blanket once.

"That's the best she's slept in weeks, boss." I could hear voices outside of my bedroom. Steve. The curtains were closed, so it was still nice and dark in my room, then another voice spoke, "Really? She hasn't been sleeping well this whole time?". Bucky. "No, she tosses and turns all night. Honestly, I would too if I didn't have anything of my own.". Sam. "She likes your pillow though." Steve commented.

I didn't want to get up yet but I didn't want to be watched either. I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my head to see the three men in my doorway. Steve and Sam smiled before walking away with waves directed at me. I waved back before focusing my gaze on Bucky.

"I see you like my stuff." he smirked, slowly making his way towards my bed. Hazel jumped off to go find food, her bowls had been placed in the kitchen. "You know, it's wrong to steal sweetheart." Bucky was looking down at me now, his hands in the pockets of his neat dress pants. "You left me with no other choice," I said without much confidence.

"I don't have any of my things, and these sheets are god awful and scratchy." "Maybe I just like seeing you in my clothes," he hummed. A warm blush coated my cheeks as he leaned closer. "You're kinda cute sweetheart." At this point I could smell his minty breath, and feel it as well. "Give me my stuff, and you'll get yours back." I suggested before flopping down on my bed and pulling the covers over me, specifically the blanket I stole right off of his own bed.

He laughed before tugging at the blanket to reveal me clinging to his body sized pillow like a koala. I refused to meet his gaze, instead keeping my eyes closed. "I can't sleep unless I'm comfortable." I stated.

"I get that. We'll have Steve pick your stuff up, but you can keep the pillow." he winked.

That afternoon, Bucky had sat down and had lunch with me. He made eggs, bacon and fluffy toast. I helped a little, making us tea and setting the plates at the black marble island.

"So, I was thinking, you can start working remotely until they absolutely need you back at the hospital." his eyes met mine, waiting for a reaction. I was excited, but I tried not to show it too much since I really shouldn't have been taken from the hospital in the first place. "Then, once I'm sure it's safe, you can go back."

"Safe?" How did my safety play into this decision? I was confused, I was always safe at the hospital, save for the occasional confused patient. "Y/n, your father had a lot of enemies, quite a few of them are associated with other mafias, none as well built or known as my own. He promised you to me in hopes that peace could be made, but he betrayed several of his promises and upset more people than he could handle. Because they can't get to your father, they might get to you next."

"Fine. But I need to get to the hospital sooner rather than later. I have a million patients and I've missed so many rounds. For all I know, Lena could be out of the hospital by now. I haven't had contact with anyone for weeks." I sighed, to which he frowned at. "I know, and I do feel bad but I also care about your safety."

I blushed at his admittance, not used to being romantically cared for. Over the days that turned into weeks, we had grown to like each other. Maybe this arrangement would end up working after all.

"Fuck."

Bucky had given me a space to work within his office, so that's where I was when I heard a string of curses and muffled groans near midnight. The door suddenly swung open, revealing a bloody and battered Bucky.

"James?" I asked. "Hey -shit- y/n/n." He clutched his right arm to his abdomen. There was so much blood from so many different places. "It looks like you need my help," I sassed, getting up to help him settle down on the leather couch. His "yeah" was cut off by a groan. "I need to take your shirt off, okay?" Concern was surely painted on my face as I saw his blood soaked jacket.

"At least buy me dinner first," he laughed. "Ha ha. I'm glad you're in a decent mood," I said while starting to unbutton his white work shirt. I rolled up the sleeves of his black Henley that I was borrowing. He had three major wounds: one on his cheek, one on his right arm and one located on his lower abdomen.

"This is going to hurt," I warned, getting the first aid kit from across the room and preparing the peroxide. He hissed as I poured it over every wound, dabbing them after with gauze. "You're doing great," I tried to smile sympathetically while remaining focused.

"I'm going to stitch your face first, okay?" I asked, getting the supplies ready. "I don't need stitches." he countered. "Bucky, this wound is deep and it's not going to stop bleeding until I close it. You need stitches." "Doll, I'm fine, just leave it."

"Right! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I forgot that you had a medical degree." I said sarcastically. He blushed in return and stayed still while I started to stitch his cheek.

A part of me wanted to make a jab about being out of practice, due to being kidnapped from the hospital, but I held back. Bucky was a good man and we were starting to bond and get along way better than I had ever anticipated. I learned that he had a sister, Steve had been his best friend since highschool, and he had inherited the mafia from his father.

James was a man who loved dogs, and making sure the ones he loved were safe, from his best friend all the way down to Anne, the maid and housekeeper. Another hiss pulled me from my thoughts. "Sorry," I winced. "Almost done."

"Thank you" he said after I patched each site with gauze and polysporin. "Anytime." "I guess we make more sense than I thought." he said as we sipped coffee in the kitchen. "How so?" I laughed. "A surgeon and a mafia boss. I could use you doll." He smiled. I tilted my head to the side in mock offense. " 's that all I am to you? A good pair of hands to tend to your messes, Mr. Barnes?" I asked. "No no no! I just mean that we make sense, you know?" I smiled at him over my mug. "I know."

He started leaning closer to me, to the point where I could feel his breath on my lips. Bucky's eyes met mine over the small table, his flesh hand coming up to cup my cheek, the other resting its cooler touch on my neck, pulling me in. I never fought once, instantly kissing him back when I felt his lips meet mine.

I sighed into the kiss, letting him hold my face and tip it back. His tongue caressed my lower lip before bringing it into his mouth, sucking on it tenderly. My hand moved to cover his flesh one, leaning into his touch slightly. He inhaled me as he pulled back. I felt my face flush and go warm and his hungry gaze, as if I was his prey and he wanted to devour me whole. "Bucky," I panted.

He smirked devilishly. "You like that, doll?" I nodded dumbly at his question. Bucky's eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, tilting his head down to look at me. "I like you," I whispered. He leaned closer, "I like you too, printessa."

Over the weeks, I had started sharing Bucky's room with him. I had an abundance of plush blankets and soft pillows to cuddle with. He had started coming to bed earlier, and I have started back at the hospital. Joe and my other friends missed me while I was away, and I can guarantee that I missed them just as much, if not more. My Resident Chief and Chief of Surgery both cried when they saw me walk back into the hospital lobby, happy and unharmed.

Life was good again, and I finally felt peace.

[harlequin-hangout]

Incapable

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mob violence, violence against reader (Not Bucky), mature themes, Brock Rumlow just as a person, guns, general mob fuckery, light alcohol use, slutty themes ( Minors DNI), Kidnapping, torture

Contains: Arranged marriage, fluff, some angst, femme fatale/boss bitch energy, strangers to lovers maybe? Happy ending

Word Count: 4.7k

Dividers are made by me! Want some for yourself? Send me an ask!

Summary: Bucky Barnes is the only person to treat you as human, despite your marriage being transactional. How will you react when he's kidnapped?

I do not nor will I ever give permission for my writing to be copied, pasted, reposted to other sites, or edited in any way shape or form. Seriously, just don’t.

A/N: I did not make the gif, and @vbecker10 inspired me to use it. Just look at him! Adorable, and so, so done with people's bullshit. If this progressed kind of fast, I'm sorry! I really didn't want to start another series, and I didn't want to publish something that was INSANELY long either. I love writing our Reader as someone who can handle herself, it makes me so happy. I hope you all can enjoy another Badass Reader fic!! (There will be a super slutty epilogue but I'm so ready for this to be out so the smut will appear in the next bit, but both pieces can be read on their own)

The door to your house was broken. Someone had kicked it in. You step over broken glass, finding every drawer ripped apart. 

“James?” You called out to your husband. Silence was the only answer you received. 

“Bucky??” Your voice was more desperate. You ran from room to room, only finding more destruction. Making your way into Bucky’s office last, you found his sitting corner smashed, with blood staining the carpet and upholstery. A broken cell lay on the ground – Bucky’s work phone. The picture of you and Bucky on your wedding day had been ripped out of its frame, the blade of a hunting knife stuck in the side table through the photo of Bucky, while your face had been scratched beyond recognition. There was no mistaking the message that the sender was intending. Though your marriage wasn’t traditional, James Buchanan Barnes had never made you feel like property. Your husband was the only person in your life that hadn’t treated you like a means to an end, like a bargaining chip or a high-ticket item, and he was missing. You pick up the cracked phone on the ground, managing to turn it on enough to get Steve’s number out of it. You dial, hang up after one ring, then call right back. 

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” You hear Steve’s jovial voice on the line. 

“He’s made his move. Get Wilson and be here in 20.” Your voice was calm, but Steve could hear the icy bite. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, I know this is tough but–”

“But nothing, Rogers.” You cut him off. “I know that I haven’t been involved in the business, but this is personal. 20 minutes. Wilson. Bring however many weapons you can carry.” You hung up, not waiting for a response. 

Your marriage was transactional, you’d known that from the start. You’d been adopted by Rumlow Senior when your mother had passed, and been raised alongside his son, Brock. At least, that’s the story the Public knew. You had been part of your mother’s efforts to pay off her debts to the Rumlow Mafia family. Your father had passed from massive medical complications – you didn’t know a lot of the details, you had been too young to understand and no one had ever given you much to go on past that – and your mother had borrowed money from the Rumlows to help pay for his treatments. There wasn’t money to pay back her loans, so she paid them back the only way she could. Your mother had become the infamous Mafia fixer known as Lady Death, and you had been sent to live with the Rumlow family at age five as insurance. She had been legally dead since you were adopted by the Rumlows, but your mother had been killed for real on an assignment when you were seventeen. After over a decade with the family, Rumlow Senior had made you a deal. Keep playing the role of his adoptive daughter, and you would be kept safe. When you were twenty one, you were given a choice. Rumlow Senior would be stepping down as head of the Rumlow Family that year.

“But why would you pick me?” The question hung heavy in the air of Rumlow Senior’s office.

“You have been raised in the Family just as Brock has, Y/N. You are every bit as ruthless as my biological son, and I have complete faith that you would make the right decision for the future of the family whenever the need arose. Unlike my son, however, you have a cool head on your shoulders. You do not jump at the chance for violence. You take the diplomatic route whenever possible, and leave none in your path when it is not.” You sat there in silence. This wasn’t a life that you had wanted. True, you had grown up learning alongside Brock in order to maintain the role of Rumlow’s Little Princess, but you hadn’t ever expected to be offered anything, much less control of the family.

“I . . . I don’t mean any disrespect, but what’s the other option?” Rumlow Senior crossed his arms. You knew that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but still, he responded.

“If you don’t step into the role of Matriarch, there will be a target on you. Your safest choice would be to marry the head of another family. Your husband’s power would both protect you and benefit our family.” You chew on your lower lip and nod slowly. There was no leaving this life behind for you, not if you wanted to live past the age of 25. 

“If I really do get a choice . . . I would rather the marriage.” You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. Rumlow Senior watches you, a pensive expression on his face. “You’ve been an amazing father to me, both before and after my mother’s . . . Passing . . . but this life. . . it isn’t for me. I don’t want any hand in the lifestyle that killed my mother.” You couldn’t stop the bite from sneaking into your voice during your last sentence. Rumlow Senior nodded slowly. 

“As much as it pains me to admit, this life has not been kind to you. I’ll put out the notification to other families and see who we may ally ourselves with. You’ll always be a part of this family, Princess, even if you weren’t born into it.” He gave you a gentle smile. The old man had always treated you carefully and stated that your mother’s debt wasn’t yours to carry, but you’d overheard conversations behind closed doors. An arranged marriage had been in the cards for almost a decade now. You weren’t a part of the family, you were a business asset that he wanted to keep compliant. If nothing else, at least the marriage would get you out.

Several offers had been made. It seems the Romanoff Matriarch liked women, and the Pierce empire also put in a bid for his youngest son. The one that surprised you the most, however, was James Buchanan Barnes. His was a family made of people who didn’t have a home, jokingly called The Lost Boys by Brock and his lackeys. While he had no family power, he was indisputably powerful.

“So which one do you think, Princess? Any of these would make great allies for our family. That Romanoff girl is quite a catch, she’s got fire in her.” You put on your best business mask, looking over the files.

“Yeah . . . She is pretty great, but the Romanoffs only control most of the upper East side. We have the South, which is almost double the size of the upper East. The smartest choice is Barnes. His White Wolf family controls the North and the parts of the East that the Romanoffs don’t.” You close the folders and lay them on the desk. “First choice is Barnes, second choice is Romanoff, and third choice is Pierce. He’s always given me the creeps though.” Rumlow Senior smirked, impressed with your choices. 

“Spoken like a true businesswoman. Let’s have a wedding!”

Within the next two months, you and Barnes were married. 

“Please sit still?” You kept dabbing the medical wipe on his bloodied knuckles despite the mobster’s squirming. “I know it stings, but you did this to yourself. Besides, are you gonna sit here and tell me that you can punch a man multiple times, but you turn into a toddler when I have to clean a cut?” Barnes kept looking down, his face forever brooding. He didn’t answer, but did still his hand. “There. Was that so hard?” You busied yourself putting away the first aid kit.

“You aren’t comfortable around me, are you?” His statement caught you off guard and your head snapped up to look at him. His expression was relaxed. This wasn’t the kingpin that had just beat information out of a Pierce Empire lackey. He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t think a lot of people would be, especially witnessing what you just did . . . I’m sorry you had to see that.” You chew on your lip and Barnes continued. “I know you were raised with the Rumlows, and I guess I just assumed that you’d be used to seeing that sort of thing.” He paused, waiting for your response, but seemed genuinely taken aback when you started to giggle.

“You think I’ve been distant because of a little violence? James–”

“Bucky,” he interrupted. “Please, call me Bucky.” A soft smile breaks through your mask.

“Bucky,” you corrected. “I’ve done worse than that to Rumlow thugs when they failed to follow my father’s orders. I wasn’t shielded from any of it. In fact, I was even offered control of the Rumlow family. I turned it down. Given the choice, I’d rather not be the cause of violence, but violence doesn't bother me ”

“Then what does?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you sit across from him on the tile floor

“About the beating or the relationship?”

“Uuhh . . . both, I guess?” You’d never heard Barnes sound so unsure. It was refreshing, even endearing to a degree.

“I’ve been treated like a bargaining chip since I was little. First, my mother, then my adoptive father on multiple occasions. Our marriage was just another business deal to him, and I didn’t think you’d want a clingy business deal. You get alliance with the Rumlows, and I get to keep my protection. I don’t see a reason to complicate things.” Bucky was quiet for a few moments.

“And the beating?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. It’s really hard for someone to give you information if you don’t give them a break in between blows to answer your questions. Seriously, that’s basically mafia 101.” Bucky burst out laughing at your cheeky response. People didn’t usually talk to him like that, they were all too afraid. 

“I’ll give you that one, Doll,” he stated as he regained control of himself. He stared at you, taking in your every feature. After a few moments, you broke the silence.

“You’re thinking something, Bucky. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m thinking that I’d like to make this relationship a little more complicated . . . what about you?” 

You had kept your own room, but from then on things with your new husband just seemed . . . easier. You spent most of that night talking about how you really came to be a part of the Rumlow family, and how you had opted for marriage because it was the closest thing to your own life that you’d ever have. In turn, Bucky began to open up about his past. How working for other groups had landed him with a metal left arm and a distrust of most people. How his time as a fixer had caused most people to fear him, and therefore avoid him. He didn’t really have friends outside of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, and they both worked for him. You got the sense that he chose to have his marriage arranged because he thought it was easier than the alternative for someone like him.

“You know . . . you don’t have to be alone.” You had told him one night. 

“And what do you mean by that, Doll?” He had questioned you, raising an eyebrow as he set down his bourbon glass.

“You say you’re alone because people are afraid, but that’s not completely true. You can’t fool me, Buck. I was raised with the potential to do the job you do. You aren’t alone because people are afraid, but because you don’t give them the opportunity to not be.” Bucky was quiet, but watched you with a fascination. You place your drink on the side table and lean forward. You’d come to enjoy the nights that you and Bucky would just sit and talk. It was a welcome escape from the monotony of everyday life and the drain of keeping up social appearances. Both of you were relieved when you could drop the masks and the roles that you were each expected to play and just exist with another person who didn’t judge you. Who didn’t hold any expectations apart from honesty. Your husband takes another sip, trying to hide the smile that played across his face.

“And what would you suggest I do instead, Sweetheart?” God you loved the intensity of his gaze, and as he ran his tongue over his lower lip, you decided that you were feeling brave. You stood, sauntering over to him. Bucky leaned back in his seat, setting his drink down and allowing you to lean over him, your lips brushing his neck.

“Ask.” That singular word whispered in his ear broke Bucky’s self control. His right hand flew to your neck, pulling your lips to his. You felt the cool metal of his left hand pressing into your thigh as he slid your skirt up, allowing you the mobility to straddle his lap. You press yourself against him as you whine, desperate for his touch. You didn’t sleep much that night, being pushed to the edge over and over and over, only to be brought back without release. Bucky loved watching you struggle. He loved your willingness to fight, and he wanted to watch as the fight drained from you and you submitted to his will. He knew you had been playing the roles expected of you your whole life so here, behind closed doors, he would earn your submission, not demand it. You would choose when you broke, but once you did? Bucky was going to ruin you, and he was going to savor every moment

After that night, you rarely slept in your own room. Your marriage was transactional, no one could deny that. Through the years, however, it had become so much more. You became one of the most powerful couples in the city, though you still kept your distance from the world of crime. Your diplomacy was unrivaled, but one night, that all came crashing down. 

Your brother, Brock, had taken the role of Rumlow Patriarch when your father stepped down. For years, Brock’s temper had been controlled by your father’s background guidance. That all changed the night Rumlow Senior passed away. You attended the funeral, of course, but he passed suddenly. Bucky was out of town on a business trip and unable to make it back in time for the event. You passed along his condolences to Brock, but Brock took your husband’s absence extremely personally. Without the watchful eye of Rumlow Senior, Brock Rumlow’s true nature shone through. Brock was a loose cannon. His temper was unmatched, and his ego caused him to completely disregard the rules that every other family played by. For months after the funeral, the street thugs under your brother’s command ran rampant. They overstepped boundaries and lines of control held by other families as well as started fights wherever the opportunity arose. One night, they went too far. Three of Bucky’s new recruits had been carried back to the office after your brother’s thugs beat them almost to death. All they had done was refuse to leave the bar that they were already drinking at when the Rumlow thugs showed up, stating that the two groups could co-exist. These were just kids, barely old enough to even be IN the bar, and with six men versus the three kids, it was a massacre. Adding insult to injury? That bar was on White Wolf property and owned by Steve Rogers, one of Bucky’s right hands. Bucky had come home fuming that night. You talked him down from murdering your brother on the spot. You had no love for your brother, but murder would result in an all-out war. You spent the better part of the night with Bucky, Sam, and Steve readying yourselves for several outcomes. The following night, Bucky went to have a civil meeting with Brock, Mob Boss to Mob Boss about the behavior of his subordinates. Steve and Sam went on patrol hoping to stop another encounter, and you went to meet with Natasha Romanoff, the Matriarch of the Romanoff family. If this all went south, you would need an ally in order to take your brother in an all out war. 

So that’s how you got here. Standing in your husband’s office surrounded by the aftermath of a ransacking. Your shoulders fell back and your chin lifted. If Brock wanted a fight, you’d give it to him. Brock may be the head of the Rumlow Family, but with Bucky currently indisposed, you were the head of White Wolf. Time to show him what his Little Sister was capable of when someone threatened her family. You headed straight to your room. If you were going to be acting as the White Wolf Matriarch, then you should look the part. You slide into your black business leggings. They look like skinny cut pants, but provide enough flexibility for you to move. A flowy black blouse pairs nicely, accompanied by several gold accessories. You favored rings and necklaces, but added a couple cuff bracelets for good measure. Your knee high riding boots with the steel toe inserts were pulled from your closet. Your winged liner was sharp enough to stab a man was accompanied by a dark lip and perfect brows. Finally, you swept your hair up into a sleek high ponytail. You take one look in the mirror, and your appearance plus the cold hearted look in your eyes made you smirk.

“The bitch is back,” you thought to yourself. You pulled a duffel bag out from under your bed. You hadn’t much from your mother, but you did keep her favorite set of knives. They were well known as the choice weapons for Lady Death, and that fear could serve your purposes. Strapping the wrist holsters to each wrist, you frowned. This blouse was nice, but it didn’t hide the knives well enough for your liking. . . You slipped several more into your boots as you heard Steve’s car pull up. You turned to rush out the door when you paused. One of Bucky’s black suit jackets was draped over the chair by your door. It was far too big for you to wear, but if you draped it over your shoulders . . . You tried it out in the mirror. It worked, hanging off your shoulders like a cape. The extra fabric also provided the cover to your wrists needed to conceal your wrist sheaths better. You grab your phone and head down the stairs to meet Steve. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t think this is a good–”

“Well, then it’s a good thing your job isn’t thinking right now, Rogers.” The blatant interruption caught both men off guard. “You’re going to listen carefully because I’m only explaining this once. The story you’ve been fed about the Rumlows taking me in out of the goodness of their hearts is complete and utter bullshit. My mother worked off her debt to them, and I was kept as collateral. She taught me a lot of what she knew. I was raised as a Rumlow and was offered control of the Family because of my brother’s inability to control his temper or play by the rules. You can either do what I tell you, or you can explain to Mr. Barnes when we return why you didn’t accompany me. Are there any questions?” Whether it be the lack of emotion in your eyes or the ice in your voice, you didn’t know, but neither man argued. Wilson was the first one to speak up.

“ . . . Who’s your mom?” You look Sam dead in the eye, smirk, and with a flick of your wrist you impale one of the knives in your wrist sheath in the ground between his feet. Both Sam and Steve go pale with recognition.

“My mother was Lady Death.”

The Door to the interrogation room blew inward. C4 was such an amazing toy, you were so happy that Sam kept a stash. Hands in your pockets, you step over the twisted remains of the door, the dust settling at your feet. Immediately you hear the click of guns, but that only pulls a sadistic smirk to your face.

“Hello, boys. For those of you who don’t know who I am: look to your elders. For those of you who do: Run.” It was your brother's right hand and childhood friend, Justin, who spoke first.

“Y/N, didn’t expect to see you join the party.” He swaggered up to you, full of confidence that only an upper class white man could possess. He loomed over you, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be sexy or intimidating. Neither was a good look on him. “What’s your problem, princess? Did we break up your little game of house?” You look up at the taller man, not budging an inch.

“Oh not at all, champ, I just thought I’d give you and your little friends a chance to play in the big leagues. Only three of them? Shouldn’t be much work.”

“Hey, Lady, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but –” Justin interrupts him before you have the chance.

“That’s Barnes’s wife, dumbass. She’s the Boss’s adopted sister, and the last person you wanna piss off.”

“She don’t seem so scary, all of her power comes from other people! Why should I–” 

“You’d be well to listen to your superiors, or haven’t you learned that yet?” The ice in your voice stopped the newbie dead in his tracks. You stalk towards him, eyes fixed. “Let’s give you a family history lesson, hmm?” You had the undivided attention of all four of the Rumlow thugs. You just needed to keep it that way long enough for Steve and Sam to work into position. You stopped in the dead center of the room “ Justin, how many years ago was Lady Death’s final kill?”

“Uuhh . . . five years? Just before you married Barnes.”

“Good Boy,” you purred, working as much condescension into your voice as you could manage. “And how many years ago did my mother die?” As he did the mental math, Justin began to shift uncomfortably.

“ . . . Seven . . . no, Nine? Nine years ago . . .” As the dots started to connect, the realization began to show on each man’s face. Your smirk grew to a full-on sadistic smile. 

“Let’s try this again, gentlemen. Whether or not you know who I am, it’s too late. I’m Lady Death.” The tension is palpable in the air as the newbies eye you, then the door, as if evaluating their chances, but your backup was already in position. From the rafters of the building, four shots rang out. You’d ordered Steve and Sam to aim to kill, but you hadn’t bothered to check their handiwork, simply stepping over the bodies and making your way towards the last door that stood between you and your brother.

The door creaked open, and your rubber soles thudded against the concrete with each step you took. No matter how hardened to violence you were, you had never cared about any of the people on the receiving end of your violence. No matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared for the sight that met you on the other side of that godforsaken door. Bucky was sat in a metal chair. His arms were tied behind his back, and a gag was stuffed in his mouth. His white dress shirt had been discarded, and his undershirt was torn. The bridge of his nose was cut, and someone had busted open his left cheek. Dried blood still caked his skin. The moment he saw you, his eyes filled with fury. He fought against his restraints, almost toppling the chair.

“Aaaah, Y/N, nice of you to join us! Can’t have a party without Daddy’s favorite kid,” Brock spat at you. You study your brother, willing your face back to neutrality.

“You know just as well as I do that that isn’t true, Brother mine.” If your calm demeanor threw Brock off guard, he didn’t show it.

“Well, Sister mine, your husband here had the audacity to tell me how to run my people, after refusing to even honor our father. Our father who spoke of him like the Golden Son just for marrying the whore who wormed her way into my life!” By the end of his statement, Brock was screaming. He took a moment and regained his composure. 

“Do you really think that was a good move?” As you questioned Brock, you walked over to a spare folding chair. You let the jacket fall from your shoulders, draping it over the back of the chair. 

“I can make whatever move I want. Dad may have taught you everything you know, but he taught me everything he knew. That’s the difference here, Wendy. That is what you are, aren’t you? The Wendy to his pathetic troupe of Lost Boys.” Locking eyes with him, your smirk returns.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Brock. Dad isn’t the only one who taught me things. My mother lived here too, remember?” Brock’s eyes narrow, tracking you as you slowly close the distance between you and him. “How do you explain the kills on Lady Death’s roster after my mother passed, hmm? Think about it.” You could see the gears turning in Brock’s thick skull before he shook his head.

“You lying bitch, you’re trying to play on my nerves. You turned down this job because you weren’t capable” You interrupt, starting to slide one of your knives from the wrist sheath into your hand.

“I turned that job down because I wasn’t interested. Never mistake my disinterest for being incapable.” You flick your wrist, your knife landing squarely in the meat of Brock’s shoulder.

He lunged at you, and the only thing you could focus on was the exchange of blows. He was a lot faster than you’d anticipated, and you were fairly evenly matched. You registered the pain of his blows connecting multiple times, but you pushed it down and attempted to return the favor. Suddenly, you felt his fist connect with the side of your face, then an arm wrapped around your waist. Brock spun, throwing you across the room. You hit the wall with a sickening smack, the wind being knocked from your lungs. Your brother slowly started stalking towards you. He was breathing heavily and wiped the blood from his upper lip as he walked, never taking his eyes off you. Brock grabbed your jaw, dragging you upwards, and you did the only thing you could think of. You slipped a knife out of your boot, and jammed it into him on your way up. Both you and him fell, Brock’s head hitting the ground with a sickening smack. You hauled yourself up, steadying yourself against the wall. You grabbed your brother by his hair, yanking his head up. 

“You’re a fucking disgrace to this family and all that Dad stood for.” You paused, spitting out the blood that was pooling in your mouth. 

“What the fuck happened??” You heard Sam shout as he and Steve finally caught up. You looked from your brother to Sam, steeling your gaze.

“Change in management,” you stated. “Send out a notice. Due to extremely reckless behavior that nearly started a war, Brock Rumlow has been removed as Patriarch of the Rumlow family. Its territories and personnel will be merged into White Wolf. Any concerns can be taken up with Lady Death.”

You turn your attention to Bucky, picking up one of your discarded knives to cut the ropes and gag off of him.

“Doll, that has got to be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.” Your satisfaction definitely showed on your face. After taking a moment to catch your breath, you pick the discarded suit jacket off the back of the folding chair and hand it to Bucky, leaning on him for support. Bucky pauses, glancing between Steve and Rumlow.

“Bring him back to the office. We’re not going to be done talking for a very long time.”

Tags: @vbecker10 @soubi001 @brattymum96 @vicmc624 @caritobbg @winterslove1917 @xonickibaby @youngblood199456 @thehumanistsdiary @ozymdias @thomase1

[writing-for-marvel]

Day 1: Mile High Club

Mob!Bucky’s Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky start your honeymoon off the right way - by fucking in his private jet.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, sex on a plane, semi public sex, fingering, fingering in front of an unsuspecting flight attendant, oral (fem receiving), face sitting, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: the start of our honeymoon adventure! I hope you all enjoy all the fun smuttiness! Dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

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Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library | Ko-fi

Bucky’s large, tattooed hand, adorned with a gold wedding band, is splayed on your thigh as his luxurious private jet roars to life, racing along the runway until you sense the drop in your stomach as it lifts off the ground and into the air.

Your heart begins to race as you feel Bucky’s hand slowly inch further up your thigh as the plane climbs higher in the sky. You take a deep, steadying breath as the force of the plane pushes your body back into your seat, appreciating the plush leather against your bare skin as Bucky’s electric touch reaches the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your honeymoon hasn’t even technically started and he is already proving that he can’t keep his hands off you. Just one of the many reasons you married him in the first place.

“I can’t wait to finally have my wife all to myself.” Your newlywed whispers as his hand reaches the apex of your thigh, your heart races just that little bit faster at the prospect of being caught by the stewardess required to accompany you on the flight.

“Hmm, and what have you got planned for when we’re all alone my dear husband?” Your breath hitches in your throat as Bucky’s cold finger slips underneath your panties and ghosts across your warm core.

A dangerously cocky grin curves onto his plump lips and even before he says the words to confirm your fate, you know he is going to make this a honeymoon you’ll never forget.

“I’m thinking about all the different ways I can ruin you and keep you stuffed full of my cum for the next four weeks.” He whispers seductively directly into your ear as his middle finger breaches your entrance. You inhale a sharp breath and bite the side of your lip as he pushes all the way in, smirking at you as if he knows this is just the beginning of every way he plans to ravage you.

A ding rings out through the cabin and before you can so much as flinch, an impeccably dressed hostess appears in front of you.

“We’re at cruising altitude, you can now unbuckle your seatbelts. Sir, is there anything you need?” She asks in a sweet voice, her tone indicating she either cannot see Bucky’s finger knuckle deep inside your dripping pussy, obstructed by the table in front of you, or is choosing not to acknowledge that fact.

Bucky answers without taking his eyes off you.

“To be left alone with my wife.”

The stewardess disappears as quickly as she materialised, but when Bucky adds a second finger to your pussy, stretching your walls by scissoring his fingers, your periphery goes blurry.

He picks up the pace, thrusting both fingers in and out of you relentlessly, his calloused thumb swiping over your clit with the perfect pressure he has learnt with experience does you in.

“That’s the spot, isn’t it darling.” He whispers in your ear as he curls his fingers to graze over the spongy patch inside you which makes you see stars. You nod but it’s superfluous, Bucky knows every inch of your body and is fully aware he’s got you figuratively and literally in the palm of his hand.

You grab hold of his veiny forearm to keep you tethered to reality as his motions bring you ever closer to floating off on a cloud of bliss.

“Cum for me.” Your husband demands. With a vigorous thrust of his fingers and a swipe of his thumb over your clit, the band in your lower stomach snaps and you comply with Bucky’s orders.

It is only once you’ve come down from your high that Bucky removes his fingers from your drenched pussy. He teases your lips with his slick covered fingers until you open wide and begin sucking on them, tasting your own sweet release.

“You know, I had a bed installed in the back of the jet just for this very occasion.” Bucky comments, nipping at your earlobe as you swirl your tongue around his fingers.

“What are we still doing here then?”

Bucky leads you to the back of the plane with your hand intertwined with his. As soon as the sliding door to the small yet private bedroom shuts behind you, Bucky’s lips attach to the column of your neck as every piece of clothing covering both your bodies gets thrown to the ground.

You’re held protectively in his arms as Bucky falls backwards onto the soft expanse of the bed. He kisses you assiduously as his hands roam your body, eventually making their way down to your ass, manhandling you to pull your body above his face.

“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Can’t believe she’s all mine for the rest of my life.” Bucky hums before diving in. He starts with licking one long stripe up your slit, and you can feel his lips form a grin against you as your thighs tighten around his head. “You taste so good. So sweet.” He eats you out as if he’s been fasting for months, when in reality he was between your thighs on your wedding night less than 16 hours ago. He switches between his tongue being buried in your cunt, fucking up into your puckered hole and slurping obscenely, lapping up all the juices through your folds, twirling the tip of his tongue around your clit.

“Bucky, please, I-, please.” Your hands grasp onto his hair, tugging harder as his fingertips dig into the meat of your ass. The vibrations of his voice and the plane as it races through the atmosphere sends sparks firing up the base of your spine through your whole body.

“Are you desperate for your husband's cock, Mrs Barnes?” He asks teasingly against your folds, knowing referring to you by your new title will only make you wetter.

“Yes, Buck! I’m fucking dripping - need you so bad.” You plead with a sob, your pussy clenching around nothing, the ache within you burning like a forest fire which could only be quelled with him deep inside you.

Bucky’s soft lips place a feather light kiss to your sensitive clit before his strong hands grasp your hips tightly, lifting you onto his thick thighs. Your mind is dizzy with lust and pleasure, but Bucky’s dazzling blue eyes, the same ones that were the first feature of his you noticed the night you met, stand out clearly in your haze.

“Then take it. Take it like the good little whore I married. Take every inch of this dick and show me why it’s yours.”

Bucky’s large, rough hands don’t leave your hips as you stroke his thick length with both your hands a couple times as you lift yourself above him, rubbing his bulbous tip through your soaking folds. Lining yourself up with him, you press your hips back down on him slowly, feeling him fill you up to the brim.

You let out simultaneous groans, your eyes never once leaving Bucky’s as you focus on the sensation of how deliciously full and satiated you feel, how his eyes widen and lips fall apart is exactly like the first time you slept with him after making this formidable mob boss prove he’d treat you right.

You’d never forget the feeling of the first time he thrust into you, the fervour in which he worshipped your body and the way those ocean eyes gazed at you like you were the most precious gem he planned on treasuring for as long as you’d let him. This hardened man, who strikes fear in the eyes of the toughest of crime lords, is soft for you and only you.

It was the moment you truly understood what sex could be like - should be like.

You knew then that there was no one else for you. That you’d eventually marry him.

Both your hands find his strong, tattooed chest to steady yourself as you begin circling your hips, grinding against him, moaning at the sensation of your puffy clit rubbing the coarse hair at his pelvic bone.

“Oh God, Bucky, you’re so deep.” With Bucky’s strong hands assisting you, you push yourself up and sink back down on his cock. He lets you set your own pace, finding the right angle where he strokes all the right spots that makes your knees weak.

You can feel his heartbeat quicken under your fingertips, his mesmerised gaze fixated on how he’s filling you.

“Fuck, baby, look at you swallowing me whole.” Once you’ve built up a rhythm, one of Bucky's hands navigates to your breast where he flicks your pert nipple with his thumb, the other moving to where your bodies join, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

The pleasure feels like it’s coming from all directions, from both externally and within you, it’s too much and not enough at the same time, every nerve firing with pure euphoria, threatening to send you straight to heaven.

“I’m so close, Buck…” A sob bubbles up your throat, all cells in your body swelling with immense pleasure. More than ever you can feel each ridged inch of Bucky stretching out your pussy, every sensation heightened as with each rock of your hips you hurtle ever closer to your second high.

“Go ahead, my love, let go. Cum on your husband's cock.”

Ecstasy overtakes your entire body at his permission, your eyes roll backwards, your whole body seizes and your bouncing motions stop as your walls flutter around his thick, veiny length. But Bucky doesn’t let you off that easily, he grabs both of your hips and starts fucking up into you hard and fast, prolonging and heightening your orgasm with each graze of your g-spot, making your legs shake and you scream out his name so loudly you’re sure the pilots can hear.

You collapse into his chest as his thrusts become staggered, closing in on his own high. Placing a gentle kiss to his sharp jaw, Bucky grunts, moans your name and stalls within you, ropes of his cum painting your walls.

You tap his strapping chest three times as you both pant, catching your breath cuddling up to one another. I. Love. You.

His embrace feels like home, even thousands of feet up in the air. You’re certain that no matter where in the world you are, James Bucky Barnes will always be your safe place.

“Now, let's see how many more times I can make you cum before we land.”

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Mob!Bucky’s Kinktober Honeymoon Taglist: @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @kandis-mom @buggy14 @opheliastark @auntiegigi @alovecraft @cinnxbunny @zincxxx @cultofcarter @rose-alyssa @kaitlin013106 @wandas-gurlfri3nd @beautifulrare4leafclover @queenyamimarrero @littlerya @noobzandboobzandhooz @wanda2themax @lonelywolfheart @Kbananaclip14 @depressed-gays-of-marvel @ur--mommy @jollyfirebattrash @lauratang @casa-boiardi @raging-panda @nicoline1998enilocin @melsunshine @stinkerbelle007 @mememe7147 @happycat547 @matchat3a @Sirmeowertheruthless7 @inlovewithficnalmen @katiemarsblog @irienanicole @buckyisveryhot

[queers-gambit]

Adore Her, Dior Her

prompt: ( requested ) what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves?

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 4.3k+

warnings: author foams at the mouth for Mafia AUs, overwhelming fluff, cursing, not edited.

"That's the one. That's one we should get!"

"You've said that about the past three dresses, Buck!" You groaned, smoothing your hands over the skirt. "We need to narrow this down, okay? The wedding's in a month!"

"Why did we even agree to go?"

You glared, "'Cause we love my brother and we're supporting him."

"But she's just so - "

"Jen. Her name's Jen."

Bucky nodded, leaning back on the cushioned chair, "Well, Jen's just wrong for him. Literally the definition of toxic."

"Does it count if they're toxic together? To each other?" You sighed, standing on the pedestal and turning to look in the three mirrors beside the dressing room.

"Of course it does," he stood, buttoning his suit jacket out of habit. He approached you, head cocking as he looked your body up and down to get the full view of the gown you tried on. "You're really okay letting him marry her? Turn this way a bit, baby, lemme see the front."

You scoffed, but took his offered hand and twisted on the small platform towards him, "You were there at Christmas, he doesn't listen to reason. So, if Daniel's convinced Jen's for him, as his sister, my only job is be supportive."

"They literally abuse each other," he pointed out.

"Well, he's not changing his mind. Okay? It's been three years, he won't budge, whenever someone brings up them breaking up, he goes into hiding - so, I don't know what else I can do," your hands slapped your thighs when you shrugged, "except just be there for him. Now, focus, please, help me narrow a dress down."

He shook his head as you turned to face the mirrors again, "Actually, you know what? I don't think anything in this store is for us."

The attendant perked up and scurried over, rushing, "Oh, well, we have a much larger selection in the back, Mr. Barnes - "

"That won't be necessary, Barbra, thank you, though," he nodded. "Doll," his hand planted on your waist, head over your shoulder as you still looked yourself over in the mirrors, "go get changed, I know where we need to go."

"Bucky, no, there's plenty of options here," you argued, twisting on the wee little pedestal to face him again. "We don't need to drop a stack on a dress - "

"You let me worry about the price tag," he smirked, leaning in to peck your cheek. "Just go change, pretty girl, c'mon. Step-to!"

You offered Barbra, the attendant, an apologetic smile as you shuffled back into the changing room; quickly stripping from the dress. When you exited in your street clothes, Bucky was tipping the aged woman for her effort in gathering your options, but the moment he saw you, his hand was extending to hold yours tightly.

"What was wrong with that store?" You asked when you stepped onto the noisy and busy street to approach the sleek, tinted car Bucky drove for day-to-day errands.

"We're not shopping at David's fucking Bridal."

"You literally drove us here," you laughed.

"Yeah, and then I had a much better idea," he smirked at you, unlocking the car and opening your passenger door. "C'mon, princess, just gotta trust me."

"Last time you said that - "

"That wasn't my fault," he groaned, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. When you opened your mouth to retort, he rushed, "Aht, nope, don't say shit. C'mon, I'm taking you somewhere special so get that pretty ass in the car."

He grinned when you laughed and did as bid, feet safely inside when he closed the door after you were settled. Bucky easily jogged around the back of his car, New York busy this time of year as traffic flew past on the street and forced Buck slow. He dropped into the driver's seat, sniffling slightly.

"Reminds me," Bucky smirked as he pulled onto the street, "how would you feel about us going to Aspen this winter?"

You sighed, "Why?"

"You wanna stay in New York for Christmas?"

"Well, yeah! It's so magical."

"Okay, so, we can go over New Years?"

You sighed, "You know, we don't have to go anywhere..."

"Sweetheart," he cleared his throat, "I actually have some business in Aspen, this will just help determine when I schedule the meetings for."

"Oh," you nodded slowly.

He sighed, "I know my job isn't orthodox, but business is business, right, sugar?”

"No, yeah, yeah, I get it. It sounds kinda nice, maybe we can go skiing."

"You know how to ski?"

"No, but I'm sure someone in Aspen could help teach me."

Bucky grinned. The drive was full of easy conversation, neither you nor Bucky dwelling on his business dealings, always feeling as if it was taboo given his station in the Mafia. So when he pulled up in front of a designer store, you gawked. "Now, if we can't find something here - "

"Um, absolutely not," you laughed. "Bucky, I can't even afford to walk into a place like that!"

"Good thing I'm paying," he smirked. He assisted you out of the car, tossing his keys to one of his security guards who had been following in a separate, tinted vehicle. When you both entered the dimly lit store, you were blown away by the gorgeous minimalist design; warm lighting, open floor space, and racks of different clothing options.

"Ah, Mr. Barnes! Hello, hello, hello!" A new attendant greeted with more enthusiasm than you would've greeted any of your clients, approaching you two. She shook your boyfriend's hand vigorously, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, "Looking for a dress to wear to a wedding."

She offered you a forced smile, telling your boyfriend swiftly with her teeth on full display, "You came to the right spot!"

"See?" Bucky smirked at you. "All right, Valeria, what's first?"

Valeria waved you both onward to a private changing room, offering complimentary sparkling waters, coffees, teas - even offering to go retrieve anything you two would want from the Starbucks down the block. Valeria took your measurements and dress size, making idle chit-chat with Bucky and making it obvious he was a regular in the store, then scurrying off to collect an armful of options.

"This is - wow," you nodded in impression, petting the material of the display dresses hung along the wall.

"Like it?"

"It's growing on me," you eased with a small shrug, hearing Bucky chuckle and for his phone to chime. You perused the place as he became glued to the little device, sat in front of the dressing rooms.

Valeria returned with another attendant carrying coffees. "Right this way, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria directed you into a changing room, missing the giddy look you sent Bucky over your shoulder at being called his wife. "All right, so," she sighed, hanging up the dresses she selected, "I think these are modest enough for a wedding, but still glamorous to turn a few heads."

You hummed, "They're kinda short, don't know if that's the energy I want to be giving off at my brother's wedding."

"They'll fit differently once on but we can always accommodate," she assured, pulling one from the hanger. "Here we go," she assisted you, zipping you in and looking you over. "Oh, it's just darling on you! Look at that, not a single hair outta place, right?"

You giggled lightly, "It's certainly pretty."

"Shall we show Mr. Barnes?"

You nodded, following her out to reveal Bucky sitting on a plush loveseat, sipping his coffee. His eyes widened when he saw you, nodding, "Oh, yeah. This is what I'm talking about."

"Hush, we're only buying one."

His eyes rolled, "I'll buy the whole damn store if I want."

"You don't own it already? Hm," you teased, perking your brows.

"Keep sayin' shit, I'll cut a check right now - "

"Bucky," you tisked, moving to the runway mirrors. "It's a little tight, isn't it?"

"It's snug," Valeria agreed. "Is there a color scheme for the wedding?"

"Um," you paused, "I'm not sure - I just know it's in winter, like, in a month."

"Maybe a pretty powder blue?" She looked to Bucky, who nodded. "Or how about a pale green? Like an olive tone?"

"She looks gorgeous in anything," Bucky smirked from behind you, taking another pull of his coffee.

"What about that brown number?" You asked, ignoring the way his compliments made you feel like the only girl he's ever seen in the world.

"You have a very good eye, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria nodded. She asked her coworker to go find your size, taking you back into the dressing room. You narrowed down the options without changing again, not wanting anything black or dark since it was a wedding and not a funeral. Though, you knew Bucky would disagree.

You showed your boyfriend a pretty little green dress, but he shook his head. "I thought the black was nice," he told you.

"I'm not wearing black to a wedding," you laughed lightly. "It screams bad luck to me, don't you think?"

"Think it's more of a statement, sayin' the entire event is a sham and they shouldn't be doing this," Bucky snickered, the other attendant, Laura, returning with a pretty brown dress. "That satin?" He asked, rubbing the material when it was presented to you both.

"It's very fashionable now," Laura nodded, "and it's not too dark."

"Since when is it a rule to not wear dark colors to a wedding? I miss the memo?" Buck leaned back to his seat.

All three women offered him a small look, you chuckling under your breath before Valeria was leading you back into the changing room. "If I may, Mrs?" She spoke softly, "I've known Mr. Barnes for a number of years but he's never brought anyone into the store. Then, one day, he tells me he needs a new suit because the 'girl of his dreams' had agreed to a date, and every time since then?" She smiled softly at you, "He's sang your praises. I'm very honored you're trusting me with helping you today."

"Oh," you blinked in shock, giggling nervously, "well, thank you very much, Valeria, now I know why his suits are always top of the line." She waved you off, making you add, "And for the record, I'm not Mrs. Barnes, guess that'd be his mother, wouldn't it?"

"Oh," her eyes widened, gasping softly, "oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I just - he talks so highly about you - "

"No, it's okay, it's okay," you rushed, patting her arm. "I actually kind of like it..."

She hummed, zipping you into another dress, "You know, he's the reason my girl and I are together."

"Really? How'd that happen?"

Valeria chuckled, "He's very bold, your man. We were getting coffee one day, discussing his wardrobe for a business trip he had in Hong Kong, when my lady walked in. I went all silly and stupid, and Mr. Barnes just," she shook her head with a fond smile, "brazenly asked her out for me, in front of the whole shop."

"Oh, Jesus, yeah - sounds like him."

"Well, luckily, it worked, else I don't think he would've come back for my assistance. I was so embarrassed, you have no idea, but my lady - Charlie - thought it was charming and cute. Mr. Barnes hasn't let me live it down since. Says he demands an invite to the wedding." She met your eyes through the mirror, offering, "And I'd be really happy to give him a plus one, hmm?"

"You're so sweet," you whispered, turning to survey the dress. You spent the better part of three hours there, trying on dress after dress, nitpicking almost everything as you just weren't sure what to wear. Bucky wasn't much help, he just approved everything.

So, it was up to Valeria and Laura to help you; bringing out iPads and design books, trying to piece something together that best fit your comfort and the vibe of the wedding. You didn't want to look like a walking money bag since your family wasn't by any means wealthy, thinking it would be a slap to their faces since your boyfriend could spend his money without ever thinking about it. You didn't want to give your family any reason to talk behind your back.

"I like the brown satin," Laura offered softly, looking you over in the mirror. "But the blue is just wow, it really looks like it was made for you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I think the green compliments her eyes more," Valeria cocked her head in thought. "Are you wearing your hair up or down?"

"Up," you answered, trying to mimic the look by pulling your locks off your shoulders, "with thin jewelry, I think."

"Diamonds?"

"Pearls, if I can find a dress that looks nice with it," you smiled, seeing Bucky's reflection in the mirror watching you with a soft smile on his face; head titled in thought before his phone chimed again and warranted his attention. "Maybe we could try the pink dress?" You looked to the two women for an opinion.

"No," Valeria shook her head, "it washes you out. And pink in winter? Oh, sweetie, I'd lose my job if I let you leave here with that. Guess that means you'll have to come back in the spring, right?"

You grinned in response as Laura chimed in, "The green's actually really nice, but the brown looks much better with your body type." Then she turned to Bucky, prompting, "Mr. Barnes? Final decision - which dress?"

Bucky paused, musing, "Lemme see them all again, get one last taste. It's between the green and brown numbers?"

"Or the blue," Valeria nodded. "C'mon, sweetie," she offered her hand to help you off the wee runway you were perched on in front of the magnificent mirrors.

"You look sensational in them all, doll, how the hell am I supposed to choose just one?" Bucky teased, his canines on display from the broad grin that stretched his lips.

"You'll find a way," you answered.

"Awh, telling me Mr. Big-Tough-Manly-Business-Man who makes impossible decisions everyday can't choose a simple piece of fashion?" Valeria tacked on.

"You guys can't pick either!" He laughed, "And you do a helluva lot more shopping than I do!"

Laura, Valeria, and you paused to exchange looks, you pointing at Bucky and relenting in a drawl, "Touché."

When you were escorted back into the dressing room, Laura waiting outside the door for your privacy with Valeria, Bucky sat back on the plush loveseat and extended his one arm over the back of the seating. He smirked to himself, shaking his head as if in disbelief - but he was. Bucky was in disbelief.

How did a rugged Mob boss find himself here? Watching his girl like a private fashion show?

His whole life, all he knew was turmoil, pain, drama, and fear. He knew he would inherit his father's well-built organization after he passed and knew what this life would entail; having no preconceived notions about a quiet life. He knew he would have to be tougher than tough, adaptable, intelligent, and confident in his role as the head of the 3-6 Brooklyn Mob. Knowing the idea of a family was farfetched, knowing he'd never know the simple pleasures in life, that he would constantly be on the move - in-able to form real, sentimental, emotional connections. He knew, in this life, he'd remain alone for everyone's best interest and safety, indulging in a series of flings and one-off relationships that couldn't haunt him.

Yet they did. These encounters reminded Bucky how alone, how stranded, how isolated, how different he was. Instead of satisfying an unquenchable thirst, these fleeting partners became heavy anchors to Bucky's reality and reminded him that there was no such thing as love - nor was there any room or logic.

And then... He met you. Bucky's lips silently spread in a grin as he remembered meeting you at a bakery; purchasing the last slice of coconut cream pie to your absolute chagrin. He thought you were gorgeous, something ethereal and unobtainable; authentic, raw, and unfiltered - things his one night stands could never measure up to. So, he offered you the slice of pie if it meant giving him your number as currency.

After that, it was impossible for Bucky to consider ever being alone again because you were the sun; center of the universe that drew everyone into your orbit. He was smitten, content, excited to date you, turned on by the fact you had no idea who he was - a rare occurrence in the city. You were pure as fresh snow; sweet, kind, affectionate, attentive, and borderline overly empathetic.

Bucky knew he was in love with you after only a few weeks when he had shown up at your apartment, dripping in blood. You didn't panic like he feared you would, just checked up and down the hallway before yanking him into your home. You cleaned him up, tending to wounds, offering a safe space for him to relax in; making mindless conversation to help distract him from the pain he endured.

And now? Now, Bucky was sat in Dior, giving his opinion on your wedding guest dress; wondering how he allowed himself to get to this point of being domestic. Bucky wasn't a man to give his opinion on dresses, what color nail polish you should use, to send fresh bouquets of flowers every other week. Yet here he was, sipping too-expensive coffee, deciding between brown, green, and blue dresses that he never would've batted an eye at.

However, that was just the domino effect you caused in his life. You were sweeter than apple pie, becoming Bucky's one tether to reality that saved him from losing himself in this dark, criminal mindset he adopted. You didn't know it, but you had transformed Bucky from a brooding asshole into a boyfriend; someone you were proud to claim and never hid from - never shied away from. He admired the way you came to terms with his job, knowing it was a hard pill to swallow and yet noting the way you just accepted him as he was.

Bucky realized in that moment that he adored this new aspect of life after thinking it was impossible to obtain. He adored sitting here, offering opinions on dresses, his security left outside instead of hovering over him like a brutal reminder he was seedy. He loved having you to come home to, he loved being part of your mundane world - a person who went to weddings, who drank Starbucks, who asked her boyfriend his opinion about how she looked in dresses. Who thought bouquets of flowers were romantic, who baked him homemade cakes for his birthday, who worked overtime in order to afford his Christmas or birthday presents, who walked to the takeout place instead of paying for delivery.

All that you are, Bucky adored deeply; falling in love with you each and every single day. All he wanted to do was protect you, share his life with you, even pick out outfits for weddings you would attend. He knew if any of the men in his organization knew the extent of his affection, they'd surely weaponize it against him... Or at the very least, tease him relentlessly. Yet he never cared, knowing you wanted to be loved out loud instead of hidden away in a storage closet; but did care if it meant his enemies could use you to get to him. It was a risk, an occupation hazard for loved ones to become targets, but that only made Bucky so much more protective of you.

Laura glanced at Bucky and saw the fond smile soften to let his teeth trap his bottom lip, smiling at the Mob boss looking soft, content, smitten being there. She knew most boyfriends would never put this much effort into helping their girlfriends in the fashion department, thinking he must've been truly in love to look so at-ease. Plus his enthusiasm through the entire ordeal assured her that Bucky was genuinely enjoying himself.

Once again, you slipped into the blue dress and showed Bucky. He hummed and snapped a photo, asking you to turn this way and that. Then you tried the green dress, him taking another photo, and finally, you changed into the brown satin dress, facing Bucky for his final verdict.

Bucky hummed in contemplation, swiping through the photos. "You know what?" He asked, looking at you with a grin. "You look delectable in everything, I can't decide - so, let's just get them all."

"Bucky, no - "

"We'll take all three, Valeria, please," Bucky interrupted you.

You waited until the attendants left you alone with a knowing look shot in your direction to ring up the desired purchases, hip cocking and hands to your hips. With an underlying exasperation, you questioned, "What the hell, Buck?"

He grinned and stood, again, buttoning his suit jacket, "C'mon, princess, this is fun, right? Being spoiled?." His arms wrapped around your waist, looking down at you as if you hung the very sun that sucked him into your orbit. "What's the point of all my money if I can't spend it on you? Huh?"

"You can save it for a rainy day?"

He shrugged, "Not necessary."

"Maybe pay to send some underprivileged kids to go to college?"

"Well, there's a thought," your boyfriend mused, "but I already do that through the Stark Foundation. I sponsor a few scholarships."

"Okay, well, buying all three still doesn't help me decide what to wear," you chuckled, you mimicked his action and wrapped your arms tightly around the base of his ribs. Due to his height, your head had to tip backwards to meet his eyes with a small smile.

You could look at this gorgeous man all day, everyday if God ever permitted such an act. Why wasn't dating a paid activity? You'd be the top earner with the way you were absolutely enthralled with all Bucky Barnes was. And what an honor it was to earn his mutual adoration.

"We'll figure it out at home. Gotta get you moving in the material to make an honest judgement," he offered softly. "But you look gorgeous in all of them, baby, seriously. Like, drop dead gorgeous that makes every girl brim with jealousy. Shit, doll, you're gonna run the risk of outshining the bride."

You sighed, "Look, Buck, I appreciate what you're doing, but three designer dresses? Where the hell am I ever gonna wear them? What kinda event calls for overpriced fashion statements?"

Buck eased with a soft expression, "Guess I'll just have to take you out so you can put them all to good use, huh?"

"That's not a solution!"

"Is to me," he let a hand drift to roughly palm the meat of your ass cheek over the brown satin; another symptom of him being whipped, his comfort over public displays of affection. "Seriously, doll, how the hell did I get so lucky?"

"Hmm?"

"Just look at you, my girl," he chuckled lightly, "radiant in anything you put on. It's almost unfair, makes me wonder what I did so right to have someone like you I can call my own. I can't wait to show you off in those dresses, just look so Goddamn tantalizing. I mean, damn, baby, I'm gonna have to fight off men with my gun and the jealous women with a stick."

"You do realize we're already dating, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

"And you do realize being with you makes me the luckiest bastard in the city, right? Least I can do is spoil you, I've already got everything else I've ever wanted."

Your heart swelled at his words, sighing gently as your chin rested on his chest to keep your head tilted. Softly, you admitted, "I don't think you're the lucky one, pretty sure the honor's mine. I couldn't ask for anything more in a man - in a partner. I'm so fucking in love with you, Bucky, it honestly doesn't make sense."

He nodded, asking, "Know what else doesn't make sense?"

"What's that?"

"You refusing those dresses, I mean, c'mon!" He laughed, you groaning and releasing your hold; making his tighten to prevent you from escaping. "Those dresses look phenomenal on you, you really gonna reject my gift? C'mon, you know the rules, doll, if you adore her, you Dior her." You were ready to retort, but Bucky smiled, "For the record, I think you should wear the blue dress to the wedding."

"Blue it is," you smiled, lifting onto your toes and hooking a hand around the back of his neck to meet his lips in a scratchy kiss. "Thank you so much, baby," you whispered, feeling his lips spread against yours before he brought you back in for a much-more passionate kiss. "Hm!" You hummed, pulling away to scold, "But no more, all right? You spend too much money on me - I mean, who the hell needs three designer dresses?"

"You do," he whispered, "you deserve all of this, sugar, and I'll do what I can t'spoil you the way you should be. Might as well get used to it, I got no plans on stopping."

Your eyes rolled in good faith, excusing yourself, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Lemme get changed and we can - "

"Nah," he shook his head, petting the skin of your back exposed from the brown satin dress with his fingertips, "know what? Stay in the dress, I wanna take you out and show you off."

Your lips found his in a breath-sucking kiss, trying to convey your appreciation and giddiness over never having been spoiled like this in your entire life - feeling grateful, refreshed, and privileged for a man like Bucky in your life. Whatever greater force there was in this world, you thanked repeatedly for choosing you to love this man and for this man to love you. There was no telling what you did to deserve him, but blessed be those heavenly powers.

requesting rules and masterlist

MCU masterlist

[jobean12-blog]

His to Keep

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 3,626

Summary: You've been working for Bucky for almost a year and although you know there's so much more to him than just owning the club, you can't help but be drawn to him as he's drawn to you.

Author's Note: Just more mob!Bucky because I love him so! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: light mentions of v-i-olen-c-e and angst, but mostly sweetness and softness, tension and flirting, and d-o-m and obse-ssi-ve Bucky.

The piercing shot rings out, and before the echoing sound even dies, Bucky’s running. Your high-pitched scream pierces the air and he silently prays for your safety, his long legs moving so fast time seems suspended.

When he reaches the hallway, there’s a small group of employees gathered by the doorway, their expression filled with shock and horror.

They part without question as he approaches, rushing into the room and ignoring the violence that so blatantly fills it. His blue eyes search for you and finally his heart starts beating again when he sees you unharmed.

You’re crouched in the corner, eyes wide with terror as you take in the slumped over man in the chair, his tailored and expensive suit now stained red.  

Bucky’s men immediately follow his orders to handle the situation but his attention never leaves you.

With slow steps he approaches you, holding his hands out and speaking your name softly. When your eyes lock with his the first tear slides down your cheek and he nearly crumbles to his knees, his heart shattering.

He gathers you into his arms with such a gentle grace, as if you’ll break and ushers you toward his office. With a nudge of his toe he opens the door and sets you down in his large leather chair. Carefully he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over you, tucking it above your shoulders.

His eyes are laser focused on you as he fills a crystal glass with whiskey and forces it into your shaky hand.

“Drink this.”

You glance at it unseeingly, lost in your head, replaying what you just witnessed over and over.

He lifts the glass with a gentle touch and when it reaches your lips you drink reflexively. He waits until you finish all of it.

Taking a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he kneels down in front of you, his hands moving with slow trepidation, but still you try to intercept it.

“Let me,” he orders. “Please doll.”

The second set of words come out softer and your hands fall to your lap.

He cleans your face of tears, his touch delicate and reverent and you can feel his warm breath fan your cheek as his thumb chases a stray tear that slips toward your mouth.

“Doll,” he whispers roughly, emotion clogging his voice.

Your wet lashes lift and you meet his eyes, your breath catching at what you see. You’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. His usual façade of unrivaled power and unrelenting dominance gone, replaced by a haunting look of dread.

“James?”

At the sound of his name on your lips his jaw clenches, his controlled restraint slowly slipping away with his mask and every moment he spends so close to you. He needs you to feel you. Your warm and soft skin, your pulsing heartbeat, your lips, every curve…

But he would never take advantage of you, especially after what just happened.

“Let me take you home.”

You nod and easily fall into his embrace, resting your head against his chest as he escorts you toward the exit.

When your soft sheet hits your shoulder you sigh, snuggling closer to your pillow as Bucky tucks you in. You had argued lightly when he told you to shower but now that you’re warm and clean you feel marginally better.

He pauses at the door as you fall asleep, knowing he can’t leave you here alone, instead sinking into your make up chair in the corner of the room, watching vigilantly as you succumb to slumber.

A week later you’re determined to leave your house, wanting to get back to work, even if it means facing the demons of that night. And you want to see him again. You’ve missed him, even though you know he’s never very far away.

He watches from his hidden vantage point as you close your car door and start the engine. He doesn’t need the GPS tracker he had installed on your car to tell him where you’re headed, but he turns it on anyway.

His own car starts, black and sleek in a nondescript way. He easily catches up to you, maintaining a safe distance behind you so you don’t notice him.

He phones Steve who’s working the back door of the club. “She’ll be arriving soon. Escort her in.”

Steve makes a small sound of acknowledgement and hangs up, promptly moving outside to wait for you.

Once Bucky is satisfied Steve has you covered he makes a sharp turn off the main road and takes the back streets toward his club. He needs to be there before you. Ready and waiting.

Before you even turn your car off, Steve is at the door, opening it and guarding you with his body.

In his office, Bucky waits, checking the crowd through the one-way glass that overlooks the floor. Security has been upgraded, covering every inch of his club to ensure nothing like what happened last week ever happens again.

Everything in the club looks to be running smoothly…not that he would have it any other way. All his endeavors are done with the utmost care and cunning precision. He wouldn’t be able to run this club any other way let alone the whole damn city.

He scans the floor until his eyes land on you and as if you can feel his gaze, your eyes glance up to the window where you know he’s standing.

The connection that’s been growing between you two for the past year has only been solidified since the unfortunate event that took place last week. He knew in that moment that he would do anything for you. Die to protect you.

Since the instant you walked into his club to apply for the job as manager he knew you were special. And having you work for him has been the sweetest torture. Day after day he watches you excel at your job, handle everything thrown your way with ease and professionalism, even the scummy clientele that try to lay hands on you.

No one touches what belongs to him and only the ones that don’t know who he is try. But they soon find out how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Steve alerts Bucky that you’re on your way up to his office.

The knock on his office door makes his heart skip a beat and even though he’s dressed impeccably he smooths his hand down his chest, adjusting his tie in the process.

“Come in.”

You crack the door open and peek in.

“Hi James. Steve said I could come up?”

At your questioning tone, Bucky smiles.

“You never have to ask to see me doll. You’re welcome to anytime.”

You smile softly and walk in, shutting the door behind you. With a slow saunter you move toward his desk and perch yourself on the edge near his chair.

He finds it hard to concentrate the moment you’re close. Even though you try to keep a cool demeanor, your body is inviting in its posture and your eyes devour every inch of him.

“Thank you for seeing me James,” you start. “I wanted to…”

Before you can finish he leans closer, a gentle interruption with his consuming presence.  “First of all, call me Bucky. I’m only James to everyone else. And as I said before, I would love to see you anytime you want doll.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning toward him as if you’re pulled by some invisible string. “That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to thank you.”

“For?” he asks, his eyebrows raised as a small smile pulls at his lips.

Your eyes drop to his mouth before your lips part to speak again.

“Taking such good care of me last week and rescuing me.”

“I hardly rescued you doll. I’ll never forgive myself for putting you in that situation and the fact that I wasn’t there to protect you will haunt me forever. I never wanted you to see this side of my…business.”

You pull your gaze away from his mouth and study his face. He’s beautiful. His large blue eyes framed by dark and long lashes and his perfectly shaped jaw surrounding a mouth with lips you dream about tasting.

“It’s ok…”

“No.” he says, his tone harsh.

His face crumples when he sees your eyes widen at his gruffness.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly recovers. “That’s not meant to be toward you…if anything had happened to you…”

You tentatively reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb softly brushing over the dark stubble that lines it.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know you would never hurt me.”

His eyes are locked on yours, the tension between you palpable. You unconsciously trace your lips with your tongue, drawing his attention. He moves closer, closing the distance and resting his elbows on his spread thighs.

“Anything you want from me. Anything at all. You need but to ask and it’s yours.”

“Jame…Bucky, thank you.”

He visibly preens when you say ‘Bucky,’ and it makes you smile, triumph alight in your eyes.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do…?” you ask, looking at him from under your lashes.

“Nothing. You’re perfect. However, I’d like to ask you something.”

His words peek your interest and you inch closer, knowing after today there’s no turning back from this. From him.

“Dinner. I want you to have dinner with me doll.”

“That wasn’t a question,” you say teasingly, even as you drag your teeth over your bottom lip. “More of an order.”

“Mm, you’re right,” he winks. “Either way, I think your answer is going to be yes.”

“Like a date?” you question, your grin widening.

“Yes. A date.”

“What will everyone else say when they find out you’re dating your employee?”

Your question has his features hardening ever so slightly, but not at you.

“No one will say a word about it. I can assure you of that.”

You audibly swallow as you take him in, focusing on the way you feel about him, not what he’s capable of.

“I’d love to have dinner with you Bucky.”

He visibly relaxes and a genuine smile graces his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in such an endearing way you nearly swoon off the desk.

“Good. Then let’s eat.”

You giggle. “Now? I thought you meant you were going to pick me up, you know, I’d get all dressed and then you take me out.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to give you time to reconsider.”

Reluctantly, but with a smirk, he pushes on his heels and rolls his chair away from you, grabbing his cell. He orders a spread of food from one of his restaurants, then sits back down.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him.

When you do he slides closer, framing you with his spread legs and caging you in with his thighs.

“So now that this is dinner, tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know.”

“Hmm,” you muse, tapping your chin.

You fall into easy and comfortable conversation, sharing more about your past. Bucky listens intently, hanging on to every word and prodding gently with well thought out questions.

A knock at the door surprises you both and you can see Bucky’s body tense. He was so immersed in you he lost sight of any possible dangers, forgetting his surroundings. He mentally berates himself, tucking that away and vowing to be more mindful, if only to keep you safe.

Thankfully, it’s only the dinner delivery.

He takes the food and moves to the casual seating area of his office, placing the food down on the coffee table. You follow him and sit on the floor.

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your form before he follows suit with a light shrug.

“Have you ever sat on the floor to eat dinner?” you ask playfully.

“Not that I recall,” he answers, serving you food.

You both laugh and dig into the delicious dinner.

After your impromptu dinner date you and Bucky continue to dance around each other at work.  The connection is strong, the pull between you taut with intense heat and longing. You can always feel his presence, his eyes on you, but it’s not uncomfortable at all, in fact, it makes you feel safe.

Later that week as you’re leaving your yoga class you feel someone following you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end but when you hear the instructor’s familiar voice you relax slightly and turn to say hello.

“Hi Matt.”

He greets you warmly and falls into step next to you as you walk toward your cars. The conversation is light at first but then he starts to complain about his girlfriend and how their relationship is failing. You begin to feel uncomfortable and as if sensing it, Matt drops his head.

“I’m sorry. Enough of my drama. I just need to move on I think.”

You take that as your cue to leave and start to say your goodbye but he keeps talking, chasing after you as you move toward your car.

“Hey, how is work going?”

“Uh..good, really good, thanks.”

Matt continues firing questions at you and your eyes dart around the darkened parking lot, quietly searching for Steve or one of Bucky’s other men.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Matt says, the words pulling your from your spiraling thoughts.

You step back to gain space and before you can answer, there’s a loud clanging noise as the door of the gym next door slams shut.

A big and broad silhouette comes into view and both you and Matt automatically look over.

Steve’s large frame moves closer and you sigh in relief.

“Hey Steve,” you chime, taking a step toward him.

Steve respectfully keeps his distance while also always keeping you protected.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks as he glares at Matt.

“Yes,” you answer, waving at Matt.

Matt blinks several times, clearly confused at Steve’s arrival but grudgingly says his goodbye and shuffles off to his car.

“I was looking for you Steve,” you say once Matt is out of ear shot.

“I’m sorry it took me longer than usual. I was on a call,” he apologies.

“It’s ok,” you say with a soft pat to his shoulder. “Just glad you’re here.”

“I always am.”

When you look at him with curious eyes his own go wide. “Well…not always of course. Bucky would have my head, but I just meant…”

You throw your head back with laughter. “I know Steve. The first few months I thought I was just crazy but when I realized it was just you trailing me and keeping me safe I felt better.”

Steve gives you a more relaxed smile and opens your car door.

“Um Steve,” you say softly as you sit. “Do you think maybe…we could keep this just between us? Matt’s not really a bad guy. I think he’s just having a rough time. I’m sure everything would have been just fine.”

Steve’s mouth turns down in a frown. “You know I can’t do that.”

With a sigh you reply, “I knew you were going to say that.”

Steve’s lips lift into a wry smile. “When it comes to his girl he wants to know everything.”

“Is that so?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “Should I start keeping a diary so I can report in every second of every day.”

“Well, you probably don’t need to go that far, but…”

Your lips purse but when you see his expression morph into one of sheepishness for the second time that night you decide to let it go and take it up with Bucky himself.

Back home, Steve walks you to your door.

“Do you want to come in? Need a snack or drink?” you ask.

He doesn’t take a single step closer and shakes his head once.

“He’s on his way now.”

“Bucky’s on his way?” you squeak. “Shit. I need to change and tidy up!”

At your use of ‘Bucky’ Steve genuinely grins. The action catches you off guard but you realize that Bucky wasn’t lying when he said no one calls him that but you. With another flurry of thanks and goodnights you bid farewell to Steve, even though you know he’ll just be sitting outside in his SUV until Bucky arrives.

You prepare for your shower, determined to keep your head once he gets there and get some definitive answers from him.

At his knock, you open the door with a tentative smile.

“Doll face,” he greets, his voice deep and intense.

“Bucky,” you echo. “Would you like to come in.”

“Please,” he answers and brushes past you.

Just the delicate touch of his hand as he walks by sends goosebumps skittering across your skin.

“I’m sure you already know about what Steve did tonight,” you say as you walk into your living room.

“Of course,” he answers.

You look over your shoulder and narrow your eyes.

“Want something to drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?” he asks.

“No whiskey, just red or white wine and water. Take it or leave it.”

At your sassy tone his eyebrows raise every so slightly.

“Water is fine, thank you. And want to tell me what that sassiness is about.”

After you get two glasses of water you sit on the couch across from him, leveling him with your best glare.

“How long have you had Steve following me?” you ask him.

“You’re very observant,” he states.

“That’s not an answer,” you continue with sass. “And I’ve been paying attention. You know I have. But mostly to you.”

Your confession satisfies him. You can see it in the way he lifts his chin and his eyes glitter.

“I want you to fill me in Bucky.”

“On?” he asks as his arm falls over the back of the couch and his fingers ghost over your shoulder, mostly bare in your thin tank top.

“Bucky.”

You mean it to come out more demanding, but it’s breathy and your body shivers at his touch.

“Are you sure? You were pretty freaked out by what you learned last time you got a glimpse behind my curtain. And rightfully so.”

“Tell me. I trust you and I want to give us a chance.”

He takes a deep breath and shares as much as he can without putting you in any more danger.

“Why do all of this though? Do you have men following everyone that works for you? Why did Steve call me your girl?”

“Two of these questions have the same answer. From the moment I saw you I wanted you to be mine and after the incident earlier this month and I almost lost you, it became an overwhelming feeling.”

His fingers press into your skin as he glides them down your arm.

“And no. I don’t have men on anyone else that works for me. I keep them safe of course. But just you. Always you.”

His hand leaves your arm and he strokes his thumb along your jaw. You lean into his touch and sigh out his name.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmurs. “Fuck doll, I’ve been so patient.”

He presses the pad of his finger to your lips, tracing their softness.

“But with every breath I take, I think of you. Every beat of my heart, I want you.”

The moment stretches in sweet torture before you place a hand on his cheek.

“I want you t…”

Before the words are fully out of your mouth he’s on you, dragging you into his lap and grinding his hips up as he grabs the back of your neck and steals your breath.

You press closer, needing to feel every inch of him. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lightly scratch your nails over his scalp before your hands fall to his chest and you start to tug at his tie.

Your lips leave his and you trail kisses along his jaw, stopping just below his ear before tracing the muscular column of his neck.

He hisses out a curse and tightens his grip. You smile into his skin and loosen his tie. You’ve barely gotten it undone when his large hand lands on your ass cheek. The sting makes you moan and rock your hips but in a flash your eyes are on his, your chin caught between his thumb and forefinger.

You take in his appearance as he stares at you. His usually pristine shirt now wrinkled, the buttons at the top hanging open and his loose tie dangling messily. His normally untouched hair is tousled, wild from your fingers and his control is clearly wavering with every heaving breath he takes.

You don’t waste another second and this time you kiss him, pressing your softness against every hard plane of his body, maximizing every bit of contact as you try to pin him to the back of the couch. You nibble into his bottom lip and then swallow the sound of his satisfied growl.

“Doll,” he starts, and you hear the questioning tone of his voice.

“Fuck me, Bucky. Fill me and make me yours.”

For a split second you see surprise flash across his features but he instantly recovers with a smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for his, how many times I’ve dreamed of you saying those words to me,” he murmurs, his body rigid with his restraint. “And remember, you asked for this. I’m going to give you everything.”  

His words are a dark promise, one you hold onto with every fiber of your being.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @littleseasiren @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

[themorningsunshine]

Pie - eyed over you

Mafia - Baker AU 

Masterlist                         Series Masterlist

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Mentions of murder and weapons 

Word count - 3.3k

a/n - This is my first time writing an AU and I am super nervous (also because I have combined two things I can just not write about, weapons and cooking). Please let me know what you think.

Rain was pouring heavily on the roof of the shed and he wasn't sure if the old sheds meekly covering the building could contain them much longer. He couldn't care less.

He walks out of the building and into the rain, wiping his left arm on his dry coat to wipe off the blood covering it. The pouring rain caresses his face but does nothing to the ever-present frown on his forehead and the grimace on his lips.

He used to love the rain as a kid. The gentleness of the droplets, the smell of rain, and the puddles. It was so much easier back then. So innocent. He closes his eyes as droplets slide their way all over him. They touch him like they don't know what he has just done.

His frown deepens as images claw into his mind once again. He clenches his fist remembering how it had taken him mere 10 seconds to shoot 3 bullets straight into the man's head. The killing had become easier over the years. Picking the bullet and shooting straight into the target had become second nature to him.

What hadn't become easier was the aftermath. The guilt that somehow always gnawed its way into his heart. The question was there any other way?

With his eyes still closed, he brings his face towards the sky, daring the rain to wash away his thoughts the same way it has washed away the blood that stuck to his metal arm not so long ago.

He likes the rain for a completely different reason now.

It provides him with an escape.

From his mind.

His thoughts

The images. The man screaming, begging him to stop and he doesn't even feel disgusted by himself when he doesn't even falter. He left his men to take care of the body.

A face lingers in his mind, pushing away all the dark thoughts. His ma "Bucky "

It's like he can hear her call out to him, urging him to come back home.

She would have hated how he turned out.

But he tells himself he doesn't care.

It didn't matter what his ma would have thought about him. She wasn't here. She didn't have to know.

He snaps his eyes open when he doesn't feel the rain falling on his face anymore. He can still hear the raindrops thudding on the roofs of the buildings. He looks up to see a huge umbrella over his head, shielding him from the rain.

He frowns and follows the handle of the outrageous floral print object only to be met by the sight that was going to change his life forever.

The first thing he saw when his eyes met y/e/c ones was that they held a certain softness to them that he didn't think still existed in this world. He was almost afraid to take his eyes off yours as if he was scared that you would crumble down under his gaze.

But when he brought his eyes over your face and then the rest of you, he knew it was the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever landed on. That even the most beautiful paintings in the world didn't hold a candle to you.

"Are you okay?" You whispered, voice so gentle, it could calm the most violent of storms.

Bucky thinks those are the most precious three words he has ever heard. He nods his head, mostly because he doesn't speak too much these days and also because it has been a very long time since someone has asked him that question.

"I am walking that way and the rain is increasing, you don't want to get drenched. Walk with me?" You ask and he thinks he would burn the whole world down to the ground with a smile on his face if you asked.

He looks at the way you are pointing and realizes that's where his car is parked. He says, "Okay" and sees as you take a step towards him, covering the both of you with your umbrella, and his senses are filled with your smell. You smell like freshly baked cookies and coffee. It's his new favorite smell.

You take a couple of steps ahead before turning towards him and he realizes he is staring. He doesn't remember the last time when somebody had enthralled him so much. For some reason, he just can't get himself to look away.

"I have not seen you around before." He says only to hear you speak again.

"Yeah, I am kind of new here. Been less than a week." You reply with a smile on your face and Bucky thinks this cursed town has just been blessed.

You look around before commenting, "It's a beautiful town." And for the love of god, he can't figure out how this part of the town which is more of a  dumpster with remnants of buildings all around can be beautiful to somebody.

"This is not really a safe place." When you look at him with confusion in your eyes, he continues, "Especially at this time of night." As if that explanation is enough. He straightens his back and tries to get the confident, mob aura he has around everyone. "What are you doing here?"

If his slightly changed demeanor throws you off guard, you don't point it out. You just bite your lip before speaking, "What if I tell you I lost my way?"

The chuckle that leaves him is involuntary. "Really? Lost your way?"

"Hey. In my defense, it's just been a week." You place your hand on your chest in fake offense.

"Where were you heading to?"

You put your hand in your pocket before taking out a piece of paper. "Here"

Bucky takes the paper from you and looks at it with furrowed brows. "Why are you walking this way? This place is at the other end of that alley." He says before pointing out to a dark alley.

You make an o shape with your mouth before turning toward where he is pointing. "Got it. Thanks."

When you reach his car and his driver opens the door for him, he turns back before saying, "Let me drop you." It doesn't sound like a request.

"No, no. It's fine. I don't want to be trouble. Also, I am not sure your car would fit in there." You said before tilting your umbrella towards yourself.

"I'll see you around." You tell him before giving him a small wave and walking away, a smile still etched on your lips.

Bucky stands there, watching you go, and realizes he didn't ask your name. But he'd be damned if he let you go in that alley alone. He asks one of his men to make sure that you reach your destination safely.

"Keep an eye from afar." He instructs him. Voice cold and commanding.

But the frown on his head and the grimace on his lips are a little less evident on the way back.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" Bucky's voice bellowed around the dark room, startling everyone around him.

"S- sir, I tried." Peter bows his head before whimpering.

Steve, who has been standing beside Bucky's chair leans in to whisper, "He is just a kid, Buck."

Bucky rubs his hand over his face before looking at Peter trying his best to give him a soft look. "Okay, Peter. I don't have time for this. What exactly is the problem here? And don't tell me a full-blown story."

"S-sir, the new bakery. The owner says she isn't going to pay the money. Said something about taxes and also that, 'If I don't barge in there asking for weapons, don't barge into my place asking for money.'

Some of the men standing in the corner chuckle but are rewarded by a glare from Bucky.

"I don't have time to deal with a Baker. Did you tell her that everybody in town pays the money? It's for protection." He says, voice slightly irritated. The townspeople feared him. There was no doubt about that in his mind. Hence, they sent him money at the start of every month diligently. But sometimes, out of the blue, someone would come and try to be the savior, trying to rebel. He didn't understand what they wanted. He wasn't a monster. Over the years, he had relieved some people of paying the money on various occasions.

"I did tell her that, sir. She asked me who exactly is this protection from." Peter whispered, now slightly trembling with fear.

This piqued Bucky's interest. Over the years, nobody had ever asked his men the reason behind the money. They just obliged.

Peter continued, "I told her it's from the mob. Some of us. And she said she isn't going to pay us to do the bare minimum, to be human." Bucky leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes in annoyance.

Steve spoke up, "It's okay, Buck. I'll handle this. You know they all give in eventually."

Bucky opened his eyes and stood up from his chair. "Nope, I will come with you. This is different." He then looked at Sam who was standing at the other end of the room, "Receive the order of the weapons. The delivery is scheduled in an hour."

Same nodded his head before walking out of the room. Bucky dismissed the other men and along with Steve walked towards Peter, both of the men towering over him.

"Peter, are those crumbles of pie on your face?"

A shiver passed through Peter at his cold tone and he willed himself to speak, "She gave it to me, sir. I tried to refuse. Really did. But she said that I am just a kid and don't deserve - " Peter cut himself before he could speak too much. He somehow had the habit of always speaking about stuff that is supposed to be kept secret.

A small smile found its way to Bucky's lips but it was gone as soon as it came and he patted Peter's shoulder dismissing him. "This is different." He said to Steve before walking out of the room.

And for some reason, he was sure it was true.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

"We are here, sir."

Bucky looked up from the file he was reading to his driver and then around him. It was one of the good areas of the town where families stayed, holed up in their whole little world, the darkness of the other side not fully reaching them.

Steve instructed the driver and the guard to stay in the car as the both of them walked out. "That is the one," Steve said pointing towards something.

Bucky followed his gaze and his movements faltered for a slight second. He had never seen something so - warm.

A little bakery standing between a bookstore and a cycle stand with sweets adorning its shelves looking delicious enough to lure anybody inside—soft music playing in the little speaker placed outside. People occupying the chairs outside and inside the shop, kids running around with huge grins on their faces, every one into their own little world.

It looked lively.

Bucky couldn't remember seeing something like this in the town before. Maybe he hadn't even bothered, or maybe something had really changed. With their black sunglasses and dressed up in dark colors from head to toe, he wasn't sure if he and Steve were going to fit in, but he couldn't care less.

As they walked closer, Bucky could now see most of the shop and when his eyes landed on the sole person behind the counter, his breath hitched in his throat.

Removing his sunglasses to get a better look, he stopped in his tracks when his suspicions were confirmed.

.

It was her.

The girl with the floral umbrella and the warm smile.

The girl who had somehow crept her way into his thoughts more than he would like to admit in the past week since he had seen her.

And she was beautiful.

He saw as you stood behind the counter, handing a box to a little girl with a huge grin on your face, the girl jumping up and down in excitement as you leaned towards her to whisper something.

He then saw the little girl run out of the bakery, clutching the box to her chest towards her mother as if it was the most precious thing in the world. When his eyes went back to you, he saw how you talked to the next customer, an old lady, with the same huge grin on your face.

He hadn't noticed that he had been staring until Steve cleared his throat, a smirk on his face. Before Steve could say something, Bucky muttered, "Stay here, let me handle this." He walks towards the stops with a calculated gaze and a perfected aura of confidence.

As he opens the door to the bakery, the smell of coffee and cookies hits him hard and a feeling of warmth engulfs him.

"How can I - " Your words die in your throat when your eyes land on the familiar figure.

Bucky could swear your smile gets wider.

You compose yourself before saying, "Hey, I know you. You are the cute guy from the other day."

Bucky frowns as he takes in your words. Cute? Did you just call him cute? He had been called intimidating, scary, and even sexy. But cute? He was furious. He was anything BUT cute. Also, was he allergic to something in the shop? Why the hell was his stomach suddenly fluttering?

He also ignores the way his heart is beating quicker at the realization that you remembered him. What was happening to him today? "I am looking for y/n l/n."

Your smile turned slightly mischievous as you replied, "That would be me."

Bucky's eyes almost widened at that. "You are y/n? The owner of the bakery?"

"Yup." You said popping the p as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And the last I checked, introductions went both ways."

You raised your hand towards him for a handshake and after looking at your hand for a moment, he shook it. "I am B - James." For some reason, he didn't want you to know who he was. The nickname might give it away.

You smiled at him again before returning your hand, a little too early for Bucky's liking, "So, James. What can I get you?"

He had it all planned. It was like second nature to him. I want my money. Abide by the rules, you don't want to know the consequences. It was the usual. But for some reason, his mouth had gained a mind of its own as it said before he could comprehend, "Cupcakes"

You looked at the huge display of baked goods before looking back at him, "Which one?"

Bucky gave the display a glance, he was sure he hadn't ever tasted most of them. "What do you recommend, sweets?"

He watches as you are visibly taken aback by the nickname. A smirk find its way to his lips as he watched red color creeping up to your neck.

"I - uhm" You take a breath to compose yourself. Get it together. "These red velvet cupcakes just came out of the oven and they are kinda my favorite. So.." You look at Bucky with excitement in your eyes and he likes how passionate you are about your work.

"I'll take a box."

You smile at him before bending down to pack a box of the delicacy and he watches how you oh-so-gently pick up each piece before placing it inside the box with practiced precision.

When you hand over the box to him and your hands brush, you feel the sparks through your spine once again as when you had shaken hands.

When he puts a hand in his pocket to retrieve the money, you cut him off. "Don't worry about it. It's on the house."

Bucky smiles a little before replying, "Sweets, you keep giving free goods like that and you'll have to close the shop soon." He says in a teasing voice.

"I'll let you in on a secret, James." You lean towards him as if it is the most secretive thing in the world. "This is a business strategy."

He frowns a little, trying to cover the fact that he was getting too comfortable with how close the both of you were, before saying, "How's that?"

"The first order is on the house but then you come again. And again. It's really profitable."

There is this - innocence and purity in your voice that reminds him of a little child. Of old times. Easier times. And he just stares into your eyes for as long as he can, as if they could help him escape, become a portal to a time long lost.

You don't dare to move either. His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue you have ever seen. They have this intensity to them as if hiding the stories of a lifetime and you just can't get yourself to look away. You have always loved a good mystery.

Bucky clears his throat, bringing the both of you out of the daze as he brings the teasing tone back to his voice, "What makes you think I will come back?"

You chuckle a little before giving a proud smile. "Oh, you will, James. I trust my cupcakes."

He gives you another small smile as he takes a step back. This is the longest conversation he has had with a person outside his line of work in a very long time. Everybody was just too scared but he couldn't care less.

"Goodbye, sweets." He says before letting the new customer who had just entered go ahead. 

"Goodbye, James. Until next time." You add with a wink.

Bucky walks out of the bakery, his initial motive forgotten completely. From the outside, he turns back to look at you for the one last time and watches as you say something that makes the teenage boy laugh while taking out cookies from the shelf.

A moment later, you look towards the window and your eyes meet for a fleeting second. You smile at him and give him a small wave.

Bucky turns around to walk towards his car when he notices Steve standing a few feet away with a knowing smirk on his face.

Bucky rolls his eyes before muttering with clenched teeth, "Don't"

Steve doesn't ask about the money and Bucky is glad. He isn't really sure how he would answer. Whatever happened wasn't what he was expecting.  You weren't what he was expecting.

As he slid into the back seat of his car, the image of your smile when you were that close to him lingered in his mind and he couldn't stop the way his lips had pulled slightly upward.

When the car started driving, and with Steve on a phone call, he opened the box of cupcakes and picked one to take a small bite.

As he takes the first bite, the softness and the sweetness of the cake engulf him and leave him wanting more. He doesn't remember eating something this good in a long time.

And for many reasons, he will definitely visit again.  

Next part

[holylulusworld]

A different kind of Valentine

Summary: Your fiancé breaks your heart on Valentine’s Day out of all days.

Pairing: former!(any male character) x fem!Reader, Mafia!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, break-up, mentions/implied cheating, making out with a stranger, language, drinking, tipsy reader, a little fluff

Promises shouldn’t be broken.

Promises are meant to be kept. Right?

Love should be strong and unbreakable. If you swear to someone that you love and adore them, you cannot take it back so easily.

How could your fiancé take the words he whispered lovingly not months ago back?

“I can’t do this anymore,” he replied coolly when you asked why his suitcases were standing in the hallways. You believed he must go on yet another business trip.

That he wants to leave you never crossed your mind.

How foolish of you to believe that he wants to stay and keep his promises.

Shell-shocked you watched him grab your hand to slide his grandmother’s ring off of your finger.

You couldn’t think, speak, or even whimper. All you saw was the man you loved turn his back on you.

He stuffed the ring into his pocket, murmuring someone else’s name under his breath. You knew the name. Once in a while, he mentioned his assistant.

Of course, he had to turn your breakup into a cliché. He had to bang his secretary and leave you for a younger model.

If not for the tears running down your face, and the heaviness in your heart, you’d laugh at the fucked-up situation. It felt like you ended up in a bad rom-com slash comedy movie. The only difference was people weren’t laughing at the bad joke your life turned into.

“You can’t be serious,” oh, you finally found your voice. “Why are you doing this? Did you get bored? Is it the wedding? We could’ve talked things out.”

“That’s not it.” He grunted in your direction.

“Is she prettier? Better in bed,” you got angrier and louder. “Does she like it up her ass? Is it that?” You threw the next best things at him, making a scene. “What is it? Huh? Is her cunt squeezing your tighter?”

“You’re just not it!” He bit back and threw his hands up in surrender. “Can you not do this right now? How about you don’t throw a tantrum? People break up all the time!”

“Five years and that’s all I get?” You yelled. “I deserve better than a lame excuse! I want to know what happened to us!”

“I love her because I don’t love you anymore!” He yelled back, making you flinch at his outburst. “It’s not only that the sex is better. She’s all I ever wanted in a woman. You got too comfortable and want to cuddle on the sofa instead of going out and blowing me off behind a bar.”

“What?” You huffed. “I was the one trying to drag you off the couch! You only ever went out with your buddies.” He ignored your tears, and that your voice cracked. “I guess this never mattered. You had to fulfill the cliché. So, go ahead. We will see if she can make you happy.”

You stormed toward the door, blindly grabbing your keys and phone. It was impossible to stand there, staring at the gifts you placed on the coffee table in the living room.

“If you are still here when I come back, I’ll stab you right in the face,” you looked over your shoulder at the man who used to be your moon and stars. “If you touch my shit, you are a dead man. I will find you and your whore and turn you into dog food.”

“Another one,” you slammed the glass down onto the bar counter. “Make it a double.” You placed fifty bucks onto the empty glass. “No, give me the bottle. I think I’ll drink it at home.”

“We don’t sell the bottle for you to take it home,” the bartender gruffly replied.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You glared at the burly guy. “I can drink the whole bottle at the bar, but I can’t pay for it and take it home?” Quirking a brow, you look at the man.

“House rules.”

“Fuck this,” you grabbed the fifty bucks and stuffed the money into your bra. “I’ll get more at the next liquor store. Fuck you, and all of you.”

“All of us?” The bartender asked with amusement.

Storming out of the bar you huffed again. “Fuck Valentine’s Day.” You muttered and walked away, almost running a guy over.

You glared at him and bared your teeth.

“Assholes with a ding-dong between their legs. You are all the same. Useless and worthless…”

“Hey, watch your step, doll,” the guy snickered when you threw your clutch at him. “Ouch, what do you think you are doing?” The man caught your clutch just in time.

“Fuck you too!” You poked two fingers into his chest. “You are no better than the bartender and my lovely fiancé. All of you are useless and have a limp dick. No man is worth my time.”

You snatched the clutch out of the man’s hands. “Language, lady,” he said, his voice now dangerously low. “If you don’t watch your tongue, someone might teach you some manners.”

“Oh, and you are that kind of man,” you slapped him across the face with your clutch. “Who do you think you are?” Usually, you wouldn’t attack a stranger in the dead of the night, but you were a little tipsy, and still mad because of the events of the day. “Threatening a woman.”

“Sweet cheeks,” he said while rubbing his face. It was still red from the slap, and he considered his next step. “I wouldn’t dare to raise my hand against you.” The man stepped closer to grab your clutch. “I said—” He grabbed you by your throat and slammed you against the wall, “I’ll teach you a lesson.”

“I’ll scream,” you began to race. Maybe you messed with the wrong guy. “Get off me.”

“Yeah, you will scream,” he smirked darkly and leaned closer to whisper in your ear. “I’ll make you scream my name, doll. So, what will it be? Do you want me to make you scream, or do you want me to make you whimper my name?”

“That’s not a choice!” You complained. “I have had enough of selfish men believing they can toy with me and my heart. I’ll cut yours out if you dare to touch me.”

“A cocky one,” he dropped his hand from your throat and pressed his hand against the wall, right next to your head. “Tell me, doll. Who hurt such a sweet girl?” He looked you up and down, hungrily roaming your body with his eyes.

“He—” You looked away and blinked a few times. “You’re not my therapist, and I’m not your problem.”

“You made it my problem when you attacked me because a douchebag hurt you. So, again. Who hurt you, doll?”

God, he smelled so good, and his lips tenderly pressed against your earlobe. You didn’t know what got into you, but you grasped for the stranger, taking him by supposed when you pressed your lips to his.

His hands grabbed your face, gently cradling it while he allowed you to dominate the kiss. “Doll,” he murmured against your lips. “You’re a little drunk, huh?”

“Make me forget about him,” you pleaded and fisted his jacket. “Here and now. Come on. Don’t be all talk.”

“I’d love to make you scream my name.” He pecked your lips twice. “I love me a crazy girl hitting me at first sight but, I won’t take advantage of you. You’re hurt, drunk, and a little lost. Let me take you home.”

“I don’t even know your name,” you gasped and stepped back. “I just kissed a stranger and asked him to fuck me. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, doll,” his features softened. “It’s alright. I’m a nice guy.” He smirked and laughed as you stepped back again. “My name is Bucky, okay. I’ll take you home if you want me to. Or I could call a cab for you.”

“Y/N,” you murmured your name, embarrassed about your actions. “Sorry. I didn’t want to attack you…or kiss you…or ask you to fuck me.”

“Y/N,” Bucky hummed. “A very nice name.” He said. “For an even nicer woman.” Holding out his hand Bucky waited for you to take it. “I won’t bite, promised.”

“Maybe I like it when you bite me,” you challenged him.

“Let’s stick to getting the alcohol out of your system,” Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you didn’t take his hand. “Doll, you shouldn’t stay here. We started on the wrong foot, but I’m not a bad guy.”

“What the shit!” You exclaimed loudly while you looked around your apartment. “That bastard had the guts to unpack the gifts I got him before leaving our home to bang that bitch.”

“Hmm…that him?” Bucky lifted one of your picture frames. “He looks like a douchebag. I was right.”

“Why did you come with me again?” You glanced over your shoulder at the stranger in your home. “I’m good. Really.”

“I won’t leave a pretty dame in need alone on Valentine’s Day,” Bucky said. “Not after that man left you for some other woman.”

“I’m fine,” you lied. “Just…mad.” You shrugged. “I had the whole day planned; you know. Dinner at our favorite restaurant, the perfect gift, and naughty underwear to…” You shook your head.

“His loss,” Bucky shrugged while looking at one of the gift bags on the table. “It should’ve been him making big plans for Valentine’s Day. If you love your lady, you spoil her.”

“He found someone prettier and sexier,” you sniffled. “He told me so. The man I loved fell in love with his secretary because he doesn’t love me anymore.”

“Again, his loss,” he stepped closer to look inside the gift bag, taking the lingerie out. “Red lace, huh?”

“He liked red…” You snatched the underwear out of Bucky’s hands. “I wanted to turn him on. It’s been a while since he was interested in doing more than sleep in our bedroom.”

“I’d say white suits you more,” Bucky threw the lingerie over his shoulder. “How about you change into your favorite outfit, and I invite you for dinner. No strings attached, doll.”

“You want to take me out?” You questioned.

“Please let me take you out,” he stepped closer to grab your hand. “You deserve to spend this day with someone who cares.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Yet,” he said. “Let me get to know you, please.”

You nodded and agreed to go out for dinner with Bucky. It was a risk, but one you were willing to take.

Valentine reloaded

Tags in reblog.

[purple-babygirl]

my bucky?

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x f!reader (reader is little in the very beginning)

Word count: 7,390

Summary: Bucky's angel finally sees the hidden side of him.

Warnings: details of violence, kidnapping, getting shot, physical abuse by kidnappers, slapping, too much crying, angst

A/N: to all the nonnies that came to me once and asked "what if angel saw bucky beating someone up?" "what if angel gets kidnapped?", this is for you💜 i hope you have a good time with this one, loves x💜

~

Whenever he’d think of her, he’d think of jasmines. Soft, fragrant, pure-looking, fragile, beautiful jasmines. Like jasmines, she released her sweet perfume engulfed by the darkness of his night. Only he got to bask in her aroma. And like a jasmine in autumn, he’d fallen for her evergreen soul and he’d fallen hard.

Bucky knew she saw him through a pink lens. She ate up his lies like candy and although he felt bad, he knew it was for the best. He could visibly see her running out the door whenever he’d imagine someone opening her eyes to how cruel he actually was. It was selfish, but it was easier for him and safer for her this way. Better for both of them.

Luck wasn’t exactly his best friend though.

Bucky would never forget the look in her innocent, teary eyes as she watched him literally beat the life out of a man with all his might. He knew it was fairly stupid of him to do it in the back of his own garage, right next to his house where she was peacefully getting ready to call it a night. But he just couldn’t hold back when he saw the guy’s dumb face when his men brought him in.

“Miss?” She found Roseanne by the door, looking more nervous than usual.

She was shocked, no, terrified at the scene she couldn’t take her eyes away from. How and why was she even here in the first place?

~

Daddy said he’d be back for story time but he hasn’t been back yet. What was taking him so long?

She couldn’t fall asleep if his voice wasn’t lolling her to sleep. She couldn’t fall asleep if it wasn’t in his arms. Life without him just didn’t make sense anymore.

She got out of bed, slipped in her fluffy cat slippers and went on a little quest to find him. Bucky was always happy to see her so he’d forgive her for getting out of bed where he’d expected her to wait.

“Roseanne, have you seen my Bucky?” she asked with a smile.

“I think he’s busy right now, miss. You better wait in your room where it’s warm,” Roseanne tried to tempt her, using the cold as a good reason why she shouldn’t go outside where Bucky was.

The young woman looked distressed, like she was scared of something.

“What’s wrong, Roseanne? Is daddy okay?” she questioned the poor maid, her smile leaving her face.

“Yes, miss. Don’t worry. He’s just a little busy but he’ll be here soon.”

“Is he in the office?”

“I— I don’t know, miss. I think he is,” Roseanne lied.

She tilted her head suspiciously before running to the office to check it out, leaving Roseanne’s pleads for her to get back to the bedroom behind.

It seemed even more suspicious now that Bucky was nowhere to be seen in his office. It didn’t feel right and she had to find Bucky and make sure he was okay. Bucky always knew how to calm all her worries. He knew what to do and what to say.

Bucky protects her and is here for her.

But wait a minute, she didn’t hear his car leave. And if the car didn’t leave then Daddy was certainly in the house, she just missed him while looking.

She roamed the whole mansion, up and down, checking every room twice and she still couldn’t find her daddy.

Her mind was getting cloudier and she was getting more scared. Did daddy leave? Where would he go without letting her know that he’d be leaving? Why didn’t he kiss her forehead goodnight before leaving?

She made her way outside the main door and took sure steps to the large garage, once again taking no regard of Roseanne’s begging, confident in her smart train of thought.

When she arrived at the garage though, the pants she heard startled her to a halt as she ducked behind the black Range Rover.

Was that really Bucky? Her Bucky? Beating up a man to the point where his features weren’t recognizable anymore? That wasn’t possible. Her daddy was a sweetheart. He was the gentlest man she’s ever met and he wouldn’t hurt anyone like that. She knew he was feared because of his work, but he couldn’t kill anyone. Could he?

She peeked around and fell silent as a rock. The sight before her made her feel cold, leaving her poor mind perplexed.

On the first look, she couldn’t fathom what she was looking at. She wanted to look away. She did. But she couldn’t will her head to turn even just a little.

“How stupid do you have to be to think I wouldn’t know you were sent here to hurt my girl?”

A stronger pang hit her little heart when she realized this was happening because of her.

No, this was no bad dream though she’d hoped with all her heart that it was.

She’d made Daddy promise that he wouldn’t hurt anybody on her behalf. He’d promised to choose forgiveness if it was an option. It didn’t make any sense.

Was she too sleepy that she was seeing things? Did her little mind fall asleep without a story anyway and she was having a nightmare?

Sam had seen her first, wide eyes tearing up at the sight of her man smashing another’s face with his fist. He’d tried to tell Bucky, but it was too late. She’d already seen it all.

Those fingers that have ever so tenderly glided across her cheeks time and time again were hidden behind brass knuckles, covered in someone’s blood. That jaw that has only ever tensed from smiling too much around her was clenched, making him look scarier than she could’ve ever imagined him to be. His eyebrows were furrowed and his breaths heavy as he repeatedly and ruthlessly punched the man on the chair.

Her fear intensified when she’d recognized the beaten up man as their newest driver. She remembered him trying to repeatedly ask her if she wanted to go get ice cream with him when Bucky wasn’t home. She also remembered saying no like she was taught. She remembered Bucky promising to choose forgiveness if it was an option again and she saw him break his promise.

“Bucky, enough!” Sam pulled him away from the tied up guy, head nodding to the black vehicle.

Her head went dizzy when she thought of all the men she’d complained to Bucky about since they’d started their relationship. Have they all faced the same fate?

Who was this heaving, bloody-fisted beast before her? Did she ever know Bucky at all? Was he ever truthful about anything he’d told her or was it all just a big lie? How could she trust him with herself ever again? Who was her daddy really?

The walls around Bucky collapsed and he almost collapsed with them when he saw her face. She was there and she’d seen everything. His angel saw it all. His angel was scared. She was scared of him.

“Angeră?”

Her legs no longer wanted to hold her up once she heard his hoarse voice. The air was out of her lungs as she took slow steps back until she pressed herself to one of the grey walls behind her. The stuffie in her hands fell to the ground and with it her heart.

She wanted to run, but her cold body wouldn’t budge. Maybe if she could go back to the house right now, listen to Roseanne, stay in bed, and pretend this never happened, Bucky would miraculously come back with a perfectly healed, clean hand and they would peacefully have a cuddling session while his loving voice told her a story.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged, her voice above a whisper as she cowered away from him.

Bucky carefully walked closer, visibly watching her hands tremble. He raised his clean hand to caress her cheek like he always would when she needed him to calm her down.

He wasn’t expecting her to lean into his touch like she was used to, but it still shot daggers to his heart when she flinched, closing her eyes in fear and letting out the tiniest whimper.

“Angel, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Bucky’s broken voice had her heart clenching as she saw him trying to muster up a smile.

“Stay away from me,” she said in panic when he tried to take another step towards her.

“Angeră—”

“Please, Bucky, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t call him daddy or even her Bucky. She couldn’t.

“Baby, let me—”

She shook her head, running away from a shattered Bucky, almost tripping on her own feet.

“Go, we’ll take care of him,” Sam told him, patting his shoulder.

He watched her run as if she was escaping a wild lion, terrified and fearing for her life.

Bucky slammed his fist into the concrete wall where his love once leaned before slipping the brass knuckles off his probably broken fingers and hearing them clank on the ground. He rested both palms on the wall and let his head fall down as he breathed hard.

“Dragă, nu! Te rog, (love, no please)” Bucky begged, his hands grabbing her forearms to stop her from throwing more of her things into the suitcase.

Bucky ran like a mad man on the way to their house. He had no idea what he was going to say or how he was going to justify what she’d just witnessed him do.

She called him Bucky with glossed over eyes. She was bordering on little and he just gave her the trauma of her life. He had no answers to any possible question she might rightfully throw at him. Bucky only knew that he couldn’t lose her; she was the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He busted through the front door and ran up the stairs only to be met with her frantically packing her things, fat tears soaking her face as she hiccupped out sobs.

“Please let me leave.” Her voice trembled and more tears left her eyes. His right hand had dried blood all over it and it made her skin crawl.

“Please don’t,” Bucky pleaded again, on the verge of crying himself.

“I’m really scared. Please don’t make me stay here,” she begged Bucky, trying to slip out of his grip.

“Angel, please believe me. I will never hurt you,” Bucky swore, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Angel, of course I love you! Please just stay and listen to me, baby.” Tears rolled down Bucky’s cheeks as he took a dress out of her hands before she could pack it.

“Did you ever really love me? Would you really never hurt me? Was anything you ever told me the truth?” Her voice was way too innocent as the questions left her trembling lips.

She didn’t even sound like she was blaming Bucky, she just sounded confused. Disappointed. Hurt.

“I wanna leave. Please let me leave,” she repeated, crying harder as she tried not to let herself crumble down on the floor of their bedroom.

“Angel, please don’t say that.” Bucky shook his head, holding onto her writs for dear life, “I can’t live without you, love. I can’t.”

She looked up at him and the look she gave him let him know she wasn’t little anymore.

Bucky despised himself for making her feel and think that way, “angel—”

“Why did you ever take me? Why did you bring me here?” She asked, the reproach hurting her too, “I didn’t know what love was before you. I trusted you. I trusted you with my heart, Bucky.”

She was saying everything that came to her mind, unable to keep her thoughts inside or else it felt like they might suffocate her. She was mad at herself for letting herself trust and love when she shouldn’t have.

“Are you used to doing this to people? Do you kill people, Bucky?” Her voice broke as she asked, already fearing the answer.

“Angel, please.”

“No, answer me.” Her eyebrows furrowed in sadness, anxious of the reply she was about to receive.

Bucky closed his eyes, not wanting to see her face when he told her his truth, “yes.”

“Yes.” Bucky nodded, hot tears leaving his closed eyes.

Her breath hitched at his answer, making more tears leave his eyes.

“D-Did you do this to the other guys I complained about before, too?”

“Did you kill them?” Her tone fell with her heart.

Bucky only swallowed, going dead silent at her question.

“Oh my god.” She cried, her knees almost giving out as she tried to get her arms free from his grip.

“No, no, angel, I only drove them out of town. They’re alive.” He assured her, leaving out the details about the probable permanent disabilities some of them left town with.

“Why?” She sobbed, her shoulders hurting from squirming in his grasp with no avail.

“They were bothering you.”

“So this makes it okay to kidnap them and beat them up?!” She screamed, her tears never drying up.

“I wanted to protect you,” Bucky whispered, his heart dropping at the realization of how his angel must see him now.

“Protect me from you then and let me go.” Her words shot daggers right into the mafia boss’ chest.

“I can’t believe I loved you so much.” She whispered, mostly to herself, lamenting her foolish, trusting heart.

“Angel, I can’t. You know I can’t.” He knew she was right, but he couldn’t let her leave.

She was his whole world; his life and everything good in it.

“Loved?” Bucky could hear his heart shattering.

“Loved,” she replied despite herself, knowing too well that she was lying.

Bucky finally let her arms go after her confirmation. He knew that if he tried to hold her back now she would only end up hating him. He would rather have her leave him than hate him. He wouldn’t be able to take it.

“I’ll tell the driver to get the car ready so he could take you to your grandma’s,” Bucky told her without looking up, wiping away his tears. For now.

She didn’t reply, and only continued shoving clothes into the bag.

“I just want you to know that I’ll always be here whenever you need me. I will always be yours, angel. Even if you’re no longer mine. I love you and I will love you until the day I die.”

But all of this was nothing compared to the fear that shot up her spine when she heard gunshots making contact with the car she was inside, forcing the driver to stop abruptly.

Bucky’s last words had her sobbing even harder as she fell to her knees the moment he left her alone in the room.

She didn’t want to leave him and she never saw a day like this one coming, but she knew it was only right that she did. They were different from the beginning and she was wrong to let herself live in a daydream for too long. She had no place in Bucky’s world.

~

The drive back to her grandma’s house was torture. The pain of being fooled could only be overruled by the pain of fearing the only man she’s ever loved. She couldn’t ignore the feeling that she was leaving a piece of her behind in the mansion that the car just drove away from. She knew that piece was her heart and she knew that she was most likely never going to get it back. It will forever remain with Bucky.

Her tears kept coming as she silently wept in the backseat.

Pathetic fallacy was at its highest and the skies were sobbing with her. It was cold and the roads were muddy, thunder hitting every now and then, making trees shudder where they were rooted.

She cried more knowing Bucky would no longer be there to hold her through thunderstorms.

The man and the guard next to him got out their own guns but it was too late for them to do anything as another couple of bullets were shot, going right through their heads. The driver fell lifeless, face first on the driving wheel and she felt her heart stop with his.

“Let me go for your own good,” she said, trying to keep her tone confident and her pain veiled.

Before she could even think of a route to run in, a bag was put over her head, her screams futile as she got violently dragged to another vehicle before it all went completely dark with a hit to the back of her head.

~

“I thought we were past that shit, babygirl. Three days didn’t teach you who’s in charge yet?” Lloyd Hansen, Bucky’s biggest enemy, asked her with a provocative smile.

She was in absolute agony.

She let oud a loud, pained scream, desperately trying to pull her arm from underneath his huge shoe.

They’d untied her an hour ago after she claimed she needed the bathroom, a guard on her tail as he led her through the abandoned building.

Once inside the toilet, she managed to pick up the upper part of the toilet seat. She gained the guard’s attention with a scream, going down on his head with the heavy ceramic piece as soon as he opened the door to check on her.

She managed to run as far as the hallway of the floor she was in before a very angry Lloyd grabbed her. She surprised him with a harsh slap across the face, taking the chance to run again when he froze for a second.

Lloyd got even angrier, stretching his leg and knocking one of her feet off the ground, making her fall over. He walked over her crawling body and evilly stepped on her right wrist.

“I can’t wait to kill you,” Lloyd said, not taking his foot off before he heard a snap and a loud screech from her.

Lloyd got hold of her hair, dragging her all the way back to the room where she was previously tied up.

He tied her to the same chair again, only this time one arm got the ropes while the other was left to redden and swell.

Now she was here, on the same chair, throwing empty threats as she’s almost given up hope that Bucky might find her.

“Aww, did you hear that, boys? Little slut right here is worried for our good,” Lloyd mocked her, laughter erupting and filling the room in response.

“You’re not getting out of here, babygirl,” he spat, his voice laced with venom, “this is where you die.”

“Let me go. I won’t say it again.” Her voice almost shivered with her heart at the end of her warning.

She was scared, and in so much pain, but she couldn’t let it show. She wouldn't even cry and was sweating like crazy from the ache in her dangling wrist. She was Bucky Barnes’ girl.

“You’re making the demands now? Not even a “please” to persuade me?” Lloyd moved his face closer to hers, slowly pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear with a smirk, “or do I have to heat you a bottle to get to meet your polite side?”

She felt her face go hot as her eyes filled with tears and she couldn’t stop herself from spitting in the bastard’s face, “fuck you”.

Next thing she knew was his rough hand slapping down hard on her cheek, making her go dizzy. Blood trickled out of her nose and down to her lips right after and she couldn’t hold back her tears this time.

She was tired. Terrified. She needed Bucky.

“Your filthy mouth isn’t anything short of your boyfriend’s, but don’t worry, if you don’t know how to be respectful to your masters I have ways to teach you, and believe me, I can’t wait to start your lessons.” Hansen smirked at her wrist before spitting back at her and leaving with everyone else.

She cried harder than she has ever before, tears and blood mixing. Her body was shivering and her arms aching from being tied up in the most uncomfortable position and smashed down under Lloyd’s boot.

There was no way out for here, was there?

She knew she was done for and she didn’t have any last wishes except for getting to tell Bucky that she loved him and that she will never stop loving him one last time.

She couldn’t even pay her pain or blood any attention when all she could think about was Bucky and how he would have never let anything like that happen to her.

She remembered his soft smile that only she got to meet. The way he’d lean forward to engulf her in a hug momentarily warmed her before the iciness of the empty room made her shiver again.

She didn’t dare linger on Bucky, however.

It’s been exactly 3 days and 21 hours since his angel left him and he still couldn’t believe it.

She left him. She left and now she was here in some old factory under some asshole’s mercy. She couldn’t escape the situation she was in no matter how hard she tried. She couldn’t give her mind any kind of relief. There was none. Before she realized, her head was falling forward and she was getting a temporary break from reality.

~

“Bucky, are you o—” Sam cut himself off when his sight landed on his best friend’s face.

Bucky’s eyes were red with yet to be shed tears, again.

His car never reached her grandma’s because his men were murdered on the way. His angel was no where to be found and neither was Bucky’s will to live.

He kept telling himself that it wasn’t true, that she was at work; that she would eventually come back and sleep in his arms again.

However, she didn’t even call. Didn’t even look at his multiple texts. She really was missing and Bucky couldn’t face it. Between denial and heart wrenching pain, he buried himself 9 feet under.

He’s looked everywhere, asked everyone, but still couldn’t find her. It was as if she’s disappeared, turned to air.

Bucky has deserted their bedroom ever since she walked out of the mansion, the bed still as messy as she left it after she dragged the sheets down with her packed bag. Every time Bucky would enter the room he would see her leaving him, so he’d stopped. That couldn’t be his last memory of her. He slept on the couch in his office now, if at all.

And soon enough, the Bucky he used to be when she was around was dead and another angrier, more violent and very impatient Bucky had replaced him. He was always mad, at everyone and everything. And he was drinking every night, sitting on his bar for as long as he could, just to get himself hammered enough to fall in a deep unconsciousness where he didn’t have her scared eyes invading his dreams.

Sam was seriously worried for him, but there was nothing he could do; no advice he could offer. Nothing would bring that Bucky back as long as his angel was gone.

Bucky’s wallowing and Sam’s overthinking were interrupted when Bucky’s phone rang, vibrating on the ceramic floor. Bucky quickly crawled over to it, hardly believing his eyes when he saw her name in the place of the caller ID.

“Angeră?” he answered, his voice hoarse from staying silent for too long.

“Awww, you call her angel?” the voice on the other side mocked.

“Who the fuck is this?” Bucky asked, standing up slowly as his anger and worry forced him to sober up.

“You know too damn well who this is,” Lloyd answered, his smile evident in his tone as he knew he had Bucky by the throat.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked immediately.

“Tied up somewhere cold.”

“I swear on my life, if you touch her—”

“Relax, she can take a few scratches,” he replied, chuckling as if it was a joke.

“You son of a bitch!” Bucky shouted, losing his mind at the mere image of his angel being hurt.

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Barnes,” he snarled confidently.

“What do you want?” Bucky asked through his teeth, just wanting to get to his girl as quickly as possible.

“Let me hear her voice.”

“No,” Lloyd chuckled.

“I wanna destroy you.” Hansen laughed.

“Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.” Bucky tried his best not to sound desperate but it was obvious that he was begging for his girl’s safety.

“That’s where you’re wrong, B. She has everything to do with this.” Lloyd walked into the room where she was with a smug smile.

“Let her go.” please

“If you sound so distraught just because I’d hogged her for a couple of days, imagine how you’ll be when I erase her off the face of the earth,” Hansen said, laughing at the thought of hurting Bucky this bad.

Her face toughened up at the realization that it was Bucky on the phone.

“If you do as much as touch a hair on her head, I’m gonna kill you and everyone you know,” Bucky promised, his heart hammering in his chest as he hastily started moving.

“I might’ve broken a bone or two, but that’s only because she was a bad girl.”

“You’re dead, Hansen. Fucking dead!” Bucky promised, throwing the bottle he was drinking from across the room.

“We’ll be waiting with popcorn.” He hung up on Bucky, laughing.

“He’s gonna kill you.” She smiled once he hung up, making Lloyd grab her hair.

She hissed, trying not to show she was in pain.

“Not if I kill him first, angeră.” Lloyd spat, throwing her head forward before leaving the room.

She was horrified at the thought of anything bad happening to Bucky, but she willed her heart to trust in him. She had no time to ponder but she was actually proud of the fact that Bucky could so easily end this awful, evil man and she couldn’t wait for him to do just that.

Still, she waited for him. Something inside of her told her Bucky would never abandon her, not even to death. So she waited. Waited with the longing of all the lovers that ever were until longing had exhausted her.

~

It was like a slow motion dream. Doors being kicked down, guns being fired and her Bucky entering the room with a man’s body held in his left fist by the neck.

Instead, Bucky found Hansen and smacked him so hard with his metal hand that a tooth flew out. He slapped him again and his nose was bleeding. They made eye contact one more time and she noticed the difference for the first time. That wasn’t Bucky. It wasn’t her Bucky. His eyes still softened for her but the hint of revenge in them was more dominant.

He doesn’t even talk; doesn’t negotiate. He doesn’t even ask for her to be released. He doesn’t need to.

His men were getting everything done. His only mission was to look for her now. His eyes met hers but he didn’t start walking towards her like she’d expected he would.

She thought she would be afraid meeting Bucky again after what she’d witnessed him do, but she actually didn’t. Not even a tiny bit.

She was rather happy, the feeling that she was safe again warming up her body so much that she’d started sobbing.

It was like no matter how long they were away from each other, they were still together, never estranged from one another.

Bucky was on his 40th slap/punch on the man’s bloody face when he noticed her crying. He temporarily threw the man’s tired body on the ground and rushed to his girl.

He kneeled before her shaking body, wanting nothing but to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

And she was.

She looked up and could still see the coldness in his eyes despite hers being blurred by tears.

“I missed you. Is my Bucky okay?” She asked, her voice drained but not scared like Bucky had feared and expected.

“Let’s get you home, angeră,” he replied, saving his answer for now as he noticed the finger marks on her cheek.

She nodded desperately, her tied hand reaching for him despite being behind her back.

“Stop right there,” Lloyd said, crocking his gun at Bucky.

“Bucky,” she whimpered, eyes glued to her man, her anchor.

“E în regulă, angera meu, (it’s okay, my angel)" Bucky replied, getting closer to her and sticking to her side.

“No, it’s not. He’s lying to you. Just like he’s lied to you about everything else,” the man chuckled.

“Shut up,” she whispered, trying to calm down her breathing.

“Give it up, Hansen. I beat you. Again and for the last time. You’re done.” Bucky racked the slide of his gun.

“He never loved you. Do you even know who he is most of the time?” Lloyd continued, not willing to give up until Bucky was reduced to nothing before him.

“Shut up,” she repeated, wishing her hands were free so that she could cover her ears with them.

“Do you have any idea about the other side of this man you gave yourself to you poor little thin—”

“Shut up!” She shouted with all her might, “don’t speak about him like that.”

“Do you even know what you’re defending?” Hansen yelled at her with a crazy, bloody smile on his face.

“I know,” she answered calmly, “I know everything.”

Bucky looked at her in surprise, not believing what he just heard. There was no way she knew. How would she know? How would she choose to stay if she actually knew?

“Oh so you know about frosty over here?” Hansen smirked, pointing to his head.

“That’s enough, Hansen,” Bucky warned, barely controlling himself.

“I do,” she answered once more, her answer shocking Bucky yet again.

“Angel?”

“It’s okay, Bucky. I promise.” She sincerely promised, making it hard for Bucky not to tear up in the middle of the room.

“Aww, how sweet—” Hansen cooed and in a second 3 of Bucky’s bullets were in his head, neck and chest before he could say anything else.

She gasped, closing her eyes and turning her face away from the body as it collapsed on the floor with a thud.

She didn’t notice that Hansen had landed a shot at Bucky before he collapsed and Bucky didn’t even flinch as a bullet literally made it through his right shoulder. He didn’t feel the pain. He didn’t care about anything but his angel.

She was the only thing he could see and hear. Her wounds were his pain more than his own.

Bucky wordlessly kneeled down and untied her quickly. His gaze was glued to her wrists for a second before he rubbed the one that wasn’t swollen with his smoother thumb.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, referring to her other wrist.

“I'm gonna need a doctor to look at it.” Was all she gave him for an answer.

He silently opened his arms for her and she threw herself in them without an ounce of hesitation, crying more now that she was home.

She was so scared she wouldn’t get to feel like this again. She let herself let go. She then closed her eyes and finally succumbed to the cozy darkness now that she was safe.

Instead, Roseanne looked at her with a teary smile, “welcome back, miss.”

She lost all sense of consciousness that she didn’t hear Bucky shoot the man’s dead body a fourth and a fifth time with her in his arms as he took another look at her wrists.

~

When she opened her eyes again, she was back in Bucky’s bed, but Bucky wasn’t by her side.

“Roseanne, I missed you so much,” she replied, unable to stop her own tears.

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” Roseanne said, breaking the hug to let her rest her back.

She invited Roseanne for a hug with her good arm as she noticed the other was in what looked like a cast.

Lloyd had broken her wrist.

“Mr. Barnes is in his office,” she told her while adjusting the pillow behind her when she noticed her eyes roaming the spacious room.

“Is he mad?” she asked, more tears gathering in her tired eyes.

“At himself, maybe.” Roseanne shrugged politely.

“Please help me go to him, Roseanne.”

“One more thing though.” Roseanne chew on her lip.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t know what he would’ve done with himself if something had happened to her and he kept blaming himself as he sat there with his right arm in a sling.

“Mr. Barnes has been shot.”

~

Bucky didn’t care to look when the door to his office opened, not knowing that she was awake and too busy wiping his tears of regret.

He’s been like this since he got her home and in his bed again. His tears were unstoppable now that he saw the results of his lifestyle on the one girl he chose and held closest to his heart. In fact, he cried more every time he took a look at her angelic figure tiredly sleeping in his large bed as the doctor patched up her broken wrist.

She was so small, so pure and so so good for this world. Her face was fainter and the spark was gone and he was sure Lloyd didn’t feed her. The fading finger marks she had on her cheek, the rope burns around her wrists and ankles and the cast around her forearm slashed new wounds at his heart.

“Bucky,” she called out faintly, her head and body still aching a little, heart dropping when she saw him with his arm hanging, “are you okay?”

He stood up and helped her sit in his chair, not sure if it was okay for him to carry her and sit her on his desk like he usually would.

He hastily wiped his eyes with his hand to look at his baby.

“Hi, angel,” he tried to say with a smile but his voice cracked as another tear escaped down his red cheek.

She surprised him by using his chair as a step to get on top of his desk, pointing to the chair for him to sit back down.

Bucky was on eye level with the marks on her ankles as she settled her bare feet on his lap.

What was he going to say now that she was awake? And most importantly, what was she going to say?

“My Bucky,” she could recognize the difference between this man and the man who started her rescue right away.

Bucky was stunned to see she could see it despite everything. He didn’t want her to ever find out about that side of him and it killed him even more that she caught the difference. How on earth did she find something like this out?

“All yours, angel.” He tried to compose himself, for her.

She couldn’t bare seeing him like this. It was like she’s forgotten about everything that happened before this very moment and all she could do was sit up and hold his face to lovingly wipe his sorrows away with her left hand.

It was enough time away from Bucky.

“I’m okay, Bucky. I’m okay,” she tried to reassure him, only making him cry harder as the dam broke when she rubbed his shoulder.

“Iarta-ma, iubita mea. Te rog. Iarta-ma. (forgive me, my love. Please, forgive me)" He sobbed, moving his lips to the palms of her hands to leave wet kisses all over the reddened skin.

“I’m okay, I swear,” she repeated, not knowing what to do or say.

“I forgive you. Please don’t cry; we’re good,” she said it to him in the kindest tone like it was the easiest thing to say.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you give me the chance to. Please, love,” Bucky cried like a child in her lap.

No, he couldn’t even remember a time when he cried like this as a child despite all that he’d gone through. He didn’t care though. He was going to do whatever it took for his angel’s forgiveness. He disappointed her, broke her heart and risked her life. Bucky was going to beg until the end of time if he could.

Bucky shook his head, crying harder, “no, you’re good. You’re too good to me, angel. Too good. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you. Never did.”

It sent a knife to his heart that she still sincerely called him her Bucky after everything she’s been through just because he was in her life; because he was selfish enough to bring her into his without a care.

He was still beating himself up over it. And how could he not when everything terrible that’s ever happened to her had happened because of him? He traumatized her more than anyone ever could have and he’s gotten her hurt time and time again.

This girl who’s made him feel like he could stand against the whole world all by himself with no fear just because she called him her lover. This girl who taught him loyalty, kindness and love and was now teaching him forgiveness. This girl was sitting before him with a broken wrist and heart telling him not to worry about it.

“Don’t say that, please. I’m alive right now thanks to you, my Bucky.” Her own tears rolled down her cheeks before she could stop them.

She loved him more than anything and wished she could make him see that. Oh how she was dying to make him see how safe and loved he made her feel.

“You mean you were taken and hurt thanks to me.” Bucky casted his eyes down, too ashamed to even look at her marked face.

“Bucky—”

“I get it if you still wanna leave me. And I will let you. I would never make you do anything you don't want. I just want you to know that I never lied to you about my love for you. You’ve been and still are the realist thing in my life, angel. Everything I said and did was true. I adore you.”

“Bucky, I—”

“I know it’s selfish to choose to speak about this now, but I’m afraid you’d leave before I get to tell you how in love with you I really am,” he sniffled, wiping his eyes again in vain before looking up at her, “I would die without you. Your love owns me, heart and soul. But.. if leaving me is what you choose.. and if leaving me will make you safe, I will accept it. I just need you to know that I’ve never lied to you. Angel, you are my whole life. You’re my one and only. I belong to you. I’m yours and I will die yours.”

She was speechless, too taken aback to stop herself from crying harder. Bucky’s never opened up to her about his feelings before. Not like this.

“Bucky, I love you,” she managed to whisper before he cut her off again. Before she could tell him that she felt the same way, that she was all his and will forever be his, that only him ruled over her heart.

“You don’t have to say that, angel—”

“Let me speak,” she demanded, her palm cupping his wet cheek as she grabbed him a tissue from his desk.

He nodded, biting his lip and bracing himself for the harshest ‘but’, preparing to get his heart ripped out of his chest.

“I don’t wanna leave you,” was the first thing she could get herself to say, desperately wanting to soothe his thumping heart.

Bucky’s eyes filled with more tears because he knew he didn’t deserve her.

“I forgive you. I want to tolerate this dangerous life because it lets me have you; be with you, which is the only place I ever wanna be.” She took a deep breath, her own tears continuing to fall as she wiped his.

“Baby,” Bucky whispers, hating to see her tears yet again.

“I knew you weren’t the nicest guy to others and I knew your line of business wasn’t the safest either. I just— it freaked me out when I actually got to see you inside of it. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

Bucky lowered his head in shame again.

“In my head, especially when little, you’re incapable of hurting. In my eyes, you’re safety, Bucky. You’re home.” She brought his eyes back to hers with a hand on his cheek.

“I’m sorry, love,” Bucky was quick to apologize but she shook her head in reply.

“It might take me some time to get used to everything now that I know everything. But it didn’t affect my love for you, Bucky. Not one bit. I lied. I was so scared I would die without getting to tell you that. I still loved you more than ever even in that moment with your fist against another man’s cheek, and I guess that scared me even more. Because it was unlike the me I thought I knew. But this me, right here, is madly in love with you and she doesn’t care about anything other than being by your side for ever.”

“Angel,” Bucky sobbed, holding her hand to his lips, leaving appreciative, wet kisses on her palm, “you won’t regret it, baby, I promise. This is the last time you get hurt. I would die before I let anything like this ever happen to you again.”

“I know, and I trust you, my Bucky. If you’d give me time and if you’ll have me, I wanna be with you every moment of my life, forever.” She couldn’t not throw herself inside his arms, needing the closeness to reassure her this was real.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, holding her on his lap as tight as he possibly could.

“Lucky me,” she whispered in his shoulder.

Bucky felt himself coming alive again at the smell of jasmines in her hair and the feel of her warm body in his hold. She was a piece missing from him and now that she was back, he wasn’t going to waste a second without worshiping the steps she walked.

“I know I might need a while, but that doesn’t change anything. I still love you with my whole heart, Bucky,” she reassured, squeezing him to her even more.

“Take all the time you need, angel. I’ll be right here. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

“Promise me something though.”

“Anything.”

“No more killing people on my behalf.”

“What if they have a gun pointed at you?”

“Okay, only in that case then because it’s self-defense.”

“I promise.” Bucky smiled, sliding her hair behind her ear before kissing her forehead.

She pressed her forehead to his with a smile, “thank you.”

“We’re injury buddies now,” she joked when they pull away making Bucky laugh out loud for the first time in days.

“Does it hurt, angel?”

"Mine doesn't hurt, you?" He kissed her covered wrist gently.

"Does it hurt?"

They both asked at the same time, making each other laugh.

“Not as much anymore,” she replies, not wanting to remember how much it hurt when she was tied up in the cold room.

“Let’s eat so you could take your pain meds.” Bucky offered her his metal hand and she took it with her good one with a content smile.

~

Everything was going to be okay again. She knew it. Her hand was back in Bucky's and there was nothing their love wouldn't be able to pass. This might not be the Bucky she got in a relationship with, but it was the Bucky she wanted and was going to continue it with.

He was still and was always going to be her bucky.

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[srgntjamesbuckybarnes]

The List (1)

Summary: When a hit list spreads around New York, Bucky’s ex-wife is the only one with any information.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Mafia Bucky Barnes x Ex-Wife Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Not Beta’d. I was going to conclude this with an actual ending, but it was getting long so I’ll let the readers decide how it ends. If enough people are interested, I might do a part 2. Comment if you want a part 2.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Rumors spread through the underground of New York like the plague. Four murders of New York's most elite in the past 72 hours. Floating around the city was a list of names, a hit list for anyone involved with the mafia. Bucky was no stranger to a threat on his life. Being a mob boss, he constantly walked a thin line, a trapeze artist always one slip away from falling into the hands of death. Bucky had the resources and power to not be taken out so easily. If his name was on the list, he’d be toward the end, but no one knew home long the list was or who was on it. His team had spent the past 3 days searching the city for any information on the list. He had to know who was on it.

“Mr. Barnes, sir,” Peter Parker stammered, catching his breath in the doorway. Peter was a prospect, a good kid with a good head on his shoulders. Bucky couldn't understand why such a gifted kid was so eager to join the mob. Regardless, Bucky couldn’t be happier to have such potential, but the kid picked the wrong time to join them. “We have a lead.”

Bucky’s head snapped up from his desk. He had been engrossed in his own research on his laptop that he had forgotten about his men’s quest. Peter’s spine went rigid under the mob boss’s intense stare. He had yet to get used to it. Peter was certain that was why Bucky’s right-hand man, Steve Rogers, had sent him to retrieve Bucky. Well, that or it was part of Sam Wilson’s attempt at a joke to haze the new guy. Either way, Peter had been a fan of Steve growing up. Steve usually was the face while Bucky worked in the shadows, which only made Bucky more intimidating to Peter. He respected Steve though which is why he found Bucky without hesitation.

“Follow me, sir.”

Standing abruptly, the chair Bucky had been sitting in crashed into the wall behind him with a loud bang. He smoothed his rough palms down the front of his pristine white shirt before straightening his black suit jacket. Without a word, he extended his hand behind Peter, encouraging him to lead the way.

Peter anxiously peered over his shoulder the entire way down the hall. He thought he might have been walking too fast, but Bucky’s pace never faltered. Bucky was hot on his heels, always one step behind him. Stopping unexpectedly outside of the boardroom, Bucky hissed nearly crashing into the teen. Before Bucky could reprimand him, Peter explained, “Before we go inside, Steve told me to give you a message.” Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a bit leaving Peter relieved his boss wasn’t going to chew him out. Still, his own dress shirt began to cling to him with the amount of sweat he was producing. Bucky may have relaxed a bit, but his posture was always disciplined, predatory, and intimidating.

“Spill it out,” Bucky huffed, his hands resting in the pockets of his slacks.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter nodded, “Right, um- He said don’t do anything stupid and that we need her.”

The jaw of the boss twitched before he stormed past a confused Peter. His hands pressed into each of the double doors using his full force to slam the doors wide open. All eyes snapped to Bucky as he strode into the room, confidence and determination oozing off of him. Peter ushered in behind him, awkwardly failing to close the doors several times before succeeding. A string of apologies escaped his lips as he stepped further into the room. The serious look Steve shot Peter had him clearing his throat and adjusting his dress coat.

Sam and Steve stood side by side on one end of the room, their arms crossed. They were cautious, guarded rightfully so. Any one of their lives could be on the line. For all they knew, everyone in the room was on the hit list. Spying the woman sitting at the middle of the conference table, Bucky stalked across from her. With his eyes trained on the floor, he dragged the chair away from the table but made no move to sit down as he stepped up to the table.

When his eyes met hers, he puffed out his chest. His arms remained at his sides, his hands burrowing in his pockets. Without so much as a greeting, Bucky began his interrogation, “Who created the hit list.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, a frown etched on her crimson-painted lips. “Right down to business, huh Buck?” A smirk replaced her frown. “I should’ve known, you never were one for much foreplay.”

Bucky pressed his tongue to his cheek. He had expected this, her teasing. It was always a dance between them, one he wanted to avoid by cutting to the chase. She always knew how to rile him up, in more ways than one.

“Princess-”

‘No,” she stopped him with her hand raised, “you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Bucky snorted, leaning forward, “Isn’t that what you are now?”

“Who is she?” Peter attempted to whisper to Steve, but everyone heard him.

Taking pity on the clueless teen, Sam answered, “She’s Bucky’s ex-wife, Y/N.”

Ignoring the other men, Y/N flashed her diamond engagement ring at Bucky. The light reflected off of the ring making it impossible to miss even from where Steve, Sam, and Peter had been standing.

“That title is pending, followed by queen,” she sassed.

It started out as a term of endearment. Y/N always had a taste for the finer things in life, Bucky’s lifestyle satisfied that craving. He enjoyed spoiling his princess, but that was all she would be. A princess, someone no one would take seriously. It had been an ironic twist of fate that she had met an actual prince after her divorce from Bucky.

Examining the rock on her finger, her signature red nail had been replaced by a nude shade. She was no longer accepting his blood money; she had a good man and clean money now. His eyes traveled back to her face, zeroing in on her red-painted lip. Her hands may be clean now, but her lips were still tainted. The secrets she could talk about his business alone could ruin him which reminded him of why she was here in the first place.

“Who created the hit list, Y/N,” he tried once again to control the conversation.

Pursing her lips, she let him.

“I don’t know,” her gaze dropped to the table, “but I know who has it.”

Finally getting somewhere, Bucky reached back pulling the chair behind him. Once he was seated, he snapped his fingers. Not a moment later, a pen and paper were placed in front of him.

“Give me a name,” Bucky demanded, pen in hand.

Y/N raised her head, the man twirled a pen between his fingers tempting her to sign a deal with the devil. Shaking the image from her head she placed her hand over his, ceasing his movements.

“It’s not that easy. He won't meet with just anyone.”

“He?” Steve asked.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Bucky isn’t just anyone,” Sam called out.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “He may very well be suspect number one. It would be bad for anyone to meet with Bucky alone.” Feeling Bucky’s hand turn beneath her own she went to pull away, but he grabbed her hand.

“What about a future queen?”

Eyeing him beneath her lashes, Y/N pulled her hand back to her chest. Noticing the hesitant look on her face, Bucky leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a fool to think she was here willingly. She wanted something; she needed something.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Bucky asked, “What do you want?”

Thumbing the ring on her finger, she contemplated lying. She didn’t want to need Bucky, but she did. One look at Bucky and she knew he would see through any lie she would come up with, so she told the truth, “I need protection.” Suddenly she felt exposed with everyone's eyes on her. “If my name is on the list,” her voice shook. She wasn’t Bucky’s dirty little secret. People knew she was his wife, well ex-wife. She had ties to the mob and if her name was on the list or if her fiancé found out, the engagement would be called off.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke, “Get me access to the list and let me worry about the rest.”

Relief flooded Y/N. He could have turned her away. He could have blackmailed the information out of her, but he didn’t. Bucky was a rough man, but he was also kind. She had seen it first-hand for many years. Guilt ate away at her for her earlier actions. He knew she had been engaged but she didn’t need to rub it in his face. She wanted to hurt him but only because he had hurt her. A small part of her hoped he would protect her not because he was kind but because he still loved her.

Y/N was able to request a meeting with the man not even 24 hours later. His assistant had sent her an invitation, but it wasn’t for what she had been expecting. Instead, the man had invited her to a gala. He was a businessman after all, and her appearance would be good for business. At a time when she should be laying low, she was about to attend a high-press event.

It wasn’t long after Bucky was notified that he insisted he escort her. Y/N protested but he had argued that he couldn’t protect her if she was dead. That had convinced her, on one condition, they arrive separately. She was still engaged.

The event was beautiful but high glass windows had Y/N on edge. Anyone could see her. She tried to distract herself by searching for the host. There were so many bodies and no sign of the man who had invited her. In the middle of her search, a hand circled her wrist tugging her in the opposite direction. Y/N began clawing at the man’s wrist, an attempt to pry him off. When he stopped and spun around, she crashed into his chest. With her face in his chest, the unmistakable scent of expensive cologne hit her. She shoved his chest putting enough distance between the two.

“Bucky,” Y/N hissed, “you’re supposed to be laying low.”

Surveying the crowd, Bucky muttered, “I am. It’s you who is running all over the damn place.”

Y/N shook her head glaring at him. Not only did he smell good, but he looked good too. He had shaved since she had last seen him. He had traded in his white dress shirt for a black one, forgoing a bow or tie. The top button of his shirt was open, relieving his collarbone. Instead of drooling over her ex-husband she continued to glare at him. It was easier to hate him than to pine over him.

“If someone takes pictures of us together and my fiancé finds out-”

His cerulean eyes shot down to meet her eyes, “Where is he anyway? Shouldn’t you be asking him for protection? Surely, he has the resources.”

Y/N froze, her hands clutching the sides of her silk gown. “He doesn’t know,” she mumbled, then her voice grew. “He doesn’t know about the list, my past, or about you.” Bucky’s eyes softened. He had his doubts before, but he was certain now that she wasn’t happy. He wanted to gloat, to rub it in her fiancé’s face. He knew Y/N better than her fiancé did, and even better, she wanted to tell him. Bucky wanted to make a joke about how keeping secrets in a relationship was unhealthy, but he kept his mouth shut. Y/N sighed, running her hands down her dress to smooth out the wrinkles she had created. “He’s out of the country right now.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she wrapped her arms around herself. His gaze dropped to the floor, but Bucky’s remained on her.

He recognized a lonely soul when he saw one because he was one himself. His lifestyle left few people he could trust. He hadn’t always been lonely though, and neither had she. Bucky’s hand twitched to reach out and hug her, but he didn’t think she would appreciate that with cameras around. He took in her appearance and couldn’t help the squeeze he felt in his heart.

“You look beautiful.”

A giggle escaped her lips, “Thanks, Buck. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He had meant to cheer her up, but her giggle was unexpected. He missed it, he missed her. Everyone he knew in the mob lifestyle had died in the mob. It was poetic in a live by the sword, die by the sword type of way. No one got out, but she did. With his status, he’d never get out and a selfish part of him wanted to pull her right back in.

“You got out, you got away from the life,” Bucky hummed, admiration in his voice, respect.

Y/N shook her head. “No, I just got away from you.”

It was his turn to laugh, “Now if that were true, I wouldn’t be standing here with you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. I am standing here with you, not you are standing here with me. He meant it. Even if she was here because of him, he was here for her, to protect her. He put her first.

“You of all people know once you’re in there’s only one way out.”

That was it for Bucky. He wasn’t pulling her back in. She never left. They might have been divorced but they had both meant it on their wedding day when they said, “Till death do us part.” Bucky’s calloused hand cupped her jaw just below her ear, pausing. She didn’t push him away. With both hands, she cradled his jaw pulling his face down to meet hers. Their lips brushed one another, slowly at first, testing the waters. Then his other hand slid up the length of her neck, sliding back to tangle his fingers in her hair. It was a dance they were all too familiar with.

The flash of a camera penetrated Y/N’s eyes beneath her closed lids and it was like pouring a bucket of cold water over her. Quickly, she pulled away shoving Bucky’s chest when his lips tried to follow her. She was fucked, royally.

“Y/N?”

Wiping her smudged lipstick, she ignored Bucky’s lingering gaze before turning to face the new voice. A woman in a blue silk dress approached the pair.

“Virginia?” Y/N asked.

The woman waved her hand in the air. “Please, call me Pepper. We spoke on the phone yesterday. Mr. Stark is ready to meet with you. Follow me.”

Without looking back, Y/N followed Pepper through the crowd. She knew Bucky would be right behind her. She would deal with him later. Right now, she needed the names on the list. Upon their arrival, Pepper exited the room, pulling the door shut behind her. On the other side of a glass desk was one of the wealthiest men in the world, Tony Stark.

“Did I interrupt something?” Tony asked eyes darting between Y/N and Bucky. “I swear there wasn’t so much tension before you two walked in.”

Y/N sent him a tight-lipped smile holding up her left hand. “I’m engaged.”

Tony shrugged, “What you do is none of my business. Besides, something like this would be published on the front page.” Y/N’s stomach dropped. “You know what they say, all press is good press.”

“Says the man with a new woman every week,” Bucky grumbled.

Tony smiled. “Precisely, I would know.”

“Mr. Stark-”

Tony loosened the bow tie around his neck. “Call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Y/N corrected, “so you know anything about a list?”

With a raised eyebrow Tony laughed, “If it’s a list you want, I suggest you talk to Pepper. She handles all of that stuff.”

“Not just any kind of list,” Y/N took a step forward, her hands clasped in front of her, “a hit list.” From this distance, Y/N couldn't miss the way Tony’s eyes shifted to Bucky.

“Are you looking to assassinate anybody?”

Bucky held up his hands, “I’m just looking to protect the people I care about.”

Y/N stood still, watching the intense stare-off between the two.

Eventually, Tony sighed, “I don’t want to be in the middle of any of this.” He tapped a few keys on the computer on his desk before turning the screen. “You better get out of here before your fiancé sends someone.”

“What?” Y/N gasped, blindly clutching Bucky’s forearm beside her. Both of their names were written in green on the list. Beneath them were some of Bucky’s most trusted men; their names written in white.

Tony leaned back in his chair. “Green means active. You’re both next on the list and judging by the number of cameras here, someone probably already knows you’re here.”

“You knew,” Bucky growled.

Tony barely flinched. “Your names weren’t active until recently. Other people’s lives are on the line. I can’t get to everyone in time.”

“Wait, why would my fiancé send someone, he’s not even in the country,” Y/N asked, trying to wrap her head around everything.

Tony frowned. “Your fiance is the one who put the hit list out. What better alibi for your significant other’s death than being out of the country at her time of death.”

Y/N would have collapsed if it wasn’t for Bucky’s quick reflexes. He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

“Why?” Y/N whispered wide-eyed.

Bucky wanted to drag her out of the building toward safety but was there even a safe place? People already knew their location.

Tony shrugged. “The New York mobs aren't the only mobs out there. They're all over the country, they're in other countries. There are some real higher-ups in the mafia in other countries. The mafia controls everything, it's one of the most powerful positions. Take out other mobs and you can control more area, more power.”

Y/N felt sick. When she said you never get out once you get in, she hadn’t realized how deep she was in life now. Turning to Bucky, he was already on his phone typing. “Bucky, we need to go.”

“No. I text Steve, he’s rounding everyone up. They’ll be here soon.”

Tony’s eyes widened, his eyebrows reaching his forehead. “You can’t be serious. There are cameras everywhere. This will be plastered on every news station.”

Bucky shrugged, lifting the back of Y/N’s hand to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, a quiet promise to protect her. “All press is good press.”

Next Chapter

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 11

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), smut?

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

“Hey, Y/N.” A soft whisper brushed your ear and wrapped itself around your waking mind. “Hey, hey…” A gentle touch slid across your cheek, pulling out of sleep the remnants of consciousness fighting for further rest. Your lungs involuntarily filled with a bigger load of air; you opened your eyes, and they immediately found Bucky sitting beside you. He gave you a tender smile, his thumb relentlessly stroking your cheek.

“What?” you asked without much thought. Bucky seemed calm, so you saw no reason to panic either. His touch, this time instead of helping you stay awake, was pushing you towards falling asleep again. Your eyelids drooped, and you had little control over it – it was entirely his fault.

“Hey, stay with me,” Bucky ordered right away, his voice still soft, as if, contrary to the words spoken, he didn't want to disturb you at all. 

“But it's so warm and comfortable here…” 

His hand, which until then had been resting on your face, slipped under the covers. It touched your thigh, and though your eyes remained closed, the rest of your body was awakened by an explosion; a memory of the previous night. Bucky's hand moved higher and turned unexpectedly, his fingers unceremoniously pinching your cheek. You moaned, more in surprise than pain, then looked at Bucky with innocent reproach – he'd used something against you that you definitely liked, and you knew he wouldn't do anything about it. He had aroused not only your mind, but especially your body, and would leave you aching and craving again. But there was also something on his face that might indicate a different turn of events; the same rawness that you had observed the first time he appeared in your house that day had returned. It was as if your innocence and exposure were driving him into some kind of wild, nevertheless controlled madness.

Bucky pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. He swallowed hard at the lust you had also raised in him, and took his hands away. He got up from the bed and it was only then that you noticed he had already his clothes on. “Get dressed,” he grunted. “We have to get back to New York.”

You sat up on the mattress and glanced at the window – it was still dark outside. You grabbed your phone; it was almost three in the morning. You returned your gaze to Bucky, giving him a questioning, confused look, but he paid no more attention to you, too busy gathering up his stuff. “...Is something wrong?” 

“Timothy called,” he replied, and when he did, you already knew you had lost him. You'd lost smiley, relaxed Bucky; when you got to Vegas, he'd come back to life amongst the warmth, sunshine and all the softness you had for each other. And then all it took was one, probably cold and spiteful phone call from his uncle to destroy it; to kill that side of him. 

“Alright…” You nodded slowly. “And he wanted you to come back?”

“He said he needs me. Got a job for me.” He threw his sweats and t-shirt on the bed. “Put this on. Please,” he urged, thereby letting you know that he didn't have time for the rest of your questions. And you weren't quite sure what you should actually feel, but you weren't hurt. You were probably prepared for this; for life alongside a gangster. Bucky was now your husband, and although you had married on your own terms, your society had established a pattern that was imprinted in the two of you as well - however good you intended to be to each other; however much Bucky wanted to make you his equal, he was your husband – a specific, meaningful figure in your world – so you had to follow him, do everything he demanded and expected of you. And you weren't going to fight back, because you trusted him. Maybe not entirely – you still needed time – but you kept believing in his whole “Maybe my heart is in the right place. Maybe I want to do some good.”

It wasn't hard to guess that time played a key role, but you were only confirmed in this belief by the fact that you were returning to New York by plane, sent by Timothy. You still didn't know what he wanted from Bucky, but the matter seemed serious if he was taking such measures. And probably for the first time you realized what your mother really meant when she repeated to you like a mantra: Never marry a gangster. 

Because you were worried. You were worried about your husband, and you weren't sure how to deal with that feeling. It was so... unexpected. Or rather, the fact that it involved Bucky; tied to you in this untrue, loveless marriage. It turned out that you had a softer heart than you thought.

When you landed, a car was waiting for you. The driver, on Bucky's instructions, took you to an address you didn't know – one of New York's apartment complexes. You felt more and more lost, because you had the impression that instead of receiving information that would help your mind to function undisturbed by stress, you knew far too little. You could have asked – you could have asked anything, but you didn't want to throw Bucky off balance. You could see he was irritated enough and was doing his best not to unload on you. You weren't going to make it difficult for him.

Still, there were questions you couldn't keep quiet about. “Where exactly are we..?” You furrowed, watching Bucky turn the keys in the lock. 

He opened the door and let you through. “At my place,” he answered, closing the wooden lid behind him. He put your luggage on the floor, because although this time you managed to declare to him that you could handle your bag, he turned a deaf ear to it.

“Right…” You looked around hesitantly. For some reason, you didn't think he had his own place; mostly you'd find him at his family house, moreover, he had never mentioned having his own place before. Admittedly, he didn't mention owning a casino either. He didn't actually talk about anything until it came to the surface by itself. 

“Look…” Bucky murmured, checking something on his phone. Shortly afterwards, he turned it off and lifted his gaze to you. “I gotta see my uncle. Can you wait here for me?”

“Sure.” You smiled slightly. Apart from the fact that you didn't really have anywhere else to go, you wanted to stay here; to get to know better the space that belonged to Bucky. 

And he managed the same pained rise of the corners of his mouth. He only nodded, and after a moment he left the apartment. You didn't resent him for this at all – you knew there were priorities in your world, besides, in reality you and Bucky didn't function as a typical married couple, but more like co-workers. So, in theory, you didn't need to know; it should have been enough for you that your deal has been working; that it has been protecting you and your father's business. However, you couldn't help but feel that in all this you were also looking out for Bucky's wellbeing. Or maybe you cared mostly about that. And some part of you wanted to know everything; including how he felt.

Despite your suspicion that caffeine would fuel your anxiety, you decided to make yourself a coffee. You hadn't slept a wink on the plane, and now you didn't feel like sleeping either; the tension accompanying you, while draining you additionally, didn't allow you to rest. 

When the boiling coffee machine announced it was finished, you wrapped your hands around the cup, slurped a sip of the hot drink, the smell of which had already spread throughout the kitchen, and went for your rounds. You didn't particularly care if your behavior entered the territory of being nosy; the place belonged to your husband; the same one who had left you alone in it. So you gave yourself every right to search any corner if you wished.

Just as with the car, the apartment reflected the owner in some way; once you crossed its door, every choice seemed perfectly understandable. First of all, dark colors that were pleasantly soothing to the senses – deep shades of gray on the walls; anthracite or graphite, sometimes black, like the tiles in the kitchen; solid wooden panels in a cool shade of chocolate on the floors; mainly black furniture, silver, gray or dark blue accessories. The spaces were brightened only by large windows looking out largely onto other, equally tall buildings.

You finished your coffee, glancing around the interior of the living room, and thoughts were racing through your head – unanswered questions to yourself about whether this was where you would be living from now on, mixed with concerns about Bucky; was he safe? He was supposed to be with his uncle, but you didn't trust Timothy. What did he want from Bucky? Is he going to contact you or will he do what Timothy asks him to do without a word of warning? How long is it going to take? Is it really something serious? Dangerous?

Never marry a gangster.

You shake your head, as if that's going to help you clear up the chaos; as if that shake was going to sort out the whole mess. Back in the kitchen, you put the cup in the dishwasher, then headed to the bathroom. 

You felt a little better, washing off the hours spent on the plane; as streams of warm water ran down your sore, tired body. You reached up to a stone shelf, and came across more bottles than you thought you would; in addition to shower gel and shampoo, you found a hair conditioner.

You wrapped yourself in a fresh towel found in one of the cabinets, then left the bathroom with the intention of finding something to put on. However, you didn't manage to get to your bag; the door to the apartment opened and Bucky burst in. You didn't know if he had noticed you; he didn't even look in your direction, just grabbed his baggage from the floor, and without stopping, went to the bedroom. At first you stood there speechless – Bucky's abruptness caught you off guard; you also weren't sure if he had ignored you on purpose. But maybe it was better that way; you preferred not to get in his way. Nevertheless, after a moment, you followed him. 

Bucky walked from the bed to the wardrobe and back again, repacking his bag.

“What are you doing?” you spoke, but your voice sounded so weak and quiet that you weren't even sure if those words had actually left your mouth. Especially as he still wasn't paying attention to you. “Bucky?” you asked a little more firmly, and he glanced at you over his shoulder. “What’s going on? What are you-”

“I have to leave.”

Your lungs suddenly ran out of air, your eyes widened.

“Timothy wants me to monitor business in Italy,” he answered, nervously shoving some folded clothes into his bag. “Somehow, strangely enough, he suddenly stopped trusting our men there.” He almost snorted. 

Your lips parted involuntarily as you stared at his back. You barely consciously moved from your spot and approached Bucky. “For how long?”

“Few weeks, few months. I don't know. When he'll be satisfied enough with my work.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and stuck your eyes into the floor. “And you can’t say no.”

Bucky pressed his lips together. “I still owe him a debt. Besides, debt or not, my uncle is the head of the Family. And I crossed the line by marrying you behind his back.”

Your gaze tentatively returned to him. “He's punishing you for it..?”

He said nothing at first. He zipped up the bag, and for a brief moment you had the feeling that he was about to slam it against one of the walls.

“He'll make me break every promise I made to you,” Bucky claimed. He looked at you with what you could call fear if you knew the reason for it. One thing you were sure of – the tearing pain in his eyes. He regretted something; probably the fact that he had dragged you into this. “But I need you, Y/N.” Having stood between your legs, he dropped to his knees, his hands on your hips. “I fucking need you on my side.”

“Jamie-” You instinctively tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear in a soothing gesture. “I am on your side.”

“I don't know when I'll be back,” he repeated. “What if you'll have enough time to hate me?” His mouth twitched in a sad smile.

“I won't hate you,” you protested. “It's not your fault that you have to go. Our world is just built that way. And I get it.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head with clear disappointment; towards himself and the whole situation. He shifted slightly, then rested his head against your stomach, snuggling into your body. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You slid your fingers into his hair and brushed it tenderly. “It’s okay, Bucky. Really,” you whispered. He pulled back just enough to look at you. As your fingers rubbed his scalp with affection, his thumbs stroked your hips. “What if you’ll have enough time to find someone else?” you asked after a moment of silence.

“Y/N-” Bucky sighed with resignation.

“You know we are not with each other because of love,” you reminded, trying to talk some sense into him. “You want to be a good husband, and that's really great, but-” You gasped. “I don't want to get in your way. I don't want to stop you from finding what would really make you happy.”

Bucky's forehead furrowed, giving his face an offended expression. “So what? You're giving me permission to go there and cheat on you left and right?” His hands left your body and slipped on the mattress. 

“That's not what I said,” you objected right away. “And you told me practically the same thing. In your uncle’s garden.”

Bucky stared at you without even blinking. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip and shook his head, looking away for a moment. Shortly afterwards he gazed at you again. “Okay. Have it your way,” he replied. “You will be the first to know. But now I'm only yours. And you are mine as long as I am here.” He raised his hand to your cheek. Soon, however, he moved it to the back of your head to draw you closer; he pressed his lips to yours with a longing you already recognised; he kissed you for the first time since last night. And you weren't even taken aback; the gesture seemed so natural, so familiar and right.

Bucky rose from his knees, and as if by instinct you climbed onto the bed to make space for him. The mattress bent under his weight as he took the spot right in front of you. He laid another, this time a more tender kiss on your lips, then took off his sweatshirt; he didn't need to do that – the sudden desire was strong enough that you might as well satisfy it instantly, without unnecessary delay. But you were wearing only a towel, which was about to fall; Bucky craved to feel your naked skin against his own; to keep you company in total exposure.

You kissed him – slowly and sloppily – meanwhile reaching for his belt and managing to unbuckle it, wanting to assure him that you needed it too; that you were completely comfortable with the closeness he was initiating. 

Bucky pulled down his trousers and kicked them on the floor, and as his body pushed against yours, his lips traced a chaotic wet path on your neck. At one point, you even felt him grab a piece of your skin between his teeth; he sucked on it hard enough that you let out an involuntary whimper, and then irritated the sore spot with the tip of his tongue.

He sized you up with his eyes; your body stripped of its covering. You didn't feel as insecure as before – you weren't used to Bucky like that yet, but you were too absorbed in putting out your burning needs. “Fuck what I said earlier,” he rasped. “I'm not sharing you with anyone. And if that anyone happens, I'll fuck them out of your pretty little head.” He stretched his lips in a smirk, then leaned down and nuzzled your nose with his. “I can't get enough of you, baby,” he added, sinking into you without any warning. You both parted your lips; Bucky's breath stilled in his throat, and your back arched as you felt his whole cock inside you. 

His heated, heavy body brushed against yours; slowly at first, lazily even, so that he could watch your face, drinking in every little expression. And you looked at him – a little helplessly against the control he had over you, and with a hope, perhaps even a silent request, that he would be the one to fulfill this hunger he himself had aroused in you. And you knew; you could see it on his face, feel it in his every movement, that he had set himself just such a mission.

Soon his hips began pounding fast enough that your clashing, naked, sweaty bodies made that characteristic, heavenly sound – it filled the whole room, mixing with your moans and Bucky's panting. If at all possible, the combination was turning you on even more, intensifying the sensations his dick was giving you, sliding in and out in that rapid rhythm, his wet, hot lips wandering on your skin. You felt his hand suddenly clench on your hair, his teeth hooking lightly on the edge of your jaw; if he could, Bucky would absorb every bit of your body.

You didn't even know at what exact moment you wrapped your hand around Bucky's biceps; you realized this when you painfully dug your nails into it – painful for both of you, but also somehow releasing the sensations that had been building up inside you. They were piling up, and you weren't going to fight them this time either. As that seemingly familiar but actually new feeling exploded in the pit of your stomach, you tightly hugged Bucky and pulled him closer. You uncontrollably sank your teeth into his shoulder, and pure pleasure spread across his face.

With his head on your chest, Bucky was slowly climbing down from his high. You stroked his arm carefully with your knuckles, then brushed your fingertips over the mark of your teeth. 

“You’re a biter,” he murmured, feeling your touch in that spot. From the tone of his voice, you figured he was smiling while saying it. 

“Apparently,” you admitted with a little amusement. “How much time have you got?”

“Why? You want to get rid of me already?”

“I don't want to give Timothy any reason to punish us more than he already did.”

Bucky sighed heavily. He supported himself on his elbows, pulling his head away from your chest, and looked at you. You'd started the topic of Timothy again, and expected worry; that unsettling nervousness. Instead, Bucky stared at you with a gentle smile. “I wouldn't be myself if I didn't fuck with him at least a little,” he stated. “Besides…” He shrugged. “I'm saying goodbye to my wife, aren't I? And judging by his desire to have an heir, my uncle strongly respects family values.” He squinted, smiling insincerely.

You laughed, biting your bottom lip, then lifted your hands to his face. “And that's what you're going to tell him? That you were late because you were working on an heir?”

“Maybe,” Bucky said casually. Watching him with a tender grin, you stroked his cheeks with your thumbs, then carefully moved your finger down his nose; from bridge to tip. The expression on Bucky's face firmly softened – to some extent he even seemed surprised that someone had treated him with such gentleness. “Say it,” he whispered. 

“What?” This time, your thumb caressed his chin.

“That I'm yours. I need to hear it. I need to know that when I come back, I'll come back to you. To my girl.”

There was something painfully shattering about seeing him embraced by such helplessness, uncertainty about his own worth; about how you perceived him.

“I don't want to lose you,” he continued. “The thought of you, of you being there for me, is the only thing that will keep me sane, I-”

“It's okay. It's okay.” You smiled reassuringly, your hands returned to his cheeks. “You are mine, and I'm not going to look for anyone else, I promise. I'll wait for you as long as it takes, okay? I am not leaving you, Jamie.”

Bucky nodded. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips, immediately followed by another, much more filled with fear, insecurity, vulnerability. 

“I'll miss you,” you muttered into his mouth.

“And I will miss you. Very much.” He trailed his pecks down to your chin, your neck. One of his hands found its way between your thighs, parting them; without protest you spread your legs wider and he settled between them again. You felt his hardened cock rubbing against the inside of your thigh. You never imagined that you would affect someone so much, and knowing that you actually did put Bucky in a slightly different light; it created a new connection between you, based on intimacy and desire for each other. 

His length thrust into you again, and you whimpered as your eyes rolled back in your skull.

You got out of the car – a little sore and tired. Bucky grabbed his bag from the back seats, then reached for your hand, locking your fingers together. He didn't let it show, but you could sense that he was nervous.

A plane was already waiting on the large, empty lot; the property of the Barnes Family. Timothy was standing not far from the heavy machine, talking to the pilot; Steve was also there, but as soon as he spotted the two of you, he walked towards you.

“Y/N.” He nodded to you; you waved at him in response, plastering a slight smile on your face. 

To greet Steve, Bucky chose to drop his bag rather than let go of your hand. He put his free arm around Steve and patted him on the back. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”

“I will.”

Bucky released your hand, but only to move his arm down your back and pull you closer. You bumped against his body, resting your hands on his chest. “It'll be fine. Hmm?”

You wanted to believe it, but couldn't. That's why all you were able to do was smile sadly and press a tender kiss on his lips. Bucky rested his forehead against yours.

“I'll be waiting for you,” you said quietly, making him smile as well.

“I know.” He kissed your forehead, leaving his mouth there for a little longer than necessary. When he pulled away, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, then handed you the keys to the Mustang. “Here. Take care of it, alright?” 

“Alright,” you replied almost silently, lowering your gaze to the keys in your hand. As you lifted your eyes back to Bucky, you caught his stare. He looked at you with a soft smirk. You didn't say anything. Soon, however, he once again joined your lips.

“I gotta go.” He placed a kiss on the back of your hand, having brought it to his mouth, then pulled away and headed toward the plane. You pressed your trembling lips together, watching him. And again you felt that unpleasant coldness of being left alone.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz @loustan90 @kandis-mom @abaker74 @gabshouse @casa-boiardi @globetrotter28 @fand0mskullfa1ry @iateall-yourcookies @swordofawriter

[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

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Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[harlequin-hangout]

The Winter Storm: Part 1

Series Master List | Bucky Barnes Master List

Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Warnings: minor alcohol use, guns, violence, bucky's intense gaze

Contains: Maybe angst, definitely a little fluff

Word Count: 3.7k

Dividers are made by me! Want some for yourself? Send me an ask!

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Summary: You're working as a secretary for one Alexander Pierce, and find your world upside down when the wrong file finds its way into your hands. There's more to your boss than you could ever imagine . . . Can you survive the Winter Storm?

You take a deep breath as you wait outside the door to the Owner and CEO’s  office. Alexander Mr. Pierce was an imposing man, and something about his demeanor usually unsettled you. Today, though . . . Today was different. Today, you could feel the electricity in the air as you fidgeted in your seat. Pierce Enterprises was a Technology Megapower, rivaled only by Stark Industries. Honestly, as far as you could gather, Mr. Pierce had started Pierce Enterprises as a response to a falling out with Billionaire Playboy Tony Stark. You had been called in after reporting discrepancies in the company books. You weren’t an accountant, by any means, no. You were a secretary for one of the middle managers. 

The heavy doors push open to your direct boss, Natalie Rushman. She was the Executive Assistant hand picked by Mr. Pierce. She was gorgeous, in a scary kind of way. You could definitely tell she was masking something, but beyond that . . . Blank. You’d mentioned that to your friend Wanda once, but she couldn’t see it. You’d always been far above average when it came to reading people, but she was better. 

“Go on in, Y/N, he’s expecting you.” She shoots you a small sympathetic look as you can feel your nerves collect in your core. The CEO. Why the fuck did he want to see you? Your footsteps echoed louder than you thought possible as you hesitantly made your way into the office. Mr. Pierce hasn’t looked up from his desk. In fact, you aren’t even sure he’s registered your presence, but you don’t dare say anything. You’re about to perch on one of the chairs on the far wall when-

“Who sent you here?” You freeze.

“I - I don’t understand, Sir. You asked to see me? Ms. Rushman let me in, but I don’t-”

“Stop.” He cuts you off, opening a manilla folder on his desk. “These reports shouldn’t have made it below the twentieth floor. You work on the sixteenth, and ONLY because Natalie deemed it fit to assign you to assist Evans. HE shouldn’t even see these reports, so how did you? Let alone find an accounting error? So I’ll ask again. Who sent you?”

“Mr. Pierce, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know they were anything that sensitive!!” Your heartbeat is increasing, your speech speeding up . . . Dammit. Get a hold of yourself. If there’s anything that’s going to make this worse, it’s panicking in front of Alexander Mr. Pierce. “Mr. Rumlow dropped them on my desk and told me to take them to Ms. Rushman. I tripped on the stairs on the way up, and when I was trying to put the papers back in order, I noticed that some of the records were wrong. Items in the wrong categories, a couple dollars here and there . . . I thought someone may be embezzling from you, so I reported it to Ms. Rushman..” Mr. Pierce’s eye’s narrow as he waits for you to continue. His breathing is even, that’s good. He’s skeptical, but calm. He may not trust you yet, but you’re confident that he doesn’t think you’re lying. “When Mr. Rumlow left me with the papers, his pulse sped up. He’s really veiny, you can see his pulse without touching him. He was on guard. Possibly even nervous. It didn’t sit right with me. I’m not accusing him of anything, but it’s an observation that has stuck with me.” You keep your eyes locked on his. If you’re going to get fired, you aren’t going to give the smug bastard the pleasure of hearing you beg. 

“Do you know what it is I do, Ms. Y/L/N?” His tone is calculated. You shake your head no. The smile that creeps across his face sends a cold shiver up your spine as he presses the intercom button. “Natalie. No one in or out for the next hour. I have some . . . business to discuss . . . 

The door of your apartment slammed shut behind you. You lean back against it, sinking slowly to the floor. Every cell in your body was shaking. He was a fucking Drug Lord. The moment Natalie had confirmed that no one would interrupt, Mr. Pierce had laid things out for you, plain and simple. The document you had seen wasn’t for the Tech company, and now you had two choices. Play along as Mr. Pierce’s pawn, or be “permanently relocated”, as he’d put it. You didn’t like the sound of that second choice, so you took the first. You take a deep breath and make your way towards the kitchen, needing a drink after the day you’d just had. An extremely stiff drink. You didn’t know a lot, just that you were to keep your head down, not ask questions, and do what you were told. Mr. Pierce had said you were to attend Stark’s Charity Christmas Gala as his assistant. He and Stark may not get along personally, but there were appearances to be kept. Natalie was to take you out tomorrow to get a dress, then spend the day teaching you the etiquette needed for some of the people you may run into. You shuddered as you mixed some regular eggnog with the alcoholic eggnog that you’d found at the liquor store. Less than usual, but still. That stuff burned and you really were a wimp when it came to alcohol. 

Mr. Pierce sat next to you in the limo. Your hair swept up, exposing the back of your neck, as well as the delicate gold chain that Natalie had lent you for good luck. The red and gold dress that he had picked matched beautifully, and the off-the-shoulder cut helped accentuate your collarbone. As long as you kept your head up and face neutral, she had said, you’ll look like you fit right in. You most definitely did not fit in. 

“There’s a special guest of sorts here tonight. Your ability to read people is uncanny, and I don’t like unknown players. Befriend him, figure out where he stands in the game, and then forget everything you saw. Don’t disappoint me.”

You follow behind Mr. Pierce silently as he moves through the crowd, warmly greeting person after person. None of these people knew what he was, that much was evident. You played the demure assistant, not drawing attention to yourself yet analyzing everyone. The current man that Mr. Pierce was talking to - Zola or something like that - was bragging about his father’s scientific works, while his mistress eyed someone across the room. Yes, Mistress. She was at least half his age, held no interest in Zola, and the wedding ring tan on his finger was so obvious that you were surprised it didn’t reach out and slap you. Glancing down at the tablet that you used to keep track, you made a note for Mr. Pierce that Zola talked a tough game, but based on the increased perspiration and affinity to people please, he’d never put up a fight. God, you just wanted this to be over. As Zola leaves, Mr. Pierce slips his arm around your waist and pulls you so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. 

“Don’t mess this up, lest you want to be relocated. Permanently,” He reiterated. Your throat caught as you had to consciously control your breathing. A tall man was walking towards you, clad in a solid black suit with his long hair falling haphazardly around his face. He looked a bit out of place, definitely awkward, but the power that radiated from him . . . He belonged here, and he almost DEFINITELY was in a similar line of work as Mr. Pierce. You take a deep breath as Mr. Pierce plasters a smile on his wrinkled face and warmly greeted the towering stranger. You didn’t pay attention to what was said, but rather the man’s face. He was masking. Just like Natalie. Almost EXACTLY like Natalie . . . but he wasn’t as good. He was uncomfortable being here, most likely didn’t enjoy being in the spotlight – no. It was Mr. Pierce. He was attempting to read Mr. Pierce just like Mr. Pierce had you attempting to read him. It all clicked into place just as you hear Mr. Pierce laughing at something the man had said. It was a little brilliant, actually. By shopping out the deduction to someone who would usually not be given a second look, anyone who tried to see what he was up to would only be met with jovial holiday honesty. You turned your full attention to the man, determined to not be relocated. Taking his stance, perspiration, word choice, body language, and facial expressions into account, you found your in. This is someone who’s so used to people being afraid of him that he’s resigned himself to being alone for the evening. He was gorgeous, yet here without a date. You could use that. 

“Mr. Pierce,” you cut in suddenly and both heads swing towards you. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you and . . . I’m sorry, what was your name?”

“You may call him Mr. Barnes, Ms. Y/L/N.” You can feel Mr. Barnes’s eyes rake over your form, taking in every bit of you in that dress. You had to thank Natalie for the wonderful choice. Even if you were working, getting attention from such an attractive man. 

“Pleasure is mine,” He flashed you a smile, possibly the most genuine expression you’d seen him wear all evening. 

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes. Y/N, I’m assisting Mr. Pierce tonight. Mr. Pierce, I finished up the donation financial reports like you asked, and scheduled meetings with Zola and Rumlow, as requested,” you lied. “Is there anything else that you need me to complete before I enjoy the party?” You glance briefly over at Mr. Barnes and bite your lower lip ever so slightly. Thankfully, Mr. Pierce catches on.

“Not at all, you’ve earned the break.” Mr. Pierce places his hand on his lower back and gently  pushes you towards Mr. Barnes, who raises an eyebrow and looks down at you, obviously entertained. “In fact,” Mr. Pierce continues addressing Mr. Barnes, “Why don’t you spend some time chatting with Ms. Y/L/N? She’s new to the area, she could use some friendly faces. Have fun, kids!” He strolls away before either of you can protest. 

Mr. Barnes looks down to the floor, and you give him your most genuine smile. 

“I’m so sorry about that!” You start trying to concoct a story to explain your presence at the Gala, but when you glance up at Mr. Barnes’s face, your stomach drops. His mask is gone, and he’s studying you. Not like you’re studying him, no, more predatory.

“You’ve spent the entire night attempting to read me from behind one of the most dangerous men in New York. Why?” The statement caught you off guard and your voice caught in your throat. Now that Mr. Pierce had left, Mr. Barnes seemed . . . dangerous. You dropped your entire facade. A mistake? Probably, but you couldn’t help it.You were completely out of your depth. You risked a glance back towards Mr. Pierce, who was watching you like a hawk, however, he was out of ear shot. You put a calm smile on, and will your voice to be as steady as possible given your current circumstances.

“Do you want the work answer or the personal one?” you ask innocently.

“Work.”

“I didn't mean to offend. I was told that I was to help Mr. Pierce tonight with the social aspect of this event . . . When he drinks, he isn’t always the quickest.” Not a lie, however it was something Natalie had mentioned. Mr. Barnes eyes you trying to decide whether or not to trust you. You remind yourself to breathe, then continue. “I’ve been reading people my whole life. Mr. Pierce asked me to accompany him here because of it.” 

“Come with me. If you lie like you did earlier, you’ll regret it.” Shit. You were in trouble, and Mr. Pierce didn’t seem like the kind of person to have your back.

The door to Mr. Barnes’s suite clicked behind you. You hadn’t realized that he was an invited guest of Mr. Stark, but it didn’t completely surprise you.

“There,” he says, voice controlled enough that you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Now, tell me who sent you.”

Barnes strode over to the table, grabbing the bottle of bourbon and taking a swig. He dropped his weight unceremoniously in one of the wingback chairs in the sitting area. He hadn’t bought Pierce’s matchmaker act for a second. Who was this girl? If she was a spy for Pierce, then he’s picked a lousy one. She was a fantastic profiler, he’d give her that, but a good profiler doesn't make a good spy, not without other skills. Regardless of who she was, she worked for Pierce, and that made her possibly dangerous, definitely disposable. He pulled his pistol out of its holster inside his jacket, racked the gun, and placed it on the side table to his left. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, close to his knees. His eyes bore into her as she cowered in front of him, having barely made it inside the suite. What did she want? What was she going to do? Could this Little Spy be ignorant enough to fight – Shit. Barnes didn’t let his concern show on his face, but seeing tears begin to well in her eyes as her body began to tremble, he was growing less confident in his spy theory. Immediately switching tactics, Barnes leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. 

“Take a deep breath, Doll. I’m not gonna hurt you as long as you answer my questions honestly. Let’s start with the basics. I already know Pierce is using his technology company as a cover for his movements in the underground. What does he pay you to do?” The girl takes a shaky breath and tries to steady her voice before answering. She isn’t completely successful, but he admired her effort.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I work as a secretary for Vincent Evans at Pierce Enterprises. He’s a middle level manager for the marketing department. I report to Natalie Rushman, Mr. Pierce’s Executive Assistant. I learned about the Drug Lord thing two days ago on accident, I swear.” Barnes tilted his head, considering what she’d said. It would explain a lot of what’s going on, and scum like Pierce were not above using innocents to do their dirty work . . .

“I believe you.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Barnes could see the tension drain from her shoulders. “You don’t need to cower in the doorway, Honey. If you’re starting to do more intense work for Pierce, then you should know who he really is, what he’s capable of.”

Mr. Barnes continues as you cautiously make your way to the far end of the couch, not liking the idea of being close to the pistol on his side table.

. “Does the name ‘White Watch’ mean anything to you?” Your true crime obsession was paying off, look at that. 

“White Watch was an organized crime syndicate about four years ago. They operated mostly out of Brooklyn if I remember correctly . . . They were arrested about a year and a half ago, got caught in a sting.” 

“It was a rat, not a sting,” Mr. Barnes almost whispered.

“What do you mean? I thought–”

“I will answer your questions if– and ONLY if– you answer all of mine. Completely and to the best of your ability.” The cold edge had returned to his voice. “Lie to me or try to run, and I shoot you where you stand. Understand, Doll?” You nod, stilling your nerves. You were terrified, but you’d be damned if 

“Why are you at the Gala?” 

“Mr. Pierce told me to show.”

“When?”

“Just after I found out about the Drug Lord thing.”

“Why did you show?”

“Because my only other option was being “Permanently Relocated” as he put it, so I’m pretty sure it was either this or death.” Mr. Barnes sighed, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

“How was I involved? He’s never been subtle.” Bucky spat. It wasn’t lost on you that Mr. Barnes and Mr. Pierce definitely had a past, contrary to what Mr. Pierce had told you.

“He said there was going to be someone new. All I was told was he wanted me to read whoever that was and make an informed guess as to their motives. I didn’t ask questions because of the . . . Relocation.”

“His exact words?” 

“Your ability to read people is uncanny, and I don’t like unknown players. Befriend him, figure out where he stands in the game, and then forget everything you saw.”

“Don’t disappoint me,” Mr. Barnes finished. Your head snaps up to look him dead in the eye. His stare is still intense, you doubted it would ever be anything BUT intense, but the predatory edge had softened. Your voice came out in a whisper.

“How did you know that?”

“Because he’s said the same to me.” With that one sentence, you felt something inside of you snap. You were done playing the demure, helpless little assistant who obeyed everyone else’s orders and was at everyone’s beck and call. You were going to die here, but you weren’t going to take it lying down. Against your better judgment, you lost your temper.

“What the hell is going on here?? Three days ago I’m a fucking secretary, and now I’m somehow a pawn for a drug lord and whoever you are? And don’t even fucking try to deny it, Barnes, you both offered me the same deal: compliance or death.” A darkness returned to Barnes’s eyes as he spoke, his tone even, as if he were bored. Was he imposing? Sure. Were you scared? More than you’d ever been in your entire life. Were you backing down? Absolutely not. “You keep talking about these different pieces. The White Watch, Mr. Pierce, and an infuriating need to know the timeline, so what’s your game? You’re probably going to kill me anyway, so at least be decent and connect the dots before you take me out.”

“You think I’m going to kill you?” He smirked as you threw your tantrum, as if he were looking at an angry duckling. Intimidating, you were not. “One more question, Angel, then you get your answers.” You decided to bite your tongue and stare daggers at him, but you remained quiet nonetheless. “Pierce will almost definitely kill you for this. What’s your plan for that?” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even thought about that. You had been so focused on not getting shot by Barnes that you hadn’t even considered what Mr. Pierce would think of how the night went. 

“Let me help you with that one, but first I promised to fill you in. The White Watch was in it’s prime as of a year and a half ago. They were powerful. Too powerful for Pierce’s liking. What do you know about the organization?” Barnes leans back in his chair, waiting.

“ . . . Mostly street level thugs, but there were three heads. The Triumvirate. They acted as a check and balance system with each other, which is how they grew so quickly and were so successful. Impulsive choices couldn’t be made.” Barnes nods in approval

“Good. They were the Wolf, Avalanche, and The Winter Soldier. The Wolf mostly dealt with the financial side. Payouts, protection money, deals with others. Things like that. The Avalanche?” He waited for you to supply information, but you just shook your head. This hadn’t been in any of your documentaries. “He organized the troops. He was in charge of mobilization.” grabbed the bourbon and took another swig. 

“ . . .And the Winter Soldier?” you prompted, quietly.

“Him? Well, he’s a right bastard,” Barnes gave a cold laugh as he spoke. “He was the fixer. He operated alone, and without second thought. It’s impossible to get double crossed when there’s only yourself to worry about.” He sighed. “At least it should be. The Sting operation story was to keep the cops looking shiny. In reality, one of the Triumvirate had bigger plans for himself. He wanted all the power, and turned rat for the cops. He single handedly destroyed the White Watch from the inside because of greed.”

Your brow knits together as you think. 

“I . . . okay, that makes sense, but what does that have to do with –” Shit. The dots connected in your head. “Which one is he?” You asked darkly. 

“The Wolf,” Barnes replied. “He took all the White Watch’s financials for himself. That’s how he was able to build his company. Good news is that my organization has a couple people inside of Pierce Enterprises. We have Pierce covered from all sides possible, but we know less about how the company functions and who else may be involved.” A spark of realization hits you, and before you can stop yourself—

“Rumlow.” Barnes’s ears perk up at that name.

“As in Brock Rumlow??” His tone was dangerous.

“I-I think so, I’ve only known him as Mr. Rumlow, but he’s the one who gave me the financial folder that started this whole mess. He told me to take it to Natalie, but he seemed really nervous the whole time.” You can practically see the gears in Barnes’s head turning. 

“You can’t go back to Pierce, so you’ll come with me. We’ll get you to a safehouse where the Wolf can’t touch you. You have information that we can use, and with a little training, may not be bad in the field. We’ll leave with the rest of the party guests, less obvious that way.”

“Safehouse?? Mr. Barnes, respectfully, how do you expect to keep me safe from someone like Mr. Pierce? If he was really involved in the White Watch, then he’s one of the most dangerous men . . . I dunno, maybe ever?” You’re losing your battle with panic. You can feel your stomach begin to churn. “I’m just supposed to trust you and go with you? I don’t even know who you are!” Barnes looks you dead in the eye, vicious confidence reflecting in his.

“ You wanna know who I am, Doll? The Winter Soldier.”

No official tag list but here's some nerds who might like this: @vbecker10 @lunarbuck

[unholyhelbig]

request: single mom reader decides to loan shark from natasha’s mob. when reader can’t pay back the loan, natasha’s men capture and beat her. natasha sees reader among the criminals and drug dealers who also haven’t payed back their loans, and excuses her, forgiving her debt.

Title: The Oversight

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 2799

Warnings: Drug use, kidnapping, guns, choking, threats, blood, horrible grammar.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

[a/n: Yeah, I kind of feel like this needs a part two. Let me know what you guys think and if you're interested]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Each breath you drew in spurred a sharp stitch in your side. They came in rapid succession, even as you struggled to recall the fuzzy details that usually calmed you down. Your first street name. What you called your first pet. The name of your second-grade teacher. They all swirled foggily, unable to recall.

Your mouth tasted metallic cotton and your heartbeat was pulsing through your entire body. Counting the thrums hadn’t helped either, you gave up as you rolled your neck in a snow circle. The dried blood that hardened against the side of your face, your cheek, and down the expanse of your collarbone crackled at the soft movement.

The room that housed you was pitch black. It was hard to tell when you opened your eyes, tears welling up and dripping down your face onto your uniform. Your arms were bound behind your back, shoulders screaming in protest and fingers going numb from the cold. Your small noises echoed. Wherever you were was impossibly vast.

The next breath that escaped you was deeper than the rest. Not necessarily calm, but enough for you to take stock of the situation; there were flashes of you leaving the diner where you worked nothing short of twelves. It had just rained, and the air was humid. You dropped your keys and bent down to pick them up.

Before you could insert them into the lock, something hard had come down on your temple. There was a rush of heat sloshing down your face and a moment later, as you looked up at the sky, the steel tip of a boot took the rest of your consciousness.

That didn’t bother you. You were fine, a little banged up, but fine. Your daughter was left with the sitter. It could have been hours, maybe even a day. Your stomach clenched in hunger, and you drifted in and out of lucidity. They’d left you un-gagged but you didn’t have it in you to scream. You had a sinking feeling that no one would hear you anyway.

You’d flinched when the first 500-volt lamp let out a sharp hiss before flipping on. You shrunk into yourself, blinking away the sudden burst of white light that filled the room. It was directed towards you, and the rest of the space was still a frustratingly thick darkness. You couldn’t see who had turned them on, but they could see you.

The boots that walked across the floor were loud. They echoed like your earlier sobs. A metal chair was being dragged, and the sound was piercing. It did nothing to aide your aching head. You were thankful to see something other than pitch black, however big the danger.

You recognized the man who was in front of you. His outline flickered solidly. He looked rougher than you did; dirty-blonde hair, and stubble. There was a bandage across the center of his nose, on his fingertips, as if he’d fisted the razor while shaving. His purple T-shirt was covered by a dusty-brown leather jacket. His stare was hard, emotionless.

“You’re awfully quiet for a hostage.” He said, straddling the chair he had dragged over. His chest rested against the metal backing. “You can scream if you want. Wear yourself down. It’ll make this a lot easier.”

“What is this?” You asked instead of taking him up on his offer.

He was familiar to you. Clint. He came into the diner every Wednesday and Friday night like clockwork. He’d order a roast beef on rye with Swiss cheese and extra dressing on the side. He’d suck down two beers with his meal and tipped generously.

Sometimes he was with the man they called ‘The Winter Soldier’. You’d always found the name laughable, but the rumors about him were enough for you to hold your tongue. He never ate but would sometimes order a diet coke and sip it while Clint spoke through large bites of food.

Law enforcement wouldn’t’ touch Bucky Barnes, and your boss would typically comp whatever he ordered. A few months ago, you had shared your first words with him behind the diner. The air stunk of rotted food and hardly counted as fresh air. However, it was a few degrees cooler than the kitchen.

He had offered you a cigarette, one already perched between his lips, a zippo lighter at the ready in his other hand. You declined with the shake of your head, and a quiet ‘no thank you’. There was an uncomfortable silence, but it was better than the damp warmth of the kitchen. A sweet, burning scent filled your nose when he lit his cigarette and let the smoke curl around the two of you like a slack rope.

“You work hard in there.” Bucky said, taking a long inhale. He held it within his lungs, voice pinched. “Harder than anyone else I’ve seen in a while.”

You weren’t about to tell him about your daughter, not with his reputation, or the small smattering of pink scars across his chiseled features. So, you nodded instead. The number of tips you got in the broken down, greasy diner was the difference between two meals and one. So, you smiled sweetly and laid on the southern accent even though you’d only spent a short stint in Georgia when you were eighteen. It was easy to perfect.

“I bet you could name my order right now.”

“You don’t order.”

“I don’t trust the food.” He shrugged listlessly, a lazy smile against his lips. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“That’s a good call.”

He laughed at your honesty, and it was a nice sound. He disarmed you and that was worrying. Bucky let the cigarette sizzle out in a puddle at his feet. He used the tip of his steel-toed boot to grind the paper into damp ash.

“You wouldn’t’ have to work so hard if you had some extra cash, would you?”

The question caught you off guard and you couldn’t stifle the vicious glare that you gave him. Your break was almost over, and you could have, should have, walked back into the restaurant to finish the rest of your shift. Bucky lifted his hands up as a peace offering.

“Look, lady, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. All I’m saying is, you’re not blind to what happens in there, the type of people that frequent this place. You’ve always turned a blind eye and that’s something my boss appreciates. Something she trusts.”

“And who exactly is your boss?”

He tsked “I can’t tell you that, sweetheart. But she wants to make you an offer, she wants to offer you a loan. You’re what? Three months behind on rent? She’ll front that for you and the following two.”

You took a deep breath of stale air. It was a tempting offer, even if it came in the form of a seedy enforcer in an even seedier alleyway. You were three days from getting evicted. Three days from ending up on the streets in a neighborhood that didn’t’ have a single safe one.

“What’s the catch?” You asked.

“Catch? There’s no catch. This is a friendly loan. All you’ve gotta do is pay it back when you’re on your feet again.”

It was an oversight, not asking for a concrete timeline. You hadn’t paid Bucky’s boss back yet, and over the next few months, there were stifled threats, and both Bucky and Clint watched you carefully at the job that you still worked like nothing had changed. The feeling of being indebted lingered, but this time, it was to an unknown entity instead of a landlord that was ultimately harmless.

Everything needed to be paid back in full. These were thousands you didn’t have. And now, two weeks after the initial threat, you were strapped to a metal chair with blood dripping down the sound of your face, in despite need of a drink of water.

Clint was harmless compared to The Winter Soldier, but his muscles still flexed under his shirt as he pulled his jacket off and let it fall to the dusty floor illuminated in blue light. “I would prefer not to get that dirty. It’s genuine leather, you know?”

You glowered at him as he stood and took a few more steps towards you. He looked relatively harmless each time you’d seen him in the diner. Sometimes he had a girl with him, a slight thing that was just as littered in scars as he was. She would order a plate of bacon that was cooked to a crisp and split it with a golden retriever that laid at their feet.

When his wrapped knuckles made contact with your cheek, your head clocked in the opposite direction. There was a sharp pain in your jaw, a ringing in your ear. He had slammed into the same side of your face as earlier, and you lost vision for a second.

Blood filled your mouth, and you spit the mix of saliva, bile, and blood onto the floor. There was a drain in the center and that worried you more than anything else. Your breathing came fast and hard and you glared at him, teeth stained pink.

“Is that all?” You asked him.

It was stupid, you knew it was stupid. But it bothered you more than anything that you had gotten yourself wrapped up in this. Your father was no stranger to the mob, and you should have seen it from a mile away. The fear he lived with. Until the day he died, he would look over his shoulder and you refused to do the same.

Clint grabbed your face, squeezing hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. “You’re a tough chick, huh? I think we both know why you’re here. All you have to do is get the money and all of this vanishes.”

“I don’t have the money.” Your words were garbled between his fingers. “You’re sure as fuck not going to get it if you kill me.”

“Kill you?” Clint unhanded you and let out a laugh. “Kill you, she says. No, we’re not going to kill you, she would never get her money that way… your daughter on the other hand.”

You pulled against the ropes, and they dug painfully into you. The chair was liable to break, but it had been bolted to the floor. It was much stronger than the one he’d dragged over. The mix of anger and fear that had rushed over you pulled away any thought of lingering aches and pains. Be damned to the head trauma.

Your teeth were gritted, voice a low hiss “Leave her the fuck out of this.”

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“I swear to you, I will get your money, I just need time. I’m not… You can keep me under surveillance as collateral, take my car, my apartment- just leave her out of this.”

Clint gripped your throat with his calloused hand, your ability to breathe became more difficult, half-moon nails digging into your flesh. It stung fiercely, and you let out a gurgle in response. “Or she could be our collateral. I think she’d make a great enforcer, with the proper education, that is.”

Is that what happened to the girl that ate lunch with Clint at the diner? She didn’t looked like she was there against her will, but there was an immense sadness to her eyes. Clint hadn’t released you yet and your vison was growing fuzzy at the edges.

“Let her go,”

Your chest was burning at this point and when he pulled his hand back you tried desperately to regain your sense of lucidity. You coughed, nearly vomiting as he took a long stride backwards, seemingly put into his place with a simple sentence.

Over the ringing of your ears, you heard the sharp click of heels. They were confident, and your chin dropped to your chest as you panted in succession, spit dripping in strings from your lips. You didn’t have the strength to look up, your head was pounding.

“I think that’s enough,” Her voice was smooth, just the smallest bit of an accent in her words. You couldn’t place it, but you couldn’t tell which way was up at this point. “You’re dismissed.”

“Oh, come on Natasha, I was just having a little fun.”

“Dismissed, Clint.”

There was a labored sigh and the sound of his footsteps retreating. It brought little relief to you, however. You felt as if you had traded one evil for another. Eventually, you lifted your head to stare at the ceiling. The stranger hadn’t said anything, and the pitch dark above was more desirable to the unknown.

You heard her sit down and felt her eyes watching you. The swimming in your head started to dissipate so you clocked her with a stare. The woman in front of you was angelic, in such a way that you figured Clint’s choking stunt had actually done you in.

Her stare was an unripe green rimmed in gold, her cheekbones carved from marble. There was a beautiful softness to her expression, and her deep red hair flowed over her shoulders in a waterfall of color. She was studying you, not phased by the cold of the room.

The woman wore a black t-shirt, deep slashes of ink peaking from the dip of the V-neck. You didn’t’ let your eyes linger long. It was a marking that you’d seen on Clints bicep and on Buckey’s hand. You hadn’t gotten a chance to clock it on the girl that was kept in their company.

“Is this the part where you come in with your good cop schtick?” You mumbled.

“Darling, Clint is the good cop.”

“Nice, I like it.” You rolled your shoulders back, fighting the stiffness “Bad cop and worse cop is much more effective.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you for someone in your position. Thousands of dollars in debt and seemingly no way to pay back my money. It’s not a good spot to be in, Y/n.”

Natasha stood from the chair, her muscles straining at the action. In a fluid motion, she pulled a black standard issue handgun from the space between her skin and her jeans. She pumped the shaft, the sound echoed more than your quickened breathing.

She used the tip to push your chin up, forcing you to look into her unblinking eyes. You were a dead man, you knew that from her cold stare. You couldn’t look away, even if the option was given.

“Baby, I’ve been in this business for a long time.” Her breath was hot on your collarbone, a mix of mint and tobacco. “I know exactly the type that you are. I cater to your kind. More often than not, my clientele need a little bit of encouragement.”

The tip of her gun traced your jaw, her finger loosely on the trigger. It was cold against your collarbone, down the center of your breasts. She held it there, jaw set in stone.

“We’ll keep you here for a few days. Once you dry out a little, I’m sure you’ll suddenly come into the cash.”

“Dry out? You think I’m on drugs?”

The tip pushed hard enough into your sternum to make you let out a grunt of pain. “You hide it quite well, pet. I’m sure it won’t be as simple when you start to feel those withdraw symptoms. Money flows simple in this town when those cravings kick in.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her, despite the weapon that she was packing. A frown creased between her eyebrows, but she held it in place. “The hardest thing I’ve ever hit is a blunt in a high school rotation. That was your brilliant plan? Dry me out and then what? Search my backyard for jars filled with money. I don’t have it. I make 2.50 an hour at a diner.”

Natasha scrutinized you, eyes hard. She righted herself and pulled the gun away from your center before flipping on the safety and shoving it back into her jeans. She started to pace the length of the light.

“Bucky, he offered me a loan and I took it so I could pay the rent on an apartment for me and my daughter.” You said, voice quiet “I work thirteen hour shifts six days a week, and it’s still not enough. I’m not… I don’t know who you cater to, but I have a feeling it’s not someone like me.”

“No.” she crossed her arms over her chest, “It seems as if you’re an oversight.”

“Great,” you flexed your numbing fingers, “An oversight you’ll let go?”

Natasha shook her head, clenching and unclenching her jaw. “No, I’m afraid not.”

[writing-for-marvel]

Day 4: Overstimulation

Mob!Bucky's Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes × Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky’s determined to give you an orgasm in every room of your private villa.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, spanking

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

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The villa Bucky chose for the first week of your honeymoon is absolutely stunning - views directly out onto a white sandy beach from a large infinity pool, a built-in spa and sauna you are already eager to try out as well as being completely fitted out with the most lush furnishings and extravagant amenities.

But he doesn’t give you time to enjoy any of it, for as soon as you walk over the threshold, Bucky bends you over the substantial kitchen island, pushes your skirt up around your waist, pulls your panties down to your ankles and licks a stripe up your slit, paying no mind to the two bodyguards following you into the residence.

He starts out eagerly, pushing his warm, wet tongue into your pussy as his thick fingers spread your folds bare for him. His name falls from your lips in a low moan, but this only spurs him on, wanting to hear his wife repeat his name like the God the majority of New York believe him to be.

As he relentlessly devours you, your orgasm builds, the band in your lower stomach tightening with every flick of his tongue, lapping up the arousal flooding from your core that Bucky himself is responsible for.

“Fuck Buck, right there, don’t stop.” If it weren’t your beloved husband spreading your ass cheeks wide and nose deep in your pussy, you might be embarrassed by how quickly you are hurtling towards your release.

But James Barnes knows every inch of your body with exact precision, he has memorised the map of how to navigate to the height of your pleasure and has the uncanny ability to bring you right to the edge with a single touch. Something he prides himself on.

Your first orgasm comes when his thumb toys with your puckered asshole and his plump lips suckle on your clit. The smooth marble underneath your fingertips provides no grip, no traction to pull yourself away from Bucky’s onslaught.

Before you can even take a breath to stabilise yourself after your high, Bucky picks you up bridal style and walks your limp body over to the couch of the connecting lounge room.

He places you on all fours on the leather couch, and after ridding himself of all nuisance clothing, he drives himself inside your sopping entrance without any notice. Your velvety walls burn deliciously as you stretch to accommodate him - a stretch that you will crave for the rest of your life.

“Good girl, take it all.” Bucky commands. He starts out at a brutal pace, but somehow with each thrust he seems to both accelerate the movement of his hips and plunge deeper within you, filling you completely and kissing your cervix.

Wet, salacious sounds fill the grand room, along with your strained voice chanting Bucky’s name like a prayer. You bury your face in the top of the backrest of the couch in an attempt to muffle the obscene moans falling from your lips as Bucky grips your hips tighter and continues fucking into you relentlessly.

You feel him press an affectionate kiss between your shoulder blades before his domineering hand grasps your neck and pulls you back into him, the warm length of his body pressing against yours.

“Be a good wife and take everything your husband gives you. Every. Fucking. Inch.” His words are growled into your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. He punctuates each word with a hard slap to your ass.

He reaches around your body, his hand finding your clit with the ease of magnets attracting one another. As he begins teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves, you feel like you’re floating, unable to come down from the pure bliss Bucky has fucked you into, every collision of his hips against yours bringing you closer to your inevitable end.

“This fat cock feels good, doesn’t it?” Luckily it’s a rhetorical question because in your current euphoric state you can’t find any words to express how good your husband is making you feel. “Be a good little slut and cum on it for me.”

You don’t even realise tears are leaking from your eyes when your next orgasm slams into you like a train, thighs quivering, inadvertently trying to crawl to the other side of the couch to find some relief from the spasming pleasure, even though you know Bucky will never let you go until you’ve ridden out your entire high.

The next room you find yourself in is the adjacent dining room. The table had been set for your arrival, but Bucky soon sweeps the settings at one end crashing onto the floor as he lays your back gently on the mahogany tabletop.

“God damn, I’ll never get enough of this tight pussy.” Bucky exclaims as he pushes inside you again. You gasp at the sudden intrusion of his thick length, every part of your body twitching with heightened awareness.

His thrusts are more languid this time, longer and deeper, but you’re so sensitive from your previous orgasms that you’re already right on the edge with just a few pumps.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum, my love.” His voice is softer in tone, words soothing as he shifts the position of your legs so they instead rest on his shoulders. His eye contact is just as intense as the momentum of his hips slapping yours. “Need you to do it again for me. Want you looking in my eyes when I make you cum.” Bucky urges, his hand migrating down to where your bodies meet, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your puffy and oversensitive clit.

The pressure building within your core borders on agonising, you’re sure that this impending orgasm will be larger than any else of your married life thus far, and with how he’s hitting every spot inside you that engages an electric current surging up your spine, you know you’re so close.

It only takes another flick of your clit and you’re there, falling over a cliff and plunging into a deep ocean of pure pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m cumming again!” You announce as your back arches off the dinning table, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your entire body convulses by the sheer magnitude of your orgasm.

“That’s it baby, keep ‘em coming.” Bucky doesn’t let up, smirking as you writhe in front of him. “Soak me sweetheart.”

And you do just that.

Before you even realise what’s happening, your release gushes out of you, soaking Bucky’s stomach and thighs, the force of your squirt pushing him out of you. He rubs his bulbous tip frantically over your clit, prolonging your high and milking every last drop of arousal from you.

You sense him pick you up again, a soft kiss placed to your hairline as you move throughout the house again.

Much later in the night, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, the line between each orgasm blurring, waves of pleasure melding into one huge tsunami. You can’t even remember which room you last came in, mind in a complete daze, all you can perceive is Bucky’s looming presence over you and the way he’s playing your body like a fiddle, each stroke, strum and nip brings you closer to your next high like a symphony orchestra playing to a crescendo.

“Too much.” You attempt to mumble, unsure if you’re even articulating the words correctly, feebly pushing at his veiny arm to give yourself a semblance of a break from the overwhelming sensations your husband is subjecting you to.

It feels like your entire body is trembling on the king sized bed you get to call yours for the next week as you attempt to steady your breathing, trying to focus on anything other than the violently intense sensations Bucky is responsible for between your legs.

“Just one more, darling. I know you can give me another. You’re doing so well for me.” He coos before his lips latch onto your breast, the tip of his tongue lightly circling your areola before suckling your hardened nipple.

“I can’t.” A sob bubbles up your throat, understanding if you really wanted to stop you could use your prearranged safeword. It isn’t that you want to stop - it just feels too good, the pleasure so earth shatteringly intense that it borders on pain.

“Yes you can. I know you can, baby.” He praises, planting a sweet kiss to your sweaty forehead as you mewl, Bucky’s nimble fingers continuing to move in and out of you at a damaging pace. “Do it for me.”

All it takes is those four short words. Do it for him, do it for your husband, and you’re coming undone again for him. You whine his name as the most immense pleasure fires from the base of your spine, spreading like exploding fireworks through the rest of your body.

You don’t feel Bucky pull his fingers from you, nor do you discern his weight drop beside you in bed. It takes a couple minutes before your mind becomes a clear stream of thoughts and you can decidedly feel your extremities again.

“My perfect wife.” Bucky mumbles into your neck as you work to catch your breath and bring yourself assuredly back to earth after your visit to the heavens.

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and if you weren’t already breathless from the numerous orgasms he’s pulled from your body, the pure love and affection swirling in his stunning blue eyes you’ve fallen in love with would punch all the air from your lungs.

Warmth blooms in your chest at the soft, devoted smile painted on his features. He places a sweet kiss to your nose and then to your sweaty hairline.

“You still with me, darling?”

“Just barely.” You chuckle, finding enough energy to lift your arm up and draw along his sharp jaw with your index finger. Bucky takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles and adjusting your extravagant wedding ring so that the scintillating diamond sits perfectly centred on your finger, before pulling your body into him so there is no space remaining between you.

“How about we run you a warm bath?” Bucky offers in a low tone, lifting your chin with a single bent finger so he can slot his supple lips against your own in a tender kiss. “We didn’t quite make it to the ensuite, so if we’re to complete the set, you still owe me one more orgasm.”

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[tempestuous-lush]

koshka || mafia!Bucky x reader

Warnings: JESUS. Um, where to start? Definite bdsm mentions, usage. Let’s get a big part out of the way. There is a gangbang in here. A lot of unprotected sex. Fingering. Squirting. Dildo usage. Hitachi. Restraints. A lot of cum shots. Butt plug. Anal. Double penetration. Triple penetration (mouth, anal, vaginal). Anal creampies. Titty fucking. Daddy kink (Bucky brings it out in me). Masturbating (briefly). Aftercare. More sex in tub. Vaginal creampies (both Bucky). Overstimulation. Flogger usage. Brief pregnancy kink (if you squint). All VERY consensual. Not proofread.

Summary: Bucky was trying to broker a peace deal, and neither of you are sure whose idea it became, but you became the peace offering. All of the other major players in the underworld would get their time with you. A way of Bucky showing that he was willing to concede if they were, after signing contracts, of course. This is, by far, the most debaucherous thing I have written. I’ve had this scenario in my head for a while now. Started writing and it just poured out. If you guys like this, I will probably keep mafia!bucky and koshka on the back burner for my more filthy thots. This is also my first time writing mafia!bucky, and I didn’t hate it.

Koshka = kitten in Russian

DIVIDER CURTESY OF @firefly-graphics (they probably get tired of me tagging them for this, but the things they have are AMAZING

Bucky loved the way you looked at him as he buttoned up his pressed white shirt, still in bed with your beautiful legs tangled into the sheets and your hair splayed across his pillow as you inhaled the scent of him from it. You looked so shy. Innocent. But you were anything but. 

Once he slipped on his cufflinks, he crawled on all fours across the bed until he was caging you in and the tip of his nose traveled along the length of your neck before he kissed that sensitive spot beneath your ear, “Good morning, koshka. I hope you’re ready for my business meeting later today.” His large blue eyes looked at you lovingly, “Are you sure it’s still okay? If not I will put a stop to it right here, right now. You know that, right”

The idea had you feeling shy, but you couldn’t deny the rush of arousal that flooded your system as you thought about it. Your cheeks heated up before peeking up at him, “M’very sure James.”

“I love how sweet you look, face all flushed with embarrassment at the thought of how greedy you are. I’ll see you in a few hours, koshka. And then…well, a little business and pleasure never hurts.” His lips trailed down your neck the same time his hand pulled down on the comforter. As he did, exposing his favorite pair of tits, he licked and sucked the tender flesh until your body was awake for him and he groaned, breaking the contact and resting his head in the middle of your chest. You heard a mumble, “I gotta go, koshka, but I’ll be back soon.”

As he walked to the bedroom door, he watched you pull the blanket off and stretch out. His eyes landed on the soft, sweet mound between your legs, “Do me a favor today.”

“Hmmm?” Your back arched off the mattress.

He licked his lips, “Don’t put on any clothes. Spend your morning like that, because it would be a crime if you put clothes on and covered perfection.”

He opened the door and slipped out. You laughed, knowing full well that he was going to his office downstairs. The house was empty today though. He made sure of that, considering what was happening later. Getting out of bed, you headed to the bathroom. You knew you wanted to spend the next hour soaking in the tub, exfoliating, and putting on the lotion that Bucky loved smelling on your skin. He always said it made you even more edible. 

Then, you stayed in bed reading until you heard his voice calling out your name. A small smile worked its way to your lips as you stood and slipped on your floor length silk robe, leaving it untied to give him the tease of your full tits and your nipples hard beneath the silk with your bare pussy on display. Coming to the top of the stairs, you saw Bucky with a few gentlemen. He saw you and a wolffish smile took over his features, “Gentlemen, the lady of the hour. My queen.”

They turned around to look at you, averting their eyes momentarily before they remembered why they were here. They were all attractive, sure. However, they were not your Bucky. You walked down the stairs slowly to him and he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you towards him before kissing you passionately and possessively before murmuring, “If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I will go ahead and get her ready. I’ll be back shortly if you’d like to join the others.”

They walked away reluctantly as Bucky gently steered you down the hall in the opposite direction, bringing you to the door of your favorite room. He opened it and you saw the padded table with the restraints resting on top of it and hanging from the ceiling above. As his hands slipped your robe from your shoulders, his lips ghosted the skin along the nape of your neck while whispering, “Get on the table for me, koshka. On your back. Head slightly off the side. That beautiful face needs to be available to fuck, okay?”

Your legs were shaking with anticipation quickly as you walked towards the table, climbing on top of it, before doing as you were told. You were on your back, head slightly hanging off of one end and ass just a bit off the other. Bucky’s hand traveled down your sternum and down the soft tissue of your stomach before teasing your already aching pussy and traveling down your left leg, lifting it up. He pulled it outwards and used a leather cuff restraint to lock your ankle in place before reaching up and using another leather restraint around your thigh, effectively locking your leg in place. He repeated the same with your right leg and used a soft leather strap to hold your waist before finally locking your wrists so that your arms were spread out. Last but not least, he lifted your head and placed a soft pillow beneath it to give you cushion against the table edge. 

“Time to get my little koshka ready, isn’t that right?”

Your pussy spasmed in response before you could even talk, your legs so spread that Bucky spotted the small motion easily. He chuckled darkly, “You’re a fucking vision. It’s no wonder they all wished to accept this peace treaty. Having their dick anywhere near something so…ethereal. So…” His middle finger sank into your folds, eagerly pulling him in as you moaned at the contact before he pulled his hand back and greedily sucked your slick from his finger, “delicious. The idea is enough to drive a man mad. Trust me, I would know. So. Are you ready, koshka? Are you ready to be a perfect doll, a plaything, for all of daddy’s big, bad friends?”

His fingers messily rubbed your pussy, spreading around the sheen of your arousal while getting you more heated with the sporadic contact with your always sensitive clit. You shuddered as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, “Yesss. M’ready daddy.”

You felt the cold of lube pressing at the tightness of your ass, but you were trained for this. Relaxing, your ass opened up to his fingers before he coated your favorite plug with more lube and slowly pressed it into you as his free hand kept playing with your pussy. The stretch was instant and your pussy gushed at the promise of what was to come. His middle finger plunged back into your pussy, joined with his ring finger, “So wet for all those faceless cocks stuffing you full, or is it knowing that I’ll be watching you the entire time? Cock aching and leaking for you? Gonna cum for daddy to get you all nice and messy for those other men? Gonna cream my fingers or weep on my hand, koshka? Personally, I think that pussy is gonna weep for me.”

The combination of your ass filled and his fingers driving into you stroking your g spot as he told you such filthy things was enough to quickly send you over. Your moans and sounds were indiscernible until you shouted his name, squirting all over his hand and reverberating in the aftershocks of his fingers rubbing your cum all over your pussy. You could feel it puddling around your ass as well. You wished you could see how he was looking at you.

He walked around to look down at your face with those beautiful blue eyes you loved so much. His voice was rough with his own arousal, “Good girl. And remember, you want this to stop, say the word. It’ll end immediately. I’ll make sure of it.”

With that, he kissed you and headed out. Your eyes could only see so much. Namely, the variety of whips and canes he had spread out on a nearby table and the drawers that you knew contained so many deliciously dark things. Meanwhile, Bucky was busy in his office, confiscating any and all phones and telling the men the rules they are to follow. The main one he stressed, aside from your safe word, was that none of them were allowed to cum inside of your pussy. They all nodded, eager to taste the queen of the most notorious mob boss on the East coast, none of them expecting a chance like this to ever fall in their lap. 

Meanwhile, as you lay there, more than ready…you heard the door open and heard a few different voices at the same time. They all commented a variation of the same thing, “Beautiful.”

The first thing you saw was Bucky sitting next to the table, a wicked smile on his face, hand palming his aching cock through his pants. Your pussy spasmed again. That was when you felt the first touch of someone who wasn’t Bucky, trailing along your leg. What you weren’t expecting was the level of fire it started within you, an ache in your lower belly. It was fueled further on by a hand roughly grabbing your right breast, a wet thumb flicking your nipple as a different, softer hand did the same with your left. Your eyes grew heavy with lust as another man came to stand before you. His dick was hard and the tip slick with precum. 

His accent was heavy as he commanded, “Open your mouth for me. Now.”

Ever the good girl, you opened your mouth wide for his cock to slip inside, the taste different from what you know from Bucky. At the same time, a cock was slipping through your wet folds, enjoying teasing your needy pussy. You moaned around the thick cock hitting the back of your throat as your pussy was stretched with another. There was a curse of pleasure as the two men took enjoyment in fucking your two available holes. The table moved slightly as another man climbed on to the table and straddled you before squirting cold lube between your heavy tits, squeezing them around his cock as he began fucking them. 

How quickly you turned into what Bucky said you would become. 

A plaything for all of daddy’s big bad friends. 

A doll. 

The man driving into your pussy angled his cock up and his thumb fell on your clit as he kept driving into you. At the same time, the man fucking your mouth let out a slew of praise, “Feels so good. So good at taking cock with your mouth.”

He buried his cock in your throat, and all you could do to keep from gagging at the lack of oxygen was swallowing his semen as it shot down the back of your throat. As he pulled back and you gasped for air, the man destroying your pussy pulled an orgasm out of you as Bucky watched on. Instead of letting you softly come down though, he kept driving into you and playing with your clit until all too quickly, you were gushing around him all the while the man fucking your tits grabbed hold of his cock and quickly finished himself off, thick ropes of cum landing on your face and tits. 

You felt the fullness of your stuffed pussy disappear and while you whimpered at first, you felt fingers pulling at the base of your plug. That was when you heard Russian. You knew enough from Bucky to know roughly what was being said, “An ass like this deserves to be fucked.”

There was more lube on your now gaped hole and the feeling of a cock pressing at your ass before slowly filling you to the brim and then some. Your eyes grew large as another man climbed atop and rammed into your pussy with far less care. Though, they both quickly descended to fucking you like animals that didn’t care what state you were left in after. 

You were about to cry out in pleasure when another cock was shoved into your open mouth. It caused you to become nothing but moans as you were filled to the peak. You grew tighter as you became more tightly wound. The way you were tightening finally managed to tip the one fucking your ass over the edge, and he let out a stream of curses as he bottomed out and emptied into your ass while at the same time the one fucking your pussy pulled out and you felt the heat of his cum land on your lower stomach and splattering on the outside of your pussy. 

At the same time, the other man using your mouth pulled out and slapped your face, causing you to moan. His accent was heavy as well as he chuckled and commented, “The devil’s queen likes a bit of pain, does she?”

As he walked around you before the next man in line for your mouth took over, you spotted Bucky stroking himself. The fact that he was getting off to you getting fucked, used, and getting cum on made your arousal start anew. You moaned out, “M’love a bit of pain. I can…I can take it.”

You heard the sound of a flogger being lifted from the table as the next faceless cock filled your mouth. The only taste on your tongue and at the back of your throat now was the mixture of cum and precum and you loved it. As your throat continued being used, you felt the kiss of the flogger on your stomach. Another of the men climbed on the table and pushed your tits together to fuck them, the cum from the previous man giving more lube, “Incredible fucking tits you’ve got access to Barnes. Can’t wait to fuck the rest of her.”

You heard Bucky’s voice, “That’s good, because she loves to be full of cock.”

Just then the flogger came down on your pussy and your eyes opened wide as you felt the silicone of a dildo prodding at your folds and bucking hard into you. One of them must have been using the rod to fuck you from afar with the dildo as the other continued to flog you. Dick sliding between your tits, the other still fucking your mouth and leaving you gagging and gasping as he’d give you a break occasionally until he pulled out of your mouth and stroked his cock while the man fucking your tits also pulled back and stroked his cock. The first one came with a grunt all over your face and tits, the second cumming on your tits and upper stomach before getting off the table. 

Soon the dildo was discarded as was the flogger and another cock was soon buried in your ass, with another once again slamming into your pussy. This time, your mouth was left alone for them to hear the sounds you were making. You watched Bucky hand one of them the hitachi wand to bring to the one fucking your pussy. As soon as it touched your clit, you were cumming hard and fast. But they weren’t satisfied. They held the hitachi down as they kept rutting into you and you started crying out for Bucky, thinking of him sitting there stroking himself to the sight of you being used and coming undone. The man holding the wand in place let up and pulled out as your pussy made a mess, squirting obscenely as your ass continued being taken until he was filling it with more cum. 

The day continued like this. You were tied up for nearly an hour before the leather cuffs came off of your wrists and waist, then your legs. They were enjoying taking their turns, watching the others ruin you as they got themselves hard all over again, leaving you an absolute mess, dripping with their cum. When they stood you up, you nearly fell. 

Bucky would have been concerned if it weren’t for your sounds of pleasure being ripped from your body. Even still, you were giving. Bucky’s blue eyes watched on as they flipped you on to your stomach on the table. 

He stood up and walked around, looking at your beautiful gaping ass, stuffed and overflowing with semen. Your inner thighs were also dripping. He had been edging himself for so long. He walked up to you, stroking his cock once more. With dominance he bellowed, “After today, no one touches my little koshka but me. Anyone get any ideas otherwise, and I will cut off your hand for considering it. This was a peace offering, but I will burn the world if anyone tries beyond this room.”

He lined himself up with your pussy and thrust into you while roughly grabbing your hair and pulling up, “Look at the men who fucked you today koshka, as you let them know whose doll you really are.”

He thrust again and you came back to life, a cry coming from you, “James! M’yours, to t-take.”

Bucky started fucking you like a man starved. Animalistic noises came out of him and his cock reached so deliciously deep inside of you. Your overstimulated pussy couldn’t handle it. And he knew that. Which is why he reached around and used his fingers on your clit and you came again and as you did, thick ropes of his cum wrecked your womb as he continued driving into you…pulling out one final orgasm before you lay there thoroughly spent and utterly exhausted. Once you fully drained him he pulled out and admired the sight of you: a fucked mess, but only him dripping from your pussy.

Bucky ushered everyone out and you weren’t sure when but he came back in and scooped you up in his arms, “You did so good playing daddy’s doll, koshka, but now I am going to clean you up and feed you. Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.”

“M’enjoyed it daddy but I only”- you yawned in a way he found endearing -“need you.”

By the time he carried you up the stairs, you were softly sleeping. He set you down on the bed, making a note to himself to strip the bedding and change it before ridding himself of his clothes. Scooping you up once more, he took you into the bathroom and stepped into the low, large tub that was already filled with warm bubbly water. As he sat, he pulled your back to his front and picked up a cup, gently dumping the hot water over your skin and rinsing away the proof of any other man slowly but surely. He used a warm rag to softly clean your face before lathering up his hands with soap and running them over your shoulders. 

A smile pulled at his lips as you stirred ever so slightly under his touch. Especially so as he took extra care to soap up your chest, his palms and fingers teasing your nipples. Bucky moved lower and you instinctively arched your back, your head falling back onto his shoulder. As one of his hands ventured lowered, you spread your legs on instinct even as you tried to protest, “James, m’so tired. Don’t think I can do another James m’sorry.”

“You’re forgetting something important, koshka…” His middle finger delved deep inside of your aching pussy, tender from the abuse it received. He lazily pumped his hand, finger driving in and out of you, pushing all of his cum either deeper inside of you or out of you into the scented bath water. His free hand still ran over the lather that covered your tits, increasing the teasing more and more as his finger stayed moving at the same speed, “I know your body and everything it is capable of handling. You can cum one more time for me kotenok, one more time. Just like this, in the tub. You and me. Your sweet pussy pulling me deeper and deeper, my hard cock digging into your back.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head with pleasure as he spoke. He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong. Your pussy was desperate for him. Always. Your eyes were beginning to tear up as he continued his ministrations. You were spent. But one more, for him. You could do it.

“Come for me, koshka.”

A sob escaped you as he shifted and hit a deliciously sweet and painful spot, “I’m s’close James. I’m s’close, but I can’t.”

James knew what you needed. He always did. His arm wrapped around your waist and lifted you, easily turning you to face him before holding the base of his cock with his free hand and lowering you onto him. You shuddered at the fullness. 

Pulling you to him, his lips collided with yours and he kissed you with every emotion he felt. At the same time, he drove up into you. Water splashed over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. His tongue teased yours before he broke the kiss and his mouth fell on your neck. As a result, every little noise you made, every whimper of pleasure being wrung from your body fell on his ear. He praised you, “Did so good for me today. Gonna be a good girl and cum on daddy’s cock one more time, koshka? Let me hear how good I feel inside of you. Beautiful little koshka had so much cock today that she doesn’t have anything left for daddy’s? It’s okay, because daddy has so much left for you. Gonna fuck you till your pregnant with my child”-

That was the reason no one else was allowed to cum inside your pussy today. Bucky had been trying to fuck a child into you. His child. And god, if you didn’t love it. And now? In such an emotional state? A sob escaped you just as he hit that pleasure spot deep inside. You came to life just enough, “P-please daddy, please!”

His hands gripped tightly into your flesh, “Please what, koshka?”

“F-fuck me t-till I’m pregnant with your baby.”

“You gonna be a good girl and cum for me then, koshka?”

You only lasted for a few breaths more before the most animalistic cry came from you as he finally tore your orgasm from you, chasing his own at the sight and once again filling you to the brim. At that, he stilled and encouraged you to lay against his chest. Bucky lay back against the tub while cradling you, leaving his cock buried in you to hold his cum inside. Turning on the tap, he added more hot water and stroked your back, letting you sleep. 

He’d feed you after you had your rest. 

Besides, this? This was everything to him. You were everything to him.