#washed up mob boss

[ramp-it-up]

Try a Little Tenderness

Paring: Mob Boss! Steve Rogers x Reader

Word count: 3.7 K

Summary: Steve can’t win you with presents. He’s got to try a little tenderness.

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, SMUT, Lil bit of ANGST. Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Pining, flirting, organized crime, implied ice skating, teasing, former jerky boyfiend, inexperienced reader, nipple play, oral (both receiving) p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) breeding kink, size kink, crying during sex, violence (due to mob world).

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this ask.

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“Good morning, Steve!”

You were stocking onions, but you looked up and smiled as the tall blond entered the store, setting off the bell. He was well built and handsome and wearing a fine wool coat with a red scarf. It was a cool December, but New York had not yet had its first big snowfall.

“Mornin’, Ambrosia,” came his gruff response. 

You kind of liked his early morning voice. And the nickname. The first time he came in, he’d picked up an apple, already biting into it but also already paying. He handed you a twenty and said, “Mmmmm, Name?”, pointing to you with the apple. Flustered, you replied with the name of the apple instead of your name and the rest was history. 

This morning, Steve smiled at you and his blue eyes were sparkling. They always sparkled when he looked at you. He seemed very sweet.

“The usual.”

You laughed and went behind the counter to wash your hands.

“Of course, already had the fixin’s set up for you.”

You started the water for the espresso and got out the fresh everything bagels you’d put aside for him. Steve was one of your best customers, coming in every morning, and several evenings. He’d been coming in for about four months now.

Steve settled at the counter and watched you prepare his food. He looked at his watch: 7:42 am. He knew you'd been at work almost two hours now and that you were working very hard. One of your braids had come undone from your bun, and he wanted to put it back, but he didn’t touch you. You wore no makeup, yet your skin always glowed, and when you looked up at him, his heart nearly stopped. 

You were naturally beautiful. And your apron did not hide your curves. Or the fact that you were wearing the same pants that you’d worn three days ago. Steve figured that you didn’t have many clothes. He had the urge to take you shopping on Madison Avenue and let you go crazy. But somehow he knew you would never blow a load of cash on clothing. And that’s part of why he was so far gone on you.

He watched you battle your espresso machine with bemusement.

“Why haven’t you set up your new machine yet?”

You stopped and put your hands on your hips, looking so cute that Steve restrained himself from jumping over the counter.

“Is that from you?” You shook your head. “I suspected it.” 

Steve had unexpectedly given you many gifts, the espresso machine, a cash register. He’d even tried to have a new walk in cooler installed. You refused and sent back everything he’d sent. It wasn’t right. He barely knew you. 

You wondered what he did for a living, always dressed in the finest and able to afford multiple thousand dollar gifts. You figured that he was one of those Angel investors. Well, he wasn’t very good at being anonymous.

You watched as Steve gave you a lopsided grin, then leaned over the counter toward him. 

“Listen. Steve. Mr. Rogers.” 

You looked from his eyes, to his perfect lips, to his golden St. Christopher’s medal. He smelled so damn good. You bit your lip and Steve smiled, warmed by your proximity. This was his chance.

“Yeah, Ambrosia?”

“I’m not taking your gifts.”

You straightened up abruptly, handed him his drinks and finished his order. You gave him two folded newspapers.

“One Daily News for your friend and one News Day for you.” 

“Have you thought about it yet?”

You raised your eyebrow at him.

“About what?”

You thought he was finally going to ask you on a date. You knew the main reason he came in was to check you out. But you weren’t about to be bought.

“About the possibility of getting The Times in here? Alright, the Sunday Times at least.”

“Sorry Steve, it doesn’t sell. If it doesn’t sell, I don’t order. Can’t afford a non starter. But I do subscribe to the Sunday Times myself for the crossword. You can borrow mine any time.”

You winked at him. Something about Steve brought out your inner flirt.

Steve wanted to say something about sharing the Sunday Times in bed, but he thought better of it. Any other girl, and he would have been able to spit all kinds of game. But with you, he was tongue tied.

Steve sipped his coffee and shook his head as you gave him his bag.

“You are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

You waved at him as he stood up.

“Have a great day!”

Steve chuckled at your dismissal as he walked out of the door. Bucky was waiting by the car. Steve handed him his cup and sandwich. 

“Send Sam to pick up the espresso machine.”

“Still a tough nut, eh?”

“Yeah. She’s still refusing gifts…”

Steve got in the passenger seat while Bucky sat behind the wheel.

“Instead of giving her all of this expensive shit, why don’t you just be nice to her?Ask her out ice skating or something.”

Steve scoffed. He didn’t know how to ask a girl out anymore. He felt like that scrawny kid running around with Bucky back in the day. Now, women were always clawing at each other to get to him. And they always wanted something. 

Steve didn’t respond to Bucky, just asked about his calendar.

“What’s on the agenda for today, Buck?”

“We gotta meet with the truckers today. They don’t want to bend to our terms.” Steve put on his sunglasses. 

“We know what to do to make ‘em bend, don't we Buck?”

“Sure do, buddy.” 

You were in your walk up apartment above the store halfway listening to the 10 o’clock news. They were doing a story about an explosion at the Eatern Tri-State Trucking hub in Bay Ridge as you put your body oil on after your shower. The reporter indicated that authorities thought that the Valkyrie crime organization was behind it. You were zoning out looking forward to the next day.

You were glad that Janie and Nate would be back at work tomorrow. Nate had just taken a week off, and Janie had recovered from the flu.  You were going to take the next afternoon off. You could have taken the entire day, but you wanted to open up for some reason.

Running an organic bodega in Brooklyn was a tough job, but the business was growing, but it was even tougher when your help was not there. You deserved a bit of a break.

The next morning, you were humming an Otis Redding song when Steve came in. You looked over your shoulder and caught him looking at your ass.

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers.”

“Mornin’ Ambrosia.”

“The usual?”

Steve wanted to say no, I want to ask you to marry me, but that might be a little too forward.

“Yeah.”

He sat down at the counter and noticed that you had on something brand new. When you turned around, he gestured to your outfit.

“What’s the occasion?”

You looked down and then grinned. 

“This outfit is my Christmas present to myself. I’m taking the afternoon off and I’m going into the city to go to the Central Public Library.”

Steve tried to respect your glee. But he had to do it.

“How thrilling.”

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch, “ you quipped.

Steve laughed at you. He thought about what Bucky said the day before.

“Grinch hunh. Well, would a Grinch offer to take you ice skating instead?”

You turned around and leaned on the counter. Steve leaned toward you.

“I don’t know. Are you offering, Mr. Grinch?”

You loved teasing him. Steve groaned.

“C’mon. I’m trying here. Ambrosia. Do you want to go ice skating with me in the city this afternoon? And to dinner afterward.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Steve was very close to you now, staring at your lips.

“Yes.”

You stood up and put your hands on your hips.

“It’s about time. Sure!”

Steve laughed at how easy it was. You shoved his order into his hands.

“Pick me up at 1.”

Steve was grinning like an idiot out at the car, and didn't know how he got there.

“So you finally asked her out, hunh?”

Steve snapped out of it as he got in the passenger seat.

“Move the talks up to 10. I’m taking the afternoon off.”

“Rumlow is stalling. I can handle it this evening.”

“You sure?”

Bucky looked at his best friend.

“Sure as shootin’.”

You and Steve had a great afternoon, and Steve thought that ice skating was genius. He had to thank Bucky. You had to hold hands to stay steady, and when he pulled you in close, you didn’t pull back so you could stay warm. He didn’t know that you were thinking the same things.

Steve got to treat you to Via Carota and you two walked right in. The food was great, the wine was amazing, and you even stole a kiss in your corner booth. The night was perfect.

He drove you back to your place and you sat in the car for a minute. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and you were the one to make the first move with the kiss. You looked at him quizzicaly.

“Can I ask you something, Steve?”

“Yes, Ambrosia, anything.”

“After today, this afternoon and tonight. Do you still like me?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course. Why do you ask?”

You looked down. 

“Well, you’ve been such a gentleman. I see how you look at me, all hungry all the time. And the gifts. I don’t know. I just thought you’d be. You know. More…”

“Aggressive?” Steve responded.

“Well. yeah. I just thought.”

You looked back up and saw that Steve’s eyes had darkened.

“I am not a gentle man in my everyday life, Ambrosia. And I know that I can come on strong. But you make me want to be tender with you. I want to cherish you.”

“Oh.”

And Steve pulled you in for a sweet, but sexy kiss.

“So, yes, I still like you. And I have very aggressive thoughts about you. Want to ruin you in fact. But I want to do it carefully. Make you feel it. And make you glad you did.”

“Oh. No one has ever…damn, Steve.”

He recognized that you had been hurt.

“Here’s an aggressive question. What kind of an asshole would make you feel that way about yourself? His name is all I need.”

You laughed.

“Do you want to come up for the answer?” You cocked your head at him as he chuckled and nodded.

“Yes.”

When you got up to your place, you were settled with a glass of wine on your couch.

“I’m not going to give you his name, but I will tell you that we were together for a few months, and we only did it a few times. He’s the only one I’ve ever been with.”

The way you looked as him made Steve’s heart soft, but other things hard.

“It…It didn’t feel good. He said I was frigid and too small. I… I went to the doctor and everything. She said I was fine physically. So I figured it must have been in my mind and I haven’t been able to get out of my head after that. He broke it off and then I just decided to focus on work.”

You peered at Steve to see his reaction.

Steve’s eyes flashed with anger, then cooled.

“That joker is a fucking idiot.” 

His eyes traced your body.

“He didn’t know what to do with all this?”

Steve reached for you and kissed you, this time with undeniable passion. You broke away and stood up, offering him your hand.

“Show me, Steve.”

He stood up and followed you to your bedroom.

You stood at the foot of the bed and reached up to kiss Steve, and he picked you up and sat down, sitting you down with both of your legs over his. You made out like this, Steve’s hands still in neutral places until you whined and scooted closer to him.

Then, he went under your sweater, finding your nipple in your bra and brushing it with his thumb. He was exhibiting intense will power, but he couldn’t hold it all back as you responded to his passionate kisses.

Steve lifted your sweater off and your tank top, which was underneath, with it. Your bra contained your breasts, but your nipples were erect and straining against the material. He brought your body towards his for a kiss, his thick fingers pressing and playing with your sensitive buttons. He had you squirming on his lap as he reached around and expertly unfastened your bra.

He looked down at you and then back up, eyes hungry. You’d been yearning for that look.

“I’m gonna cherish this moment, get you ready for me, Baby. You’re gonna feel so good.”

He was weighing and kneading your breast and tenderly flicking your nipple, then he leaned down and kissed you, moving down your neck and collarbone, descending your chest and kissing all around your areolas, teasing your stiff nipples.

He had you moaning and writhing, wanting some friction for your cunt.

“Patience, Baby. You’re gonna get everything you deserve. Including this.”

Steve moved your hand to the hard member in his pants, which you tried to grip in vain through his slacks. You whimpered in frustration.

“I know. I know. I want to do so many things with you.” 

Steve’s fingers were in your leggings, through our panties and tracing your wet pussy lips gently as he finally started sucking your nipples. You pulled his hair wantonly as he teased you.

“Mmmmm. Who’s got you all wet, Ambrosia?” he asked, as he pulled his fingers out and put them in his mouth.

“Y-you, Steve… unhhhhh.”

The sight of him relishing your taste made you even wetter. And he found out, because his hand was right back down your pants. 

His lips were at your ear and he was breathing hard.

“Can I…”

His thick finger parted your lips and the rough pads of two fingers slid over your clit into your wetness. You arched your back in anticipation.

“...Can I eat you out, my sweet Ambrosia?”

His voice and the request sent you on a tailspin. You nodded vigorously as Steve pulled his hand out to your whine of desperation at the loss of contact.

You quickly stood up as Steve captured your hips to stand still in front of him. His eyes raked up and down your form as he took hold of the waistband of your pants, and slowly pulled them and your panties down your legs. You stepped out of them and Steve’s hands ran back up your form as you looked down at him. He grabbed the backs of your thighs as he pulled you near him.

Steve put one knee over his shoulder and stared at your most intimate part. 

“She’s a sweet little flower. So pretty and tight.”

His fingers were parting your folds so he could see even more.

“But she will be ready for my thick cock, I know she will, Ambrosia.”

He pulled you forward and held you up as he licked through you, almost causing a near stroke as far as you could tell. 

“Mmmmmm,” Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head.  “You are so sweet. I could eat you all night.”

You almost cried as he dove back in, grabbing his hair for purchase. He grabbed your bottom and stood to place you on the bed. He kneeled on the floor and held you down and open with his huge hands.

Steve started his feast, gently licking at first, then made you build to a crescendo as he started tongue fucking you. He made sure to stimulate your nipples, and when he felt your hard little nub vibrate, he sucked your clit hard as you came.

“Was that good?”

“Oh my stars, that was good.”

You both laughed.

“You’re so fucking cute, Ambrosia, but there’s levels to this.”

You sat up and watched as  he took off his shirt. You were sure that your eyes were sparkling now.

“It’s just going to get better and better.”

He was just clad in his black boxer briefs, a huge bulge leading the charge. He reached in and you were certain that he was going to pull out an entire pack of socks, but instead, he showed you the largest, thickest dick you’d ever seen. Your eyes were like saucers. You were a little afraid, but your legs fell open out of reflex. 

“See what you do to me?”

You bit your lip and nodded, reaching out and touching it tentatively.

“I’ve never seen one that big.”

You looked up at him and his heart melted simultaneously as his cock jumped. Your trembling fingers around him made him almost bathe your hand in his spend.

“Oh, Baby.. So sweet.”

“You are too, Steve. I want to taste you.”

You looked up at him through your lashes and Steve groaned, trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Christ… I’m…I…. Whatever you want, Baby.”

You stared at his cock for what seemed like forever. Then, you tentatively reached out and kitten licked his tip, causing him to groan as he palmed the back of your head.

“You’re killing me here, Ambrosia.”

“Hmmm.” You smiled. “Lay down for me, Steve.”

He did as he was told and put his arm behind his head to watch you. The way his muscles bulged inspired you anew. He reached down and roamed his fingers over your body as you hovered over him. You stroked him a couple of times and then played with his balls, Steve putty in your hands.

“B-babyyyy.”

You smiled in triumph that you had him whining as you spread your lips over the thick mushroom cap and sucked it into your mouth vigorously, causing him to moan and buck his hips up. You took the cue and drew him into your mouth, making him hit the back of your throat and gag.

“Holyyyyyy sssssshit. Stop. StopStopStopStop.”

Steve pulled you off his dick, which made you release him with a plop. He sat up and stared at you, disbelief in his eyes. 

“Did I do it wrong?”

“Did you do it wrong. Fuck, you almost made me…. C’mere.”

You giggled as you ended up with your back on the bed again, Steve eating you out, this time one finger inside you as you came. You were in shambles as he looked up at you and inserted another finger inside as his opposite thumb stroked your still-quivering clit.

“Gotta get you up to three. Hold on.”

You did, and when he crooked his fingers this time, you let out a wail that caused dogs to bark down the street.

After your fourth orgasm, Steve looked up, smiling ear to ear.

“Still want this dick?”

You scowled at him.

“If you don’t…”

He laughed as he kneeled between your legs, stroking the magnificent beast. You opened your legs even wider and stared down at it.

“No. look at me, look at me. You’re ready. I got you Baby.”

Steve supported himself with one arm as he got nearer to you and started swiping his head between your folds. You keened as he entered you.

“Ow. Steveeeee.”

Your face looked so adorable as you struggled to take him.

“Holy shit, you’re, fuck you’re so….”

Steve kissed you through your moan of shock and pleasure as he slid all the way home. You gripped his bicep, your fingernails leaving marks. Steve pecked your lips as you pounded together, waiting for you to get used to him.

“You ok? You good?”

Steve checked to make sure you were okay. You nodded at him with tears in your eyes.

“I- I- think it feels good. You’re so big, Steveee. But.. but I like it….”

You started moving, a little at first, and then more wantonly. Steve looked down to where you were impaled upon his dick.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You are perfect. Just so.. Fucking… tiny…. But made for me…Shit.”

You felt Steve’s cock jumping inside you when he said those words, and you clasped your hands behind his back and uttered, “More!”

And that’s when you began to get fucked. Tenderly yet filthily. It was the best Steve had ever had, trying to be gentle and knowing that he wanted to put the bed under the ground. It was such a turn on. The ragged moans that you gave him with each stroke was a gift from god, and he started cumming before he could think.

“Shit! I didn’t use a condom…Fuck. But why does that just motivate me to keep going?” 

Steve laughed into your ear as he kept stroking for dear life. He was usually so careful, knowing that most women wanted his kid. But with you he didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around him, taking the pounding he was giving you now.

“Hmmmmmm. You want me to put a baby inside you? Pump you so full of cum that you get all round and full with my seed?”

“Hnnnnghhh. Steve… I…”

“Tell me. Do you want it? You want me to get you pregnant?”

“Ohhhh shitttttttt! Steeeveeeeee!”

You detonated around him and Steve cursed, finally pulling out and jacking hard onto your stomach as three fingers on the other hand continued to fuck you through your orgasm. His pearly spend looked beautiful on your skin.

“So gorgeous. There’s time for that yet, but we gotta get you to a doctor, because I don’t want to do this too many more times. And fucking you with condoms is no longer an option.”

You were fucked out, absentmindedly playing in his cum, causing him to spurt one last rope onto your fingers. When you brought them to your mouth was when he shivered. He collapsed beside you.

“I can’t even explain how good that was.”

You just smiled at him, lips shiny with gloss that he made.

“You are an angel. A Christmas angel.”

Steve sighed as you smiled at him. He got up and went to your bathroom to clean up and get a warm towel.

“I’m hungry.”

“Anything you want, Babe. I’ll get it for you.”

You grabbed the remote and  turned on the tv, catching the tail end of the news.

“Shootout in DUMBO tonight between the Rumlow and Valkyrie crime organizations. Several high-ranking officers dead or injured, including Brock Rumlow and James Bucky Barnes. More news when we have it.”

“Steve? Bucky? What’s going on? Valkyrie?”

Steve was up and grabbing for his clothes, an inscrutable look on his face.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, but I gotta go.” 

He gave you a quick kiss. 

“Don’t leave. Sam will come back with some food for you and he will stay with you. Don’t open the store tomorrow.”

“But Steve!”

“No buts! I will call.”

And then Steve disappeared into the night, leaving you with so many questions.

Knock that reblog button off the block fa me. 😉

Read part two, All I Want.

[demonic-charcuterie]

Asmodeus x Fizzarolli x mob boss! Reader

Ozzie pulled on his morning robe as Fizzarolli listed off his morning schedule.

“And then we need to take a trip to the greed.” Fizzarolli said while Ozzie slid his bacon on the white plate.

“Greed?” Ozzie’s deep voice said washing his hand.

“Y/n is back from her business trip. I figured we could surprise her.” Fizz said smiling wildly.

“Maybe you should called first? Remember last time you should up unannounced?”

Fizzarolli shuddered as chills ran down his back while he dialed your number

You had just put a spear to someones head when your phone started ringing with that adorable wind chime ringtone you have just for your Fizzpop which of course drowned out by the sound of gun fire to you just assumed it was your work partner Sergey.

“NOWS REALLY NOT A GOOD TIME SERGEY, WHAT THE FUCK!?!!?…WAIT HOLD ON I THINK I HAVE ANOTHER GERNADE…BANG! THATS RIGHT YOU BITCH ASS!”

Fizzarolli held his ear away from the phone until the sound of yelling and gunfire suddenly stopped at the sound of a limousine door closing.

“It’s Fizzy silly!” He said giggling.

“OH FIZZY! Baby, honey how have you been! I’m sooooooo sorry my work trip lasted so much time. Have you been eating alright and how about those new limps me and Ozzie were working on. Is Ozzie near by. I’m so sorry my super cute ringtone for you was drowned out by the all the screaming of pain and agony!”

“Everything’s FINE! I was just wondering if my and Ozzie could come over~?” His raspy voice growled into the phone and if you hadn’t been sitting your knees would’ve have given out.

“I-oh! Did we have a date tonight!? One sec babes. STAN! STAN YOU SHIT FACED BITCH YOU DIDNT TELL ME I HAD A DATE TONIGHT!”

Ozzie raised an eye and then grinned to himself. “They are so fucking hot when they yell.” He said his legs shuddering. Fizzarolli nodded his head in agreement as he mouthed ‘I know right’. Ozzie gently took the phone from Fizzarolli’s hand his deeply sinful voice rang out into your ear.

“Hey mami~” He whispered and your jaw went slack. “Baby boy is that you?” You asked as you felt your legs quenching at the sound of your handsome man’s voice.

“Yeah it’s. How’ve you been baby.” He asked smirking. “It’s been good, same old same old, breaking backs and cracking skulls!” You giggled and kicked your feet against the seat. Satan’s fucking taint this motherfucker.

“Great great. You know what me and Fizz would really love?” He asked as he heard your voice hitch over the phone. Fizz extended his arm and snatched the phone. “For. You. TO BREAK OUR FUCKING BACKS WHIEL YOU USE US AS LITTLE FUCK TOYS!”

Ozzie looked at Fizz in surprise. You giggled on the other side of the phone and you whisper in a raspy voice into the phone. “Come over. I’ll be ready for you.”

Fizz rested on Ozzie shoulder as one of your goons marched them down to your room. You sat on a chair in the center of the room with your broad surrounding you. “Ahh the Sun of Lust, the fuck are you doing here.” You spat (it pained you to act with such disgust towards your love) your eyes peered into fizzaroli. “And you brought the sex toy?”

Ozzie stared at you expressionless and waved a hand to your board. You sighed and flicked your wrist. “Leave us.” They all scurried out of the room.

You drew the curtains and closed the door and then turned to them. “My babies!” You screamed before jumping into their arms.

“Oh honey how we’ve missed your voice…and your touch.” Ozzie said while using his pinkie finger to stroke your head.

“We’ve even thinking about you all week!” Fizz said wrapped his arms around you.

(That’s it cause I’m tired 🥱)

[darkbluekies]

I just read Jerry and Hedwig reacting to us bleeding on the sheets what about the guys👀 specifically silas (cause my daddy issues run wild for him)😩

Silas, Dr Kry & King Edmund drabbles: bleeding through at a "sleepover" (or in their house)

The girls reaction male!yanderes (mob boss, doctor & king) x fem!reader Warnings?: sexual indication, disgusted by blood, yandere

Silas:

You're on a mission with him, staying in a house belonging to the second in command. Being the boss’s little darling has its benefits — especially in these situations. If you hadn't been his, chances are that you would get killed for ruining someone's sheets.

"Silas", you whisper while shaking him carefully. "Please, wake up. Oh, God, please wake up ..."

He grunts and opens his dark eyes, looking around confusedly before fixating his eyes on you. He freezes.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asks raspily and grabs your arm.

"I bled through ...", you whisper weakly, body full pf panic. "I didn't know, I wasn't supposed to start now!"

Silas removes the cover to look at the stain. He doesn't say anything as he removes them all before picking up his phone to call one of his most trustworthy men.

"Don't worry about it, baby", he says tiredly. "I'll fix this."

"Will your second in command get mad?" you ask hesitantly.

"He won't. He knows better." Silas holds the phone to his ear. "I need you to bring me new sheets and to send someone to buy whatever Y/N tells you to get. Here Y/N."

He gives you the phone. You tell the man on the other side what you need. He replies politely, knowing better than to talk informally to you. Silas stands by, watching carefully and rubbing your back.

As soon as you get what you need, you get out of your bottom clothes and change. Silas sits down in bed with you in his lap. He brings his legs up to trap you in his embrace. His rough hands sneak under your shirt to massage your aching stomach.

"You know ...", he whispers in your ear, hand traveling lower. "Exercise helps with cramps ... I know something that is a great form of exercise. Want me to show you?"

You grab his hand, moving it back to your stomach.

"Come on", he smirks against your jaw. "You'd like it."

"I'll kick your nuts if you continue talking", you warn him.

Silas chuckles and pulls the blankets higher, kissing your forehead.

"Women and their temperament", he grins and softens his face. "Guess I have to wait then. Why don't you try going to sleep, little thing? It's late."

"Are you sure your second in command won't be mad?" you ask carefully.

"If he even dares to snarl at you, I'll stain his sheets with his blood instead." Silas kisses your lips with a reassuring smile. "You have nothing to be worried about, little thing, I've always got your back."

Dr Kry:

He has installed a baby monitor, just a week prior, to being able to supervise you 24/7. He wakes up by hearing shuffling from the machine and takes a look to see you grabbing all of your sheets in your arms. Dr Kry frowns. Are you going to sleep on the floor again? You have such weird ideas to entertain yourself. But the look of sheer guilt and horror paints your face, knocking those thoughts out of his head. Dr Kry hurries to grab his silk robe and hurry up to your room.

You're currently washing them in the bathtub. You freeze when you hear him unlock the door and enter the room.

"Where are you?" he asks.

"Here", you reply quietly, watching how he enters the bathroom.

Dr Kry crouches down beside you on the floor, putting his hand on your shoulder. He glances between the sheets and your face.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I-I bled through", you say. "I'm so sorry, doctor, I will fix it-"

"No, you're not." Dr Kry grabs your arm and pulls you up in your feet. "I'll fix it. You're not well, you shouldn't do this."

You feel bad. Dr Kry works long shifts and during his only rest, you've forced him up to clean up the mess you've caused.

"Y/N, it's fine", the doctor reassures you and walks over to give you a short hug. "Things like this happens. You should look at it from another angle — you can be pregnant. You're fertile. Alright? That's a good thing. A very good thing."

He's secretly glad that his poisoning hasn't affected your reproduction organs. You need them. He wants you to have them. Dr Kry wants nothing more than to have children with you.

"Let's stop crying and realize that this isn't a big thing, okay?" he says and wipes your tears. "You don't have to be ashamed. I've watched much, much worse things."

"Like what?" you ask quietly.

Dr Kry smiles teasingly. "I've seen people spill urine samples on themselves, have had people using the rear temperature stick for a patients mouth, and whatnot. This is nothing. It's natural, nothing to be ashamed of."

You try not to smile. "Did someone really use the wrong temperature stick?"

Dr Kry grins and nods, happy to see you a bit calmer.

"Let's get you some painkillers now so you can go rest", he says and puts his hand on your back to guide you. "I'll change the sheets, and you can just sit by, okay? Everything you need is in the bathroom."

He sits with you until the cramps stop, and decide to stay in the room with you while you sleep, just in case you would wake up again. He smiles slightly for himself. The poisioned air hasn't ruined your chances of ferility, he couldn't be more greateful.

King Edmund

You're terrified of telling him. Edmund is the type to believe that you can hold it in. With absolutely zero knowledge about females, risk is that he will get mad at you for ruining his expensive sheets instead of understanding. You know that he buys them from special places. One of a kind.

Edmund has never been taught how women work, it has been taboo and unnecessary for him, as a king, to learn. The only thing he knows is that a woman bleeds once a month, and that is it. Nothing more. He doesn't know how it works or why it happens.

But you can't stop the maid from telling him. He comes walking from his office with a deep frown on his face. You're dead. Before sending the maids out, he walks over to the bed and inspects the damage. When the girls are gone and the door is closed, he turns to you.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks.

"I thought that you would get mad", you admit quietly. "It's your expensive sheets ..."

"And you think that it'll help the situation by sending one of the maids to tell me, instead of telling me yourself?"

"I didn't send her. I didn't want you to know ... at all."

"Why?"

"I told you ... I was scared that you'd get mad. You'd have told me to keep it in."

He groans, hiding his face in his hands. "For fucks sake, Y/N!" He removes his hands. "Why in the living Hell would I care more about about a pair of sheets rather than my own wife?"

You don't answer. Edmund walks over and grabs your shoulders before pulling you into a hug.

"You underestimate me, my jewel", he mutters and kisses your temple. "Now, go take a bath."

He tells a maid to fill the tub with scalding hot water to soothe your cramps and tells another maid to change the sheets.

"Burn the sheets and the night gown", he tells the maid. "I don't want anyone unworthy to see my queen's blood, got it?"

And the maid nods quickly before running off.

While you sit in the steaming tub, Edmund sits on the floor beside it, keeping you company. He should be doing work, but instead he's here, with you.

"I'm sorry about your sheets", you sigh and lean against the tub. "I know that they're expensive."

"Shut up about those fucking sheets now", Edmund groans and caresses your cheek. "I have enough to buy a hundred more sheets. I could buy the entire world, if I wanted to. A few sheets are nothing for me."

He leans over to kiss your wet forehead.

"Are you disgusted?" you ask carefully.

"A bit ... but not as much as I thought I'd be", Edmund replies with a grimace. "I'm more concerned about you, to be honest. Seeing you bleed, in any way, makes my heart sink in a disgusting way. I'm just angry I don't have anyone to blame for your pain."

You try to joke. "Blame my parents for making me a girl."

But he looks deadly serious. "No, never. They made you ... my wife and queen. I could never blame them for giving you this pain." He sighs and taking your hand. "If there is anything i can do to take the pain away, tell me. Teach me."

"Well, you actually had this right, the warm water. It helps."

"Anything else?"

"Sugar. Just for the hormones."

Edmund nods, thinking. He shouts for a maid to tell the kitchen staff to make cakes. He then turns back to you and smiles proudly. Maybe he isn't as bad as you thought?

[jobean12-blog]

A Love for the (P)Ages

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob/Mafia AU)

Word Count: 1,170

Summary: Bucky might be the baddest mob boss in the city but he’s the softest and sweetest husband in the Universe. 

Author’s Note: I just love writing super soft Mob!Bucky and I love books and then I figured why not both and while this doesn’t focus on Mob stuff just keep that tucked away 🥰Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fluff, fluffs and more fluffs :)

“Why can’t you just tell me where you’re taking me?” you ask as you walk toward him.

“Because it’s a surprise doll,” he says softly, circling his arms around your waist once you’re standing between his spread legs.

“Are you going to stay in your suit?”

He nods as he toys with the hem of the tee shirt you’re wearing.

“So should I put on one of the fancy dresses you’ve bought me? Or?”

His hand slides slowly over your hip, reverently tracing the curve of your body until his fingers wrap around the back of your neck and he pulls you down toward his lips.

“Wear anything you want doll face,” he whispers against them.

“Fine,” you pout playfully before kissing him. “Don’t give anything away!”

When you step out of your walk-in closet you find him at the mirror above the dresser fixing his tie. You meet him and reach out as if to help but instead start to undo it. He raises a questioning eyebrow but doesn’t protest.

Once his tie is off you drape it carefully over the dresser and open the first two buttons of his shirt then fix the collar. Your fingers toy with the chain that hangs around his neck, the one you gifted him, and you straighten the pendant at the end.

“There,” you say happily. “I love when you have it open like this…although, all the other women do too so I’m sure I’m going to be giving out plenty of dirty looks wherever we end up going.”

He chuckles and drags you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms until he can run his nose along your throat with a soft inhale.

“Jealous baby doll?” he teases when he reaches the shell of your ear.

“Maybe just a little,” you admit on a gasp.  

“It’s only fair doll considering every man that lays eyes on you can’t seem to peel them away unless I punch them in the face.”

Your grin is wicked when you say, “well, I’m definitely something to look at.”

“You are the one and only thing worth looking at,” he murmurs as he steps back and his eyes sweep over you.

You soften at his words, linking your fingers with his as he tugs you out of the room.

“Now, let’s go because I have a feeling you’re going to want to spend a lot of time where I’m taking you.”

With his arm secured tightly around your waist and your eyes squeezed shut Bucky leads you toward your surprise.

“Now don’t open them until I say so, ok?”

“Ok,” you answer, digging your teeth into your bottom lip with excitement.

He opens a door to usher you inside and the moment you take that first step a wave of enchantment washes over you, carrying the aroma of aged leather and dusty pages.

His lips meet your ear and he whispers, “open up doll.”

Your eyes pop open and fill with the soft golden glow from the antique lamps that line the walls.

“Bucky!” you whisper shout, unable to take your eyes off the books but squeezing his hand tightly. “It’s amazing!”

You rush forward, tugging on his hand but he stops you with a gentle pull and you turn to look at him.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a boyish smirk and he crooks his finger. When you step into his embrace he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours.

“There’s only one rule while you’re here,” he whispers.

Your arms circle his neck and you smile. “And what’s that?”

“A kiss for every book I buy you.”

“What if I buy one hundred,” you giggle.

“Then lucky me,” he says with a wink.

You press yourself closer and pepper his face with kisses then finally find his lips. He’s reluctant to let you go but you hold his hand as you start to meander through the labyrinth of wooden shelves that are lined with books and seem to stretch on endlessly.

The old, wooden floor is worn from the traffic of numerous readers and you can’t help but run your fingertips along the spines of the books as you peruse the shelves as one of them.

“I don’t know where to begin,” you say softly, peeking over your shoulder at Bucky.

He smiles sweetly, his eyes trained on you and the joy you’re expressing.

“Take as long as you want doll.”

The urge to kiss him all over again is strong and so you grab the next book your fingers find and pull it from the shelf. As you flip through it you take slow steps toward him until your standing close enough that you can feel his warmth.

You open the book, carefully thumbing through the pages before lifting it to your nose and inhaling it’s scent.

“Oh I’m definitely getting this one!”

Without another word you hold it up for him and he takes a deep inhale. “Smells good.”

“Right!” you cheer with as much excitement as you can quietly. “And look, it’s a romance!”

He reads the title and his smile widens as he leans in for his kiss. It starts off slow and sweet, his lips a whisper against yours but when you press yourself closer and slide your hands over his chest, he closes the distance, pushing you toward the shelves until your back hits the dusty wood.

His fingers dance up your arm, tracing the curve of your shoulder and grazing your collarbone before his thumb presses under your chin and he tilts your head back to trail kisses along your throat.

“Bucky,” you breathe out, your fingers clenching the expensive fabric of his shirt. “Someone might see.”

“That’s ok baby doll,” he croons, finding your lips again. “I own the place.”

You suck in a breath and look him in the eyes.

“You…you own it.”

He nods and gathers you in his arms as he presses soft kisses to your face.

“You bought me a bookshop?”

“I did,” he states as if it’s nothing. “And don’t worry, the previous owners were perfectly happy with the agreement considering they were ready to retire and I promised I wouldn’t change anything about it other than the necessary upgrades.”

“I…” you stammer. “I just…I can’t believe it!”

“And you haven’t even seen the rest of it yet. You’re gonna love all the reading nooks and there’s a hidden attic that we can renovate into whatever you want.”

He kisses you again but before it starts to heat up you nibble his bottom lip and ask, “how many books do you think are in here?”

His smirk is wicked. “Oh there must be thousands of them doll face.”

“That’s a lot of kisses,” you purr.

He rests his hands against the bookshelf on either side of your head, trapping you in place as his face inches closer and his gaze falls to your mouth.

“It’ll never be enough,” he murmurs, brushing his lips along yours.

@book-dragon-13 @sebstanwhore @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @late-to-the-party-81 @justkinsey @kmc1989 @beccablogsthings @laineyreads @lookiamtrying​ @hallecarey1 @hiddles-rose​

[gutsby]

Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

Something about the sun in Cabo San Lucas and your best friend’s father’s sweaty body makes you a horny mess. When you find an old shirt of his lying around, you can’t resist. When Mr. Miller finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

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

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

[tonysslut]

hear me out, mob boss Tony Stark smoking a cigar while you sit on his lap and he gently plays with your pussy!!!! and in the meantime the two of you also share a glass of his best whiskey... I bet that would be his favorite way to unwind after a hard day

i wanna kiss your brain for sending this 😩

minors dni, pls don't copy or repost my work

warnings: teasing, fingering, overstimulation, italian mob boss tony 😏

tony stark masterlist

You were sitting on Tony's lap with your white lacey panties pushed to the side while he buried his knuckles in your cunt. His other hand held a cigar. The smell invades your senses as you try your best to keep still and not spill the amber liquid that was in the glass you were holding. 

“Such a pretty little pussy, squeezing my fingers so tight.” He groans, slowly thrusting in and out of your heat. “Don’t spill my whiskey, amore mio.” a warning as you start to squirm. 

 You weren’t sure how many orgasms he’d pulled from you. You could barely feel your legs, and Tony’s pants were soaked with your arousal, permanently marking them with your scent.  

“I won’t, daddy.” You whine, trying to focus on the glass instead of how good his fingers feel. 

Tony came home stressed from all his meetings, texting you to wait in his office with a glass of whiskey and his favorite lingerie set. You expected him to down his drink and fuck you senseless, but instead, he patted his lap and insisted on just playing with your pussy, calling you his “stress reliever." 

How could you deny him that? 

You watched as he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your arousal glistening in the light as he sucked them into his mouth, moaning at your sweet taste. “You want a taste?” He asked, and you eagerly nodded as you parted your lips. 

A mixture of whiskey and your arousal hit your tongue, you moaned as your tongue swirled around his fingers to get every last drop. He watched, almost hypnotized, as you sucked on his finger, big doe eyes staring back up at him. 

He set his cigar on the holder and took the whiskey glass from your hands, taking a swig, then placing the glass on his desk. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he trailed them down your sternum and stomach before pressing against your swollen and oversensitive clit. 

At the same time, he presses his lips against yours, swallowing your gasp as he drags you closer to your orgasm. His tongue slips past your parted lips, roaming your mouth as he draws you closer to your orgasm. You dig your nails into his arm when he thrusts his fingers into your cunt, almost instantly hitting a spot that has your eyes rolling back into your head. 

“Feels good, huh?” He groans, putting his palm flushed against your clit to stimulate it while he curls his fingers inside you. 

“S’good.” You whine, back arching as he uses his free hand to grab you hips, keeping you seated on his lap. “Gonna cum!” 

Your legs shake as your release washes over you, muscles stiff and vision blurry. Tony’s movements don’t stop, he makes sure to drag it out for as long as possible, loving how you turn into putty afterwards. 

“Good girl, you’ve made such a mess.” He whispers in your ear. 

You look up at him with glazed eyes, barely registering his words, only attempting to jerk away when he pulls his fingers out only to place them on your clit once again. 

“Can’t. S’too much.” You slurred but give into the painful pleasure.  “Just give me one more, amore mio. Then I’m going to need you to clean up the mess you’ve made.”

likes, reblogs, and feedback are highly appreciated! ੈ♡˳

[harrywavycurly]

What You Deserve Part 3: Start Small

Masterlist: Here

CW: Tiniest mention of your toxic ex

Tag List: @littlered0000 @saramelaniemoon @ali-r3n @sapphire4082 @sweetmoonlove0214 @eddies-girl-22 @darknesseddiem @peaches-roses-sins @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @daisy-munson @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @aol19 @micheledawn1975 @2000babies

A/N: You might be nervous but don’t worry Eddie’s got you also it’s a long one so I split it up into sections and it’ll make sense as you read, enjoy🫠✨

“Good Morning.” “Good Morning…uh you didn’t have to knock on my door you could’ve just honked or-” “honked?…sweetheart I’m not sixteen and running late to school….I’m here to pick you up so that means I knock on the door or ring the bell…whatever you prefer and walk you to my car.” “Oh…Steven just honks…it’s not that big of deal really if it’s easier than getting all the way out-” “it’s not your job to make things easier on anyone…especially Harrington.” “Sorry…I’ll uhm work..on that.” “You don’t have to apologize…so shall we exit the porch now or did you want to stand here for a bit longer?” “Oh yeah yeah we can go…holy shit is that your car?” “One of them yeah…do you not like it? I went with the one that has the smoothest ride…since I know feeling comfortable while inside a car is important to you.” “It’s so…nice I don’t want to like…get it dirty or anything.” “Sweetheart…it’s car…it’s gonna get dirty and that’s fine I’ll just wash it…trust me…there’s nothing you could do that I can’t fix…so please…get in the car.”

“Okay…” “Your coffee is right there…and feel free to change the radio to whatever you want.” “Thank you…oh you don’t care if I touch this stuff?” “Well you’re going to have to touch it if you want to change the station…” “I’m uh not used to being able to mess with the buttons in the car if I’m not driving.” “Please tell me Harrington-” “No no Steven lets me but him and I listen to the same stuff so it was fine…it was uh…my last uhm boyfriend he..didn’t let me control anything in the car.” “Well let’s get this out of the way now okay?…I’m Eddie…or to you I’m sure you’d prefer to call me Edward but either way…I’m not your ex…so whatever he was like and by the sounds of it he wasn’t a very…nice guy…so just know I’m not like him…so feel free to touch all the buttons and change the station..hell roll your window down if you want I don’t care…what’s mine is yours okay?” “Really?” “Yes..that’s a big part of this…type of relationship…whatever I have you also have…and if there’s something you want then just tell me and I’ll do my best to get it for you.” “Oh wow…okay…uh so when you say relationship what uhm…what would I call you?” “What do you mean?” “Like…when you drop me off today and someone asks oh who was that? Is that your boyfriend? What…what should I say? I can’t just be like oh that’s just my…sugar daddy Eddie.” “Yeah that’s sort of a mouthful isn’t it?” “I mean that’s uh just assuming you….you want to be my daddy…sugar daddy…sorry I’m just nervous and you’re…a uhm little intimidating in person but not in a bad way it’s…it’s like in the same way I’d feel around Tony Soprano or someone like that.” “Did you just compare me to a mob boss? That’s the vibes I give off?….if so then me and my stylist need to have a conversation about my wardrobe.” “You have a stylist?” “She does my shopping for me once every two months or so because I hate shopping for clothes….but Tony Soprano…really?” “I mean…you just look like you could easily have someone whacked with the snap of a finger and…yet you also look like you give really good hugs which is important because sometimes a good hug can just fix everything and…and you just…I feel…safe? Even though I don’t really know you…I’d trust you with my drink at a party.” “I’m honored that you’d leave your drink with me at a party and I’m glad you feel safe with me…but you make me sound like I’m some super badass dude…when I’m just a business owner who doesn’t have any mafia connections at all so no matter how many times I snap my fingers no one is getting whacked…” “damn..I was going to give you a list.” “But I have been told I give good hugs.” “That’s good…that’s really good to know….so uhm…how do we actually do this? Do I sign something? Do you want a trial run to see if I annoy you or not?” “I don’t need a trial run…also this isn’t fifty shades of grey I don’t need you to sign anything.” “You’ve seen those movies?” “No I read the books.” “Oh…you…you like to uhm…read? That’s…great.” “So why don’t we start small for now?” “Okay…what does that mean exactly?” “You let me take you to and from work this week and we can get to know each other more and…you let me buy you dinner Friday night?” “Okay that…sounds fine.” “And Friday over dinner we can discus what we both want out of this? Does that sound doable?” “Yes…that’s doable.” “Perfect.”

“Harrington isn’t even here yet and the store opens in five minutes?” “Yeah but that’s fine I have a key and can open the store up.” “By yourself?” “Yeah? I do it all the time.” “That’s…not safe…Steve should know better than that.” “It really is okay…oh are you going to see Dave today?” “I am…I’m actually going to work on him myself.” “Really?” “Yeah I figured he deserved to be worked on by someone that knows his life story…I’m gonna do what I can for him don’t worry.” “Easier said than done…” “I know…oh look who decided to actually show up to work.” “He’s not late so that’s actually good timing for him…so uhm I’ll see you later?” “Yeah I’ll be here when your shift is over.” “So uh have a good day Eddie…” “thanks sweetheart…tell Harrington to call me.” “Uh oh he’s in trouble isn’t he?” “No…not at all…” “what are you-” “you didn’t think I’d let you open your own door did you?” “Oh…uhm well thank you.” “Have a good day…oh and please don’t wait for me outside when you’re done working okay? I’ll come inside and get you.” “Okay…I’ll see you later then…” “Yes…now I gotta go but I’ll tell Dave hello for you.” “Thanks…for uhm…everything.” “You’re welcome.”

[stardustdreams-andcaffeine]

More | Bucky Barnes (Mob AU)

mob!bucky barnes x f!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: You're the secretary to one of the most powerful mob bosses in the country, and that's what he was supposed to stay—your boss. The heart often has other plans. Now, you're in a race against time to save the life of James Barnes, the mob boss who has become so much more.

A/N: Longer one today, just as angsty as I'm used to. I write better with the more angst I do and you can't tell me any different. As always, let me know if you have any requests or comments because I love you all! Keep those dreams alive 🤍

Warnings: mob!bucky, vioence, angst, fluff throughout (because I'm really trying here), secretary!reader, mentions of past abuse in relationship, protective bucky

Word Count: 13,122

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

I have to make it. I have to.

"Come on, come on, come on," I breathe out, drumming my nails nervously against my steering wheel and peering around the car in front of me.

He's not answering his phone. I have to make it in time.

I take my lip between my teeth, the anxiety in my chest only rising as each second ticks by. Finally I swear under my breath and swerve around the car before me, slamming the gas pedal to the floor. A chorus of honks rises around me but I don't care. All I know is that he's going to die.

My boss is going to die if I don't make it.

You may be wondering to yourself, how did a meagerly-paid secretary end up breaking traffic laws and nearly crashing her boss's brand new Tesla just to get to him in time? Why would I even bother? Why would his life be in danger in the first place?

Well, to understand that, I'm going to have to take you back to where my life of crime began.

If my mother ever heard I had a life of crime, she'd kill me herself, so let's keep this one between us.

|||

2 Years Prior

"I'm sorry sir, but you don't have an appointment and Mr. Barnes is full for today," I repeat, quickly losing my ever-bearing patience with the brash business man before me.

His eyes dart around my desk and to the office of my boss, CEO James Barnes. I've only worked here for a few months and yet being his personal secretary is proving more difficult than I imagined.

"Look sweetheart, just let me through and I won't take but a few minutes of his time," the man pushes, not even sparing me a glance as he walks around my desk. I shoot to my feet and step in his way, not hearing the office door open behind me.

"You can either see yourself out, or I can have someone help you. Either way, sir, you're not seeing Mr. Barnes today." I assert, my heart pounding and blood boiling in indignation.

If there's one thing I've learned in my time working in Corporate America, it's that most rich and powerful men think they're so far above the rest of the world that they're entitled to open doors wherever they go. Thankfully, my boss is one of the better ones.

Definitely better than this tool in front of me. I almost scoff in disbelief when the man goes to step around me again.

"You don't scare me, sweetheart. I'm just gonna-"

I step directly in front of his path, my eyes flashing with anger.

"Either you leave right now, or I'll personally make sure you'll never get a time slot with my boss. And it's Ms. Y/L/N, not sweetheart" I grit out, standing my ground and leveling my glare at the man.

"Who do you think you-"

I feel the warmth of his presence before he even says a word.

"Do you feel a need for career-suicide, or are you just incompetent?" A dark, rough voice sounds behind me, cutting off the business man.

As my boss steps beside me, the heat of his presence washes over me and I don't even need to look over to know that his menacing face is on display. I can see it's impact in the business man's sudden desire to leave.

"Uh, I-I am so sorry sir. I'll be on my way."

As he scurries to the elevator, I feel my cheeks heat as I look over at James. His dark hair is cut short but is left long enough to be perfectly messy. His bright blue eyes are already piercing into my exhausted ones.

"Sorry for the commotion, sir. I'll try to handle them quicker next time," I start, but my nerves are lessened by the slightly impressed look upon James' features.

"I've never seen you get angry before," my boss notes, making more heat crawl up my neck.

"Yeah well, I used to let everyone use me as their doormat, but I don't let people walk all over me anymore." I respond with half of a laugh. He hums at that, his eyes trained on me.

I break the contact first, turning around suddenly to my desk to avoid the way his eyes seem to burn the air between us to nothing.

"Miss Y/L/N, can I have a word with you in my office?" He speaks again after a few agonizing moments of silence. My hands freeze and I slowly turn around to find his gaze inquisitive.

"Of course, boss" I reply, clasping my hands together to hide the way they tremble slightly. James Barnes is quite possibly the most terrifying person I've ever met, and yet the more time I spend in this job the less he scares me.

When follow his gesture to walk before him to his office, he slips his hand to the small of my back as I enter and I swear my skin sets on fire. I hurry away from his touch and into a chair as fast as I can. There's a slight hint of amusement upon his features as he settles back in his massive chair, eying me from across the desk.

"Is...is everything alright, sir?" I question after a minute of the thick silence. He sits straighter at this, leaning his forearms on his desk and clasping his hands together.

"Do you have a criminal record, Miss Y/L/N?"

His question startles me so much that it takes me a moment to respond.

"I'm...sorry?" I question, not understanding where this is going.

"Anything at all," James continues as if I didn't say a word, "Petty theft, aggravated assault, murder-"

"Sir I definitely don't have a criminal record," I cut in, my heart beginning to increase in speed. James nods, his blue eyes pinning me to the spot.

"Good, that makes you unsuspecting," he states, only heightening my confusion, "In order for you to be of best use, not to mention safe, it's best if you know exactly what it is that I do."

I sit completely dumbstruck and left with no response at all. My mouth opens and closes as I search for words, but I can't seem to find any.

"You've got a backbone and you're an honest, hard worker. That, you've proven. And, against my better judgement," Barnes pauses, his gaze taking on a somewhat softer, almost vulnerable gaze, "I trust you, Y/N."

My heart leaps into my throat and something stirs within me when he says that...that word. Y/N. My name. He said my name for the first time since he hired me. I don't know why it has such an effect on me, but it does.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt "I trust you too."

I do? When did I make that decision? And why did I just say it out loud?

Something in my boss's face shifts at my words, but he masks it with his usual cool, calm demeanor. He sits again in silence for a moment, taking in me and my response before he nods.

"The business I run is more lucrative than what the surface shows. I need someone on my side on the surface level, an associate who can assist me in matters at this office."

"This office?" I repeat, my brows furrowing together as my heart begins to race again. What does he mean by lucrative? And why is there excitement bubbling in my gut?

What he says next would change my life forever.

"I'm the White Wolf, Y/N." my boss's low voice rumbles, his eyes bright and clear, "I'm the-"

"King of organized crime, ruler of the New York mob," I interrupt, my eyes wide and my entire being not comprehending what's happening. I should leave. I should quit this job and call the police and leave. I should be terrified. But there's something in those eyes...

What I say next would start that life of crime I mentioned earlier, and quite frankly I still don't fully understand where it came from within me.

"Sure," I simply say, and the shock that splays on James' face must mirror my own.

"Sure as in..." he trails off, waiting for me to elaborate and clarify what we both know I mean. I swallow down my nerves and go with the decision my entire head is screaming against but my entire gut yells louder for.

"I'm in," I say, this time with more confidence, "Like I said before, I trust you. And I get the feeling you'd kill me if I said no."

Humor traipses across his features as he sits back in his chair in surprise. He plays with the ring in his finger, nodding slightly to me.

"That went better than planned," he murmurs, and I don't know why but I feel like smiling. My entire body is buzzing and my head is swimming, but something deep inside of me is waking up.

I've been walked all over my entire life. That's just the way it's been. I didn't know the difference between being nice and being a doormat for people's convenience until I was well into my life. As much as I hate to admit it, there's something about James Barnes that I trust, there has been since the day I met him. I felt it pull deep in my soul and now, knowing what he does and who he is...

It's time I control my fate, time that I grab my destiny and force it into motion. It's time that I stop letting people walk all over me and be the person who has a voice and a say and...and power. I've heard of the White Wolf as long as he's been around. He may be ruthless but he is not cruel. He's always looked out for the city, taken the scum off the streets and done the things the politicians refuse to. I trust James. And something deep within me is shouting that this is right, that this my destiny, that this is the strings of fate pulling.

And I know when to listen.

"Welcome, Ms. Y/L/N," James announces, standing and keeping his gaze burning down on mine, "To the real business."

|||

Seven months later.

One night, about seven months after the conversation that absolutely changed my life, I'm working overtime in the office.

My hands are dug into my hair and my eyes droop closed. I release my hold on my hair to knock back the last of an energy drink, but the liquid has little effect. I desperately read through the computer screen, hoping to solve the legal entanglement before me.

James informed me when I came into work this morning that some over-righteous beat-cop was looking too much into the business we hide behind our Property Management company. I've been here all day long trying to figure out how to file all the necessary forms to make this disappear and seem a joke. That's taken longer than I expected, though, and at nearly midnight, James and I are still here working.

"God, this is awful," I groan, dropping my head to rest on my arms upon my desk, my forehead seeping in the cool of the wood. I hear my boss's office door open but don't even bother moving. Eventually, a soft laugh sounds that makes me drag my head up and look over to its origin.

"You look absolutely pitiful" James comments, his tired eyes dancing with a humor that seeps into my own features slowly. A small smile tugs at my lips as I sit up fully.

"Thanks, that's what I was going for," I quip sarcastically.

He coughs out a laugh that makes my chest tighten slightly and some of the exhaustion part. Over the months working for the White Wolf of crime, we've become...friends. Well, as close to friends as a mob boss and his secretary can get.

"Come on, let's take a break. We've been at this for too long, I don't even know how you can think straight," James mentions. I shake my head, blinking a few times before turning back to the computer screen.

"No, I've almost got this loophole figured out and we'll be golden if I can just-" I'm cut off abruptly by a strong, calloused hand gently gripping my chin and turning it up so I'm looking at James. My heart gallops suddenly and it takes every ounce of strength to keep my composure against the charge coursing through me.

"Y/N, take a break," he mumbles so soft that a shiver runs down my spine. We stay locked like that for a moment until I nod and pull myself out of his grip by standing.

"Alright" I murmur, breaking the tense, charged moment by pointing a finger at him.

"But if you bring out alcohol on the job, so help me James Barnes I'll turn you in to the police myself," I threaten emptily. He laughs genuinely this time, and it warms my spirit.

"Come on, doll. I've got an idea" he urges, walking out to the massive open save before my desk. I eye him warily and step to it, hoping that the sudden skittering and tripping of my heart at that nickname doesn't show. He's never called me anything but my name, before. Now, it's almost too easy to forget that I work for him.

"You might wanna take your heels off," he suggests, which only heightens my confusion. Nonetheless, I slip the footwear off and walk barefoot in my pant suit to my boss.

"Should I be concerned?" I ask, bringing another humored glint to those beautiful steel eyes.

"No," Barnes says simply, my eyes darting to his forearms as he rolls up the sleeves of his button-up, "I've actually been meaning to do this for a while. You're working for me in a very dangerous business, and although your involvement is kept a secret, I want you to be able to defend yourself if anything goes wrong."

His words settle over me heavily as I shrug my  close-tailored suit jacket off and lay it on my desk. This is actually a smart idea. I sure don't want to be helpless should the time come and, lets be honest, it inevitably will.

"Okay," I reply, walking warily in front of my boss who's practically made of muscle, "Teach me."

Something dark floods his eyes that he blinks away quickly before holding his hands up in a fighting position, gesturing for me to do so. I oblige, putting my fists up in the best way I can. He walks over to me, slowly taking a few steps around my body to inspect my stance.

"Not bad," Barnes announces before stepping close to my side and placing those large hands against my torso and turning it slightly, "There, like that you can use the power you have against someone who might have a lot more than you."

His touch muddles my mind and I can't help but feel that his burning hands linger for a second longer than necessary before he steps away and back in front of me. Even as he does, I instantly feel like I'm missing something without his warmth. It's been that way since I began working here, though. Every little touch here and there has gotten me irrevocably addicted to the feel of him.

I'm so startled by the thought that it almost shows on my face. That train of thinking is...is highly unprofessional.

"Now, punch me" he orders. I hesitate, but don't lower my fists.

That's also unprofessional, and yet look at us.

"Are you sure?" I ask, and he simply nods. I shrug, "Alright then."

I throw the best punch I've got, but he dodges it easily and grabs my fist in his hand. Before I know what's happening, his leg hooks around my vulnerable one that I stepped with and he throws the momentum of my punch back at me so that I crash to the ground. I know that if he'd done that little move fully my back would've slammed into the ground along with my skull. Instead, he follows me to the ground and wraps an arm around my waist, breaking my fall and easing me to the ground as he hovers above me.

I know he means to say something, but words must die for him too when the all too small space between our bodies is realized. I can barely breathe and it's as if time itself has stopped. I watch his fingers flex on the floor by my head, almost as if he's going to reach out to me but chooses against it. All too soon, the moment is broken when James stands and extends a hand down to me. I take it and let him pull me up to standing, disappointment and relief mingling in my stomach.

"That move can save your life, especially against someone bigger than you." James says, a little bit more distantly than he was before.

I thank him quietly and watch him clear his throat and walk back to his office. He pauses when he reaches the door and looks back over at me.

"Y/N, I want you home in an hour tops." He orders. I nod, still slightly breathless.

"And if I stay longer?" I taunt, not even knowing where the words come from. He tilts his head at me, a challenging gaze taking over.

"Then I'll throw you over my shoulder and walk you out myself."

I almost think he means it from the mischief lingering in his gaze.

Sure enough, I go home an hour later.

|||

Five months later

It wasn't until about a year after I joined in on the mob business that I realized how well I was beginning to know James.

And how much more he was becoming to me.

"Y/N, can you get me-"

I cut off my boss by setting down two steaming coffee cups.

"Two triple espressos with low fat cream," I announce, before fishing the folder out from underneath my arm and setting it on the desk before him, "And the monthly finance report. The guys in finance weren't finished when I came by yesterday, so I made sure they had it done for this morning's meeting."

James stares up at me in shock for a moment. That shock is still lingering when he says, "And the meeting schedule?"

"Already in your computer, I emailed it to you last night. I also sent it out to everyone who's coming and made sure to tell Mr. Martinelli 10:30 instead of 11:00 so he arrives on time." I respond, clasping my hands before me and giving my boss a light smile.

"Oh," I exclaim, turning around suddenly and picking up the package I left by his door, "And this gift basket came with a heartfelt apology from Mr. Lankov. It did have an assortment of toffee-filled chocolates which I went ahead and removed for you."

Mr. Barnes reaches over and slides the basket I set down on his desk towards himself before looking up at me. He looks almost impressed, which is high praise enough.

"Will that be all, Mr. Barnes?" I ask when he just stares at me for another minute. I feel my entire body burning under his gaze and, as usual, the air is thick and palpable whenever we're in a room alone. His gaze hardens again into the cold, meticulous mob boss he is and he nods once

"That'll be all, thank you Ms. Y/L/N."

I nod and turn to walk out only to be stopped by his voice calling out to me again.

"Y/N?" James announces, making me turn to him again. I don't know what I expect him to say, but it certainly isn't what comes from him, "I think you are too close of a friend to be calling me James and Mr. Barnes by now."

My heart stutters, but I keep the emotion that surges from his words from splaying all across my face. He considers me a close friend, not just his secretary. When did it ever become more?

When did I ever convince myself it wasn't more.

"What would you like me to call you?" I ask, and the question seems all too formal. The corner of his lips tug up and the movement makes my stomach flip.

"Most of the people closest to me just call me Bucky," he informs, and a rush thrills my entire body as I nod and try to keep my smile small.

"If you need anything else let me know, Bucky." I reply, and something darkens in his gaze.

I'm frozen for another moment, his stare binding me to where I am. Phantom electricity skitters across my limbs and I realize how much I have to restrain myself from walking closer to him. It's almost as if he's the Earth and I'm the moon, caught in his gravity and unable to pull away, All at once I come to my senses and leave his office quicker than usual. I make sure the door is shut behind me before I press my back up against the cool surface.

My heart is pounding in my chest. That was too personal, that was all too personal and wildly unprofessional. Nothing that was said was but the way he looked at me, the way I melted in my spot at that gaze. It was all consuming, and I didn't think I could breathe in that room. He's a mob boss, my mob boss, and I'm his secretary. James...Bucky is naturally a brooding, intense sort of person so the way he looked at me wasn't unusual. The way my entire being reacted was.

And he's so much more than my boss, no matter how much I may try to ignore it.

As the day goes by, I try to rationalize it all. In the end, I know everything there is to know about him—what he likes and dislikes, his routines, his daily patterns. It's my job to, but he doesn't know that about me.

If he did he'd know that today is my...

I think that same thing over and over to comfort myself that everything is normal and okay, but it only just makes a part of me sink. It's almost as if the thought that I'm not more to him has the potential to break me.

You can only be broken by things that hold you.

I'm jarred from that thought when Bucky's voice sounds over my business phone speaker.

"Y/N, my office" He says simply, his voice holding that natural authority and sharp edge that it usually has.

I get up and am walking into his office moments later. Once I'm inside, I take notice that Bucky's hard at work on some document before him and doesn't even spare me a glance until the door clicks shut behind me. At this sound, he looks up and sets down his pen. He stands slowly and adjusts the cuffs of his suit jacket. That small movement sends my entire body into a downward spiral.

"You tried to hide something from me, Y/N," Bucky rumbles, and my stomach hits the floor.

I did? What did I try to hide?

"Sir, I'm not entirely sure what-"

My word die out as he stalks around his desk and up to me. My entire body is trembling, but not from fear, when he stops before me and stares at me so deeply that I feel like he's taken my heart straight from my chest with his bare hands. I'm not so sure he hasn't.

"It was a valiant effort, really," he muses, and I still have no idea what he's talking about, "But even if I only know you half as well as you know me, there was no way you could've hidden it."

My brows are furrowed when he finally reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out an envelope.

"Happy birthday, Y/N," My boss whispers, and the moment feels all too intimate as he hands me the envelope.

He knew it was my birthday. That thought sends a thrill through me that I wish I could forget. I look down at the envelope and back up at Bucky who stares at me with the hint of a genuine smile on his lips.

"You didn't have to..." I whisper, but he gives me a 'really' sort of look.

"You do everything for me, and I'm pretty sure my world would fall apart without you. Now open it."

That only makes my heart race harder and I can't keep away my smile as I open the envelope. Everything seems to fade away when I pull out what's inside. There's no card, just a single slip of paper. When I flip that paper over, I realize that I'm in love with him.

Because it's a round-trip ticket to Kinsale, Ireland. A place I mentioned only once months ago that I've always wanted to go to.

I look up at him, my eyes wide and already filling with tears that I refuse to let go.

"How did you know?" I breathe.

"You said it was one of your dreams to go, and it's hard to forget when you speak about something so passionately." Bucky's reply softer than I've ever heard him be.

I've seen him kill people, torture criminals, and threaten politicians. I've seen him command his mob and rule with certainty and ruthlessness. And yet here he is, giving me one of my dreams because I mentioned it once.

I love him. I know it then, and I don't think I'll ever escape it. I've loved before, but never has it felt like this. This is encompassing and devouring and scary. It's real and deep and world-shifting. How much in love I realize I am with him is the kind of love I never thought I'd get. And yet...

I know it's unprofessional, but I can't stop from stepping forward and getting on my tip toes to wrap my arms around his neck in a sudden hug. He freezes, and for a moment I wonder how long it's been since he's been hugged. Bucky gives in almost instantly and wraps his strong arms around my torso, tugging me closer to him. I decide in this moment that this is my favorite place to be. Kinsale might have been one of my dream places, but this, in his arms, has just as quickly topped the list.

All too quickly I realize the intimacy of this position and pull away, no matter how much it leaves me feeling cold and alone.

"Thank you," I whisper, clearing my throat and taking a step back, "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

Bucky just stares at me with that all-encompassing gaze.

"Then they're all idiots," he murmurs, and my traitorous heart surges again.

This man is my boss. He's the most powerful person in this city and the last thing he'll do is care about someone as powerless as me. And yet...and yet, and yet, and yet. I can't stop.

|||

Eleven months later.

Eleven months later and I'm still just as totally screwed.

I can't stop the feelings that bubble through me, that take me over and encompass everything I am and hoped I could escape. I tried convincing myself he was nothing, tried to fall for someone else, anyone else, but I can't.

James Bucky Barnes is intoxicating in the most wonderful and awful way. And I can't quit him.

That's why I'm here at Angel's Fall, the bar every corporate associate and beat cop or detective in our slice of town finds themselves at after work. I haven't been in a while, not much liking the smell or taste of alcohol, but after spending nearly ten straight hours with Bucky that serve as a reminder that I'll never have him, I needed to take the edge off.

"Anything else I can get for you, babes?" The bartender asks as she takes a stop in front of me, giving me a friendly smile. I return the gesture and let out a long sigh, finishing out the last of my whiskey sour.

"Scotch, straight," I request, giving her a tired smile, "Thanks."

"Sure thing," she replies, instantly beginning to make my drink, "You seem like you've had a long day."

I scoff, running a hand through the hair that I freed from my low bun, "Long few months."

"That bad, huh? Well I'll keep these going till you say when, sweetie," she replies, sliding my drink to me. I give her another quiet thanks before she leaves to her job.

"Y/N? Y/N is that you?"

I furrow my brows, not putting the voice to a face. I turn towards the sound of the man to find him standing beside me. Once my eyes land on his features, my entire being runs cold. Instantly what little alcohol I had in my system sobers out and my blood freezes in my veins. It's as if I've been dunked in ice water and I find it hard to draw in breath.

"Ian. It's been ages" I comment, my voice thankfully not trembling like I expected it to be. Ian laughs before me, leaning on the bar and drinking me in with his eyes. I squirm under his gaze, which only serves to make me uncomfortable.

"Damn right," he comments, smirking at me lazily with that smile that wrecked my life nearly three years ago, "I've missed you, baby."

I bristle at the nickname, my heart flinching even if my body doesn't. I know he's probably missed me, I had to move to a new state to escape him the first time. I thought I'd done good, too. I'd gotten settled here for a while and then worked my way up to a job at Bucky's company. The past almost two years in Bucky's business have been so good for me that I almost forgot my life before it, the reason why I was so ready to take on the life of organized crime.

The reason stands before me, proof that our demons never die. They just hide away until we're vulnerable again.

"What are you doing in New York?" I ask, trying to make polite small talk and avoid the obvious elephant in the room.

The elephant being that the last time I saw him, I smashed a lamp over his head before I scrambled out of his apartment and to the nearest cab that whisked me far far away, leaving behind all of my belongings except for a wad of twenties and my cellphone.

"I got a transfer to a firm a few blocks from here not too long ago. God, you look great Y/N," Ian averts. He says my name again, almost as if he can't believe I'm standing before him. I nod, wringing my wrists and shoving my forgotten drink away from me.

"That's great, Ian." I keep it simple, knowing that if I talk too much I'll lose myself again. I spend my mental energy searching the thickening crowd of people for a way out. I even consider signaling the bartender that I need an escape.

I'm barred from my thoughts when his hand, a hand I'll never forget, skims over my arm. I jerk my attention back to him, ripping my arm away from him as fast as I can and taking a step back.

"Woah, calm down baby. No need to be so jumpy" Ian placates, that same easy, manipulative smile that would bring me crawling right back to him every time stretching across his features. It makes my blood turn to ice and my stomach roil.

"Do not touch me," I command, surprised at the strength in my tone. It's a strength I didn't have before I got this job, "You lost that right long ago."

Ian's shock is not easily hidden. He realizes in that instant that I'm not the same girl I was three years ago when he broke me and used me and ruled my emotions. I've grown and gotten stronger because someone saw the potential in me to handle power with ease, to be a part of something bigger and stronger than anything I'd been in before. It may shatter me to be around Bucky every day, but he still saved my life in ways he'll never know.

I used to see the world as good and evil, black and white. Now, after my work in the mafia, I know it's gray. There's evil in the good and good in the evil. No one is ever truly both, and sometimes the ones you think are the villains are truly the heroes.

"I-" Ian cuts himself off with a surprised laugh, his eyes incredulous upon me, "I'm sorry, when did you convince yourself of that lie?"

"What lie?" I grit out, and I almost slap myself for indulging him. I'm quickly unhinging, though, and I know that if I stay in this conversation much longer I'll break back into a remnant of who I was. I try to swallow my bile at the thought. I refuse to do that.

"The lie that you're strong. The lie that you can survive in your own, the lie that you'll be anything or anyone without me," Ian seethes, his words sickly sweet like unsuspecting poison. His words cut me so deep that I almost shatter right there as old wounds I thought had scarred over rip open. Instead, I remind myself of the strength and control I've garnered these last two years working for Bucky Barnes.

And then I slap my ex so hard across the face that my hand stings.

"I am not some helpless little girl that's still in love with you," I grit out, my tone sharper than I've ever heard it before, "You broke me once, you are not going to do it again."

His shocked eyes are so wide upon me that I almost don't register his hand raising to strike me back until my head whips hard to the side and pain explodes across my cheek. When I snap my gaze back to him, my eyes brimming with tears of rage and instability, I see him open his mouth to say something. His words don't make it out.

Not before the crowd of patrons splits and a hand closes around Ian's throat so fast and with such force that his back is slammed into the bar.

Oh, I must've forgotten to mention this before. The Angel's Fall is one of the bars the White Wolf owns.

And here the wolf is himself.

I'm so shocked by Bucky's sudden intrusion that I'm left speechless as his grip tightens on Ian's throat and he brings his face that's flooded with an icy rage close to Ian's clearly terrified one. No one lifts a finger to protest or stop my boss, because they all know who this place belongs to.

"You touch her again and I'll kill you," Bucky growls lowly, and Ian is smart enough to believe him as he nods quickly.

Something warm and bright twists in my chest at his words, even when I know any normal person would be screaming or calling the cops. I've never seen Bucky like this before, not about me at least. About his business, sure. But not me.

"When I let go, you're going to leave this bar and this city," my boss commands, his tone leaving no room for negotiation, "If I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to slit your throat."

Ian whimpers, a sound that I hadn't realized would bring me so much wicked joy, a sound that satisfies the thirst for vengeance that I hadn't even realized I held.

"Now, thank me for my mercy and apologize to Ms. Y/L/N," Bucky orders, his grip loosening enough on Ian's airways to let him gasp out the commanded words.

Once he does, Bucky lets him go. His hand isn't off of Ian's neck for two seconds before my ex-boyfriend is scurrying out of the bar. The noises resume as usual, everyone carrying on as if a man's life was not just threatened. Bucky turns his gaze, still filled with that icy rage, towards me and it softens in a way that melts me.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I avoid the question completely, hoping he'll forget to inquire about it again.

"Thanks for that," I manage out, ignoring the burning of my now very tender cheek, "I honestly thought I had it under control but then I just had to go and slap him."

"That gives him no right to lay a hand on you," Bucky asserts, taking a step closer to me and running a gentle, calloused hand over my hurt cheek. The simple motion sends electricity surging through my entire body and I somehow feel empty when he clenches his jaw and drops his hand.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you okay?" Bucky asks again, not taking a step back.

My heart is pounding and my body is overrun with so many different emotions that I don't know what to focus on or how to stop it all. I may be looking directly into those steel blue eyes, but I'm miles and years away. Memories of Ian and a version of me I often try to forget flash through my mind and I can't stop them.

"Who said you could parade yourself around like a whore when you are mine?" Ian growls out, making me flinch back and wrap an arm around my torso.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

My head whips to the side with the force of his hand. The sting sets in with the silence for a few moments, suffocating me and drowning me in my own pain. Then I hear him sigh and walk up to me, his hands now gentle as he turns my face up to his.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to do that, can you forgive me?" His words are sweet and his eyes genuinely sad. I look up at him warily and almost pull away when that breathtaking smile tugs onto his lips.

"For me, baby? I promise I'll never lay a hand on you again. I don't deserve you"

"Okay" I whisper, letting him kiss my lips and then the cheek that he'd hit again and again and again and as long as I'd keep forgiving him.

I don't even realize I'm not at the bar anymore until there's a soft click of a door behind me and I register a warm, strong hand encasing my own as Bucky leads me into what looks to be an office in the back of the bar.

I hadn't even realized I'd zoned out. I haven't done that in...in a very long time.

He lets go of my hand only to capture my face in his surprisingly gentle hold. When my eyes meet his, everything seems to quiet in the blue of his irises. Still, my mind is aching to send me back to three years ago, to broken bottles and shattered hearts patched with false kisses and pretty words.

"You're safe," Bucky assures, his face softer than I've ever seen it, "You're safe and you're here. I don't know where you went just now but I need you to come back to me, okay?"

Bucky's soothing voice brings me back to reality and grounds me to the moment until all that's left is this room and him and me.

"That's it, there you go, doll. Stay right here with me," he breathes, making my heart flutter. We stand in silence like that for a few moments that stretch for eternity, with his thumbs running across my cheeks until the consciousness returns to my gaze.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Bucky asks, taking a step back and pulling his hands from my face. I almost make a noise of protest at the loss of contact, but stop myself. Instead, I just shrug.

"It was nothing, really. Just an ex of mine who doesn't know boundaries," I respond, but I can tell that he doesn't buy a word of it.

Bucky takes a slow step towards me again. This time when I tilt my head up to keep his gaze, something tender and almost tangible crackles in the air between us, tugging and pulling and yanking us together. In the steel of his eyes is a dichotomy of emotions, ranging from a breaking softness to a stifled rage that I don't think is directed at me. It sends shivers racing down my spine.

"Y/N," he starts, and my knees almost turn weak at that one utterance, "I think you're not telling me because you know what I'll do. But I need you to understand something before you leave this room and we go back to our daily routine."

One of his hands hooks under my chin, and his thumb grazes ever so lightly over my lip and so swiftly that I almost think I imagined it.

"I don't care who I have to kill or what I have to do. I will do anything if it means protecting you. Anything." He vows, that rage still lit in his eyes. But when I look closer, it seems to be fueled by something so much deeper, so much richer.

I don't know why the words slip past my lips but it does before my mind can stop them.

"Ian manipulated me for years," my voice is trembling and unsure and so unlike every other time I've spoken with him, "He'd use me as his punching bag and then cry on his knees for me. I was stupid then, I always came crawling back. It wasn't until this job that I learned to stand up for myself."

Bucky's entire body is as rigid as a board and I know that look in his eyes. It's the look that appears when he grows unhinged and closer to losing himself to the rage and carnal violence. His jaw clenches and he seems to compose himself.

"What do you want me to do to him?"

It's a simple question, but in his eyes I can see what Bucky wants to do. I can see it as clear as day and it sets my entire being on fire. I choke up, though, because as much as I want to open my mouth and ask for him to kill him, I can't seem to. He sees my hesitancy and nods, taking a step back from me and adjusting his suit.

"Just let me know, Y/N," Bucky states, sounding more professional again as he turns and heads towards his office door.

A sudden sense of urgency overtakes me and I dart forward, grabbing a gentle but insistent hold of his arm that makes Bucky freeze and turn back to me. His arm is in my grasp and I realize that I'm holding on to it for a sense of stability as I try to get the words out. I think he realizes it too because Bucky lets me hold his arm, his eyes boring into mine and that professionalism dropping for a moment. I open my mouth, but close it again, my entire being trembling as flashes of every horror I endured with Ian overtake me.

"I want him gone," I finally manage out, my voice barely more than a whisper, "Please,"

Bucky's eyes search my face for a moment before a certain softness overtakes his gaze. I can see in his eyes that he knows exactly what I mean, even if I can't say the words out loud. He pulls his arm from my grasp only to take a hold of my hand and bring it to his lips. My heart nearly explodes from my chest when he places a kiss to the top of my hand. My skin is ignited where his lips touched it and I almost can't think straight.

God, I'm so in love him. I love him so much it hurts.

"Done." Bucky vows, his eyes never leaving mine.

Ian's mutilated body turned up in an alleyway the next morning.

|||

Two weeks later

I don't know how everything could have gone so wrong only a few weeks later. It all just happened so fast.

"Yes sir, the catering should arrive about 7:00 pm...yes sir, thank you sir. See you then,"

Once the phone is hung up, I take the pen from behind my ear and check off the catering company from my list of gala preparations. In just a few days, the company is going to be holding its annual Employee and Beneficiary Gala. My last few days have been consumed with making sure it runs seamlessly.

"Excuse me, miss. I have a 3:15 with Mr. Barnes." A man's voice I don't recognize calls out to me.

I look up from my paper, smiling warm at the business man who stands before me. My smile falls slightly when I see that he doesn't seem all too happy at the moment, but I set it aside.

"Yes, Mr..." I pause, looking over at my computer screen and scanning for his name, "Stark?"

"That's me." Mr. Stark responds.

"Alright. I'll let Mr. Barnes know that you're here and you should be right in," I inform, giving the man a polite nod before calling Bucky. While I inform him that his appointment is here, I can't help the uneasiness in my chest at Mr. Stark's grave expression.

"You can go on in," I inform once I get off the phone, giving the man a quick smile before turning back to my work, my entire being crawling for some reason.

The meeting's normal for the first few minutes, but pretty quickly their voices begin to raise.

"You need to be careful, Barnes! Pierce and his men are looking for any in to attack our organization."

Alexander Pierce, that's the boss of Bucky's largest rival—Hydra.

"Trust me, Stark. I am careful and perfectly capable of taking care of my business." Bucky grits back. I lift my hands off my keyboard, my attention slipping to listening to the words.

"No, you're not, you're being reckless. You're getting too close and you know it! She is a weakness!" Stark practically shouts. I hear a sudden screech of chair legs on the floor and a brief silence.

Whatever is said next is too hushed for me to hear, but I'm able to catch the last few words.

"I'll take care of it. You know I will," Bucky says, and the office door opens.

"I know you will, buddy. I just needed to get you there," Stark replies, shaking Bucky's hand before turning and walking past my desk without so much of a glance.

"Have a nice day to you too," I whisper beneath my breath.

"Ms. Y/L/N, my office" Bucky says abruptly from his office. His tone seems...almost cold, unfeeling. And he called me Ms. Y/L/N.

With furrowed brows, I get up and make my way into his office, closing the door behind me per his request. I settle down in one of the chairs before his massive desk, an inexplicable worry washing over me. Nonetheless, I ignore the feeling and carry on as normal. Thinking this to be one of the many previous briefings we've had on the gala, I begin to give him my report.

"The catering company is all set for Saturday as is the decorating committee and half-orchestra. All that's left is to-"

"I'm letting you go." Bucky interrupts suddenly, his voice so nonchalant and his gaze so flippantly down on the papers before him that I almost don't register his words.

As in...he's...firing me?

"I'm...sorry?" I question, to which his jaw clenches tightly.

"You are formerly fired, Ms. Y/L/N. Effective immediately," Bucky clarifies, and it feels as though the floor's been ripped out from underneath me.

I can barely breathe let alone hear over the sudden roaring in my ears. He's firing me, after all this time?

"Bucky, I don't-"

"Sir," he interrupts, finally snapping his gaze up to mine. His tone and glare are so ferocious that I almost think he'll pull a gun on me anytime soon.

That one simple correction makes my heart shatter. He hasn't been 'sir' in I don't even know how long. And the way he's looking at me right now...it's almost like he couldn't loathe anyone more in the moment. Like he doesn't even know me. Like he didn't just kill a man for me.

Like he didn't let me fall in love with him.

Tears burn my eyes as I steel my face and straighten up in the chair, clenching my hands so hard together in my lap that they turn white.

"Sir," the word is bitter on my tongue and I feel sick to my stomach more so than I ever have, "May I ask why?"

"Your work is sloppy and your intentions with my business, both legal and not, are undecipherable. I have decided that the best intention for me and my business is to part ways irrevocably with you, Ms. Y/L/N."

It takes everything within me to not let my mouth drop open in shock. The hurt that flashes through me is so piercing and raw and real that it arrests my chest. I can't...I don't know what I did wrong.

"You're just going to let me walk away," I breathe, my jaw clenched tightly, "With everything I know about you and your mob. You've killed people for less."

His cold, calculating eyes study me for a minute before he leans back in his chair, his features the picture of nonchalance.

"You won't tell anyone. You and I both know I wouldn't hesitate to kill everyone you love and then you." Bucky informs blatantly.

That's when my heart splinters. Because I can see in his eyes that he means every single word. Emotion blocks my throat as I simply stare back at him, no longer working to hide my shock or pain. I nod once and I stand, smoothing out my silk blouse.

"I've lost everyone I love, you're out of luck there."

The lie burns so strongly on my tongue that it nearly makes me physically sick. I say it to make it true, to trick my mind and heart into believing it. I should hate him. I should loathe him with every fiber of my being. But I just...can't.

With tears that I refuse to let fall swimming in my eyes, I stare down at the man who changed my life, who stole my heart and is now breaking it.

"Whatever it is that you've been relentlessly pursuing these past years, whether it's power or money or blood," I whisper, not daring to bring my voice above it for fear that it will shake, "I hope you find it."

Bucky's gaze bores into mine, something unreadable that's nearly akin to conflict flashing through his eyes. Without a word, I turn and leave, stopping only at my desk to grab my things before leaving. Leaving this office, leaving the mob, leaving him.

And as I drive home with silent tears streaking down my cheeks, I can't ignore the gaping, pain-filled hole in my heart. I hadn't realized how much I needed that business, that man. But I have to move on. I have to.

And yet, I have this awful feeling that I'm not going to be able to.

|||

A few days later

It's the day of the gala, and it's all I can do to keep myself composed.

I've been an emotional wreck the last few days, and as much as I've tried to deny it I can't any longer. I'm in love with Barnes, I have been for a while and as bad as I want it to, it's not just going to go away. Losing the job was like losing Bucky, and I hadn't realized how much I leaned on him until he was ripped away.

"Oh come on, you stupid computer," I grumble, shoving my laptop aside as it launches into an update I didn't ask for.

When I woke up today, I decided it was time I start looking for another job. No matter how much it hurts, I have to move on if I have any chance of continuing on with my life. I was job searching when this piece of junk laptop started to reboot.

My attention is glued to my television and the show I have playing while I wait for my laptop to finish the update. I get so engrossed in the show that I almost miss it when the screen goes bright and it turns back on.

"Finally," I breathe, pulling it back to me and typing in my password.

As soon as it opens to my desktop, my laptop begins to pop up a bunch of random windows from my most used apps, just like it usually does whenever it's powered down and back up suddenly. I close them out with mild irritation, but freeze when my spreadsheet window opens up, displaying the spreadsheet I was working on last.

The guest list for the gala.

My heart stutters. I'd done so good all of today avoiding thoughts of the event only for my stupid laptop to bring it to the forefront of my mind. My heart wrenches as I can't stop myself from scrolling briefly through the list of invited guests. Near the end, I notice my name and stifle the sudden rise of emotions that inundate me.

With hasty, almost frantic fingers, I rush to delete my name from the sheet. Before I can erase my name, my eyes catch on four names at the bottom below mine. Strange. My name was the last one added. I know because I edited and set up this spreadsheet and only added myself when I had double and triple checked that everyone had been added.

Maybe Bucky found four more to invite. I try to accept the thought, but my curiosity takes the better of me and I can't stop myself from pulling up the internet on another window and searching up the first of the four names.

Xavier Taft. 34 years old, works for a bouncer service...wait. Criminal record.

My heart stutters again. With events like this, we're always so careful to keep the criminals down to only our own, and I've never seen this man's name in our regiment before. With furrowed brows, I search up the next one.

Lance Salone. Bouncer. Criminal record.

My heart is racing when I search the third.

Amanda Vice. No criminal record.

I frown, my adrenaline seizing a little bit. Maybe I was too hasty, maybe those two were just-

Oh my God.

My entire body freezes when I notice an article underneath Amanda Vice's search. She's a personal assistant, like me. But she works for Pierce Enterprises, the cover business for-

"Hydra," I whisper beneath my breath, feeling as though someone's taken the world and spun it around me.

With trembling fingers, I navigate back to the spreadsheet and look to the fourth name. I don't even need to search it up to know.

Alexander Pierce.

My heart is in my throat as I fly my cursor up to the top of my spreadsheet and check to see the editing history. My eyes scan the hundreds of entries by me until they rest in the last entry, one done by an email I don't recognize.

One I never gave permission to edit the document.

"They hacked it," I piece together aloud. Nothing seems real as I throw my laptop off of me and shoot to my feet, the world still spinning. The two bouncers, obvious muscle with the clear ability to kill.

I know I should hate Bucky, I know that I shouldn't give a damn what will go down tonight at the gala, but I can't stop myself from reaching for my phone and dialing the number I saved to my phone of the weapons dealer Bucky's mob used. The man I spoke with on Bucky's behalf many a times picks up on the third ring.

"Y/N. I haven't heard your voice in so long, how are you?" the dealer, a man by the name Nick Fury, asks.

"Nick, this is going to sound so random but I need to know if there's been any movement from Pierce or his men in the last week or so," I rush out. There's a beat of silence on the other end before Nick speaks again.

"What's this about? I thought Bucky fired you," he points out skeptically. My desperation is taking the better of me and I nearly snap.

"Damn it, Nick I just need to know! Has Hydra done anything unusual lately that you know about? If anyone would know it would be you," I practically beg. He must hear the urgency in my tone because he doesn't question me again.

"I caught word they were hanging around upstate earlier this week, they're not usually over there," Nick announces. I furrow my brows.

"Where upstate?"

"Some place called The Sky Palace. Heard they were there for a good bit of time snooping around before they got booted out," Nick answers, pausing for a moment, "Y/N, what's going on?"

I can barely breathe, let alone work up a response. The phone nearly slips from my limp fingers.

"Y/N, are you-"

"That's where the gala is tonight" I whisper, an aching, yawning sort of sensation ripping in my chest at the sudden realization that slams into me.

They're going to kill him. They're going to kill Bucky Barnes and they're going to make a move on our mob.

"I have to go," I rush out, my voice trembling and my stomach roiling with nausea, "Thank you, Nick"

"Of course."

I end the call, rushing to grab my purse and throw on the first pair of shoes I can find. As I rush out of my apartment and into the streets of New York as the sun sets low behind the buildings, I no longer think about the betrayal or hurt. I don't ruminate that I'm fired or that Bucky doesn't care for me like I do him. All I can think about is that my family isn't safe tonight, and I have to do everything in my power to protect them. All of them.

As I whistle for a taxi, my phone is already pressed to my ear and ringing as it tries by I reach my ex-boss. The call goes unanswered as I sit inside the cab.

"Where to?" The driver asks.

I almost say the venue, but pause. I set up Bucky's schedule for today, he should still be at his mansion upstate getting ready. He always did like to make grand entrances. Even if I'm wrong, it's only a ten minute drive to the venue. I give the driver Bucky's address and dial his number again as the driver speeds off.

"You've reached the voicemail box of-"

"Oh come on!" I groan out, pulling my phone away and ending the call. My heart is racing so fast that I can practically feel it trying to run out of my chest. I feel utterly powerless right now knowing that Bucky could die and I can help. What if I don't make it in time? What if he's already gone?

Tears blur my vision and sudden heart ache seizes my chest at the thought. I shove it all down and keep myself composed as I try his number again, but to no avail. Thankfully, we're pulling up to his mansion now. I pay the driver and rush out, putting in the gate code and sprinting to his front door. I don't even waste time knocking, knowing he's probably in the garage or his room, and dig up the spare key from its hiding spot to let myself in.

"Bucky!" I shout as soon as I'm in, slamming the door behind me.

There's no response.

"Bucky please! Are you here?" I shout again, but the silence rings in my ears.

One quick check of his room shows he's not here and when I sprint into the garage, I see one of his twenty cars missing.

I missed him. He's already gone.

I curse, checking my phone to see that he's running fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, something he never does. Of all days to be more punctual to his own event, tonight was probably the worst. I hesitate for only a moment as I ponder what to do.

"You'll forgive me later," I mutter to myself before I spin on my heels and jog to the key rack by the door. I swipe the first set I find and press the button only to find his brand new, cherry red Tesla lighting up.

If things weren't so dire, I'd squeal in excitement.

I don't waste time with giddiness, though, and sprint to the car. I'm inside and have the engine running in record time. Not one minute later, I'm peeling out of the garage and onto the road with screeching tires. I press the gas pedal nearly all the way to the floor, the engine roaring in my ears as I whip into the traffic.

I have to make it. I have to.

|||

And here we are, all caught up.

I hope you understand now more than you did before why I'm so desperate to get to Bucky in time. I hadn't realized it fully in the moment before, but now that I just might lose him, I know that he's everything to me. I wouldn't be half the woman I am without him and his constant assurance that I was strong and skilled and perfectly able to stand up for myself.

I can't lose him, not when he's so much more than a boss to me. So much more.

I cut the ten minute drive to the gala down to four. My headlights cut thought the pitch black night as I swerve up to The Sky Palace that's teeming with cars and richly dressed guests. The Tesla screeches as I grind to a halt before a group of gasping patrons and a wide-eyed valet.

His eyes grow wider when he sees me step out of it in a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

"Don't scratch this car if you want to live," I advise as I toss the young valet the keys. He must think I'm joking because his gaze flashes with humor.

He doesn't realize I'm being dead serious.

I don't care a modicum about the horrified, disgusted looks I'm getting from the elite who are still making their way to the Palace's entrance nor do I care about their cries as I break into a sprint and shove past them all.

I can't let him die, I can't let Pierce hurt my family. I can't.

I only stop running when I reach the two men guarding the front entrance with iPads to check in guests. I know them both, since both happen to be members of Bucky's mob. Their eyebrows furrow once they see me approaching them.

"Y/N?" One asks, his eyes nearly popping from his head, "Boss won't like it that you're here."

"Let me in, Sam," I order, my chest heaving with breath, "He's in danger, you're all in danger."

The two men's eyes widen and they share a look for a moment before glancing back to me.

"Y/N," the other begins, but the panic is getting too much and I cut him off.

"Listen, you're all in trouble. The business is in danger of being thrown into chaos, and your boss-" my voice cuts off with sudden emotion, tears swimming in my gaze, "Your boss is going to die if you don't let me in right now."

They only hesitate a moment longer before they step aside. Relief like I've never known it crashes through me. Just before I walk in, though, Sam catches my arm.

"I don't know what the hell's going on, but we're already falling apart without you. We...he needs you, Y/N," Sam whispers.

My heart tugs painfully in my chest and that same hole opens again. I miss them all, I miss the mob and the meetings where we'd all mess around like kids. I miss Bucky.

And with that last thought, I give Sam a nod before turning and jogging into the Palace.

Classical music wafts into the air, broken up only by soft chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The gala is classy and elegant and beautifully well-done, but I don't take time to admire any of that. Instead, I race through the room in search of Bucky.

I receive more than one disgusted glare and scoff at my apparel and messy, unkempt hair. I don't give one damn as I try to blend in as much as possible to not alert Pierce or his men while searching for Bucky.

I stop when I reach the grand staircase that leads to an upper balcony, taking the advantage of the steps and climbing a few to see the room from a birds eye view. It only takes me a few seconds to spot Bucky near the center of the room. My heart squeezes in my chest and I almost sob in relief to see him alive and safe. Just before I move to rush down the stairs and towards him, I hear a click from the top of the stair case.

I whip my gaze up in time to see one of the two bouncers from the list, Xavier Taft, begin setting up a sniper rifle atop the dimly lit balcony that no one but him stands atop.

My heart stops. Time freezes. My stomach hits the floor and all I can think about is that I can't lose him.

"No," I breathe, snapping my gaze down to see the gun trained on Bucky.

When I look at him, I see Sam at his side and speaking in rushed tones, probably about me. Knowing I don't have many options left, my mind works in overdrive to figure out the best way possible to do this. I need to cause a distraction, one to catch Xavier's attention long enough for me to finish climbing the stairs and get that gun away from him. At the same time, though, I need Bucky to see it happen, I need him to know his life is in danger so Lance Salone, the other bouncer, doesn't surprise attack him.

Bucky's just snapped his head towards Sam, his brows furrowed and his jaw tight when I make my move, my nerves humming.

"BUCKY LOOK OUT!" I shout, my voice piercing and carrying out over the room. Instantly, Bucky's head snaps up to where I am on the stairs and his entire body goes rigid.

I don't waste time watching him any longer and begin to sprint up the last of the stairs and towards Xavier who curses. He wasn't ready to shoot yet, I timed it perfectly. Beneath me, Bucky sees the gun trained at him and he sees Xavier, who now has his gaze on me. Bucky's entire body changes again into a mode of desperation, but I don't see it. I'm focused on closing the distance between me and the gun that's almost ready.

"Y/N!" Bucky roars, but I'm barely listening over the chaos in my brain.

"Bitch!" Xavier growls, cocking the rifle hastily and wrapping his finger around the trigger. He's too late, because I finish bounding up the stairs and crash into him, knocking him off of his feet and shoving the gun off balance enough so that the bullet he intended for Bucky slams into the roof instead.

Xavier's body slams into the marble tile as I tackle him, but he quickly overpowers me, flipping us over so I'm beneath him. Below us, I can hear screaming and glass shattering, but above the panic I swear I can hear a voice bellowing my name.

I scramble out from underneath Xavier before he can pin me, shooting to my feet and sprinting to the sniper rifle still sitting on the balcony. Just as I hear Xavier get up behind me, I knock the rifle over and send it careening down into the panicking crowd.

"I'll kill you for that!" I hear Xavier spit from behind me, and I whirl just in time to see him throwing a fist at me.

Time suddenly slows, and it's like I'm back in the office that day ages ago where Bucky tried to teach me self-defense. My body remembers the way he grounded me from my punch before my mind does, and I snap back to reality just in time to dodge Xavier's punch. Just like Bucky did to me then, I hook my leg around his and use his momentum to shove him to ground. I crash down on top of him and practically feel the slam of his head into the marble below him.

"Y/N!"

My entire body jumps at Bucky's voice, now close to me. I snap my head around to see him bounding up the stairs, blood splattered across his tuxedo as if he killed a man himself down there during the chaos. I almost sob in relief. He's okay. I melt beneath his gaze that bores down into me as he stoops down to reach out to me.

His hand is inches from me when his eyes snap up to something behind me and horror flashes through his face a millisecond before a hand wraps around my waist and wrenches me to my feet and away from Xavier's unconscious body. I gasp, and the world suddenly goes very still and very quiet as the cool of a gun presses underneath my chin, forcing it up slightly. My stomach hits the floor and I hardly find it in me to breathe.

Bucky stands ever so slowly in front of me, his jaw clenched and his eyes spelling murder.

"Leave her alone, Pierce," Bucky orders, and sudden fear clamps over me.

Alexander Pierce has me at gun point.

"Why? I'm actually quite taken with your girl," Pierce responds, tightening his hold on my waist. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment at the disgust and fear rolling through me before looking back at Bucky. He catches my slight movement and his fury heightens.

"Pierce, I swear to God if you kill her I will skin you alive," Bucky growls.

"See, now we're getting somewhere," Alexander announces, but I can hear the annoyance in his voice. This isn't what he wanted to happen, "What are you willing to give for her life?"

Immediate tears spring to my eyes and I meet Bucky's gaze again.

"No," I beg immediately, not daring to shake my head because of the gun beneath it, "Let me die. I'd rather die."

Bucky works hard to keep the cold exterior upon his face, but I can see between the cracks that he's...he's terrified.

It's only when Alexander moves his arm that restrains me to cover my mouth that I realize my slim window of opportunity. Without thinking, I slam my free hands into the gun that Pierce holds to the underside of my chin hard enough that it knocks his hand away. His hold loosens in sudden shock and I rip away at the same moment that Bucky darts forward and grabs ahold of me, ripping me to him and immediately crushing me into his side for protection as he rips out his own guns and shoots before Pierce can even recover.

The bullet finds its target perfectly, right between his eyes, and it's over.

My entire body is trembling so violently that I cling to Bucky, scared that my knees will give way from the adrenaline. I've never been in a situation like that before, never been so close to death. Bucky drops the gun from his hold and switches his full attention to me, probably realizing just how pale I've turned and how badly I'm shaking.

Keeping one arm secured around my waist, he runs the other through my hair, his steel blue eyes taking in every feature of mine.

"You saved my life," Bucky murmurs, his hold on me so tight in the most protective sort of way, almost as if he's just as terrified as me, "Even after I fired and threatened you."

I shake my head, tears of relief pooling in my eyes.

"I couldn't let you die."

Bucky's jaw clenches and before he can react I throw my hands around his neck, hugging him close to me. He reacts instantly, wrapping both massive arms around my waist and pulling me close to him, holding me tighter than I ever have been.

"Don't ever do that again, doll," Bucky mumbles into my hair, clenching my hoodie in his fists, "Don't be willing to die for me. I don't deserve it."

I don't know why tears are gathering in my eyes but I find I can't blink them away. I only tighten my grip, nuzzling my head into his neck.

"I don't think I can promise that," I breathe, and my next words come out before I can even stop them, "You'll always be deserving."

Bucky pulls away so fast that my heart lurches into my throat. His eyes examine mine so frantically, so dangerously, so desperately as he holds me out from him. His chest is heaving, almost as bad as mine.

"I did it to protect you, you have to know that. Everything that happened before, it was all to keep them away from you," Bucky swears, and my heart stutters at the look in his eyes, as if the police and ambulance sirens filling the air alongside the shouting don't exist.

"Why?" I breathe, hoping on everything he'll say what I think he will. Bucky brings a hand to cup my cheek, shaking his head at me with something almost close to tears in his eyes.

"You're my only weakness, Y/N, and they know it. Everyone knows it," Bucky murmurs and I swear I stop breathing, "If it came to you or the world I'd pick you every time."

My chest is so tightly constricted that I can hardly draw in any breaths. My chest is moving just as fast as his and butterflies are pressing into my stomach in anticipation for whatever is thick in the air between us.

"Don't ever fire me again," I order, and a low chuckle leaves his lips. My humor drains in a second though, and suddenly it's hard to speak without my voice trembling, "I don't think I'll survive it."

Something breaks in his gaze, softens it and turns it so tender and passionate that my skin tingles. He brings his other hand to cup my face to, so I feel completely under his control.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" He asks carefully, his eyes searching mine, "This life will never slow down. Someone will always want to take you from me."

"I'm sure," I whisper, not even hesitating.

His lips are on mine before the words are even fully out of my mouth. My heart leaps out of my chest as I melt into him, pulling him closer as our lips move in perfect harmony. My entire body feels like liquid and lightning all at once and he's the only thing left in the world. One of his hands finds their way into my hair, leaving me completely at his mercy. When he finally pulls back, he leaves a breath of a kiss on my nose and then my forehead before tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

"You've been more to me for a long time now, doll" Bucky breathes, and a shiver rushes down my spine. He's so beautiful. A smile twitches onto my lips as I caress his stubble-covered cheek.

"I think how I feel is pretty obvious, considering I did tackle a fully grown man for you," I remark, and a surprised laugh rumbles out of him. The sound nearly turns me weak.

"And it was probably the scariest and hottest thing you've ever done," Bucky assures. This time I laugh and kiss him again, but we're both more serious after it.

"This life may not be safe," he begins, his thumb running over my lip, "But you always will be. As long as I'm here, you'll always be safe."

"I love you, Bucky" I whisper, my words a promise. He freezes, something new and bright flashing through his gaze. I don't think he's ever heard those words before.

"I've always loved you, and I always will," he swears, and for a moment my life is completely and totally content.

It doesn't matter what's happening around us, it doesn't even matter that I nearly died a few times in one day. With Bucky by my side, I feel invincible, I feel strong and capable.

"I don't think I can be your secretary any more," I whisper, and his smile is back, turning my insides to butterflies.

"No, I've got a better idea," he smirks, kissing me quickly.

The next day, Bucky would introduce me to the mob as his equal partner.

The King and Queen of crime.

And it would stay like that for the rest of our time.

I don't know when exactly Bucky Barnes became more than my boss, maybe it was always. Maybe I should have known I was in trouble from the beginning, but it's the best kind of trouble. So, if you ever get the chance to do something a little crazy, maybe something you never thought you would, but it just feels right, then you need to do it.

You never know who will become more to you in the process.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You think you remember. Or at least you’ve convinced yourself that you do.

You go through the painstaking steps as the dark presence looms across the counter. The man walks along, just on the other side of the machines as you steam the milk. Toffee nut, yes, you’re pretty sure that was it.

You put it all together, step by step, hands shaking. Your lips move as you talk yourself through your work silently. You can do this. You still feel how the man scratched you through your shirt when he grabbed you, your skin fiery.

You give one last look to the foam and send a prayer up to whatever deity will hear it. You slowly move to the till and place the cup down. You wet your lips and clear your throat.

“Almond, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” you declare, voice quavering as you stare at the bristle across the man’s upper lip. “Mr. Hansen.”

He clucks and leans on the counter, hooking one foot behind the other. He wraps his hand around the cup and slides it closer to himself. He stares down into as you fidget. You glance around at the baked goods.

“And a cinnamon bun?” You suggest but before you can carry through on the offer, a splash of liquid washes over you, hot despite the layer of steamed milk.

“Oat milk,” he crushes the empty cup in his large hand and throws it at your face. You sputter and blink as the foam drips down your cheeks.

“Sorry, sir, I’ll make it again.”

“Fucking right, you will, sweet lips,” he growls and stands straight, crossing his arms.

You pull the bottom of your apron up and wipe your face. You bend to pick up the empty cup and turn away. Your eyes sting and you wiggle your tingling nose. It’s fine. You can do this.

Oat, half blond, half regular, toffee nut, cinnamon on top. The smell of espresso and syrup clings to you as you make the death march back to the till. You set the cup down without a word.

Mr. Hansen, Lloyd, the boss, whatever he is, considers you as he lifts the drink and examines the careful leafy art in the foam. He turns it and inhales the scent, some of the foam catching in his mustache. He takes a breath as if about to dive into water and has a taste. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he pulls the cup away from his mouth. He hums. Does he like it?

Splash.

Another searing dousing and you stand there with a gasp, shaking off the dredge of his displeasure.

“Mr. Hansen, I--”

“First thing’s first. Shut the fuck up. You talk too much,” he tosses the cup. Bonk, right off your forehead. “Second, I changed my mind. Get me a mocha. Extra whip.”

You nod and keep your head down. You pick up the cup and stand, nearly slipping in the puddle around your feet. You dispose of the empty cup and go to the coffee machine. You begin your new task, hands clumsy and trembling. You add the whipped cream and return to the till. You put the cup down and grab onto the counter to keep from sliding through the liquid at your soles.

He lifts it and you wince, bracing for another deluge. He repeats the same deliberate examination. You swallow tightly as he samples your work. This time he doesn’t make a noise. As he lowers the cup, you flinch and take a step back.

He cackles, “relax, cupcake.”

You stare at him grimly. You flick your lashes and blow out your nerves. You hide your shaking hands behind you.

“Now you know who the fuck I am,” he says, “clean yourself up and get back to work.”

He grabs a package of the cookies along the small shelf beside the till then turns on his heel and struts to the door. You watch after him, damp and dripping. As the door opens and closes, you turn to face the mess. You sigh and go to grab the mop; you can clean the floor but you can’t do much for yourself.

You work at soaking up the excess then spray cleaner on the floor and wipe with paper towel to prevent it from getting sticky. As you work at sopping up the errant droplets from the counter, the door behind you swings open. You glance over your shoulder as Bre sweeps through.

“Alright, your turn--” She stops short as you face her. “What happened?” Her face slackens with dread and shock, “what did you do?”

“It was Mr. Jansen—Hansen,” you correct yourself, “he came by and--”

“I told you not to talk to him,” she hisses.

“I... I didn’t have a choice. He wanted a drink and--”

“Fuck. Fuck! What did he say? What did he do?” She snaps.

You recoil at her accusatory tone, “he... he threw coffee in my face? He took some cookies? I don’t know? He just... said now I know who he is. I didn’t really understand--”

“You don’t. You don’t understand. You don’t get it.”

You frown and cross your arms, “I’m sorry, Bre, I did my best--”

“Not good enough. You think it’s all fun and games. It’s not. That man is dangerous. Not just here, everywhere,” she shakes her head, “you’ll see. Out there, on your own. Give me your apron.”

“What?” You murmur.

“Get out. I’ll call Maurice and let him know it didn’t work out.”

“What? No, you can’t--”

“I am. Give me your apron. Now.”

You pout and sniffle. You reach back behind you and unlace the apron and lift it over your head. You hold it out to her, “it’s wet--”

“Just go.”

You hang your head and turn away. Your eyes begin to stream before you even get through the door. You grab your stuff from the backroom and give one last look around. You got fired. What are you going to do?

You fold your jacket over your arm and sling your bag from your shoulder. You let yourself out into the alley and head down to the street. You stop at the end and cover your face, sniveling behind your hands as you lean on the brick. You don’t want to go back home. You only just got there.

“Whatsa matter, sweet lips?” The low drawl is followed by a loud slurp, “bad day?”

[simmerandwrite]

Sink Into Me - 09 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size!reader

Pairing: mob boss! Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06  07 08 09

Wordcount: 11k

Warnings: angst, allusions to dog fighting (but no mention of any kind of abuse), smut

Notes: here we go!! I have so much to say but I'll summarize it with a big thank you!! to everyone who read, reblogged and followed along for the journey. y'all made this so much more fun! can't wait to hear your thoughts!! and while this is the end of Sink Into Me, this universe may stick around for a while. a few more notes on this at the end ;) thank you thank you thank you! enjoy!!

--

“Hi,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes in the low light streaming in from his lamp.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, scanning you for any signs of distress.

You shrugged, taking in a deep breath. Then Steve took a step back, waving his arm to invite you in. You released your lungs slowly, nodding and following him inside. Wordlessly, he climbed into the bed and offered the open blanket to you, arms wide.

You just nodded again, crawling under the comforter and finding a spot - your spot - underneath his arms.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you pulled away from him. A strange empty laugh escaped you.

“I can’t believe… an hour ago… I was being held at gunpoint. That’s crazy. Isn’t that crazy?” The whole thing suddenly hit you like a ton of bricks, all of it. The ambush on your way home, the brute force, the cold rain, the gun.

“Sweetheart..” Steve sat up the same way you did. 

You shook your head and shuffled to the side of the bed and planted your feet on the floor, sitting there as you caught your breath. 

“Hey, hey. Just breathe, okay?” He scrambled off the bed, coming around the kneel in front of you. With one hand, he reached out and placed it on your knee. You dropped yours onto his and squeezed it. “I’m.. baby, I’m so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, taking in a few deep breaths.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered your name, brushing his thumb against your knee. “I’m sorry for everything. Ever since that day.. On the street, outside the restaurant, just by saving me - you had a target on your back and it’s my fault. I hurt you and put you in danger and it’s my fault.”

The silence washed over you both again.

Steve continued, quieter. “Is there anything I can do or say right now to help you? I know you’re probably scared and I can’t fix that but… your well being, that’s all that matters to me.”

You exhaled and opened your eyes. “I.. I’m hungry.”

Steve blinked. “Uh, okay. Sure. I can order a pizza or we could..” His lips twitched into a brief smile. “How about grilled cheese?”

 —

Truthfully, Steve wasn’t always stocked up on the basics but this time he was grateful for what few groceries remained in his fridge. There was a strange silence as you headed to the kitchen. Steve got to work grabbing what he needed for grilled cheese making while you sat at his small dining room table.

Hercules followed you closely, finding a new place to sleep at your feet. 

You fiddled with the tag of the tea bag in your cup of chamomile, quiet. The frying pan sizzled.

“Steve?” 

Your voice drew his attention away from his task at hand. He turned. “Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the fire? At, uh, your mom’s clinic?”

He stilled then turned back towards the stovetop. He flicked off the element and plated the sandwiches, joining you at the table. He slid a plate across to you.

“I would have, eventually. I didn’t want to scare you,” he finally replied, biting on his lip before he continued. “There was a street gang making a big mess in Brooklyn years ago now. In this type of work, uh, gangs usually coexist. Not always peacefully, of course.”

You took a bite of your sandwich and watched Steve carefully.

“This particular group - called themselves the Red Skulls, led by this absolute menace Johann Schmidt.”

“Oh,” you tipped your head to the side, nodding. “I think I remember hearing about him in the news a few years ago.”

“Probably. They were fucking messy. Schmidt was a piece of work especially. There are a lot of things I do not tolerate in my city and he crossed a very serious line.” Steve rolled his neck. God, maybe he shouldn’t be telling you this. But what did he have to lose now? Honesty was all he had left. “Long story short - we took down one of the Red Skulls trafficking operations. They were kidnapping sex workers.” He took in a sharp breath, eyes closing at the resurfacing memories. “Ma looked after everyone we helped escape and Schmidt retaliated by setting fire to the clinic...”

And Steve had been at some fucking club that night. Volleying between shots of liquor and lines of coke, he nearly missed the most important phone call of his goddamn life. 

Steve lost himself in his downward spiral of thoughts as memories of his mother’s recovery flashed through his mind. When he came back to reality, you were looking at him. There was a strange sadness in your eyes.

“That wasn’t your fault, Steve,” you said quietly, tearing off another piece of your sandwich.

He laughed, shaking his head. “The people I care about, the ones I love - you, included now - there is a target on their back, on your back. Forever. I pushed you away and for what? They still..” He dragged both of his hands down his face, head shaking again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. For.. everything.”

You blinked again, then looked down at your plate. “When you called me and broke up with – that day. What you said to me, it was so careless and..”

“Mean?” Steve finished for you. That’s what you had said. He was mean. No, he had been worse than mean. It was cruel and he had done it on purpose.

“Yeah. Why couldn’t you just be honest? If you care about me so much, how could you say those things?”

He wasn’t sure if he should answer, if he could. But you were looking at him and waiting.

“I don’t know,” he replied quietly, leaning back in his chair and gazing out towards the window. “Because I wasn’t thinking straight. I was emotionally compromised. Natasha barely talked to me for weeks after that night. That was another constant reminder that I really fucked up..”

You sighed. After a few beats, you finally found some words. “What do we do now?”

He looked back at you. “I know I hurt you. I think about it every single fucking day and I can’t undo it, I wish I could undo it.” He took in a hard breath. “I can’t even ask for you to forgive me because it isn’t fair. Not after tonight. Because after all this, how could you ever?” An empty, somber laugh rumbled through him. “I’m just.. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could press reset.”

The silence hung between you both again. You finished your sandwich and looked back at Steve. 

“I’m tired,” you said softly, stifling a yawn. “Can I.. sleep beside you?”

Steve nodded. “Of course.”

–

You woke up the next morning in Steve’s bed, alone. Somewhere far away, probably in the kitchen, you could hear him on the phone. With a deep sigh, you got up and put yourself back together. 

Hercules trotted towards you as you departed from Steve’s room. You followed him back towards the kitchen where Steve had put a modest little breakfast together. He ended his phone call when he saw you, then joined you at the table with a pot of coffee.

Your conversation was minimal. You briefly panicked as you recalled the fake meeting Ward had arranged for you with Hammond, but Steve was quick to tell you he had dealt with it.

Eventually, after your quiet breakfast, you asked to return to your own apartment. Steve insisted on driving you there and walking you to your door. When you got to your building, you noticed an additional security guard posted near the front desk.

You wondered if Steve had something to do with that.

When you got to your door, you opened it and let Hercules in before you turned to Steve.

You didn’t know what to say. You weren’t sure  what was supposed to happen now. Truthfully, nothing felt real. 

You felt numb.

“Are you gonna be okay here?” Steve asked, tipping his head just slightly to search your face. “If you wanted to stay at a hotel or–”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure. I’m just tired. I’m going to take the rest of the day to try and clear my mind.”

“Well, if you need anything at all, call me. Please.”

You hesitated. What were you and Steve now? Friends? Exes? Something more? Something less? You couldn’t figure it out and you were too scared to ask. What did you even want with him?

“Did you unblock my number then?” Your lips twitched into a momentary smile.

Steve didn’t smile back. He was serious and for a second, you watched as he hesitated to reply too. “Of course I did. I never should have..” He closed his eyes. “Call me, anytime. For anything. If something ever feels wrong or someone..” Releasing a long breath, he met your eyes once more. Your name left his lips, quiet, like a whisper. “I can’t figure out what else to say other than that I’m sorry. Again. I just.. I wish I could fix everything and erase what happened last night and.. I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life.”

You squeezed his closest hand. You didn’t know what to say. You raised yourself up slightly onto your toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Then you disappeared into your apartment.

You called your mom that afternoon. And while you didn’t give her any details about what had happened in the last 24 hours of your life, you found it necessary to still call her and tell her how much you loved her. She didn’t ask why you were reaching out or question the way your voice cracked, but you knew she was concerned. 

The rest of the day, you slept on and off. Eventually, you ordered in for dinner and forced yourself to sit with the feelings you were wrestling with. What was it? What was going on?

Were you scared? Yes, sure. Even though the incident had been isolated and specific, even though the men responsible were either in custody with law enforcement or being kept directly underneath Steve’s foot, you had reason to feel unsettled. 

How could you deal with it though? Enough rational thought brought your heart rate down enough to strategize if anything ever happened again. Pepper spray on keychain, maybe one of those spikey keyrings that doubled as defense weapons.. A self defense class? Maria told you she had taken one before and she found it empowering. Maybe you needed to feel empowered, too.

It was strange though, as you let your mind fester over your feelings, one constant helped keep you steady and walked you back from your edge of anxiety. Steve. When you felt unsafe, Steve had helped you, protected you, saved you. 

You didn’t even know what you were to him anymore and yet, he carried on as if you were the most important thing in the world. That helping, protecting, saving you was a responsibility he didn’t take lightly. Steve.. He just.. You just..

Steve. Steve was calling. You shook off your layer of feelings analysis and answered your buzzing phone, sitting up on the couch as you brought it to your ear. It was late.

“Hello?”

“Hey.. thanks for.. I wanted to check in, see how you’re doing. If I’m overstepping, feel free to hang up on me, though.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “You’re not overstepping.” You’re being Steve. “I’m okay, yeah. Calm and mostly relaxed. I’m..”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He paused and you swore you could hear him overthinking what to say next. “Would you tell me the truth though? If you weren’t.. Okay?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I would.”

“I appreciate that, really. I know you don’t owe me anything but I’m worried.”

You smiled to yourself. “I’m okay.” You knew repeating it may not reassure him, but it helped you. “Oh, actually. I was thinking about something.. Uhm, when they..” You breathed in slowly. “When they took Hercules, they mentioned some weird threat about him fighting. Is that.. Does that mean they.. That there is a dog fighting, uhm, thing or..” You couldn’t even bear to finish what you were thinking.

“Bucky is already investigating, sweetheart. If that exists, we’re going to stop it. I promise you.”

–––

The next evening, Steve called again. To check in and make sure you were still okay. It was funny - because you had a feeling that his phone calls weren’t the only thing Steve had implemented when it came to ensuring your wellbeing. A new lock system had been installed at the front of your building and that same security guard was patrolling when you left for work that morning too.

The next night he called to see how you were. Then the next and the next and the next.

One night, after you told Steve that you were okay, again, you felt an urge to keep him on the line. For some reason, your conversation started to feel like they used to when you first met - friendly, but a hint of something else, something more. But did you want that? Did he?

“While I have you, though. I was wondering if I had to ask Clint for permission if I wanted to paint my apartment - do you know? Or is it like free reign?”

Steve laughed on his side of the phone. “I can get Clint to find you a painter tomorrow, if you want.”

“Oh, no.” You dismissed that idea quickly. “I want to do it myself. I think it would be fun.”

“Well then, since it’s my building, consider this your permission to paint whatever you want. And if you need some extra hands, I’d be happy to help.”

–––

A week later, you answered another late call from Steve.

“It’s late, I can let you go. I’m sure Hercules is already asleep beside the bed waiting for you..”

You smiled to yourself briefly, then sighed. “I’ve been in bed for a while, actually.”

“Oh.” You heard Steve pause. “You didn’t have to take my call.”

“I can’t sleep tonight.”

He paused again. His voice was slower this time, softer. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just..” It was probably just the late day coffee you had or the tight stress you were holding in your body. “..can’t sleep, I guess.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Maybe you could.. I don’t know, just talk a bit. Tell me a story? From your childhood or high school or something?” You stifled a yawn. “Anything..”

After another beat, Steve’s voice returned in your ear. “Okay. Let’s see. Technically I’m forbidden to share this story but me and Buck had to take a theater class in high school and..”

–––

Steve called you pretty early one night, just as you were coming home from picking up Hercules.

You dropped onto your couch and quickly pulled on the nearest throw blanket the moment you walked into the apartment. When you noticed Steve on the caller ID, you answered right away.  

“Hi,” you said through a yawn, laying flat on the cushions. It sounded like Steve sighed in relief on the other end of the phone. “Steve? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Hey sweetheart,” he continued quickly. Damn. When he slipped in the sweetheart pet name, your heart got really confused. “Just nice to hear your voice.” 

“Are you okay?” You repeated the question, sitting up from your lounging position. 

“I am,” he confirmed. “There’s just something I need to tell you, before you hear about it on the news.”

“Okay..”

“Rumlow - Brock Rumlow.. You remember him?” Before you could answer, Steve laughed. “That’s a stupid question. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten Rumlow.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Steve’s commentary. “No, I haven’t forgotten Brock Rumlow.” Your momentary elation soon disappeared when you considered why Steve might be mentioning Rumlow by name. “What about him?”

“He died today.”

A silence fell between you. “In prison?”

“Yes. Considering how high profile his arrest was, it will likely make the evening news. Maybe it’s already published, I don’t know. I just wanted to warn you before you heard.”

“Okay.” You paused again. “Steve - did you–”

“This had nothing to do with me, surprisingly.” He let out some weird exaggerated laugh again. “I wasn’t his only enemy.” That was Steve choosing what to say and you supposed that was fine. The nitty gritty details really weren’t needed. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Even though he couldn’t see you, you shrugged, laying back down. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just.. it’s weird to say relieved but..I shouldn’t feel relief over someone’s death, right?  Maybe I don’t know how to react.”

“That’s normal, I’d say.” He paused. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

“I do get scared. I think about that night a lot.” You sighed. “But I’ve lived in New York long enough to know that the weird person on the subway probably doesn’t give a shit about me, so I shouldn’t be worried about them.”

“What weird person on the subway?” Steve asked quickly. You could hear him shuffling, maybe going from sitting to standing. “Where did you see–”

“Steve.” You cut him off, with a quiet laugh. “That was hypothetical. I’ve been alright lately, I promise. And remember, I said I would tell you if I wasn’t.”

You heard him let out a long sigh. “Okay.”

“Thank you for calling me and giving me a heads up though,” you continued. “Maybe I’ll mute my news feeds for a few days.”

–––

You [7:01PM]: what do you think? It has taken a few weeks from start to finish but…

You [7:01PM]: (IMG_9116) S Rogers [7:02PM]: that’s a great colour S Rogers [7:03PM]: so. what was the ratio of paint on wall vs paint on you? You [7:03PM]: wow! Rude. You [7:03PM]: 90/10 You [7:04PM]: (IMG_9121) S Rogers [7:06PM]: very cute S Rogers [7:06PM]: even with paint in your hair ;)

–––

Thanksgiving wasn’t your favourite holiday. The food was fine and sure, it was a great excuse for some time off work.

Into adulthood, you were really appreciative of the friendsgiving tradition instead. Especially because your mother was spending the holiday in Jacksonville with her cousin, leaving you mostly without plans for the big day.

Friendsgiving you took seriously. Claire was hosting this year, the weekend before Thanksgiving since she had to work on the holiday, and you had been tasked with dessert making, which was totally up your alley. Maria had offered assistance, so together you were spending your Friday night making the most out of your oven and counter space. 

It was going well, although you had started a lot later than planned. It made for a late night but you were in good company with Maria. Having a night in with one of your closest friends wasn’t something you took for granted. Between flour measurements and preparing fruit, you and Maria spent the entire night talking. It was exactly what you needed.

Just before midnight, you were taking the pecan pie out of the oven and Maria was finishing off the dishes. Just as you turned to join her at the sink, a loud banging started at your door. You gasped, probably too loudly for a sane person, and met Maria’s wide confused stare.

Hercules awoke from his bed in your room and trotted towards the door, cautious.

You walked over behind him, holding your breath as another knock echoed.

“Jesus, Barnes - you’re going to scare her to death..”

Barnes? Was that.. Clint’s voice?

Maria followed behind you, pausing as you looked through the peephole. 

“Who is knocking on your door at midnight?” Maria asked quietly.

You sighed. Bucky and Clint, apparently. What on earth?

After unlocking the door, you opened it, stopping the bickering men in the middle of their conversation. 

“Hello?” You returned their awkward greetings with a small wave. “Can I help you?”

“What is that smell?” Clint’s eyes widened, looking over your shoulder into the apartment. “Are you baking?”

“Can I help you?” You repeated, turning your attention to Bucky directly. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky let out a breath before dragging a hand down his jaw. “So, here’s the thing, doll. My good friend Steve - you know Steve, right? He’s currently spiraling because you haven’t answered your phone or any of his messages all night..” He stood up a bit straighter, looking between you and Maria. “Given the uh..well, he’s just worried about you. Sent us up to check in.. And, since you are clearly very alive and safe, we should..” He paused. “Do I smell snickerdoodles?”

“Oh my god,” you rolled your eyes, inviting the men inside. Maria grabbed the container of fresh cookies and offered them each one.

“If Steve is concerned, why isn’t he at the door?” Maria wondered out loud. 

“Boundaries,” Clint answered with a mouth full of cookies.

Bucky thwacked him on the shoulder. “Manners, Barton.” Bucky waited to bite his own cookie, then nodded. “He’s politely keeping his distance.”

You sighed, then looked over at Maria. You had filled your friend in on most of the details about you and Steve and what your recent reconnection looked like. Minus the whole warehouse rooftop situation. You weren’t sure how to share that. But the confusing new feelings and conversations.. They had proved difficult to process alone.

Not to mention that after you and Steve had broken up, your friends had loyally become very anti-Steve. Which you very much appreciated and if the roles were reversed, you’d have done the same for them. But people and relationships were complicated. You weren’t sure how your friends would react to the whole thing.

Maria, for example, had been incredibly cautious and resistant when you filled her in. Not that she didn’t believe in giving people second chances - but instead held true to the fact that all men were just big clueless morons who never did the right thing. You couldn’t fault her for that opinion either. But even if you figured out your own feelings and walls, you’d never be able to really date Steve again if your friends hated him.

“Hmm,” Maria leaned against your counter, removing the dish cloth from her shoulder as she organized her things. “Well, you should walk me out.” She turned to you. “Points to Steve for respecting boundaries and still caring about you, but I’d feel better seeing him grovel up close.”

Clint let out a belly laugh. “Me too”

While Maria and Clint headed out, you took the opportunity to put Hercules’ leash on for one last trip outside before bed. When you stepped into the hallway, Bucky was waiting for you. 

“This isn’t my place and I know you’re smart enough,” he started slowly, dropping his hand down to accept a lick from Hercules. “But you know you don’t owe Steve anything right? I told him that the day might come where you don’t answer his phone calls and he has to deal with it on his own. If you close the door, he will keep his distance.”

You scrunched up your face, then shrugged. “Thanks, Bucky. Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of emotional support for him.”

“You have no idea, doll. It’s part of my role as lifelong best friend, unfortunately. It’s a heavy burden to bear,” Bucky laughed, shrugging too. “He’s got some demons to work through - I guess we all do. Right now with you though? He’s trying real hard not to look like he’s trying.”

You caught up with Clint and Maria at the elevator then headed to the lobby. As you walked out, you spotted Sam leaning against the front desk, chatting with the overnight doorman. And then there was Steve - standing at attention, hands locked behind his back, an equal distance between the front entrance and the elevators. He was dressed in what you considered his normal attire - a crisp navy suit over a plain shirt, no tie. He made effortless look so damn good and you sort of hated it.

When he saw you, he took a few strides forward.

Bucky and Clint joined Sam to the side while Maria lingered behind your shoulder. Hercules tugged on his leash and pulled you towards Steve immediately, clearly overjoyed to see him. 

“Hey,” you started as you approached. “I unintentionally ignored your calls, I’m sorry. Just plugged my phone in and forgot about it for a while.” 

Steve shook his head quickly. You couldn’t help but see his resolve lighten, as if seeing you caused his shoulders to relax. “You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have dragged everyone here, there was just this..” Whatever Steve was going to say, he seemed to change his mind. He blinked twice then scanned you. “Is that.. flour?” He reached and brushed your shoulder clean.

“We’ve been baking,” you filled in quickly, doing your best to try and read him. “Claire is hosting us for Friendsgiving tomorrow and–”

“You should come!” Maria blurted out from behind you. 

With wide eyes, you looked over your shoulder at her. ‘What?’ you mouthed. 

Now it was Maria’s turn to shrug. “Claire said her cousin had to bail so there’s an extra seat and..” She took a step forward, nodding at you in reassurance before looking at Steve. “And Luke will be there. So.. you know, you’ll have a friend..”

“I thought Claire invited Matt?” You couldn’t help but ask as your brain caught up to you. “That doesn’t..” You turned back to Steve. “You are more than welcome to come. I know you’re busy and have a lot of–”

“I’d love to,” Steve answered slowly, as if trying to make sure you were even okay with the concept. You reached out and grabbed his nearest hand, with a squeeze. That seemed to be reassurance enough. “What can I bring?”

Steve and his crew left shortly after, not before Steve gave you a soft kiss on the cheek. You forced Maria to join you outside with Hercules before her Uber showed up. The fresh air was something you really needed to cool down. 

“So,” You turned to Maria, tipping your head to the side dramatically. “What the hell was that?”

Maria whined out your name, shaking her head. “That guy is in love with you. And trust me, he has a long way to go before I will trust him again, but damn. He looks at you like you’re the most important person on the planet. And I think you love him too.”

“Maria..” You sighed, leaning your head onto her shoulder. “I don’t know how things got so complicated.”

“I just want you to be happy and safe,” she carried on, giving you a small pat on the head. “I get that not everyone is into second chances but.. I don’t know, life is short. If you feel comfortable giving the guy another chance, then we could too. Maybe. Wanda for sure can get on board, Claire might have some reservations.”

“And inviting Steve tomorrow is supposed to be some test?”

“Obviously,” Maria smirked, looking like you had said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “I think it’s only fair for us to really get to know him.”

–––

Claire lived in a beautiful rent controlled apartment in the middle of Harlem. She complained about the location every now and then - it wasn’t the smoothest commute for her to get to work - but at the end of the day, it was functional and roomy. 

Which was good, considering you, Claire and Maria had rearranged most of her living room and kitchen area to host a dozen people for Friendsgiving. With a set of borrowed chairs and a folding table from Claire’s downstairs neighbour, you managed to set up the area just in time before everyone started to arrive.

When Maria had spilled in the group chat about inviting Steve to dinner, Claire had been apprehensive but on board, for your sake. And although you had been grateful for your friends’ open mindedness when it came to Steve, you were suddenly nervous about the whole thing.

Mostly because - oh god, what if he had a terrible time? Or what if he got a phone call in the middle of dinner and had to disappear? Was he going to bring a gun with him? Jesus, you hadn’t even thought about that and what if-

Claire dropped a hand on your shoulder. “Girl, you need to chill.” She urged a glass of your preferred wine into your free hand and sent you away from the kitchen area. “He’s just a man, remember.”

You laughed and clinked your glass with hers. Claire was always a good voice of reason, which you appreciated. You turned to her with a smile. “A good reminder, thank you. But speaking of men - why did you invite both your current fling and your ex to this?”

Before Claire could defend her own actions, Maria was answering a knock at the door and guests started to arrive. After a few arrivals, you were the one greeting at the door and you couldn’t hold back your smile when Steve showed up, with Luke at his side.

“Hey,” you said, politely stepping aside to let Luke in while you lingered in the doorway with Steve. “You look nice.” It felt silly to say but you couldn’t help yourself. Steve had traded his typical suit for a pair of dark brown slacks and a knitted red striped polo. His hair was perfectly coiffed and you just wanted to… kiss him. Damnit.

Steve smirked in response, pulling you into a side hug. “You look nice, sweetheart.” Okay, yes, you had picked out one of your favourite dresses. But that was because you wanted to dress up for Friendsgiving, that was the only reason.

After he shed his coat, you noticed Steve was carrying flowers. You didn’t even have a moment to comment on them before he headed towards the kitchen, where he presented the bouquet directly to Claire. She accepted them with a smile, and when he turned away, you caught her eye. She pointed towards the flowers and mouthed ‘Ten points!’

It didn’t surprise you that Steve managed to socialize effectively with everyone he just met, but he truly did such an impressive job holding conversations. Before dinner, he engrossed himself in a chat with Claire’s on-again-off-again ex-boyfriend Matt, the lawyer, and his coworker Foggy. They seemed to have some common interests in certain legal matters that mostly sounded incredibly boring to you. 

Steve stayed within your orbit and even when you were in the kitchen finalizing a few things with Claire, you caught him looking your way. Why did that make your heart beat so fast?

You sat at his side for dinner and when everyone was going around sharing what they were thankful for, Steve’s hand found your knee under the table. When you said you were thankful for all the people in your life (and your dog, of course), Steve gave you a delicate squeeze and rubbed his thumb against your thigh. 

After dinner, he found you in the kitchen.

“You know, Bucky was bragging all night about your cookies,” Steve saddled up beside you as you leaned against the kitchen counter, while you nibbled at the last piece of apple pie. Steve grabbed a spare fork and joined you. “They ain’t got nothing on this pie.”

You smiled. “Glad you liked it.”

“Apple is my favourite,” Steve replied, licking his lip after cleaning off his fork. “Ma makes a good one but I think she has some competition.”

“That seems like really high praise,” you laughed, leaning against the counter. Steve mirrored you, resting his hand behind your back. It was subtle, maybe even barely noticeable, but he very slowly started to trace circles against the soft fabric of your dress. You were melting. “I’m really glad you came. Hopefully it wasn’t too painful for you.”

He tipped his head to look at you. “We will have to thank Maria for inviting me.”

When Steve politely offered you a ride home, you couldn’t say no. Since you were both heading towards the same area of Brooklyn, it made a lot more sense than taking the subway. As you were leaving, Clarie, Maria and Wanda all gave you the same friendly judgemental look. You accepted that as approval for your actions, departing with a small smile and Steve’s hand at your back.

In typical Steve fashion, he walked you inside and to your apartment door. And then he even happily joined as you took Hercules outside for some air.

Then, well, the night was over. Steve had come to dinner, Steve had brought you home. What else was there to do?

“You can share those cookies with Bucky,” you said with a smile as you stood in the hallway, between Steve and your door. You were sending him home with the rest of the snickerdoodles. “Or keep them all to yourself.”

Steve smiled, raising his hand to brush it through his hair. God, that was sexy. Had that always been sexy? What was going on? Why were you feeling this way?

“Thank you again for letting me join you tonight,” he said slowly, then his feet shuffled forward half a step closer to you. “Hopefully your friends don’t hate me.”

You laughed, sliding your tongue across your lips. You watched his eyes dart down, watching carefully. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Steve..”

Then he leaned in, holding your hips with his hands, and pressed his lips… to your cheek. You tried not to deflate. 

His palms lingered against you for a moment, then he pulled back. You couldn’t read his face. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

–

You texted him well after midnight.

You [1:12AM]: are you awake? S Rogers [1:12AM]: yes

Steve answered your call after the first ring. “Is everything okay?” 

You couldn’t believe you had actually hit ‘call’  but something deep within you compelled you to. It was dark in your bedroom and you couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. You had been restless in bed for over an hour as his face flashed through your mind. Steve with his broad shoulders. Steve with his lingering hands. The way his chain bounced on his chest, how he growled when he came…

Just moments ago you had reached into your bedside table for your little vibrating toy. It wasn’t the first time you had put it to use thinking about Steve. But this time, you were imagining him tearing off that knit polo, the lingering smell of his aftershave, his weight on you. 

If you couldn’t feel him, maybe you could hear him.

“I’m fine..” You said slowly. “Are you at home?” It occurred to you he might have gone directly to Shield after he dropped you off. 

Your name left his lips, drawing your attention back to the call. “I’m home. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“What’s wrong is..” You tried to steady your breathing. Your voice dropped down. “.. you’re not in bed beside me.”

Silence. Then, you heard his breath hitch. “Baby..”

“I can’t..” You were whining into the phone. “I want to come, Steve. Will you help me? Please?.”

He chuckled, lowering his voice. “I can’t say no to that request, sweetheart. Tell me - what are you doing? You using that toy?”

“Uh huh,” you preened back. You had been sliding it across your skin, teasing yourself for as long as you could. “I’ve been thinking about you, Stevie. You and me.”

“Me too, baby. Fuck.” You could hear more shuffling on his side. Christ. Was he touching himself too? “Listen to me, I’m going to help you. Bet you’re already wet, aren’t you?”

You just whined in response.

“Turn that toy up a notch, baby. Circle your clit real slow. And what about your nipples? God, if I was there–”

“Tell me, please. If you were here..”

Half an hour later, as your laboured breathing settled after two quivering orgasms, Steve wished you goodnight and sweet dreams. 

–––

Given it was the night before Thanksgiving, your boss has been flexible when you had to dash out early. The frantic call from Kate at the dog daycare had been surprising, but thankfully your heart rate steadied out when you learned that Hercules was okay. They hadn’t spared any other details, but politely asked owners to come collect their dogs earlier than usual.

Truthfully, you had barely been functional at work all week anyway. Sure, you went through the motions and got your tasks done but before a long weekend, most people were half-assing their responsibilities anyway. And your mind was still racing after Friendsgiving dinner and the phone call with Steve and… Steve. 

Fuck.

You were one of the last to arrive at the daycare, patiently waiting in line to check Hercules out. Once you had him, leash in hand, you turned to leave. Then you spotted Natasha and Yelena chatting quietly to the side of the room, and, well, you couldn’t help but follow your gut.

You saw Yelena there quite often, but Natasha was a rare sighting. Ever since your conversation with Steve after the whole warehouse incident, something had been pricking at the back of your mind.

“..Natasha barely talked to me for weeks after that night..”

Taking a deep breath, you headed toward the sisters. Luckily, it seemed like their conversation had come to an end anyway as Yelena rushed past you with a hurried hello, then joined Kate somewhere behind the scenes. Nataha remained planted where she stood, scanning over her phone. She tipped her head up as you approached.

“Hey,” you started out slowly, offering a reluctant smile. 

Nat crouched briefly, greeting Hercules with a few head scratches before she met your gaze again. “How are you?”

“I was wondering if.. you had like two minutes to chat?” You asked, eyes closed tight as you anticipated her answer. You weren’t sure what it was about Natasha, but she intimated you immensely. You weren’t scared of her but something made you want to impress her. 

Natasha looked at her phone again, eyes narrowed, then back to you. “I can give you five.” With a nod of her head, you followed her behind the front desk and into the small staff kitchen area opposite the main daycare space.

While Natasha dropped onto one of the well worn couches, quickly joined by Hercules as you let go of his leash, you couldn’t steady yourself. All at once, your burning questions and thoughts swirled around in your mind. Then, you took a deep breath and opened your mouth.

“Steve told me a few weeks ago, that when we broke up..  he said you stopped talking to him for a while. I wanted to ask you why..” You raised a shoulder up to shrug, then watched Natasha from across the room.

After a few beats, she let out a quiet laugh. Then, she leaned forward on the couch, elbow resting on her knees, and she stared at you. “Can I be frank with you?”

You swallowed, then found a chair to sit on near a small table. “I’d rather you be Natasha..” When that clearly shielded attempt at humour landed no response, you cleared your throat and nodded. “Yes, please.”

Natasha sighed. “Steve trusts me and when he asks me for advice, I don’t sugar coat it. Dating Steve is not an easy task and your wellbeing is his top priority. So I get why he made his decision. But I did firmly advise him not to be an asshole about it. It was going to hurt you either way, but it was up to him to control the delivery.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well, he did a terrible job.” It didn’t sting as much anymore – really. Given how much your friendship or whatever had evolved with him now, the words didn’t echo through your mind like they used to. You understood why he had made his choices and you could see his remorse in every interaction you’ve had since. Of course, it wasn’t possible to erase what had happened but you and Steve both looked back at it differently now.

Natasha relaxed again, pressing her back into the couch. “I have known Steve for a long time and I have rarely seen him act as selfishly as he did. You deserved better than a breakup over a phone call. Jesus, when he told me what he said – I should have gut punched him. In an attempt to protect you, he fucked up something good for you both. It’s bullshit and embarrassing.” Another sigh escaped her. “And, you didn’t hear this from me, but Steve has never let himself be happy. Because this world and this work can really leave you numb. He was so different once you came into his life, it was something else. So, I was rooting for you two.”

You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm up with her last sentence. This seemed like something rare, a secret revealed from someone prone to privacy. 

“I see why he made his self sacrifice with you. It is classic Steve, if he cares about something, he cares deeply and shows it.” She pinned you with a stare, giving you another once over. “Here’s the thing. You get to decide if you want to forgive him but if you look back over everything – every single moment with Steve – was there a pattern that makes forgiveness worth it?” Her phone, which had been resting on the couch beside her leg, started to vibrate. “Shit. I’ve gotta take this.”  

Natasha stepped away briefly, keeping her tone hushed.

Christ, you probably need a therapist to start unpacking everything that Natasha had just presented. Was there a pattern?

Yes.

Every single action from Steve since the beginning had been, well, selfless. He was constantly putting your needs above everything else. The day you saved him outside the restaurant, he took you to the one person he trusted the most for care. When you called him in distress during your apartment break in, he didn’t hesitate to come help you.

He picked up on your subtleties, your fears and concerns. He moved you to a safer apartment, he protected you from unsavoury people, he pleaded for your understanding, he always left you feeling satisfied. More importantly, he let himself be himself around you. You loved seeing the personal, soft side of Steve. You.. you loved Steve. And maybe it was time to take the leap of faith again - because you missed him when he wasn’t around. 

Fuck. 

Before your logical brain could catch up and decide what to do with this revelation, Natasha was standing in front of you again. Her eyes were hiding something.

You held your breath when she finally spoke.

“So, speaking of Steve…”

–––

Ever since that night, at the abandoned warehouse, on that rooftop.. Steve had been on edge. More than before. You were constantly on his mind, and despite his efforts to ensure you were safe, he couldn’t settle. 

Well, until he got to hear your voice every night. That… that started to mean more to him than he could explain. It was different this time around - the slow build to flirting, wrapped underneath a foundation of familiarity. 

But it felt like that spark from before had returned, though he couldn’t act on it. 

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Bucky had been his voice of reason through all of the confusing feelings. He kept Steve grounded in reality - that the ball was in your court only, forever. If you were ever going to humour Steve again, it was your choice, at your pace. And maybe it would never happen. Bucky had reminded Steve more than once. 

Every agonizing decision Steve was making lately had you at the forefront. Maybe it wouldn’t end up how he wanted it, but if you were safe and secure and happy, nothing else mattered.

Though it had been completely irrational for Steve to make the crew rush to your apartment on a Friday night, the precautionary gamble ended up paying off. Not only were you perfectly safe, but Steve had somehow managed to end up with an invitation to dinner with your friends.

And dinner had gone surprisingly well too. The moments with you and in your world, away from his own, had been so calming. A reminder that life existed outside of the seedy underbelly, where friendly conversation and good food were the only reason why people got together. God, he had enjoyed every minute of it. But more than anything, he was happy to be at your side.

Leaving your doorway that night with just a simple kiss on the cheek had been hard for him to do. But everything needed to go at your pace. If that meant an inappropriate late night phone call, he’d help you out, too. 

He was fucked.

Admittedly, the past few days had been a welcome distraction following Saturday night. Some events in his business life ended up escalating way quicker than Steve had anticipated - which largely meant ignoring other priorities (and thoughts of you) to assist Bucky with his latest project - the dog fighting ring investigation.

Steve had kept Rhodes in the loop about their plan, much to the former DA’s dismay. Steve had made it his own personal mission to take down this underground operation and he promised Rhodes the public credit. But Steve needed the NYPD to turn a blind eye to their plan.

The ambush took place that Wednesday afternoon, with Bucky, Steve, Sam and a few additional men breaking into an abandoned facility in north Queens and going in with plenty of ammunition. They recovered nearly a dozen dogs, most of which immediately went to a veterinary hospital to be checked out. The pups who didn’t need overnight care were to be transferred to Kate’s facility for the weekend, with the costs covered by Steve.

But, after all was said and done, not everyone had left unscathed. Four of the people organizing the dog fighting were sent to a hospital with some severe wounds thanks to Bucky. And Steve, out of all people, had ended up with a pretty dramatic gash in his left arm from one of the dogs. He didn’t blame the poor animal for the situation, of course. But medical attention was necessary.

That was how he ended up at his mom’s clinic - once again. Sarah Rogers had, of course, greeted him warmly then delivered a firm lecture to him about his personal safety.

Just as Sarah was finishing up cleaning his arm and applying a few temporary sutures to the area, there was a small commotion happening somewhere beyond their room at the entrance.

Steve didn’t hesitate to rush towards the lobby area, finding the intake nurse addressing someone at the door. That’s when he saw who that someone was - you.

Maybe he had lost more blood than he thought, but damn. With the late afternoon sunset streaming in, backlighting you perfectly, it looked like a halo of light. A perfect ring of light framing you, like an angel - as you desperately asked the front desk nurse about Steve, where he was, if he was okay.

The nurse was caught in a repetitive loop, explaining that she couldn’t say who was at the clinic and insisting that dogs weren’t allowed in the building and you needed to leave and –

Steve took a few steps forward, calling out your name. 

Sarah hurried behind the desk and calmed down the girl who sat there, quietly pulling her to the side to leave Steve alone. With you.

“Steve!” You blinked twice and rushed towards him, stopping yourself before you crashed into his chest. “Natasha told me you were here and.. What happened?” You reached out and carefully grabbed his arm, where fresh gauze covered the bite.

Steve answered quickly, removing your hand from his arm and raising it up to kiss the back. “It looks worse than it is, I promise.”

You smiled at him and nodded. “Okay. Good.” Then you took a deep breath. “And all the dogs - they’re safe?”

“Yes, sweetheart. All receiving the care and rest they deserve.” Before Steve realized what was happening, you were throwing your arms around him. He whispered your name softly, rubbing a hand down your back. 

You pulled back and met his soft gaze. “Steve..” You scanned over him again, as if double checking what he said was true. Aside from the bandaging on his arm, Steve truthfully was unharmed. His emotions had been a rollercoaster but for some reason, seeing you had helped settle most of that.

His hand moved and cradled your jaw for just a moment, before brushing against your cheek. “Did you rush all the way here because you were worried about me?”

Your eyes widened before you shook your head. “What? No. I’m not.. It was Hercules, actually, who wanted to make sure all the dogs were okay.” 

Steve couldn’t hold back his grin. “Right.”

“We-” You motioned your head towards Hercules, who was sitting patiently nearby - “weren’t sure what Natasha meant when she said you were injured and..” A long slow breath escaped you. “I just needed to see you.”

Steve could understand your panic, given how he had dramatically rushed to your apartment building over the weekend. Those parallels weren’t lost on him. It had to mean something, right? It all had to mean something.

Your reunion was interrupted by Steve’s ringing phone, where he cursed under his breath before moving his hands from you. “I’ve gotta take this, I’m sorry.”

While Steve took his call from Bucky, you were quickly greeted by an excited Sarah, who grabbed your hand and pulled you away to catch up.

–––

Following your reunion at the clinic, Steve had one of his hands on you. Behind your back, holding your hand, his own hand on your knee on the drive back. He only let go briefly to let you hug Sarah goodbye, after you accepted her invitation to Thanksgiving dinner the next day.

Now, back at your apartment, all you could think about was what was Steve, Steve, Steve. His phone had buzzed with another call from Bucky the moment you stepped inside. He apologized before answering, and you could have sworn you heard him cursing his friend out.

You refreshed Hercules water and food bowls then went into your bedroom, trying to tidy the place up. When you went to pull your blinds down, you couldn’t help but find yourself distracted by the city. Although your view wasn’t as impressive as Steve’s penthouse, you could see into the Brooklyn streets below. At the right angle, you could even see the final orange glow of the sunset through some of the buildings.

It had proved to be a big enough distraction because you didn’t even hear Steve end his call or walk into the room behind you. Instead, you felt his hands on your shoulders, slowly wrapping around and pulling you against his chest. His lips brushed the top of your head.

“Everything good?” You murmured as his hands started to trail their way down your body.

“Mmhmm,” Steve replied quietly, dipping his head down, breathing hot against the side of your neck. “Is this okay?”

You closed your eyes. “Yes but..” It took everything in you to pause, but you turned around in his arms and did just that. “Wait.”

He immediately stopped what he was doing, removing his hands from you as he searched your face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answered too quickly. 

He said your name knowingly then repeated himself. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Okay, okay. I’m just going to say it. Steve, I want this again - with you. I want us to press reset but I’m really fucking scared.”

You watched Steve absorb your words. Telling the truth was something you knew you had to do, but you hoped Steve understood. He was still, but you could see his brain computing.

“And it’s not about the… rooftop thing. Although.. I definitely don’t think back to that night fondly.” You shook your head as you continued. “I’m scared you’re going to change your mind again. Because I don’t know if I can feel like that again. I’ve convinced myself that the good feelings outweigh that risk but..” Your voice cracked. “I’m scared.”

Steve grabbed your hands and turned you enough to help you sit on the bed. He crouched down in front of you, tracing his thumbs across your knees. “Sweetheart. Hurting you was the biggest regret of my life. I know my words can only mean so much but I want you to hear me.” You met his gaze and nodded. “I’m an idiot. An idiot who will do everything in his power to prove to you how much you mean to me. I can’t undo what I said and resetting doesn’t make it go away. But I love you and want to make this work for us if you’ll give me this chance.”

You raised your hands and cradled his face. “That was quite the speech.”

He smirked. “I mean it, baby. Every word.”

“Okay.” You took in another breath then let it out slowly.

“Okay?” Steve asked.

“Okay, let’s reset.” Your hands left his cheeks, carding through his hair as your lips crashed into his. Kissing Steve didn’t feel like going back to the beginning though - it felt like picking up where you left off. 

Steve didn’t waste a moment responding, hands traveling to the back of your neck to steady you as he pushed you down on the bed. Everything happening now, in that moment, was all that mattered to you both. Steve wanted you, you wanted him. Nothing else needed to make sense.

Your hands roamed down Steve’s torso as he hovered over you, pulling at his shirt and trying to make quick work of the buttons. Steve shed his shirt without his lips leaving you, pressing hot wet kisses against your cheek, down towards your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, gasping when his teeth grazed your shoulder.

“Less clothes,” he whined out, removing himself from you long enough for your top to come off. He stood off the bed briefly to slip out of his pants, while you shimmied out of your jeans. You were left in just your underwear, some very unsexy unmatched set. 

But lord, the way Steve looked at you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said firmly, crawling back over you on the bed. He braced himself above you again, tracing a finger up your jaw to tip your chin up. 

You felt your cheeks grow warm. “Steve..”

‘“I’m sorry if what I said… on that phone call - if it ever made you doubt how fucking beautiful you are.” He dipped his head down and met your lips again, softer this time. “I love you, the shape of your body..” He trailed his kisses down you again, towards your chest. “Your heart..” His hands moved down the same way, tracing gently across your chest, along your soft stomach, on top of every single piece of you that you didn’t always love. “I love all of you.”

“Steve,” you whimpered under his touch, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please don’t make me cry.” You choked out a laugh, tipping your head back to mind your happy tears. When you looked back, he was staring at you with a lovestruck smile again. “Thank you. I love you too.”

He grinned, once again leaning down to press his lips to your skin. This time, it was just above your belly button. “It’s okay to cry, sweetheart. But how about I make you come instead?”

How could you argue with that?

Steve surveyed your form intently as he got back to work, hands and lips peppering against your skin. He slid his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs. You helped to kick them away, just as Steve was licking his lips. 

His eyes flicked to you. “Lay back, baby. Get comfortable.” 

You were quick to shift on the bed, into your pillows. Just as you rested your head back, you felt the bed sink slightly just between your legs. Then the soft kisses that had been decorating your skin were inside your thighs. And then–

You let out a whimper when his mouth met your center. You knew you were already wet, but when Steve growled against your clit and slid a finger into you, it felt like a flood. 

“Oh my g-god, Steve.” With one hand, you grasped at his hair. The other dragged across your chest, pulling your own bra down to grab your nipples. “Yes, yes, please.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, breathless as Steve continued stroking, suctioning against your clit as your moans grew louder. When another finger entered you, crooked inside in search of just the right spot, you nearly combusted. And when you did careen over the edge just moments later, Steve didn’t slow down. 

In a daze you sat up slightly to watch him work. He was drowning in you, his own hips grinding against the bed as he consumed you. Jesus fucking Christ - that was hot. Steve was hot. This - this was hot.

“Steve,” you called for him as his mouth finally slowed down, returning to slow kisses against the inside of your thighs again. He looked up and met your eyes, drunk with love and contentment. “I need to feel you - please.”

“Okay, baby,” he replied with a soft smile. “Let me take care of you.” He shucked off his boxers and crawled up the bed again, hovering above you once more. 

You raked your hands over his chest when he was close enough, gripping his hips as you pulled him down and kissed him. Your own taste lingered on his lips and tongue as he breathed into you.

“You ready?” He asked softly, reaching between your waists to position himself.

“Mmhmm,” you whispered, pressing another kiss against him. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Steve cursed out, eyes closing as he pushed himself in. God, you fit together so well. Once he felt comfortable, watching you for the right signs of pleasure, he moved out slowly before finding a rhythm.

“Steve, I missed you so much..”  You wrapped your hands around his neck, in an attempt to keep him as close to you as possible. With one hand, he held one of your legs up, just enough to elicit better friction. And with the other, he cradled the back of your neck. “Missed this - this stretch..”

You could feel him smiling as he kissed you again. His hips sped up, adding just enough extra pressure that you could really feel him. You’d feel him tomorrow, too.

“My girl,” he said breathlessly against your neck. “Always. Mine..” His mouth ravaged your neck and shoulders. “Want this forever.. Want you forever..” He slowed down momentarily. “Wanna fill you up, baby.”

“Yes, yes please..” you said in return, scratching across his back with your hands as you braced yourself. A low growl escaped him as he came. He tensed up as he finished, weight heavy on top of you as you both caught your breaths.

As his head rested near yours, his lips pressed against your earlobe. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. I love you.”

You were still laying in a daze when Steve returned to you in the bed after cleaning up, placing a cup of tea on the bedside table closest to you. His own matching cup rested in his hands. You sat up, pulling up the sheet with you as you rested against the headboard.

Shifting slightly, you pivoted to look at him. “I really missed you.”

He grinned. “So you said.”

“No, not just that.” You gave his shoulder a small nudge, careful not to jostle his tea. “I just like being around you.”

His smile softened. “Me too.” He drew in a long breath and moved his cup to the side table before continuing. He said your name, drawing your gaze to his. “Resetting doesn’t make who I am go away.”

You gulped. “I know.” He seemed to be searching for what to say next, so you continued instead. “I can’t pretend to understand why you do what you do. And I don’t decide what is right and wrong. Neither of us do.” You took a deep breath. “But I want to be with you. That makes me feel a little bit crazy but maybe that’s part of being in love.”

Steve laughed. “You’re in love, huh.”

Rolling your eyes, you fell into his side. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

“And I love you, baby.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, against his heart. He kissed your forehead. “I’m going to keep my professional life at bay. I won’t be able to stop it from bleeding into this but I promise you I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I take that privilege seriously.” You felt him squeeze you a bit tighter. “Though I do think there are some precautions we can take, too.”

“We?” You pulled back slightly and watched him.

“I’m going to get you something for your keys and pepper spray for your bag. How would you feel about taking a self-defense class?”

You scrunched up your face as you considered. “It has been on my to-do list for a long time.” Even without a high profile partner like Steve, knowing you feel prepared in times of danger was something you knew was important. You probably should have prioritized it sooner, really.

“Natasha teaches a class, actually. At her gym.”

“Natasha has a gym?” You nodded. “Yeah, okay. I could do that. Will you take the class with me?”

Steve laughed again. “I don’t need self-defense training, sweetheart.”

“But then we can practice together. C’mon, pleeease.”

Steve groaned, but it was evident very quickly he’d do anything you asked. So, he nodded. “Fine.”

You paused. “You’re not going to make me carry a gun, are you?”

“First of all, I’d never make you do anything.” He sat up a bit straighter, face stern. “And no, absolutely not. I hope you are never in a position where that kind of defense is required.”

You settled against him again. Big conversations like this were expected and you knew it made sense to feel a bit scared still. But, that wasn’t the feeling lingering in your stomach anymore. No, it was more like… safety, contentment, familiarity.

It was something akin to being home.

–––

Shield closed down on Christmas Eve and reopened on New Years Eve, so you weren’t sure why Steve needed to check in there in the middle of the holiday week. Sure, his office was upstairs but he had vowed to do as little work as possible over your days off together. And yet, after a lovely dinner together, he apologetically announced there was something there he needed to check in on.

You had shared a few delicious plates at May’s, a small Italian place in Queens. Steve had given you a history of the restaurant on your way - it was one of the first properties he invested in years ago so it was clearly a special place. When you arrived, the server had immediately showed you to a more intimate table tucked away in the back corner. 

Wine and food arrived at the table without a menu or many words exchanged between the server and Steve. After you had finished eating - polishing off one of the best tiramisus you had ever tasted - the restaurant owner, May, came out to say hello.

When you left without mentioning a bill, you had a feeling that the business Steve did with May extended beyond just being a landlord. You didn’t ask any questions though.

Over the last month with Steve, the questionable moments were quite rare. He really did maintain the boundary between his personal life and everything else, with only a bit of a crossover. You had joined him at the club a few times - because you realized dating the club owner eliminated all the awful things you hated about going out. You never had to wait for entrance or for a drink ever again. Your friends especially liked the free drinks and safe rides home, too.

That was only a fringe benefit of being with Steve though. What really stood out to you was just Steve. Getting to know each other all over again had been exciting and fulfilling, in many ways. 

You kept up your nightly phone calls. Well, when you weren’t crashing at his or him dropping into your bed, you kept up the calls. You had spent Thanksgiving with him at Sarah’s and were greeted with boxes of childhood photos to fawn over. For Christmas, you, Steve and Sarah had all travelled up to Albany to spend the day cooking and celebrating with your mom. 

Slowly, it seemed your worlds would be blending together. And you weren’t really sure what the future was going to hold and how that might transpire, but you decided it was worth seeing what could happen. Because being with Steve seemed worth it.

“I promise this won’t take too long,” Steve’s voice broke you from your thoughts, as he parked his car near the back exit of the club. It was a small lot reserved for Steve and Shield staff members only, currently only occupied by one other black car. You weren’t sure who that belonged to. Maybe Natasha was there doing inventory of the bar before New Years.

You gave him a smile from the passenger seat, leaning over to meet his lips for a kiss. “Remember that we have a big day of sleeping in without an alarm tomorrow so..” He smirked. “Take all the time you need.”

Steve bounded out of the car and raced around to help you out, extending his hand to ensure you stepped safely onto the asphalt. You had dressed up for dinner, picking out your favourite black dress paired with some heels that didn’t cause you too much pain to walk in. Steve had grinned like a schoolboy when he picked you up, which made you feel, well, beautiful. You had paired the dress with your Christmas gift from him - a stunning gold and diamond pendant, shaped like a wing. A matching wing now sat with the chain on his neck, too.

You clutched Steve’s hand as you headed through the backdoor of the club. From the dark back hallway, you could have sworn you could hear music playing somewhere. Maybe it was just the memory of whatever song was just playing in Steve’s car.

As you twisted down the hallway, past the back office, storage rooms, and the back stairs up towards the second floor, the music grew a bit louder. You definitely heard music. You tried to ask Steve what was going on but he just squeezed your hand, threw a mischievous grin over his shoulder and carried on.

When you finally made it to the main club area, it was still pitch black. The music kept playing. You grasped both of Steve’s hands in a panic and by the time you had formed a sentence to ask a worried question, the lights powered on.

But it wasn’t the regular industrial overhead lights. Nor was it the multicoloured pot lights that danced around to match the beat of the club music. No, this was something else. 

Above you, the multicoloured lights were steady and emitting just a soft blue tone. Across the open railings above, partitioning off the downstairs area from the VIPs upstairs, various strands of string lights were hung and illuminated. It made the club area feel almost intimate. 

You dropped Steve’s hands and turned around, speechless as you took it all in. On the end of the bar, you spotted a bottle of champagne sitting on ice with two matching glasses waiting. The music playing above you switched to something softer. An old song crackled through the speakers.

You turned back to Steve, who was gazing at you.

He stepped towards you, hand extended. “Dance with me, sweetheart?”

How could you say no to that request?

Steve helped you take off your coat and  discarded his own. Then he pulled you towards the very center of the room, under a now spinning disco ball that splashed flickers of light around the space. 

“Steve,” you started, resting your head against his chest. One of his palms cradled the small of your back while the other grasped your hand, hovering in the air as he led you in slow circles.. “Did you do this all just for me?”

He chuckled. You could feel it rumble through him. “Bucky helped me out.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand in response. You didn’t know what to say. 

And maybe that was okay, because at that moment, it was just you and Steve. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I promise I’ll always dance with you.”

FIN

-----

Author's Note: Thank you again so much for reading! I have a few ideas for additional one shots in this AU, including a smutty little threesome fic and a small story with Bucky and a girl from the club. if you have any questions or want to know more about this universe or Steve and Reader, please please drop into my inbox or the comments!! love you all!!

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 1: Digging For Gold

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn’t always have to personally negotiate his business dealings, but what happens when one of them insists they’ll only deal with him? He heads out to the country to get it sorted, of course.

Word Count: 2,167

Content/Warnings: light mob themes, mentions of misogyny/ Bucky’s attempt at it, fem reader with minimal descriptions, minimal use of y/n, use of a pet name (Honey), Sam and Steve teasing Bucky and Bucky having none of it. Content below the cut.

Author’s Note: Well here it is— my first fic publication! I literally never write, but I’ve felt so motivated to get this down. Idek how I wrote this many words bc lord knows I’m not doing the same for school. Anyway, I digress. I hope you all enjoy. Comments, suggestions, asks, and reblogs are soooo appreciated!! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

Bucky was used to being turned down at first. In the fact, he was used to being turned down two, three, four times before getting his way. He always got his way, until it came to you. He had been trying to seal this deal for what was going on months now. Usually by his fifth ask, his clients got some sense into them, and in this case, sense means a threat of lead through the heart by a henchman. But that hadn’t phased you at all. If anything, it encouraged you to keep pushing back. A real piece of work, this girl was. Each time someone went to negotiate, they came back with their head hung low, sending in their boss to deal with her next as she had requested. Just for that cocky bastard to leave and come back doing the same. Why were they giving into your requests? They couldn’t help themselves when you had that convincing way about you, and neither could Bucky, even if he wanted to deny it to everyone around him. After months of asking for the next boss, you had finally reached James Buchanan Barnes: the head of his mob. Known for his ruthless nature, no one had ever come out of a deal saying ‘no’ to him. If they said no, they didn’t come out of the deal, simple as that. No one had seen his soft spots, and his buttons weren’t to be pushed. Too many had found out the hard way. The only one who could get away with it was his best friend who had known him since childhood Steve. More like a brother, and his only family left, at that. But it looked like he had a soft spot for you, letting you get away with dismissing these meetings, which is exactly why he needed to go himself: to show he wasn’t soft. To show that he could close the deal and his men lacked discipline when they fell to your kind charm. He’d go to this meeting and then wash his hands of the issue, making the deal he decided he had wanted months ago. He got into the back of his black town car and shut the door, directing the driver to start the long journey to the farm.

As he sat in the car, he wondered why the partition was up, as he heard singing faintly coming from the other side. He pushed the button for it to come down, to be greeted by a familiar pair of blue eyes that belonged to his best friend Steve and the back of Sam’s head.

“Oh heyyy boss. Fancy seeing you here,” Sam said keeping his eyes on the road and turning down the radio.

“Where’s Gio?” Bucky barked back.

“Oh calm down. He’s home relaxing with his family. Sam and I gave him the day off. Figured you’d need our help,” Steve said with a small shrug.

Bucky grumbled to himself something about being the boss while Steve and Sam exchanged a quick glance in the front seat before Sam spoke up again.

“Listen Boss, she’s already been through both of us. Obviously we can’t tell you how to succeed, but we can tell you what to expect going in there.”

“Plus we can remind you what we’re really here for and give you back-up none of us had the luxury of” Steve interjected, “the fact that you’ve waited this long shows you’ve got a soft spot for her, and we can’t afford to push this deal back any farther.”

Bucky knew that. He knew it was coming down to the wire “First off, I do not have a soft spot. Not since I was little, and you know that. I’d have anyone else’s head for even thinking such a thing. And second, if it’s so easy, why couldn’t you two have sealed this deal last month when you went, then? Huh?”

At that, Steve snapped his mouth shut and Sam kept his head forward, not daring to glance back at the mob boss whose jaw was clenched with anticipation.

“That’s what I thought. But go ahead, speak now or forever hold your peace, because when I go in there, I need to come out with a deal.”

He’d never let anyone besides his right-hand and number three men know how on edge he was for this meeting. He looked out the window hoping for the best and that his hard outer persona wouldn’t crack today as Sam and Steve started with their briefing.

When Sam pulled off of the pavement and onto the dirt driveway, Bucky’s eyes absorbed the rolling hills and abundant trees. It was beautiful, but nothing like his city. He enjoyed the tight spaces and routine rigidity of concrete. This was a different world. Her land was sprawling, far further than the crop fields sat. Acres for the cattle to graze and others that laid fallow. It was built over old mines. That’s why he wanted it all: for the tunnels. It would be so much easier to store and move his product, cutting transportation time and having discreet underground facilities if he could just strike a deal, but he’d finally met his match without even meeting her yet. A woman just as stubborn as him, but opposite in every other way.

Sam pulled up in front of a beautiful farm house. Modest, but chic and well cared for. Leaning against one of the posts that framed the front porch was her. Hair hidden under a cowgirl hat, well worn from work-filled days and in a flannel shirt, jeans, and boots showing even more mileage than the hat. Bucky looked out the window and let out a deep breath.

“Wish me luck, boys”

They both just nodded. A more than sufficient acknowledgment in their line of work. Bucky opened the car door and his red bottoms crunched the rocks beneath his feet as he sauntered over to her.

“Ms. Y/L/N. This has been a long time coming.”

“Indeed it has. Good to see you Mr. Barnes. And please, call me Y/N.” Her voice twanged.

Then she flashed him that smile, ugh how he hated that. She wasn’t even trying, but it made him feel an odd warmth that started deep in his chest. One that almost made it seem like it made his heart melt a little. A heart that was stuck in an ice age for as long as he could remember. Still, he couldn’t budge. He had to set an example for his men. How could he push an agenda he couldn’t fulfill? His thoughts continued to race as he stepped up to the bottom of the wooden steps leading to the porch. Not a good start with her literally having the high ground.

“Do your drivers want to come in? I don’t mind gettin’ them some refreshments while we chat.” She offered kindly. How was she so smooth? Bucky glanced back and Steve and Sam gawked at you though Steve’s window. Bucky made a mental note to have that tinted more so no one could see them embarrassing him and themselves in the future.

“No. They’re fine.” Bucky coldly, borderline spat back. “And you can call me by my name, as well, if we’re not doing last names. That’s mostly what I do with those I work closely with”

Bucky wanted to have a firm hand in these business dealings, but he wasn’t a total monster, plus, he knew in most cases, the more comfortable a client was, the more likely they’d give up benefits, sweetening up his own end of the deal. See? He was still working on wrapping you around his finger. He had this down, even if Steve and Sam didn’t think so. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself as you nodded with a soft smile on your face and led him inside.

Bucky followed you past a living room, flanked by a functional and methodically laid out kitchen. That gave him a better idea of who he was working with: someone who meticulously planned their work environment. Someone who cared for every aspect no matter how small. Everything had a place and made sense. Nothing unnecessary was present and it seemed ergonomic, yet modern and classy, like everything about you. His gaze lingered as long as he could until he had to pull his head forward to continue following you down the hallway to your home office. Once again, practical and functional, with a few papers strewn around a laptop and your other useful desk features. You had everything you needed in arm’s reach, no need to tuck it away in drawers if you were constantly using it and you kept it organized enough that it wasn’t a stressful mess. You gestured for Bucky to take a seat on the couch across from you as you sat in your desk chair and flashed him a smile. Ugh there was that smile again, and this time it got him good and he couldn’t help but dopily smile back, not even aware of what his body was doing.

“James” oh how he hated when you called him that. Sure, it was his formal business name, but the way you said it made him grimace. Yeah, it sounded beautiful from your lips, but its use meant your weren’t close. And that’s all he wanted. Was for you to be close. Up against him, on top of him, engulfing him, drowning him. And he would happily accept that fate. Heck, he was drowning right now in these thoughts about you, but he clawed his way to the surface and shook his head to refocus as you said his name again, noticing his attention had drifted in favor to a blank stare at your lips. He knew with that slip-up, he had to regain control and take charge.

“Listen Honey, you’ve essentially been exterminating every guy I send in here and I don’t like it. All you are is sweet but somehow you’re turning down this deal like a bitter old man would” His sudden stern and almost condescending tone was a huge juxtaposition to the wonderland face you had noticed moments ago. You didn’t like that one bit. Being an independent woman who ran a successful business, you were used to men trying to stomp on you until they had their way. You didn’t stand for it with all of Bucky’s underlings and you weren’t going to stand for it now. You’d regain control and keep your calm demeanor, because you’re that much better than all these other mediocre men in business you dealt with all too often.

“First off, James. Let’s not get into extermination or pesticides. That’s far too complicated of an issue for right now, especially if you don’t understand the simple terms I so graciously asked you for. And if you wanna call something honey, you better be referring to my beehives on the south side of the property. Now, I just want to talk to you so you can see where I’m coming from” you said was a sickeningly sweet smile. He could see it didn’t reach your eyes, still filled with fire and not backing down. But dang if your tone still didn’t match the new nickname he’s given you. Sweet and thick. Bucky for the first time found himself listening to demands from another. He settled down into the couch cushions as you pulled out the contract you’d drafted yourself.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, fine. By all means, let’s get down to business. I wanna see what’s been giving all my men such a hard time that you’ve had to come directly to me.”

Bucky leaned forward to grab the contract from your hands. He flipped through the pages, most of it was identical to what he’d drafted, besides you inflating the numbers. He could handle that, but the last line he saw made his neck muscles go limp as he dropped his head.

“James Barnes will work and stay at the farm for one month’s time, uninterrupted, to learn the gravity, value, and hard work associated with operations.”

He should’ve known, but what was one month? If he was going rn use the mines, he may as well see all the land and livestock that could be affected if things went awry. He’s been doing this job for years, anyway. Maybe he needed the break. He’s sure Steve could control everything else, right? He wouldn’t have waited so long for this deal had he not needed the mine shafts. Your smooth voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“So… what’ll it be, James?”

He looked up at you through his lashes with a smirk you couldn’t quite read as you returned your own smirk, knowing what this meeting meant. Knowing that he wouldn’t have come in person unless he really wanted to make a deal happen.

“Sure Honey, whatever you want”

Next>

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

ROBBERS- J.B BARNES

Pairing: Mob Boss! Bucky x Mob Boss Wife! Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: bucky and you were your own little version of bonnie and clyde, getting the most excited out of the most violent things. the two of you ruled the world- who cared about anyone else?

Warnings: SMUT. SMUTTY. gun sex/ penetration (yes, yes you read that right), daddy kink, choking, teasing, pet names, heavy praise kink, dry humping, pussy slapping,  murder and violence (some gore)

“and he’s got his gun, and he’s got his suit on. she says, babe, you look so cool, you look so cool...” - robbers, the 1975

“Are you kidding me Walker?!” a low voice growled, anger laced in his voice as he smashed his fists on the table, standing up with a start. 

A visible flinch was seen from the blonde, worry etched in his features as the brunette neared him, fists clenched, his target of threat chosen. “It’s not my fault sir I-”

 “Oh no you don't get to go all boo-hoo on me Walker. This is one hundred percent your fault.” he hissed through clenched teeth, gripping the man's shirt hard enough to rip the top buttons as he glared down at the cowardly man. 

Blood stained his white collared shirt, Bucky's hands still stained with his past client. His eyes bore holes in Walker, piercing icy blues turned dark and malicious. “We had a deal. The money was due last week. You swore on it.”

 “ I know sir and I told you I'm sorr-”

 Bang! 

His fist hit the table hard enough to dent it, the metal adorned with a fist, ring marks appearing in the silver. 

“ I don't care for your sorrys Walker.” 

He threw him to the ground with force, causing him to wheeze as the breath was knocked out of him. You watched from behind the cool metal door, peeping silently through the little glass window as you soaked it all in. 

It was cruel, the amount of excitement you got when you saw your husband like this. The fury that was pent up inside him was indescribable, smoke seeming to spout from out his ears as he peered down at the man. His breathing was heavy and shallow, you could see the rise and fall of his chest as his back muscles rippled from under the fabric of his rumpled shirt. 

John was spewed across the cool floor, body seeming to be bent at awkward angles as he struggled to grab something unknown to you. 

You had seen many men in his position before. They had learned too late, what the rules of the game were. Bucky was the king of the chessboard, and they were scattered pawns. 

You- you were his queen of course. 

No one had laid a finger on you, since that one night so many summers ago in the shady streets of Brownsville, before Bucky had saved you. Had taken you in, had raised you to be the strong, brave and bright woman you were today- who didnt take shit from anyone. You couldn't live without him- and you weren't ashamed to admit it. He was the only one who could bend and mold you to his bidding, and you wanted nothing more than to happily oblige him. 

You watched in slow motion as John moved suddenly. Reaching in his back pocket, you saw the faint glimmer of a metal handle being drawn, the weapon about to be placed between your husband's pretty eyes.

 You were faster than the man, if he could even be called that, his crimes and dirty work making him more of a cunt than a man. Faster than the speed of light you banged open the door and pulled out your nine millimeter shooting straight for the head, blood spraying everywhere as his body went limp. 

Frantic eyes met yours, and visible relief washed over your husband as he realized it was you, his beautiful wife who had pulled the trigger.

 “You gotta stop getting yourself into trouble baby blue eyes.” you cooed, heels clicking on the marble as you stepped over the corpse, bending down to pocket his weapon into your purse that had clattered on the floor. 

“ You know me shortcake, I’m a sucker for trouble.” he smirked, pulling you closer to his body, hands brushing over your hips with a gentleness that was long gone from his body a few seconds ago. 

Bucky was a mean, mean man- but never with you. No, you were his sweetheart, his shortcake, the queen that ruled Brooklyn alongside him. 

His equal. 

He spoiled you, truly.

 “Is that why you married me?” you questioned sweetly, fingers brushing the fresh splattered blood on his jacket to bring it to your lips, tongue sucking it slowly. 

He moaned at the sight, and you felt the very evident bulge that rutted against your stomach as you fussed over him. “ You’re trouble shortcake. But you're my trouble.” he grinned, fingers coming in contact to lace with yours. 

You sighed in contempt at the comfort you felt with him, despite that dead corpse that lay meer inches away from your Prada heels, blood beginning to make its way over to pool near your feet. 

“ Only yours Daddy.” you smiled sweetly at him, tugging him along with you over Walker's body and towards the door. You were getting needier by the second. His presence alone was enough to send you into overdrive, your body turning to mush at his slight touch. 

The door shut being the two of you with a click, worry of the body already gone from your mind as you knew one of James men would take care of it. 

“ Y’know you owe me new heels Daddy these will stain- oof!” 

You were cut off with a strong grasp on your neck, Bucky slamming you back against the wall with slight force, making you moan. Your purse clattered to the floor, weapons rattling softly as Bucky pinned you, licking his lips with hunger.  

His grip tightened slightly, rings digging into your neck as you looked up at him, eyes widening at his grin. “ I’ll buy you new ones after I fuck you in them.” he whispered in the shell of your ear, teeth tugging on it gently.

 “Your mouth utters such foul language darling.” you drawled, his kisses and biting replacing where his hand once lay, hands now gripping your thighs to lift you up to his height. A wanton moan escaped your lips as he began to rut against your burning core, marks and bruises tracing down your collar and now reaching the peaks of your breasts as Bucky peered up at you, eyes wild and lust-filled. 

His fingers slipped under your dress teasingly, fingers ghosting your thighs as he stroked them closer and closer to the place you needed them most. You slapped a hand over your mouth as you cried, your skin feeling like it was on fire with his touch, your juices puddling in your panties. 

“Tsk tsk, none of that baby. Daddy wants to hear you.” he cooed against your skin, biting on it with a harsh tug that made your eyes widen as another moan left your lips.

 “James they’ll see us-” you whined, mind turning foggy at the sensations as he pulled your thong to the side and slapped your clit harshly.

 “ Let them. Barton probably wants a show. He knows he can't lay a hand on you though or I’d cut it off, that’s what makes it so fun.” he smirked, smacking your pussy again, laughing when you’d buck your hips in response.

 “ What if I wanted to do that?” you smiled, emitting a low laugh from him. 

“Then I guess I’d watch with a scotch in my hand shortcake.” 

You giggled, but were cut off with his touch, your lips parting into an O shape as he stroked his fingers across your sensitive clit and teased your clenching walls as he grazed them along your wetness. They were snatched away as quickly as they came, and you whined impatiently at the sudden loss of contact. 

“Shhh… you know I’ll give you what you want baby.” he cooed, hand reaching in his back pocket to reveal a gleaming silver handgun. You gulped audibly, the cool metal gleaming from the overhead lights. 

“ Do you trust me?” he asked softly, the tenderness and love in his voice sounding like the sweetest melody you had ever heard. 

“ With my life. I didn't get your name tattooed on my thigh for nothing Daddy.” you laughed, meeting his soft baby blues as he smiled gently, kissing you with passion and sweetness you were addicted to. 

The kiss was soft, gentle, like doves in the wind. His kisses took you away from any negative objectives in your life, guarding and protecting you with its sweetness- like sugar. James was so adoring, so protective of you it nearly brought tears to your eyes. You were internally thankful for his presence in your life, filling up the endless void that stuck to you like a ghost. 

He made you whole. And despite having a loaded weapon in his hand, he treated you like you were a porcelain doll as he neared the revolver towards your soaked cunt.

 “I love you shortcake.” he whispered, slowly inching the barrel into your cunt, and you stretched around it deliciously. It chilled you to the bone, balancing out the hotness your body felt with Bucky so near. 

You clenched around it tightly, walls sucking in the gun as if it was Bucky's cock. A deep moan left your lips, eyes rolling back to the whites as he allowed you to get used to the feeling in your hole.

 “So pretty like this shortcake.” he groaned, beginning to rock the weapon in and out of you slowly. Your wetness dripped down the gun as he slowly pounded it into you, peppering kisses to your cheeks and neck as you cried out at the feeling. 

“ Please Daddy!” 

“Please what? You gonna cum shortcake? You really needed this didn't you honey?”  

You nodded frantically, gripping his shoulders tightly as you felt your orgasm approaching at lightning speed. Your body was blazing, so hot hot hot as you grinded down on the gun, needing more.

 The adrenaline running through your body left you breathless, and you couldn't tell if you were turned on by the fact someone could turn the corner and see this at any second, or if it was the fact your husband was quite literally fucking you with a loaded weapon. 

 “Daddy I’m gonna cum-” you shivered, body shaking and trembling at the overload of stimulation you were receiving. 

“ Look at me when you cum shortcake. You look so perfect and pretty when you do.” he cooed gently, nipping at your earlobe.

 That did it for you. Cumming with a scream of his name, your juices soaked the revolver and sprayed over his hand, making your mind go blank. You couldn't think, couldn't feel as you stood floating on a cloud, one of pure rapture. 

Bucky was talking, but you felt as if you were swimming underwater, ears ringing and muffled. He stoked your body with his hands, kissing you all over as you came back to reality, legs shaking and toes curled.

 “ You back with me honey?” he smiled, bringing the gun up to his mouth to lick your juices clean off it. You moaned at the sight, making him chuckle as he pocketed the gun. 

“ Thank you Daddy.” 

“ Anything for you shortcake. Now you wanted new shoes now hmm?”

[jamneuromain]

I have an idea omg. We need more of Lloyd and reader... What about a situation when Lloyd got injured, like he kicked someone's ass , got his knuckles bleeding, or maybe he got a cut or smth... and the reader though she's aware of her blood-seeing problem ofc decided to help him, trying to fight her hemophobia best she could because Lloyd needed her help. Or it can be quite the opposite, the reader got hurt in some way, bleeding a bit, and Lloyd decided to help her because he knows her reaction to seeing blood and all. What do you think?😬☺

Hi Elena😌❤️ （sorry that it took so long I accidentally deleted my draft ... and took very long to recover from the devastating fact :l

Your "Lloyd got hurt" idea certainly is very interesting....👀

So, what would happen if Lloyd got hurt and he has no one else to turn to but his secretary with hemophobia...🤔

Bleed Out

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader (Driver!Denny Carmicheal), Graphic Depiction of Blood and Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has hemophobia (fear of blood), a lot of cursing.

Summary: Lloyd is under your protection for now.

A/N: This is the sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love to Mob!Lloyd<333

One thing, one particular feature you like about the apartment you're living in, is that this little condo - along with the rest of the building and five other blocks in the vicinity, belongs to a high-end resident community that has strict security guard patrol schedules and limited key-card access. These precautions resulted in rocket-high market prices and a rather wealthy neighborhood, as the owner of these buildings forbids renting, for every keycard that could access the front gate, elevators, and their matching apartments, accompanied by facial recognition embedded in the little chip. When you get home every night (or afternoon, if you are lucky), you have to press your keycard and stand before the camera before the gate grants you inside. This brings quite some comfort for you, working for a mob boss named Lloyd Hansen, and knowing that his associates are basically "wanted" by rival gangs for the valuable information they possess.

While it is impossible that you could afford such an exquisite apartment with your salary, though very well-paid, you are truly grateful because Lloyd signed this condo - his condo - to you without a word (or asking a dime from you) when you told him during your final interview that you will be needing a week to relocate before starting the job.

That's when you made up your mind that Lloyd Hansen is a boss worthy to work for.

It's not a big place. Having two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Decorated in white, black, and grey, clearly matching Lloyd's taste when he asked his lawyer to give you the key card and have you move in.

You've lived here for three years now. Adding soft cushions and light-colored sets to the tedious design here and there. Like the sunflower tablecloth and daisy plates and bowls. Like the pink polka dot sheets and duvet covers. And the fluffy slippers, taken out from the cabinets, ready to be put on as soon as fuzzy socks don't work their magic any more.

You are finishing washing the mug you just used. After putting it on the racks, you wipe your hands with a clean cloth. It is a workday tomorrow, and you intend to sleep early to wake up with a fresh spirit to deal with your (sometimes) moody boss. Treating yourself to a nice little read in the bedside lamp radiating yellow glow - another decoration that you feel much needed for this place, you reach out to turn off the lamp when there's a sudden rush of knock on your door.

You zip your mouth shut.

The news two weeks ago, about a woman who was curious about the baby crying at her door, was yanked out of her apartment as soon as she opened the door, being raped and killed in her own bed.

You are smart enough not to ask "Who is it", letting this unexpected guest learn that a young female is at home.

When the unexpected visitor doesn't hear your reply, they knock on the door more fiercely, nearly knocking your heart out of your throat.

You remember the tutorial online: Approach the door with caution, and check the surveillance camera. If there's no one in sight, call the cops. If there's anything out of the ordinary, like a baby or a kitten by the door, call the cops.

In summary, call the cops.

Your fingers hover above your phone, having the police number on speed dial, when you turn on the surveillance camera monitor by the door.

A very bruised, cut, and tired Lloyd, having a gun in his hand, banging on your door as he winces in pain.

"Goodness gracious-" Your gasp gets stuck in your throat. Opening the door in an instant, there's nothing else in your mind than keeping him alive. Your goosebumps on high alert as Lloyd's eyes scan over you. You pull him in, checking that the hallway is secure, before closing the heavy door as quietly as possible.

You turn to him, "Mr. Han-" Your words stop mid-sentence as you feel the need to fight the bile down your throat.

Yes. Mr. Hansen is very much covered in the one thing you hate most in the world.

Blood.

Blood splattered on his chest, his ridiculous choice of the blue-white striped polo shirt and cuts littered over his face and bare arms. His pants are dripping. Some crimson-colored liquid will stick permanently onto your floor and your beloved carpet.

Redness, some stained into near-brown, all over his figure.

You hold your breath, not letting the iron taste linger to make matters worse.

Lloyd walks, more like limps to each of your rooms - now that you can breathe a little while the blood smell is gone temporarily, and convince yourself that it's just ketchup on your boss (though you doubt that trick works) - and inspects each of them with his finger on the gun's trigger.

Taking in the whole situation, three things pop into your mind.

Lloyd is in desperate need of medical attention.

You are most likely to faint as soon as he returns, seeing this amount of blood.

Lloyd wouldn't knock on your door if this isn't desperate for him as well.

As Lloyd approaches, you are wrecking every brain cell to work a way out of this.

" 'S anyone here?" He asks, pulling the safe of his gun back on, before plopping down on your couch and groaning because he most definitely pulls one or two, if not a few of his wounds.

However, one of THE most brilliant ideas comes to you when you are holding your breath.

You shake your head, raising one finger to tell him you need a moment - or you hope that your running off conveys the message, and dash towards your bathroom.

Lloyd sags down on the couch, not even bothering to get up or turn his head to watch whether you've pulled out a gun pointing at him. You probably wouldn't do so, since you chose to pull him in, instead of letting him bleed out by your door.

When you appear in front of him again, his body briefly stuns a moment, before emerging in a burst of full-blown laughter. He laughs so hard that his laughter turns into coughs, which leads to him pressing his hand over his chest in case he tears his wounds further.

You place your hands on your hips. Compared to him, you are least amused by your idea.

You smoothed your hair back and put on your scuba diving goggles from a paid leave last year. Lloyd personally oversaw your two-week vacation, paying from your hotel suite to your travel expenses, and even ordering you full scuba diving equipment for your one-hour scuba lesson.

Of course, you weren't actually interested in becoming an expert, but the scuba equipment was too nice to be thrown away.

"Not funny." You breathe through your mouth. Even though the orange plastic - or glass, you don't quite know which - changes how the bloody Lloyd looks in your eyes, it still doesn't completely change the idea that Lloyd is, in fact, covered in blood, as much as you don't want to think about it. And it definitely doesn't block the smell of blood, which probes the nerves at the back of your nose whenever you breathe through your mouth.

Lloyd scans your "outfit", his laughter slowly dials down, eventually turns into a lazy smile ghosting his lips, "You're right. It's not."

It's over 10:30 pm, and you usually would have been sleeping, or lying on your bed, at least. But no, you are stuck in the living room with your boss who's about to die any minute, and you are only able to stand in front of him, alive and thinking, with a fucking scuba mask on.

So, fuck this.

You roll your eyes at your cold-blooded boss. "Should I call your doctor? Or send you to the hospital?"

The smirk disappears.

Although he didn't say "no" to the hospital, by now you've realized the hospital choice was crossed off the board, as he chose you instead of ringing the police - which will no doubt lead to an investigation since Lloyd is the most notorious mob in Los Angles.

You search for the first aid bag that you stocked away when you moved in. It has rarely been used.

"Doc's dead." He murmurs, but loud enough for you to understand. He spoke with a sadness that only appears when he has lost one of his people. "I took Jared to his clinic."

You know Jared, he is one of the muscles working for Lloyd. He helped take care of one of Lloyd's rivals, Brewer.

"The deal with the Russian mobs tonight went wrong, but we got out in one piece." Lloyd explains curtly, "I got him to Doc's place to get stitched up. But we were attacked... Doc died, so did Jared."

So... two of his people.

Medical alcohol and Q-tips were picked from the bag, then a roll of gauze. You place those on the coffee table.

"I think you need something bigger than a Q-tip." He chuckles, unbuckling his belt, removing his pants. You open your mouth wanting to argue it's probably best that he doesn't move right now, but you silence yourself when you see a flesh wound -

Blood trickles down his thigh, leaving a scorched round hole on his leg. You turn your head to the other side as soon you feel the need to hurl. Even with your goggles on, deep down, you know that it's blood, not ketchup, nor some red paint oozing from his body.

“Don’t puke on my shoes. Crocodiles died for it.” A strangled grunt comes out of his mouth when he finished speaking, having your heart tug in the slightest of agony.

The belt he took off just now is turned into an instant tourniquet on his thigh. The blood drips slower than it did, but it keeps ruining your carpet.

“Yeah, I bet the crocodile spirits hate you right now.” You mutter under your breath, snatching a face mask from the first-aid kit, taking a small inhale after you put it over your face.

Much, much better now.

Lloyd snorts out a short laugh, “You look like one of those bird-man in the Middle Ages when they are battling the plague.”

“Yeah well,” You place your hand on your hips, feeling somewhat braver to deal with this bloody mess all over your living room, “You’re about to bleed out on my couch, so let’s start with you telling me what else I can help with.”

Lloyd spares a glance at you when he’s busy rolling the gauze and pressing it onto his gunshot wound, his expression uninterpretable. Though you would guess that he is mildly impressed.

“Got any liquor? Something strong?” He raises his brows almost challengingly, “I don’t see any painkillers here, so … Bourbon? Whiskey? Scotch? Anything?”

You do have a bottle of whiskey that your cousin gave to you when you moved in. He’d come to visit and lend a helping hand from time to time. You take two glasses from the cupboard and half a bottle of whiskey.

You could use some liquid courage with a murder scene and your psycho boss in the middle of this lovely condo.

With the aid of whiskey and your patching and cleaning of the rest of the wounds, Lloyd is able to sleep through the night soundly without worrying about being a rigid corpse in the morning.

Yawning, and accidentally stretching his patched-up wounds, he allows a string of curses to flow out of his lips. Judging by the sunlight peeking through your curtains, he’d say it’s 9 or 10 in the morning. Last night, he was tired when the adrenaline gradually faded away, and he did not have the chance to take a close look at your – used to be his – place.

You did not put this place through any major changes, just some minor traces, reminding him that he is, in a sense, invading this cozy little apartment with his banged-up body.

With a decent set of fresh suit, shirt, and tie on the chair beside the bed.

Faint murmurs come from the other side of the door, Lloyd tenses up immediately, pulling his gun under the pillow, where he stocked last night, and turns the doorknob slowly.

“… shut up.” He hears you smack someone’s arm jokingly.

Your voice blends in with the voice in his memory of last night, when he winced in pain as you tried to take out glass shards from his forehead with a pair of tweezers, when he swung another gulp of whiskey from the bottle.

“Fucking hell, woman, I swear you’re trying to scoop my brains out rather than finding the glass pieces.” He grumbled.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out, Mr. Hansen. Now I’m kindly asking you to shut up so I can take care of your wounds before it could get any worse.” You said impatiently, having struggled between the discomfort in your stomach and your determination to get him patched up, but adjusted your attitude soon after, keeping your mouth shut and pushing his upper body so he would lean on the couch and be still, while you turned on the flashlight to search the little glass piece on his forehead.

The warm and shallow breath fell on the ridge of his nose. It was broken, sure, tingling and itching, but it also meant that you were close, close enough to kiss-

“Cuz, are you sure that-”

The male voice is cut off when Lloyd in a black suit appears in front of you and a young man. One of his hands behind his back, you know far too well he’s holding the gun and will shoot your cousin’s brain out if you don’t explain quickly.

“Morning Mr. Hansen. This is my cousin, Connor Ashborne, studying at UCLA Med School.” You smile politely towards your boss, “I called for him to check up on you, since you refused to go to any doctor with a gunshot wound. He’s here to provide professional medical assistance.”

“Mr. Hansen,” the young man extends his hand for Lloyd to shake, “I’ve heard of a lot of things about you.”

“Lots of bad things, I hope.” Lloyd throws in a comment half-sarcastically, plopping himself down on the couch, ignoring your cousin’s extending hand, “Shit.” When he stretches his wounds again, the gauze must have clotted with his flesh for this level of pain.

“Cuz?” Conner turns his choice to your hand, “It’s your call. I can’t force your boss to do anything.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You mutter, “He’s more stubborn than a bull with eyes on the red flag.”

“Careful there, sunshine.” Lloyd gulps down some whiskey, numbing the pain in his thigh, “I can hear ya’ loud and clear.”

You silently shrugged towards your cousin, letting him know that you could not be of help any more than he did. “You should probably head to your classes.” You speak softly towards Connor, “Say hi to your sister for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, cuz. Remember those antibiotics and pain meds for the... patient in the kit.” He pulls you into a hug, “No need to thank me, I know, I'm one of a kind.”

Yeah, he's a one-of-a-kind dick when he wants to be. You can't help but smile knowing that his ego bloated after coming to your aid.

“I’ll see you around Christmas, yeah?”He asks.

“Around Christmas.” You confirm, patting his back.

Connor shoots you a wink and a “Bye, cuz”, grabbing the bicycle helmet on the kitchen counter and rushing out of your apartment like a gust of wind.

"A-hem." Lloyd clears his throat.

You let out a long exhale, realizing the big problem-o is still sitting on the couch like he owns this place – he indeed still does, as you have helped combing through his real estate. He owns the whole residential community – more specifically, has a lot of shares in the company which runs this residence, at the very least. Putting your best, and most professional courtesy on, you ask Lloyd, “I’ve called Denny earlier this morning. He’s now driving around the block. Denny has driven to your place and picked up the usual breakfast from your cook. Should I call him and tell him to come up? Or you’d like to head to the office right now?”

“Tell him to come up. I’ve been shot. It seems fair to skip work this morning.” Lloyd has the usual smug smile on his face. Stepping into his crocodile shoes onto the floor, spreading his arms over the couch, he looks down at the ground before narrowing his eyes and raising a sharp question: “You’ve had the carpet thrown out?”

Of course, you’ve had the carpet thrown out. Or you would throw up five times per hour.

You thought so when carrying the blood-soaked carpet downstairs, after making sure Lloyd was asleep around midnight. As his secretary, it is your job to make sure he doesn’t have to worry about anything besides his business.

You carried the carpet downstairs, avoiding cameras as carefully as possible, with your ridiculous scuba goggles and face mask on, and dumped the carpet, into another residence trash can two blocks further. With his blood and his scent on it, it is easy to lure those henchmen away if they bring hounds to search for Lloyd.

Lloyd does not go down without a fight, that you were certain. You were also certain of the fact that the transaction gone wrong would make relative parties involved less than happy, hence the ambush at Doc’s place. If they struck once, it seemed possible that they would strike again, knowing that Lloyd was hurt.

Also packing hydrogen peroxide, a powerful bleach, and a pack of Q-tips with you, you carefully erased the traces of Lloyd’s blood from the street to your residence building, and inside the elevator.

“Miss Y/L/N!” The security guard exclaimed on seeing you back inside the building. He was smart enough not to comment on you pulling your scuba goggles and face mask off, but smiled warmly, “A rough night?”

You smile back, “Hi Henry. I hate to pull ranks on you, Henry, I really do. But in less than ten minutes you are going to get a call from your boss, who has gotten a call from his boss, asking you to do exactly what I tell you to, which is to make a copy of the surveillance footage of the security cameras, and delete the original copy stored in the computers stored somewhere in this building. You are also going to tell me whether anyone has dropped by when your shift ends this morning, who looks suspicious, asking questions even though they don’t live here.”

The smile froze on Henry’s face, “Miss Y/L/N, it’s against the company orders…”

Just then, the phone on Henry’s desk rang, which Henry took the minute it made a sound.

The smile turned to a serious frown.

“…Yes. Yes, Sir. I’ll see to it.” He hung up the phone after a polite “Good night”, straightening his security guard uniform, and moved around the desk, “This way, Ma’am.”

After burying your head in the toilet bowl and throwing up almost half an hour ago, you had used your cell phone and called Lloyd's business partner up ahead, told him that Lloyd had issued a command to erase surveillance camera footage of a specific building and asked to keep a copy.

His business partner, hauled up from his bed because of this phone call in the middle of the night, knew better than to refuse.

… and that was why the Russian mob drove through the block later that morning at 1 a.m. and did not find a trace of Lloyd taking shelter in your condo after circling the area for quite some time.

Taglist (Also tagging those who might be interested): @stargazingfangirl18 @sarahdonald87 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @magnificentsaladllama @biteofcherry @petalj @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @thezombieprostitute @yiiiikesmish @warriorblu @vonalyn @notathingjustthere @lokislady82 @irishhappiness @toozmanykids @alicedopey @cakesandtom @universitypenguin @openup-yourmind @helenaeisenhower @wilsons-striped-ties @tittittoee @bean-is-reading

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[viperbarnes]

The Family -- [Mafia AU, Oneshot]

40's Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky returns home from the war and finds himself with a lifetime's worth of mistakes to make up for. You aren't going to make it easy for him, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: smut! gun violence, ptsd, dad bucky (prepare ur ovaries) language, bucky having been a dick in the past, mentions of crime and such. The reader has a name, but it only comes up every so often so.... i think thats it?

Notes: This is one of my fave oneshots that I wrote for my patreon, so unless ya'll used to follow me there, this is an entirely new piece <3 This was basically an excuse to write Mob Power Couple Bucky x Reader, and also Dad!Bucky <3

Words: 17k!!!!!!!!!!!

1944

Bucky stares up at the familiar building, old and faded, but homely. Well, not on the outside, but on the inside certainly, he knows that much. Knows the war wouldn’t have stopped his Ma from keeping her home in any way she could.

Tentatively, he hikes his duffle bag higher on his shoulder and crosses the street.

Climbing up four flights of stairs, where he can hear the familiar sounds of the neighbours through their doors on each landing, when he finally arrives on his floor he pauses, smiling for a moment as he breathes in the sweet smell of home cooked food wafting in from under the door. Of all the amenities and freedoms he’d missed during his time overseas, the food had been the worst.

Lifting a hand, he knocks lightly and steps back, waits quietly even as he hears muffled speaking and shuffling on the other side. For a moment when the door swings open, his heart jumps, worried maybe he’d over expected his welcome.

“Bucky?! James?! Oh, my baby! My baby, my baby!”

His doubt is washed away by his mother’s tight embrace, her arms wrapped around his neck in a vice grip that almost throws him off balance. He chuckles and wraps his own arm around her middle, breathes in the familiar scent of home, and closes his eyes a moment.

“It’s so good to see you…” He says, Winnifred Barnes pulling back for a moment, her hands cupping his face tenderly.

“Is it really you? You’re home?!” Bucky smiles softly, and takes her hand in his own, squeezing them.

“Yeah, Mama, I’m home, I’m here. I promise.”

Once Becca had arrived home from her shift, and her own subsequent bout of crying and hugging, the Barnes’ had sat down for dinner as a family for the first time in five years. Becca had talked his ear off about what she’d been up to, and unlike when they’d been kids and he’d get annoyed, he simply listened and enjoyed the sound of a voice he hadn’t heard in too long. During long nights dug down in trenches, the only sound a blaring machine gun some ways away, Bucky had wished for his sister’s long rants.

Winnie kept heaping more servings onto his plate, asking if he were hungry, pouring him more water until Bucky finally just asked her to sit with him, and held her hand for a long while. Every so often she would squeeze it, as if checking to make sure that he were really there.

“So… how’d you lose it?” Becca asks after dinner, when they stand side by side clearing up the dishes while Winnie made sure his room was fit for sleeping once more. Bucky smirks and sideyes her.

“You know you lasted longer than I had you pegged for. Now I’m just glad I didn’t make bets.” He says, earning an elbow in the side. Becca scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“I’m not a kid anymore you know, I’ve got… tact and shit.” She tells him, and Bucky chortles.

“Oh yeah? Tact and shit, huh? Mama teach you that?” He earns another elbow, but it's soft, not as sharp, and the two laugh for a moment as Bucky continues to dry off each dish as Becca hands them to him.

“Landmine, in Italy. Heard the click before the guy who’d stepped on it, shoved him out of the way… thought I was a goner, but woke up a coupla days later in a hospital. Said they were sending me home.” He eventually breaks the silence, but doesn’t look up from the plate he’s drying, even when he feels his sister’s gaze on him.

“Did it hurt?”

“After, hell yeah, but they gave me some pretty good meds. Don’t even remember the trip home.” He jokes, and Becca chuckles.

“From what I’ve heard, that's a good thing.”

Bucky hums.

“You been to see Vivi yet?” She asks, a little bit of stiffness in her voice, and Bucky sighs.

“No.”

“She know you’re home?”

“No.”

“You gonna tell her?”

“I don’t know, Becca!” Bucky says, exasperated now, and rubs his hand over his face. He sighs again, giving her an apologetic look.

“Yes, probably. You know it’s complicated.”

Becca purses her lips and drains the sink.

“You’re my brother, and I love you endlessly… but she was right. And you are stupid.” She says, stepping forward to catch him on the cheek with a kiss.

“The sooner you tell her, the better it will be.”

Bucky watches Becca leave the room and leans against the counter, chewing on his lip.

‘Better’ is all he can hope for, and yet he still thinks that's far from what he’ll get.

The walk isn’t far, he knows the way by heart even after all these years, and in the cold Brooklyn air, he keeps his head down and his hand in his pocket as he moves. Street lamps light his way, and when he finally turns down a small alley, he takes a deep breath before he climbs up the rickety metal staircase and enters the building.

Inside is when he feels his chest start thumping, and with each flight climbed and each door number passed, he feels like it may just jump from his chest completely.

He knocks, and steps back, waits as he hears someone approach the door. He doesn’t hear the chain slide, instead it simply cracks open enough for a pair of eyes to peek around the edges. They’re the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, just as much now as when he’d first seen you all those years ago.

From your chocolate coloured eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes, your dark curly hair that refused to be tamed, and your tawny olive complexion that just seemed to glow in any lighting… Bucky Barnes knows an angel when he sees one. You’d gotten older, obviously, as had he, but it suited you.

You don’t look surprised or shocked to see him at all, if anything you look annoyed, and honestly, he thanks his lucky stars it’s just annoyance.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

God, he’d missed you so much.

“Just got home. Came to see you.”

“Well, I don’t wanna see you.” You counter, and Bucky rolls his eyes, huffing, but suppressing the smile he knows will only set you off more.

“You don’t mean that, Vivi.”

“The fuck I don’t?”

“Lemme see Ale, then.” He tries, and you narrow your eyes. He knew you too well, knew your bluster was your armour. That didn’t mean you weren’t tough as nails though.

“He’s already in bed.” You lift your chin slightly, defensively

Bucky sighs this time and looks away.

“Come on, Viv, let me see the kid. It’s been five years.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but it doesn’t harden either, and when the door shuts in his face a second later, he waits patiently, listening as the chain-lock jingles against the wood.

The door opens again, revealing you in a gown, and despite his excitement at seeing you so undressed he ignores it, and moves inside. He really did miss you, if the thought of you covered wrist to ankle in a thick robe turned him on. 

“I’ll kill you if you wake him.” The threat is half-hearted, and Bucky waves a hand, stepping past you and further into the familiar apartment he’d once called home. He didn’t need you to direct him through it, and you don’t seem to want to either, instead perching yourself by the kitchen window, lighting up a cigarette.

Bucky pulls his hat off his head as he reaches the hallway, swallowing thickly before he pushes open the last door. A soft glow emanates from a lamp on a tall cupboard, giving him enough light to make out the bundled shape on the small bed in the corner. Bucky finds himself carried closer, and soon he’s staring down at the sleeping boy, his heart in his throat.

He’d grown so much… Last time Bucky had seen him, Alessandro had been one, still a baby really. Gone was the cot, in its place now, a small single bed. He sniffs, seeing he was right all those years ago when he’d said the boy would take after you, but he’s more than a little surprised to see how much of a resemblance he carries to himself.

Entirely ignoring your warning about waking him up, Bucky sits himself down on the edge of the bed, and lets his hand reach out to trace the edge of his son’s face, the soft skin warm from the many blankets you had him piled under. He recognises the duvet from your own old shared bed and sighs.

Ale’s curly hair is coarse, but soft at the same time, and Bucky smiles to himself as he smooths it down. He can’t believe he’d missed so much of his boy’s life. Not just during the war, but before it too.

He’d been an immature, stupid kid, never home, always out, always looking for some kind of trouble to get himself into.

And he’d found it too.

Bucky had met you as a teenager, both of you coming from immigrant families from Italy, and you’d fallen in love hard and fast. You’d always been tough, a little prickly, but he’d side-stepped your defences and you’d been wrapped around each other’s fingers. When he’d gotten you pregnant, he’d done the decent thing, and the thing he’d wanted to do anyway, and married you.

But that’s when things started going downhill.

Work was hard to come by, every able-bodied boy in Brooklyn was already hanging around by the docks hoping to get something, anything to help support their families. Bucky had managed a job here and there, but it was never permanent, never stable. He’d turned to less ordinary means of making money, pickpocketing, small-time theft, gambling.

You’d started to fight. You had expectations of him, to provide for his son at the very least, and yet he was too fat-headed, too stupid to listen to you. You’d always told him he was going to get in trouble, and when he did, it would leave you and Ale on your own. You’d been right, like you always were.

Bucky sighs, and moves to stand, but soft stirring makes him pause, and soon he’s looking into blinking hazel eyes, the boy rubbing them tiredly for a moment as he sits up.

“Daddy?” He asks quietly, and the excitement doesn’t seem to be there, making Bucky worry for a moment, until Ale seems to wake up more and he scoots closer.

“Daddy!?”

“Yeah, pal, it’s me, I’m home…” He relishes in the feel of his son scrambling into his lap, his little arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and Bucky feels his eyes sting, vision blurring just slightly.

“Daddy! I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Ale, more than anything.”

“Are you stayin’?!”

Bucky hesitates, but shakes his head, stroking the side of Ale’s face as he sits himself more comfortably on his lap.

“No baby, not here, but I’ll be at Grandma’s… but you can come see me whenever you want, okay?” Ale seems to dull a little, but his fingers catch around the dogtags under Bucky’s shirt and he pulls them free, playing with them for a moment, his big eyes travelling over the etched words.

“Okay!” He says then, and Bucky chuckles, ruffling his hair a little.

“Alright buddy, you gotta go back to bed okay? Or your Mama will kill me.” He pauses, thinking for moment before talking again.

“You in school now?”

“Uh-huh!”

“How ‘bout I pick you up tomorrow afternoon?”

“Okay!” He helps the boy climb back into bed, under all the covers and tucks him in, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“Goodnight, Al, I love you.”

“Love you too, daddy… See you tomorrow!”

When Bucky steps out from the bedroom, closing the door behind him, he doesn’t expect to find you in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

For a moment you only stare at one another, until Bucky sighs.

“I missed you as well, Vivi.”

You don’t reply at first, adjusting your arms to cross in front of you, but he does notice the quick once over you give him.

“You back for good or they sending you off again?”

“Unless I magically grow another arm, I’m home for good.” Bucky mimics you, leaning against the opposite wall.

You nod and shift, eyes lingering on his missing limb for just a moment.

“Are you staying with your mother?”

“Yep.”

“Good.”

He isn’t quite expecting that, or the harshness behind it and he blinks, swallowing.

“We’re fine. We’ve been fine for five years. You don’t get to come back and just appear in our lives all of a sudden. I won’t let you toy him around with the same broken promises and bullshit you did me, got it?”

Bucky feels a pang of hurt, but he knows you have every right to say this to him, knows that before he went to war he hadn’t been the best father or husband. He knows doesn’t deserve your forgiveness. He knows it’s very likely he’ll never get it.

“Alright.” He says, taking a deep breath and nodding. Your eyes narrow.

“‘Alright’? That’s it?”

Bucky nods again.

“Alright, no more bullshit.” He confirms, and means it.

“You’ll find a job— a real one?”

“I will.” He knows earning your trust will be hard. Not just because of who you are naturally, but because he’d already had it once, and shattered it into pieces. But it's something he has to do.

You may never love him again, but he’ll prove to you he’s changed, even if it's the last thing he does.

Bucky pushes away from the wall and places his hat back on his head.

“I told Ale I’d pick him up from school tomorrow.”

You scoff in disbelief but he ignores it.

“Which one is it, what time?” He asks instead. You seem to suck on your teeth for a few seconds before you give up the information.

“Queen Street. Three PM.” Bucky nods, and not wishing to out stay his welcome, he steps past you and makes his way back to the front door.

As he pulls it open, you move to hold it as he steps through, leaning against the wood for a moment as he turns back. He’d opened his mouth to bid you goodnight but he finds himself unable to speak at the momentary softness drawn across your features, your eyes turned-down.

“Thank you for coming to see him.” The depth in your voice makes his throat run dry for a few seconds.

“And… I am glad you came home. Safe.” You add a moment later, eyes darting around the hall.

“O-of course. ‘Course.” He isn’t sure what else there is to say, or what else he should say, so he steps back and tips his hat at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You don’t reply, just watching him for a few seconds before you quietly close your door.

Bucky Barnes had come home from the war, but nothing in the past five years compares to the task ahead of him.

—-

“Buck! How ya been?!”

Bucky grins widely as he’s pulled into the arms of one Steve Rogers. Once upon a time, Bucky would’ve needed to bend down, but in the five years since he’d seen the blond last, the previously scrawny kid had somehow transformed into a tall, muscular man.

Not quite unrecognisable, Bucky had had to hide his slight shock upon entering Valentino’s and seeing his old friend. On the phone that morning Bucky had known the voice before Steve even had a chance to tell him. Steve had apparently heard through the grapevine that Bucky had returned, and invited him down to the local Italian bar. Bucky had needed to check twice that he’d heard the name of the place correctly when Steve told him.

Valentino’s was a mob place, everyone knew that.

“Come on, sit down…” Steve ushers Bucky into a booth, but turns toward the barman. He doesn’t speak, he simply raises his finger as if to get his attention before turning back around and taking a seat across from Bucky.

“S’good to see you, Buck.” Steve starts and Bucky smiles.

“Yeah, you too, pal. Been busy I see…” He trails off as the barman approaches, bottle of whiskey and two glasses in his hands. He sets them down between the two men and Bucky eyes the way Steve hardly acknowledges the other man, simply reaches forward and pours a healthy amount of amber liquid into each cup.

“Bit early for drinking, don’t ya think?” Bucky lifts a brow, even as he takes the glass Steve knocks toward him, clinking the rim against the blond’s before taking a sip. He scrunches up his nose.

“Like hell it is! My best pal returns from the war and that’s not celebration enough to drink?” Steve shakes his head, and then points at him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t come to your Mama’s door last night and drag you out.”

“I think you mean you’re lucky. She would’ve throttled you first.” Bucky scoffs, and the two men share a laugh.

But Bucky can’t stop his eyes from wandering around the bar, curiosity and skepticism filling him. Steve notices and follows his gaze for a moment.

“After you left, I got busy ingratiating myself.” Steve grins wickedly, his face still seemingly filled with boyish innocence as he does. Steve’s family had come from Ireland, but he’d grown up thoroughly in an Italian neighbourhood.

“I can see that.” Bucky says with a nod. Steve doesn’t make to say more on the matter, but he does place his drink back on the table and lean forward slightly, face turning more serious.

“Listen, now you’re back, I’m gonna set you up. I know you’re staying with your Ma, but I’m gonna sort you a place of your own.”

Bucky blinks and immediately begins shaking his head, frowning.

“Steve, you don’t—”

“—I do. You took the fall for me, you got arrested and sent off to europe… I owe you, pal, plain and simple.” Steve nods matter-of-factly and leans back again in his seat.

“Especially since you went and got your arm blown off.”

Bucky knows there’s no arguing with Steve, not when he’d made up his mind already. He can only roll his eyes and shake his head.

“We’ll even get you some work, I know there’s some spots coming up on a—”

“—Legitimate work only, Steve.” Bucky says sharply, sternly, and Steve eyes him for a moment.

“I can’t go getting arrested again. There’s no war to save me from prison this time. I got a family I need to provide for.” Bucky sighs. Steve throws back half his drink.

“I thought Vivi left you.” He asks bluntly and Bucky rolls his eyes once more.

“That doesn’t mean I just stop being Ale’s father. I gotta do what I can now that I can. That means staying out of trouble.”

Steve watches him for a moment longer, considering his words before he nods.

“Alright. Well, I can still help you out with that. You busy this afternoon? We’ll take your stuff to your new place, and I’ll bring you to meet one of my bosses.”

Bucky feels a slight thrill of excitement, not at the prospect of meeting one of Steve’s bosses but at having seemingly gotten himself some form of work already. But he frowns, processing all of Steve’s words fully.

“I— I can’t this afternoon, I’m picking Ale up from school at three…”

Steve waves his hand.

“Fine, after that. Just meet me back here when you’re finished.”

-

At three o’clock on the dot Bucky picks Ale up from his school and walks with him home. He’d seen your figure at the kitchen window as they’d approached the apartment building, your face showing a flash of relief when you’d registered their forms on the sidewalk.

“I’m about to meet with a, uh, friend, about a job and a place to live…” He tells you when you meet them at the front door, a smile and kiss for Ale, a guarded gaze for himself.

“A job?” You ask, taking a drag of your cigarette before blowing it off to the side.

“Where?”

Bucky isn’t even sure himself, and for a moment he considers making something up, but he knows lying to you is not the best way to start his return.

“Dunno just yet. I’ll find out when I meet with him.”

Your eyebrow lifts subtly, but you nod anyway, getting ready to move back inside when Bucky places a hand on the door, to stop it from closing fully. You turn to look back at him, somewhat annoyed.

“I’ll… I’ll let you know where I move… so that Ale can come see me whenever he likes…” Bucky informs you, and for a moment he sees the steel in your gaze soften, before you’re rolling your eyes.

“Mm-hmn.”

Bucky places his hat back on his head and takes off walking.

At least you hadn’t told him to go fuck himself.

—-

Steve makes good on his word, and gets Bucky a mostly legitimate job.

‘Legitimate’ because he was working as a driver and chauffeur, and ‘mostly’ because his boss was one Don Carlo Marinelli.

At first, Bucky had balked. He had thought perhaps he’d be given a job on the docks, or in a storehouse, not driving around one of the most dangerous and powerful men in Brooklyn… Still, it paid well, he wasn’t technically involved with anything unsavory, and it meant he got to drive one of the nicest vehicles he’d ever seen.

Over the next months, Bucky settles back into civilian life. He rented his own apartment, on weekends he wasn’t working he’d take Ale out, and even your coldness seemed to be slowly thawing. It was the first time in a long time Bucky hadn’t found himself drowning under expectation, trying to get atop of it only to pour more water in… it felt good. A small part of him missed the adrenaline and unpredictability of his time at war, but a bigger part of him knew those days were gone.

Or so he had thought.

Everything changes that night.

Bucky is sat back in the driver's seat of the car, a cup of coffee in his hand. He mindlessly whistles softly, his foot tapping out of time. Don Marinelli had entered the small church an hour or so ago, some meeting with some folk Bucky hadn’t dared to eavesdrop about on the drive over. The less he knew, the better.

The night was still and cold and aside from Bucky’s own clouded breath, there was not a single movement up or down the road.

That made it all the more unusual when there was movement.

Bucky frowns to himself when he sees the man walking toward him on the opposite side of the street, his head down, hat low, a dark coat wrapped around him and his hands stuffed in his pockets. There was just something not right about it, which is why as the man draws nearer, Bucky slumps down in his seat, sliding so his form wouldn’t be so easily spotted under the street lamps.

He needn’t have worried about being caught however, as the man simply turns, and walks right into the building Bucky had seen Marinelli enter an hour ago. He pulls a hand from his pocket as he moves, but before he disappears completely, Bucky sees a glint of light bounce off something in his hand.

Bucky certainly was no expert in mob dealings, but he knows that’s not a good sign.

With his heart pounding in his ears, Bucky scrambles, seatbelt flung off his waist, he leans over to the passengers side glovebox and all but yanks the compartment open. He knew there were guns in the car, he’d seen them before, though had never dared touch them. Now though, he grabs the hefty pistol and kicks the door open, not bothering to lock or secure the vehicle behind him as he races across the street.

His mind and body work completely on instinct as he edges inside the doorway, gun raised expectantly and eyes flicking about for signs of the man in the dark coat, but he’s only met with an empty church foyer.

Keeping his pace even and his steps quiet, Bucky moves toward where he can hear muffled voices, and finds himself in the center aisle of the main hall. At the far end, a group of men stand nearby the altar, smoking cigars, with glasses of something Bucky assumes is not holy communion in their hands.

For a moment, he falters, whips his head around searching for the other man, wondering if perhaps he’d been too worked up, too ready to jump into some action.

At the same time he notices Steve amongst the men, the blond calls out to him in confusion, but another sound catches in Bucky’s ears and it's as if time moves slowly for several seconds.

Steve’s calling of his name makes several of the men, including Don Marinelli turn toward Bucky, but a metallic clinking sound over his head makes him spin on his heels. Above Bucky, on the balcony of the upper pews, he spies the man he’d followed inside, knelt down and with a gun poised in his hands, ready to open fire.

Adrenaline and training dictate Bucky’s next moves, and with two shots, he doesn’t even hear, the man on the balcony stumbles back. Commotion erupts behind him, but it isn’t until the would-be-attacker tumbles over the edge, his body falling at Bucky’s feet with a sickening ‘thud’, that time returns to normal for him.

“What the fuck!?”

“Who the hell is this guy?!” Various shouts and words force Bucky back to reality, and he lowers the gun, tearing his eyes away from the bloodied body on the floor.

“Buck? What the hell—” Steve has jogged over to him, his eyes wide as he looks between Bucky and the man on the ground for a moment, before he places his hands on Bucky's shoulders, shaking him slightly.

“You okay, pal? What the hell was that?”

Bucky shakes his head, frowning as he tries to answer that question for himself.

“I— I was waitin’ for Don Marinelli, like I was supposed to, and I just saw this guy come out of nowhere up the street… it didn’t look right, he didn’t… look right…” Bucky trails off, his eyes fixating on his boss as the older Italian man nears.

“Boss, it's an Irish…” Another guy yells, and Bucky casts his eyes back to where a few of the younger men seem to be inspecting the body on the ground.

“You saw him coming in here with a gun and decided to follow?” Marinelli asks, seemingly baffled, but there's a hint of awe in his voice too. Bucky ducks his head a little, nodding.

“Yes, sir.”

Without warning, another hand comes down on Bucky’s shoulder, clasping firmly and pulling him forward slightly.

“You hear that boys? Where the fuck was your drivers, huh?!” Marinelli jokes, and a round of awkward chuckles echo through the church. When Bucky looks back up, Marinelli is tipping his chin up at Steve.

“You two know each other, Rogers?” He asks, and Steve nods.

“Grew up together, Buck just got back from the war.”

“So that’s where you learned to shoot like that, huh?”

Bucky nods awkwardly and swallows as the Don pats him on the back once more, before giving him a steady once over.

“Tell you what, figlio, you come see me tomorrow, we’ll see what we can do about some sort of promotion.” He gives Bucky another firm pat.

“Uh, yes sir. Thank you, sir…” He watches blinking as the Don moves back to the others, all of which look more than ready to wrap this meeting up, or atleast find a new location. 

Behind him, some of the lackeys appear to be talking quietly over the body.

Bucky looks at Steve.

“What… what just happened…?”

Steve sideeyes him, a shit eating grin pulling across his lips.

“You, pal, just saved the lives of the most powerful men in Brooklyn.”

Bucky swallows and sucks in a sharp breath.

He doesn’t seem to let it out until the next morning.

—-

You sigh exasperatedly as you peek out your kitchen window, and put your cigarette out on the sill.

“Ale, are you ready il mio amore?” You hear an excited shout back from the hallway and slip on your shoes and coat. Your son bounds from his bedroom and makes straight for the front door.

“Aye! Get your coat and hat or you’ll get cold!” You scold lightly, and watch as Ale quickly pulls his jacket from the hook by the door and tugs it over his arms, he takes his hat in his hands but as you near him, you bend down to place it neatly on his head, pushing back some of his curls.

“You look very handsome tesoro.”

“Thank you Mama!” He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, making you chortle in surprise. You take his hand and walk with him out of the apartment, and down to the sidewalk.

Waiting for you, as you’d seen from your window, is Bucky.

Dressed impeccably in a brown suit and hat, his hand in his pocket as he leans against the side of a black car, he waits patiently for the two of you. You eye the vehicle with some disdain, but focus on the man before you as Ale releases your hand to run and jump into his arm. Bucky catches him skillfully, his smile turning brighter as he holds your son near, pressing his lips to his cheek before he puts him back on the ground.

You can’t help but take in the quality of his clothes now that you’re closer, the shine of his shoes, new and unscuffed, his face recently shaved (though you see he was keeping a light stubble that suited him), and his hair cut. You see as much when he removes his hat to tip at you.

“Daddy, can I sit in the front seat?!”

“You can sit on the passenger's side, make sure you buckle yourself in!” Bucky turns from you to tell Ale, and you both watch for a moment as he hops inside the car, situating himself inside. When the door closes, Bucky turns back to you and you cross your arms over your chest.

“Must be some job.” You say, and Bucky shrugs noncommittally.

“Has its perks.”

“I bet.” You stare at each other for several seconds, you glaring, and Bucky with his relaxed and easy smile. It was infuriating.

“You know, something funny happened the other day when I went to see my landlord.” You begin and Bucky shifts his weight, frowning almost convincingly.

“Oh?”

“Hmn. I went to pay my rent and he told me ‘it’s already been taken care of’, which I think you may understand is very confusing for me…” You attempt to keep your voice even, after all, you were out on the street.

“It’s been taken care of for the next year, so if he tries to weasel anything more outta you, just let me—”

“—I don’t need you to pay my rent!” Your previous attempts at calm go right out the window, and you step forward, hissing at him with your finger pointed toward his chest. Bucky’s dumb act falls away and he purses his lips.

“I have managed just fine, I can pay my own bills.” The argument is futile. You’d already decided if he were going to be dumb enough to waste his money on your rent, you’d let him. Rubbing your temples, you take a few deep breaths.

“I don’t doubt you’ve managed just fine,” Bucky begins, and you straighten as he steps away from you and draws the car door open.

“But a man’s gotta provide.” And with that, he’s sliding into the driver's seat and closing the door behind him.

You watch, somewhere between infuriated and bewildered as the car rumbles to life. Absently you wave goodbye to Ale who peeks at you through the window, and when the vehicle has disappeared down the end of your street, you seeth. Your mind whirls and you draw blood from your lip with how hard you chew on it.

What the hell kind of game was he playing? Where had he suddenly gotten all this money from?

You turn on your heel and march the opposite way, your destination clear in your mind.

Even when the man at the bar puts his hands up and tells you they’re closed, you roll your eyes and keep moving through Valentino’s.

“Hey! Lady, I said you couldn’t be in here!” The barmen suddenly steps in your way, a tall, burly man with a moustache and a mean glare.

“Get the fuck out of my way, I’m looking for Steve Rogers.” You move to push past him, but he steps in your way again, hands lifting to grab you when a sound from behind stops the both of you.

“Vivi?”

“Steve.” You let out in some relief, and gesture to the man blocking your way. Steve stands behind the barman, clearly having just stepped out of the back office, and he eyes the two of you evenly.

“Go on, Frank, leave her alone… I don’t wanna be the one to patch you up if you don’t.” You smirk as the burly man reluctantly steps aside, and you straighten yourself as you begin moving toward the blond.

“To what do I owe the pleasure…?” He shoves both hands in his pockets and smiles down at you as you approach, but you can only let your face fall back into a glare as you remember why you came.

“I want to talk with you.”

Less than five minutes later, you’re sat across from Steve at his desk, two glasses of whiskey between you, and you throw yours back quickly. Steve follows the movement and with a slight smirk, he leans forward and refills your glass.

“What’s he up to?” You demand, and Steve’s eyebrows lift.

“What are yo—”

“—You know exactly what I’m talking about Rogers, don’t you dare bullshit me.” You warn, and the blond closes his mouth and sits back in his chair. For a moment he just looks you over, and you wonder what exactly he’s thinking.

“Where has the money come from? What the fuck kind of job has he taken on? Because I will not let him build up Ale’s hope that he’s gonna stick around, if in a year or so he’s got his ass thrown in prison!”

Steve lifts his hands in a calming motion then, and he sits forward again, relenting.

“Look, Viv, Buck has changed. Even I’ve noticed. Other people have noticed too…”

You frown at that and squint.

“This isn’t some petty thievery ring, alright?”

“What has he done?” You bite out each word and Steve lets out a sigh.

“Carlo Marinelli hired him. Bucky was his driver, nothing more. Then, six months ago, he busts into a meeting between some of the Dons, shoots dead an assassin and suddenly he’s Marinelli’s golden boy. Aside from me, that is…”

You feel your blood boil, a vein in your forehead ticking with each passing word.

“He’s… he’s involved with the Mafia?!”

Steve nods, and tips back his whiskey, quickly pours another, and tips that back too.

“Marinelli made him a caporegime. He’s uh… kind of important now…” Steve leans over and even though you hadn’t finished the last drink he poured for you, he fills up your glass more.

“That’s where the money has come from? The clothes, the car?” Steve nods. You’d known Steve through Bucky for years, the pair had been together when you’d first met Bucky, and after your estranged husband had gone off to fight, you’d heard rumours about Steve and the Mafia. You knew they had to be true, because why else would he be running a known mob joint? The guy who’d ran Valentino’s before Steve had disappeared years ago.

“Is he in trouble?” You ask suddenly, and Steve blinks, looks as though that wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

“Trouble?”

“Is he going to get arrested? Or is he… will somebody take the fall…?” You don’t know how any of it works, not really. The truth was, you’d grown up around mafiosos and the like. Your father had moved your family from Sicily when you were eight, to help his boss get established in New York, but your mother had left him shortly after.

You knew enough, but the intricacies and relationships of the members still eluded you. Steve cracks a knowing smile then, and shakes his head.

“Not unless he’s really, really stupid. Marinelli likes him. Trust me, he’s basically untouchable.”

Steve insists on calling you a cab home, and you sit in the backseat staring out the window. The rain had just started when you’d left Valentino’s and you find yourself tracing each droplet’s path down your window until you’ve pulled up along your curb and you’re forced to get out.

Climbing the stairs slowly, your mind feels blank and distant and when you’ve finally shut your apartment door behind you, the clicking of the locks seem to snap you free of your daze.

Fine. If Bucky wanted to be a part of the mob, he could be.

You didn’t care.

—-

“You’re kidding?!” Sam pouts, looking up at Steve who stands in the doorway with a hand on his hip and another running through his hair.

“She’s barely able to get out of bed…” Steve confirms, and Bucky eyes him at the worry behind his voice.

“Steve, if you wanna bail, I’ll call—”

“—No. Sharon will be fine. Besides, she would kick my ass if I went to look after her instead of doing this.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment longer but nods.

“Alright, well, we need to figure something else out then. Sharon was an important part of this job… ideas?”

“We could put Steve in a dress.” Sam shrugs and Bucky snorts.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll work… any other ideas?” The three men fall silent for a moment, and they look around the room at each other. On the table between Sam and Bucky were pages of blueprints, time sheets and schedules, bullets, guns.

Tonight’s job was supposed to be a breeze, once Sharon got the manager into his office, they’d pounce and squeeze the safe combination out of him… the only hitch was that without her, they had little opportunity to get in the door.

“I do have an idea… but you probably won’t like it…” Steve says quietly a few minutes later. Bucky looks over at him, frowning.

He’s still frowning ten minutes later, with the phone to his ear and his two companions waiting eagerly. The ringing tone falters for a moment, and then your voice greets him.

“Hello, Vissenta Salvati.”

“Since when did you stop using my last name?!” Bucky demands, unable to stop himself, and he hears a pause on the other end before you scoff.

“When you pawned our wedding rings and never bought them back, stronzo. What the fuck do you want?”

Bucky flounders for a moment, and glares.

He’d forgotten about that particular mark on his pre-war personality. He’d needed the money for gambling, he’d been so sure he was gonna win big…

“I have a favour to ask…”

“The answer is no.”

“Hear me out! I… I’m running a job tonight, the safe in the manager's office at the Bluebell Club… but our gal’s sick. She was supposed to get the manager into the backroom for us…” You stay silent for a long time. Bucky knew you knew what he did now, Steve had confessed that he’d told you everything, but he’d never spoken to you directly about it, nor had you ever brought it up.

“No. I have a baby to look after and far better things to be doing.” You reply shortly. Bucky opens his mouth to plead back when Steve signals for him to hand the phone over.

“Vi? It’s Steve.”

“The answer is still no.”

“I know you’re working tonight, Winnie’s already watching Ale. Trust me, do this for us and I’ll make sure to cut you in decent.”

Bucky frowns in confusion at Steve and purses his lips. How did Steve know what your schedule was, when you were working? And why had he not known his Ma was watching Ale?

He listens as Steve seems to hum and answer a few yes or no questions, before he throws Sam and Bucky a thumbs up.

“Alright. Bucky’ll be by around seven to pick you up.” He hangs up and Bucky cocks his head.

“How do you know what she’s up to?” The flare of jealousy doesn’t go missed, but Steve only rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“I’ve been helping Marinelli run half the businesses this side of town for years, I know who works where and when, that’s my job.”

Bucky calms some.

That made sense…

“I’m going to drop off Sharon’s things with Vi. You make sure you’re on time.” Steve points at him and it’s Bucky who rolls his eyes. When Steve has left the room, he settles back over his planning, double checking everything one last time and trying to distract himself from the fact that you had accepted a cut in on a job.

—-

You check your reflection once more, a little unsure of yourself. It had been stressed to you by Steve when he’d dropped off a box for you, that it was important you wore this dress and these jewels. You’re almost certain you don’t want to know why, but you’re sure it has something to do with whatever man you were going to have to pretend to flirt with tonight.

The deep blue silk fits you like a glove and falls all the way to the floor. Your waist was cinched and your back mostly on display, the scoop neck of the top mirrored even lower at the back.

You don’t let yourself wonder if the diamond necklace and matching earrings were real, it made you worry too much, so you’d continued doing your hair and makeup without another passing thought.

You twist in the mirror of your vanity, and purse your lips at the amount of skin on display from the back. It wasn’t as if it weren’t fashionable, you just weren’t sure you could get away with wearing it…

Your thoughts are muted however, by a swift knocking at the door, and you quickly grab your purse from the bed before making toward it. When it’s opened you have to pause for a moment, your breath hitching in your throat involuntarily at the sight before you.

Bucky looks rather magnificent in his tuxedo, pressed to perfection and pitch black. The lapels of his coat looked like silk, matching the sheen of his bowtie. He’d been looking away from the door when you’d opened it, and so when he does turn, lips pulled in a smile, you have to snap yourself out of your reverie.

“Well, look at you…” He preens, and you try not to let yourself feel like a teenage girl again. You knew better.

“I did my best.” You brush him off, but he doesn’t give in, stepping in toward you slightly.

“I’d say your best is pretty damn good, sweetheart…” You swallow, and tear your eyes from his to where he’s lifted a hand for you.

Gingerly, you place your own atop his and let your door lock behind you as you’re led from the apartment building.

Bucky opens the door of the car for you, and helps you inside, and you have to force yourself to focus. This wasn’t anything but a job. That was all. Anything else was just for show.

On the drive over, a man you’re introduced to as Sam shows you pictures and goes over your brief role in the escapade. You would lure the manager, one Sheldon Mays, into bringing you into his office, at which point Bucky and Steve would take over, they’d get the safe code from Mays and you would meet them back at the car, with Sam playing driver. It was simple enough, straightforward enough, you didn’t see how anything could go wrong.

You were mistaken, clearly.

Everything had gone perfect to start with, you’d caught the attention of Mays, and had easily endeared yourself to him. After that, it had only taken a few suggestive touches and words and you were clinging to his arm, giggling girlishly as he led you up some stairs and into a large, lavish office.

“This is where the magic happens, darling…” He says, spreading his arms and you turn to look at him, coy smile on your face as you flutter your eyelashes.

“It is.” You confirm. It wasn’t that hard for you to fake this level of flirtatiousness. Once upon a time, this had been the exact woman you were… Alluring and quick-witted. Now you were just annoyed.

Your eyes skip towards the door briefly as you situate yourself on the edge of the desk in the room, and Mays begins sauntering toward you.

Where were the boys? You had thought they were supposed to be waiting for you, hidden…?

“You’re just the prettiest dame I’ve ever seen… wrapped up all in silk, hmm?” You focus back on Mays as he nears, his hands gravitating toward your hips and you have to calm yourself. You place your hands on his chest, running them up and down for a moment.

“The prettiest?” You contend, and he hums, leaning his face closer to yours. You barely suppress the urge to dart back.

Where the hell were they?!

“The prettiest. I swear… Now, why don’t you let me unwrap my present, hmn?” His hands climb higher, skimming over your back and to the thin straps on your shoulders, hooking his fingers around them. You feel your heartbeat stutter, and suddenly, you realise something about the job has gone very, very wrong.

But you were still in the office. The only thing between you and the safe under the desk was this man and his code. You could salvage this, right?

It was that, or actually have sex with this man.

Steeling yourself, you take one last look at the door over his shoulder before you let your hands curl up around his neck. His fingers have drawn the straps of your dress over the curve of your shoulders now, and without warning, you quickly bring your knee up between your bodies, yanking his head down into it with a ‘crunch’ sound.

Mays gasps and splutters, stumbling back from you as you quickly hop down off the desk.

“What the fuck?!” His voice is stifled by the hand he holds over his nose and mouth, a thick smattering of blood clearly dripping from his nose. You watch him for a moment, to see how delayed he is, and when he seems to stay put, groaning and whining, you quickly circle the desk, pulling open whatever draws you can see, until you find it.

You lift the gun easily, despite the foreign feeling of it in your hand, and step back around.

“The combination to your safe?!” You demand, and finally, Mays straightens some, confusion still clouding his bloodied features as he blinks at you.

“What the fuck?!” He repeats again, looking around as if there were others in the room, but as you were already painfully aware of, there wasn’t.

“The combination to your fucking safe, or I’ll shoot you in the cock!” You growl, moving near again, and Mays flinches.

“Lady, if it’s money you want, I’ll give you money, but that safe only has—” You flick the safety off and aim at his crotch. He yelps a little and attempts to shield it.

“Okay! Fine! Fine! It’s eight-four-one-nine!”

Adrenaline fuels you and you get an idea.

“You do it.”

“What?”

“Open the fucking safe idiota!”You wave the gun at him and he relents, keeping his hands out where you can see them as you follow him behind the desk, watch as he rolls up an area of carpet.

“Hurry up.” You snap, nervous energy filling you now. What would happen if you were caught? What were you going to do with Mays? You couldn’t just let him go…

You jump a mile, almost yelping when the office door barges open, and you raise the gun to whoever it is, your eyes wide and panicked. You’re met with the sight of Steve and Bucky, both a little worse for wear, and you wonder if the bruises and cut lips are why they’re late. You’re willing to bet it is.

“What the— Vivi…?” Bucky lowers his weapon when he spies you behind the desk, Mays on his knees before you. Despite your anxiety and your worry, you give him an annoyed look and shrug.

“You took too long… Did you really think I was gonna fuck this sap?” You tap Mays with the barrell of the gun, and he jumps, but continues hurriedly inputting the safe code.

Steve and Bucky quickly step inside, shutting the door behind them and moving over to you.

“There was an incident in the—”

“—Later, Buck.” Steve cuts him off, and grabs Mays by the collar as the door to the safe finally pops open. You watch him shove the man roughly toward a lounge in the corner, but let your eyes turn back to the contents of the safe, narrowing them when you see.

“What the fuck is this?” You demand, not a single dollar note in sight, but Bucky doesn’t seem fazed, he simply leans in and grabs the stack of papers, flicking through them.

“They’re bills of sale, for horses, houses, establishments.”

You splutter.

“Horses?! Horses?!”

Bucky looks up at you then, understanding on his face as he grabs another stack, handing them to you.

“We get these to our guys, this turns into gold. Trust me.”

You frown, but say no more as you watch Bucky grab the last pile of pages.

“Steve?” He says, and the blond gives him a curt nod.

“I’ll follow you out.”

Slight confusion colours you, but Bucky has gently taken you by the arm, and led you from the office before you can ask. He doesn’t take you down the way you’d come in, instead you end up exiting into an alleyway, making quickly for the car.

Steve joins you shortly after, climbing into the backseat, squishing you into the middle, between Bucky and him. You watch as Steve casually hands his gun to Bucky, who in turn, tosses it out the window once you’ve made it several blocks away.

Nobody really says much until you’re back at what you assumed to be Bucky’s new apartment, and you stand by the kitchen window, cigarette burning away in your fingers as you peek into the next room. There had been a group of men waiting when you’d returned, older looking men, and Sam had ushered you off to the kitchen to wait.

But through the open doorway, you can see the men counting through the slips of paper, clips of money being placed and moved over different piles, and you wonder what it all means.

You see Bucky pointing at people and papers, his voice low and commanding and despite yourself, it sends a shiver down your spine. You’d never really seen him so assertive or serious, and even if he was involved with organised crime, the clear ambition and talent he has for it makes your belly flop.

You see him lean forward to point at something on the table, explaining something you can’t hear, but in that moment he happens to look up and catch your eye.

Swallowing harshly, you move from your place to the other end of the kitchen, and wait, skin feeling too warm.

Bucky drives you back, the whole car ride tense and hot. When he turns onto your street, you direct him to a side alley by your building, where no one would see you arriving home so late with a man. He doesn't argue that he’s still technically your husband, and you’re glad for it.

“You were incredible, Vi, you saved this job…” Bucky begins once the car is off, darkness engulfing the interior of the vehicle. You look over at him.

“Somebody had to.” You snark, but it's half hearted. You know it. He knows it.

“Never thought I’d see you holding a gun.” He continues, and you have to laugh.

“If you’re lucky, it’ll be the last time.”

Bucky stares at you in the dark of the car, his eyes big and soft and you feel your chest thump. He leans over to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you let him, eyes lingering for a moment on his hand.

How you end up on the backseat, you have no idea.

Your dress has been pulled up around your waist, probably like Mays had wanted to do to you earlier, your thighs spread wide over Bucky’s lap. You have your hands set on the seat behind his shoulders, helping you move, his hand grasping roughly at your hip as you bounce desperately on his cock.

“Holy fuck, jesus christ, you feel so good darlin’.” Bucky mutters, strained, lips pressed to your breast, but he adjusts himself and takes your nipple into his mouth, once more making you moan, one of your hands flying to clutch at the back of his head.

You hadn’t had sex in so long, and despite all his shortcomings, Bucky always knew exactly how to love you, always knew your body better than anyone else ever could. You cuss sharply when he slides down in his seat more, feet now flat to the ground, and rolls his hips up to meet yours. Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling on the short strands and you feel his chuckle dance across your skin.

“Like that, baby? Right there?” He punctuates himself with a deep thrust that sends you scrambling for a hold, and you end up with a hand pressed to the ceiling, the other held to the car seat behind you, for better leverage to ride him.

“Uh-huh! Per favore non fermarti, continua, non smettere di scoparmi! (Please don't stop, keep going, don't stop fucking me)” You ramble, eyes squeezing shut, tongue reverting back to what you know best. You feel your orgasm coming, right under the surface of your skin you can feel the prickling sensation.

Bucky makes a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, and without warning, your chin is grabbed roughly, yanked down to his face and he kisses you open mouthed, wet and warm, his tongue sliding all over yours, making your stomach turn to mush.

“Fuck, I love hearing you speak like that,” He tells you, cussing under his breath.

“Dimmi quanto lo vuoi tesoro, hmn? Tell me how good it feels honey…”

You gasp sharply at the sound of Bucky’s voice rolling over your shared language, the words sending you tumbling over the edge into bliss.

You shake in his hold, clutching onto his shoulders as you ride it out. Bucky groans beneath you, panting and huffing to himself as he thrusts deep once, twice, three times more before you feel the warmth bloom inside you.

Maybe you should have been angry or annoyed he’d not pulled out, but absently you roll your hips against his, and you’re quickly too distracted by the pleasant sensation of dripping with his cum to care.

When you’ve tidied yourself up, Bucky wraps his jacket around your shoulders and draws you near with his fingers under your chin once more. He presses his lips to yours firmly, and you can’t stop yourself from giving in.

Right when you think he may push you back and fuck you again, he pulls away and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, Vivi.” A lump rises in your throat, wanting to force its way out of you, but you swallow it back.

You watch from your kitchen window as his car pulls out of the alley, and disappears down the street.

—-

The Bluebell Club job is the first, but not the last time you get involved with Bucky’s business. As he works his way up within The Family, he brings you with him.

You put your foot down about the dangerous things, but every so often Steve or Sam call you up, needing information on a location. It usually just required you making an outing to whatever store or business they were planning on hustling, taking note of if they had any security, or what the layout was, where certain offices might be. It was good money, better than the waitressing or maid work you’d been doing for five years. 

As for Bucky…

You don’t welcome him back, not entirely. He still comes every weekend to see your boy, occasionally invites you along too. Despite the fact he seems to be physically around less, busy with work, he was reliable in ways you’d never known him to be. If you called, he was there, and if he was busy, he’d send somebody around.

The first time a scrappy young kid showed up at your door, an apology ready on his lips about how ‘Mr Barnes was in a meeting taking longer than usual but he sent me to throw the ball with Ale’, you’d not be pleased. But Peter, as you’d found out his name was, was a good kid. Bucky had shown up halfway through the evening anyway, still in his fancy suit, but you’d watched from the window as he’d played ball anyway.

Today though, the visit is entirely unplanned and you purse your lips at the man who leans against his car, smiling pleasantly at you as you cautiously approach. You’d been readying yourself and Ale for a grocery trip, seeing Bucky outside your apartment was not expected in the slightest. Ale tugs on your hand when he notices his father, and you only resist for a minute before you let him fly toward him, arms out.

“Daddy!” He exclaims. You watch Bucky catch him one armed, a greeting you don’t exactly hear passing between the two before your estranged husband’s eyes are back on you.

“What are you doing here?” You barely refrain from crossing your arms over your chest, and Bucky adjusts Ale on his hip, cocks his head at you charmingly.

“I wanted your opinion on something.” He says, and you wave a hand.

“What?”

“You have to come with me to see it.” He’s being cryptic, and it strikes a cord of annoyance in you. You scoff.

“As if I have fuck all to do today that I can just drop everything to come with you somewhere?!” You usually tried to behave more civil when Ale was around, you didn’t want your attitude with Bucky to sour his opinion of his father.

Bucky rolls his eyes at your bluster, and steps around to open the back door of the car for Ale, letting him climb in.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important…” You purse your lips again and shake your head at the fact you move forwards anyway, ignoring the helping hand Bucky offers as you too slide into the backseat. You’re forced to keep moving along the plush leather seating however, as you realise a second later that Bucky also follows you inside, and it's then you realise his car was being driven by someone else.

You help Ale with his belt, before doing your own, and stay quiet on the short drive, listening absently as Ale and Bucky discuss sports and his schooling. When the car slows to a stop eventually, you can’t help but peer up in concealed awe at the magnificent townhouses and homes that surround you.

You certainly weren’t in your neighbourhood of Brooklyn anymore, the streets here clean and tidy, with trees lining the road. You keep your awe to yourself even as Bucky helps you out of the car, and you pull your son closer, holding tight to him in the unfamiliar environment.

Bucky leads you up to the open front door of an ornate brownstone house, it's windows shiny and clean, the stoop free of debris of any kind. It looked like the set of a film, you think.

When you’re standing in the foyer, Ale’s big eyes looking around curiously, Bucky makes a wide gesture and grins at you.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” You repeat, completely unsure of what you think. Bucky nods.

“You want my opinion on a house you want to buy?” You lift a brow.

Bucky nods again, and extends his hand to lead you into the living space, already furnished rather simply and you take initiative in moving from room to room, inspecting the home.

Secretly, you are rather impressed. The size of the dining room must fit your entire apartment inside, and when you chase Ale up to the second floor you discover more rooms and bedrooms and offices than you can think of things to fill them with. The third floor holds it's own master bedroom and bathroom, and for a very small second, you get rather jealous at Bucky’s good fortune to be able to afford a whole house such as this.

“What do you think?” He asks again, a little quieter, and you watch Ale run from the main room one more, lost in his own game as he dives under the table. You swallow and eye him evenly.

“It’s alright. A little too big, though I suppose if you’re going to have all your goons stay with you that’s alright.” You tip your nose up just a little, and Bucky chuckles, rubbing his neck.

“Well, I’m glad you like it. I already bought it.” The words hang in the air for a moment, before you catch on them properly and you lower your chin, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Then what the hell am I even here for?!” Annoyance bubbles in you once more and doubles when you see Bucky clearly unphased by it.

“I bought it for you.” He says simply and your face falls blank.

You blink at him, opening your mouth and closing it again.

“Fuck off.” You scoff at last, turning away from him and folding your arms over your chest, but quickly unfold them when he doesn’t laugh or give up on the joke.

“Like hell you bought me a house!”

Bucky stays silent still and you feel your body begin to thrum with nervous energy.

He wouldn’t do that, would he? Why would he buy you a house?

When you look back at him he’s standing quietly in the center of the room, watching you patiently.

“You didn't!” You insist, taking a step toward him, and he only nods his head once.

“I did.”

“Why?!”

He laughs then, a soft pleasant sound that makes your tummy flop around like a fish in a bucket.

“Because I love you? Because I want you and Ale to live somewhere nicer than a piss stained apartment? Because I can? Do I need to list more reasons?”

You shut your mouth, and attempt to ignore his casual proclamation of love, looking around once more, seeing the place in a whole new light.

It was lovely, truly, and seeing as it hadn’t cost you a penny, you could hardly complain. Your mind starts to rush with all the ways you could make this a home; a new rug, a different colour scheme of course… perhaps you’d invite Winnie and Becca to live here, to fill out some of the space, if Bucky hadn’t already bought them a bloody house too.

But you harden a little, narrowing your eyes once more as you focus in on your estranged husband.

“Where will you live, because you can’t just buy me a house and expect to—”

“— I have a house.” He cuts you off and you stop, staring.

“So this is… what? All for me?” You half-scoff again, expecting him to spring the joke on you once more, but he doesn’t. He only nods.

“Do you like it? I-if not, we can find something else. I—”

Your heart quickens at his anxiety and you realise you really haven’t been very grateful. Swallowing your pride, you cross the room and stiffly place a kiss to his cheek.

“I do like it. Very much. Thank you.” You step away again as Ale enters the room, and before you scoop him up, you spy Bucky standing still on the spot, looking rather bashful.

“Guess what, bambino? Qui è dove vivremo!”

“Qui!? It’s so nice Mama!”

“It is. Now go thank daddy.”

—-

The move in is rather easy, seeing as most of your furniture was crappy enough to be replaced anyway, and with Bucky’s small army of suited-mobsters, the task is over and dealt with quickly.

To your chagrin, Bucky insists on at least one (but usually two or three) of his men staying at the house at all times, and the argument you have about it, it's the only time you haven’t seen him back down.

Usually Bucky gave in to you, whether that be because he was going to anyway, or because of your anger, but this time, he puts his foot down. He doesn’t quite yell, but he raises his voice enough over yours to make you fall silent, and while you know you should have been pissed off, all you can think about is how wet it makes you.

You let him fuck you on the desk in the office you’d set up, and you find you don’t mind submitting to him when he’s so assertive like this.

You sleep together more often, usually at his own home, occasionally at yours, but he never stays the night, nor would you be comfortable for him to. He’d made a lot of amends but there’s still something in your chest that aches whenever you look at him, a hurt not yet undone.

The trust he shows in you however, makes your chest ache in different ways. The higher he and Steve move in the mob, he brings you with him, asking you to scout places, bringing you onboard for planning. He listens to you, trusts you. That's more than he ever had before the war.

You bring your mind back to the present when a glass clinks in front of you, and you give Steve a thankful nod, before turning back into the situation at hand.

“We go in by the end of the week, the six of us, hit the safe and the lockbox and—”

“—The end of this week? That’s suicide, They have extra family in town, the place is packed out full of guards!” You cut off the mobster sitting across from you at Bucky’s kitchen table, a tall but stock man named Rollins, his hair slicked back in an almost greasy manner.

For the most part, Bucky’s men were alright, but some of them you had to wonder about…

You were currently gathered to go over the information for a hit on Irish turf. You’d finished giving your assessment of the building some time ago, and it was time for the others to propose their takes. Rollins looks at you, annoyance barely contained on his face, he doesn’t reply to you directly however, turning back toward Bucky who sits at the head of the table.

“If we miss this week, the lockbox changes hands and it’s a whole new mess of scouting out.”

“And if we go this week half of us are going to die!” You repeat once again. Bucky’s eyes swivel to you, and you can see he’s a little bored, mostly tired. Rollins scoffs this time and does address you, waving a hand toward you.

“‘Us’? Lady, you just write down security placements, you ain’t involved in this.”

Your anger flares up and you open your mouth.

“She contributes more than you do, shit-for-brains.” Sam speaks before you get a word out, and you shoot him a grateful look. Rollins waves him off like he did you and looks back to Bucky.

“Boss, you ain’t actually gonna listen to a fuckin’ housewife over me are you?”

You freeze for a moment, realising aside from Steve and Sam, all these guys thought very little little of you, and Bucky could well risk his reputation in backing you up. If he didn’t however, the embarrassment and humiliation would burn.

You aren’t sure you’d ever want to see him again.

Bucky shifts in his seat, and looks between you and Rollins for a moment, before he sighs.

“Vivi, are you sure?”

You feel yourself perk up, your whole body lighting with anticipation and glee and you nod.

“I am. Better to wait it out and have things go smoothly.” There’s another pause, Bucky strokes his chin thoughtfully before he nods.

“We’ll wait.” He says, only a tiny wave of stifled grumbles echoing around the table as the plans and maps are folded and packed up once again. Bucky leans forward though, slapping his hand down over a page Rollins is attempting to take, forcing the other man to look up at him.

“And that’s my fuckin’ housewife, so watch your fuckin’ mouth, huh?” He smacks the other man upside the head and you lean back in your chair, taking the glass of whiskey Steve had pushed toward you earlier, watching as the room slowly clears of people.

Bucky stays in his seat, looking over a few pages in front of him. He all but ignores you, which is fine, as you down the whiskey in one, and listen out for the door to shut with some finality.

You know much like your own home, there were people guarding Bucky’s at all times, so gently pushing back your chair, your move to the kitchen door, shutting it with a click. Bucky looks up then, as if he really hadn’t realised you were still in the room, and you feel the warmth from the whiskey and his words fill your bones as you slink toward him.

“Want me to call Peter to drive you back?” He asks, looking back to his pages. You shake your head, even though he isn’t looking at you, and when you near him, you sink down to your knees. He looks up again, surprise clear on his face as he blinks down at you, your hands travelling over the tops of his thighs and he clears his throat.

“Vivi, I—”

“Pull your chair out.” Whatever he was going to say is forgotten, and he scoots his chair out fully from the table, giving you proper access as you settle between his thighs. Arousal is clear on his face, in the way he watches you keenly, and in his pants, in the way they bulge slightly in the front. He places down the pages in his hands on the table, shifting to lean back ever so slightly in his seat.

“Viv…?” He starts to ask again, but it ends in a sharp, strangled breath as you lean over him, pressing your mouth to the hardness bulging in the front of his trousers. Saliva wets a patch into the material, and he twitches beneath your lips.

“J-jesus, fuck,” Bucky scrambles for his belt, and you help him, smiling to yourself, keeping his eye contact even as he blinks and looks away, a blush high on his cheeks.

You pull his pants down just enough, and quickly sink your mouth over his cock. Bucky releases a deep groan, and you watch as his head tips back, his mouth hanging open. You keep watching him as you begin to bob quickly, letting your hand wrap around the base of him. You care little for aesthetics or how loud either of you are, you let the spittle and pre-cum mix together in sloppy wet sounds as you hungrily all but devour him.

“Shit sweetheart, shit,” He finally gets a hold of himself enough to watch you, groaning as he focuses on the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock, moving quickly, your eyes keeping sight of him, and it's obvious to him you’re working to please. Your hands press against his thighs, spread wide and open and Bucky doesn’t think he knows a better sight than you in front of him, his cock stretching your lips wide, your eyes stuck on him as you swallow him deep.

His hand falls into your hair, caressing and gentle at first, but he pushes it back, holds it away from your face and gets a grip closer to your scalp. He guides your face, grunting softly as you let him move you how he wants, and he meets your lips with little thrusts.

“La tua bocca è così bella, tesoro, così fottutamente buona…” He feels you moan around him and he hisses, releasing your face.

“Keep going baby, s’all yours, keep going.” He leans over your slightly, enough to get his hand to the front of your dress, careful to pull each button apart and not break any, thankful when you helpfully pull your arms from the fabric, and undo your own bra.

His hand finds a breast easily, squeezing the flesh as he relaxes again, letting you work him over how you please as he fondles your chest. God, he loved your tits, wishes he had two arms still for the sole purpose of squeezing both at once. He lets his thumb and forefinger find your nipple, pinches harshly, enough to make you jolt, enough to make you elicit another moan around his cock, and Bucky gasps, loves that sensation.

Your eyes find each other again and Bucky licks his lips slightly, lets his head fall back comfortably as you start sucking harder on him. He’s close, knows you can tell. He keeps your nipple in his fingers, plays with the pebbled flesh, pinches and pulls at it, softly, punishingly, he knows you like it all…

His orgasm rises quickly, and falls over him suddenly, and he gives your chest a last final tug as he rides his pleasure out, spills against your tongue. He feels you swallow around him repeatedly, dragging out the sensitivity until he’s shaking.

His hands clutch at the chair arms, and as you pull away, you swipe around your mouth with your thumb, cleaning any obvious signs of what you’d just done. Bucky blinks lazily down at you, his chest still heaving with effort, though he still wears an expression of stunned surprise. You lean over him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“Lavaggio. Ale ti aspetta a cena.” You tell him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

You leave him there, in his kitchen, pants around his ankles, cock softening in his lap, his eyes following you out.

—-

You look over the top of your sunglasses, up at the buttercream coloured walls and terracotta tiled roof of the villa before you and try to hold back your awe. Nestled in the Sicilian countryside, against the rolling hills of the vineyards surrounding you, you don’t think you’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful, not since you were a child.

The car boot slamming shut reminds you of your company, and you turn just as Bucky sets Ale on the pebbled driveway, and he skitters his way across the stones to grab your hand, hanging off of you, but you don’t mind.

“Mama, Daddy said you grew up here!” He gushes excitedly, his gaze switching between you and the large villa in front of you. Sparing a glance back to Bucky who has now moved to help one of the guards with the bags, you hitch your purse a little higher on your shoulder before leaning down to pick your boy up, shifting him to one hip as you take the first few tentative steps toward the open front door.

“Not here exactly, mi amore. But near here.” You step through into the main foyer of the home and are immediately greeted with the gathered housekeepers who greet you kindly. You’d been informed that only the maid and the chef were permanent residents. You introduce yourself and your son to them in turn, encouraging Ale to speak his best Italian, though his shyness gets the better of him, even though you can see he is intrigued by the new people.

The maid directs you upstairs to the bedrooms, upon asking if Ale would like to see the toybox, and you follow gratefully, peeking behind you when Bucky begins following with your son's bags.

“Can we go to your house?!” Ale asks a small amount of time later, when you’re sitting on the bed watching him play with some wooden toys, and the maid places his clothes from his bags into the cupboards.

“My house?” You question, before remembering his query from when you’d arrived, and you clear your throat, Bucky appearing at the doorway. He leans against it casually with his one arm, the prosthetic he’d been gifted by Don Marinelli looking like he simply had his hand tucked into his pocket. You shift your eyes back to your boy as he crawls closer to you, rolling the wooden car over the tops of your knees on it’s journey.

“My home isn’t there anymore, Ale. It was destroyed.” You say, trying to remain objective about it. It wasn’t as though you spent very long in Italy. Brooklyn was more home for you than Sicily, and yet you still feel some sadness creep into your voice at the thought of your childhood town, bombed out and raided by soldiers of both sides. The damage had been so bad they’d decided to rebuild the town a few miles over instead, the local Don helping to fund most of that, of course.

Don Regio was the brother-in-law to Marinelli, and ran operations out here in Sicily. When Marinelli had decided to vacation to his homeland for the Christmas period, he’d invited Bucky along with him, and in turn, Bucky had insisted you all go. You think perhaps he’d wanted to let you come home, and introduce your son to his roots, but aside from that, you don’t know why he’d insisted so hard you come along.

Still, it was more or less a free trip, and you hadn’t had a holiday in your life, so you’d given in with little thought.

“Ale, why don’t you play with Miss Gianna for a while and let Mama unpack her things?” Bucky speaks up then, nodding toward the maid, who happily kneels down to pluck one of the other toys from the pile on the floor, and soon you’re quickly forgotten. You watch for a moment longer before leaving the room.

It takes you a moment to orient yourself on the top floor of the manor. While the halls were open and let you see down to the lower level, you inspect the various rooms before finding one with your bag. Bucky pauses from where he had been trailing quietly behind you, sensing your discomfort, and immediately steps forward, eyes scanning. Your chest flutters slightly at how attuned he was to you, and how he’d moved to take care of the issue right away, only he too freezes when he sees it.

Your eyes swing to him and from side on you can see the bob in his Adam's apple when he swallows, quickly turning to face you.

“I didn’t— I didn’t put our bags together… one of Regio’s men must have…” He trails off, gesturing back to the stairs, where no doubt your own guard and Don Regio’s loned man must have been taking a check of the house.

You look away from him and back to the bags on the bed, yours on one side, and Bucky’s on the other. Even if you worked together and still remained in close contact, all your guys in New York knew the vague animosity between you and Bucky. They wouldn’t have ever assumed you’d share a room.

Lifting your chin slightly, you shrug as casually as you can muster and move forward.

“It’s a mistake. That’s all.” You take your bags, trying not to let the weight visibly trouble you, and quickly abscond from the room as quick as you can. Bucky is moving behind you, quickly following you as you return to one of the guest rooms you’d spied earlier, a little too late to help you with your bags, even though he holds out his hand as if to do so. You deposit them on your new bed.

“You can have the master room, if you’d like, I will—”

“It’s fine, Bucky. This way I am closer to Ale if he needs anything.” You stare at each other for a moment, and even though a warm breeze blows through the open windows and arches of the villa, you feel a slight shiver down your spine.

In his smart summer suit, skin lightly tanned and his beard a little thicker than usual thanks to the days of travel you’d endured, Bucky looks fine, broad and tall and handsome and you have to push the idea of sharing a bed with him aside. You hadn’t done that since before the war.

His eyes seem to flick over your sundress-clad figure the same way you’d been inspecting him, and after another beatm he simply lowers his head in confirmation, though his eyes don’t leave your face.

“If you prefer.” He says, shuffling and turning to step back out of the room, once again certain if the borders he was and was not allowed to cross. He turns though, and glances back inside at you, and then with an unreadable expression, cocks his head. But he doesn’t say anything, simply gives you a nod before he walks away. You purse your lips, but quickly go about unpacking your things, pushing all thoughts of him aside.

The next few days are filled with many visits to Don Regio and Marinelli’s house, for dinner and lunches and whatever else. There was little talk or discussion of business, which you were glad for, and you were even introduced to the various women of the family and their own children. It was so oddly normal that you begin to forget about the new work you’d endeared yourself to, and begin feeling like you really were just a normal family on holiday together.

Your good mood extends to Bucky too, even though you were far calmer around him now anyways, you don’t bristle or make corrections when one of the women refers to him as your husband in passing.

Christmas itself is an odd affair, with all three families gathering at Don Regio’s for lunch and dinner, presents and gifts and alcohol are passed around freely. Bucky had spoiled Ale all morning with his gifts. A new baseball glove and bat, a fishing rod so the two could fish together, various toys and baubles. You’d already agreed that you wouldn’t buy gifts for one another, but seeing your child so happy and blessed was a gift enough.

It isn’t until well into the night that you finally return home. Bucky carries Ale’s sleeping form back into the villa, and you take the moment to kick your shoes off in your bedroom, before going to tuck him in too.

Your footsteps are quiet on the stone floors, and as you near Ale’s open door you hear soft talking. Creeping closer, you pause by the doorway, just out of sight, but peek your head in enough to see Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, Ale all snuggled up but his hands holding onto his father’s.

“Did you want to go away?” Ale asks, and you realise you’ve walked in on a conversation in progress. Bucky shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. But I had to. I got into trouble and to make it right, I had to go be a soldier for a while.”

“That’s why Mama is always mad at you? Cause you had to go be a soldier?”

Your heart skips a beat at the question and you duck back out of sight, listening carefully to Bucky’s reply.

“No, tesoro. Your Mama is mad at me because I wasn’t very nice for a long time.”

“But I think you’re nice, Daddy!” Ale protests, and you hear Bucky chuckle.

“Maybe now. But before you were born, I was mean. I didn’t take care of her very well. Your Mama was always trying to help me stay out of trouble and I didn’t listen to her.”

You swallow and hear some shuffling of sheets before he continues.

“And when you were born, I should have been around more, but I wasn’t. And then I was gone for a very long time.” The pure sorrow you hear in Bucky’s voice makes your chest and head hurt, and you almost walk away, but your body seems frozen in place.

“I haven’t been a very good father to you, Ale, but I want you to know that there wasn’t a day when I was away that I didn’t think about you or your mama. I love you so much, sei tutto il mio mondo.”

“Ti voglio bene anche io, papà. Non voglio che te ne vada di nuovo…!” Ale’s reply makes Bucky chuckle, but you can see the sad smile on his face in your mind’s eye. You hear the sound of a kiss.

“I won’t. But I have to ask buddy, will you forgive me? For everything?”

“Of course, daddy!”

You have to quietly suck back a breath, and you start away from the door, needing to compose yourself before you see Ale or Bucky.

By the time you make it back to your son’s room, Bucky is gone, and Ale has drifted off, so you simply kiss his head, and adjust his blankets.

You’ve just finished changing into your nightgown when a soft knocking at your door disturbs you, and you look toward the open doorway, half expecting your boy, but instead you find Bucky.

He wears only his trousers and dress shirt, suspenders hanging around his waist and a few of the buttons undone, as if he’d come to see you halfway through getting undressed.

“Yes?”

“I…. I know we said we weren’t going to buy each other gifts…” He begins, and you straighten, feeling your brow fall into a light frown. You’d feel bad if he’d gone and got you something anyway, when you really hadn’t bought him a thing. Bucky holds out his hand toward you, and in it, a small box. It isn’t wrapped, but you don’t blame him seeing as you know he struggled with tasks like that.

Eyeing him cautiously, you step toward him, plucking the box from his fingers gingerly.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s alright. Go on, open it.” He nods to the box and you feel a strange rush of excitement. It was clearly a jewellery box, and as you pull the lid up, your heart stops beating entirely in your chest.

You stare down at the two golden rings, unable to process or think for several moments as you stare at them.

“I… They’re not the rings… I couldn’t find them but… I should never have pawned them in the first place… and I just wanted you to have them back in some way.” Bucky speaks softly, and you finally tear your eyes away from the bands to stare at him instead, your mouth still unable to form coherent words.

“I—” You swallow thickly, blinking back tears that you refuse to let him see.

“Thank you.” You manage, clearing your throat, and shutting the lid of the box again. Bucky watches you carefully, and then with a few short steps, leans close to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“I’m sorry, Vivi.” He says, but all you can bring yourself to do is nod.

He doesn’t linger, bidding you goodnight quickly, and you’re left alone, standing with the ring box clutched tightly in your hands.

You decide then, that you never want to hear him apologise again.

—-

You return to New York in the new year, and things once again settle back into their normal place. You take on a new project for Marinelli, helping set up a new casino to funnel money through and by the time opening night rolls around, you’re rather excited about the whole thing.

Downstairs, patrons are only just beginning to enter, but up in the office, you watch Don Marinelli pop open a bottle of champagne, pouring four glasses. He offers the first to you, and you take it gratefully, watching Steve and Bucky take their own as you all toast.

“Well, I’d say you’ve done a fine job, Miss Salvati. The floor looks classy, and the furnishings are only that what a woman could pick. Well done.” You duck your head gracefully and sip your drink.

“Thank you, Don. It has been a pleasure.” And it had. Dealing in work that was mostly legitimate had been nice for once.

“I hope so. Otherwise you’ll hate me.”

You frown at that and shoot Bucky a questioning glance.

“I’m putting you in charge.” Marinelli says, and you freeze.

You? In charge of the casino?! You’d been under the impression you were simply organising it’s decor and opening party, not that you would be managing the establishment!

“I—”

“—Of course Steve will help you settle in for the next little while, until you learn the ropes. But I don’t doubt you’ll make me lots of money.”

You look between all the men in the room, and you see the momentary surprise on Bucky’s face for a second before he schools it.

“Thank you sir! I won’t let you down!” You let the older man pull you in, kissing both of each other’s cheeks, before he downs the rest of his glass.

“Come Steve, let’s join the rabble, shall we?” Marinelli beckons Steve out of the office, and after a quick congratulatory kiss on the cheek from the blond, he follows his boss out the door, closing it behind him.

You look around the manager's office, realising now that all this was yours, and you too down the rest of your glass.

“I… I can’t believe it…” You mutter, turning to face where Bucky stands, a small smile pulled across his cheeks. He shrugs.

“Marinelli has always liked you.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No clue.” You turn back around to inspect the furnishings you’d put there, and in a moment of girlish excitement, you round the desk and take a seat.

Bucky watches you, amusement clear on his features, and he places his champagne down, stepping around the large, ornate desk.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” He says softly, and you can’t even help yourself from shooting him a grin as you stand once more, now rearranging a few things to how you’d like them. Bucky steps beside you, and you pause when he covers your hand on a paperweight with his own, stopping you to turn you around.

Nervousness overcomes you then, as he steps even closer, backing you against the desk.

“We should… join the party…” You begin, but his hand is already trailing down to the front of your dress, and you follow the movement with your eyes as he begins to gather the fabric up, your breath hitching when he drops to his knees.

You don’t need encouragement to wiggle back onto the desk slightly, widening your thighs as he slips between them, one finger pulling your panties to the side as he leans in.

“Party’s right here as far as I’m concerned…”

You bury your hand in his hair as the first flicks of his tongue over your folds make you gasp, tightening your grip when he nestles in closer, lips working you over quickly.

You shake in his hold as he licks over you like a man starved, covering your mouth with your free hand as you begin to twitch under him.

“Buck! Don’t stop!�� You warn pointlessly, feeling how he focuses his mouth around your clit sucking and running his tongue over it in motions until you’re crying out, gripping his hair harshly as your hips tremble against his face.

When he pulls back, he looks proud, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe over his mouth and chin with. You attempt to get your breathing under control, but only a second later, he’s leaning in, kissing you open mouthed, your taste still on his tongue. You’re prepared to climb further back on your desk, and let him fuck you when a knock at your offcie door startles you apart.

“What is it?” Bucky calls out, annoyed, and there’s a pause before the answer comes.

“There’s a situation at the door!” The reply comes through and you and Bucky both share a look.

You fix yourselves quickly, and seeing as this was your club now, you follow Bucky out through the throngs of happy customers, to the main entrance. You can see Steve already out front, his shoulders squared, and you’re only stepping around him, about to ask what the issue is when a deafening bang echoes out. The first is followed by several more, but you don’t have a mind to keep count, somebody’s arm around your middle dragging you to the pavement, a heavy body almost crushing you as people gasp and scream.

The gunshots stop and as you orient yourself, you see a man run down the street, before he ducks inside a dark car, Steve and some others chasing after him. You shift under the weight of the body on top of you and find Sam pulling himself up. You blink up at him in slight shock, even as Bucky makes his presence known.

“Baby? Baby are you alright?!” He’s got his hand on your face, his eyes running over your body and you nod, dazed.

“I’m— I’m fine— What—” He looks away, up at Sam, and you stop speaking.

“He was shooting at her!” He stresses, and the dark-skinned man nods, his eyes scanning the crowds as several other men begin to placate the people outside, promising free drinks as an apology. Bucky’s eyes swing back to you.

“I’ll find them, I swear to god.” He promises, and all you can do is nod as you’re gently helped to your feet.

After a short meeting with Marinelli and some others up in your office, Bucky holding his arm around you the whole time, you have Sam drive you home. All you wanted to do now was see your baby and forget all about your soured night.

Before you leave, Bucky kisses your forehead and once more promises to find the person responsible.

You go home and cry, and then when you’ve calmed down enough, you crawl into Ale’s bed, and hold him until you fall asleep.

You don’t see or hear from Bucky for several days, in which time you begin to worry. It isn’t until almost a week later you receive news that the gunman was found, and the boys were ‘seeing to him’ now. Relief fills your body at that, and even though you somewhat pity the man for what you know he’s likely to endure, you push all thoughts from your mind and go about your day as normally as you can.

You send word to Bucky’s home that he should come for dinner, but you get no reply, and tea time comes and goes without his appearance.

He doesn’t show up for another day, and when he does it’s almost three in the morning.

The loud knocking on your door is annoying enough, let alone when you pull it open to find a bleary-eyed, drunk Bucky, whiskey bottle still in hand. Your whole body tenses up and for a moment you think you’ve travelled back seven years, when he’d come home at all hours of the morning, drunk, sometimes beat up.

But something strikes you as different this time and you realise, when he chokes back a breath, that he’s crying.

“Bucky?”

“M’sorry.” He says, falling forwards, his arm thrown around your neck, and you barely have time to catch him, steadying him against you awkwardly.

“Bucky?!” Your voice is more panicked this time, but he only sobs into your shoulder.

“You could have died.” He rasps, and you feel some understanding settle over you.

You manage to pull back enough to look at his face, and take it in both your hands.

“I didn’t, I’m alright, see?” He half nods, but scrunches his eyes shut again as his breathing gets shallower and shallower, and you aren’t entirely sure if he’s actually taking in air anymore.

“Bucky? James, breathe! You need to breathe!” His knees seem to give out under him as the panic attack takes over, and you aren’t strong enough to hold him up, so you simply move with him to your foyer floor, taking a moment to shut your door behind him.

“Buck, come here, look at me, okay? I need you to breathe baby, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay.” You hold his face again, and coo clamingly as he holds onto the front of your nightgown with one hand. When his eyes do open, he looks around wildly, and he seems distant.

“Viv?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Viv, I can’t— I can’t feel my arm!” He chokes out, panic and confusion in his voice and you realise that he’s not with you right now. He’s in Europe somewhere, bleeding and scared. He continues to ramble about his arm, calling for a medic, for any kind of help, and all you can do is hold him until he calms some, breathing heavily against your chest. You don’t realise you’ve been crying until you get him to follow you into your bathroom, and see yourself in the mirror briefly before you start the water.

Bucky doesn’t let you go, but you don’t plan on going far as he sits in the bath, his eyes empty and red, like he wasn’t there at all anymore. You wash him with hot water, dress him again, and put him to bed, lying close, stroking his hair gently as his breathing softens out.

You don’t sleep.

You let Bucky sleep in the next morning while you ready Ale for school, trying not to let visions of the night before haunt you, but you find yourself thinking back to Bucky’s harrowed calls for a medic, how his eyes seemed vacant except for when they seemed scared.

You’re relieved to find them back to normal by the time you return home, discovering Bucky in your kitchen. He straightens and lowers the coffee from his lips as you pause in the kitchen doorway, and for a moment you just blink at each other.

He’d redressed himself in last night’s clothes, and you can see now in the light of day, a few specks of blood on the sleeves.

“I— sorry, I… I just woke up.” You stare at him carefully, but he must mistake your expression for disdain because he sets down his coffee cup and clears his throat, avoiding your gaze.

“I’ll just go. I’m sorry—”

“—Bucky.” You cut him off sharply, and he snaps his eyes toward you.

You’d been thinking long and hard, all night, and you’d really only come to one conclusion after last night’s events.

“I don’t think you should be living alone.” You say, and you watch his face filter through confusion, into a frown.

“What?”

“I don’t think you should be living alone. If last night is anything to go by.” You turn your nose up a little at the end, but only because recognition and understanding flash over his face, and his frown disappears.

“Is that so?” It’s not challenging, in fact you can’t really read his tone at all and you cross your arms over your chest.

“You aren’t well, clearly.”

“Clearly.” He nods, carefully picking up his coffee cup again and you nod, lifting your nose again.

“Good. Now that’s decided, you should organise to move your things.” And with your heart beating quicker than you’d like to admit, you turn on your heel and leave him in the kitchen.

Within the week, Bucky’s moving his things into your house.

Ale had been ecstatic when you’d told him, and hadn’t stopped bouncing for days.

Bucky hasn’t stopped bouncing either, though a little more subtly. He helps his guys carry any furniture he’d wanted, inside your place, and after a long day of back and forth, he’s ready for a long shower and a meal with his family.

“Bucky?” Your voice startled him from stretching his back, and he turns to find you poking your head through the doorway.

“Dinner soon. Clean up.” You tell him, only half rolling your eyes when he straightens and salutes you.

He finds himself climbing slowly up the stairs to the second floor, gratefully taking in the details of your home. He’d had nice furniture and such in his house too, but there was something about a space that had been filled with love, not just things.

On the second floor landing he passes Ale’s room, and smiles to himself at how close he’ll be now. Right there, just two or three doors down…

Bucky keeps moving, exhaustion setting into his bones now as he pushes open the door of the guest room and steps inside, ready to find his towel and get to washing up. Only, the second he lifts his eyes to scab the space, he pauses.

Where were his things?

He knows his clothing and such had arrived earlier, because you’d told him yourself that you’d put it away in the room upstairs. One check inside the cupboard tells him this room is empty. Confusion colouring his gaze, Bucky steps back out and looks toward the stairs.

“Vivi?” He calls out when he’s close enough.

“Where did you put my things?” There's a slight pause before your answer comes.

“Upstairs!” Bucky frowns and looks back toward the guest room, and then, almost hesitantly, to the steps that lead to the third floor.

“Upstairs?” He confirms, and you hum a confirmation back.

Stepping quietly toward the second flight, Bucky knows he’s probably reaching, but as it is, he really wants that shower, and it wouldn’t hurt to check off the only other upstairs bedroom, your room.

Climbing the stairs with soft footsteps, a nervousness sets upon him when he stands outside the only door on the floor.

Swallowing thickly, he turns the handle and lets the wood fall open of its own accord, as he waits in the doorway, watching.

Your room is warm and cozy looking, a vanity to one side, an en-suite bathroom to the left. Your bed is a four poster, with rich coloured fabrics that look soft to the touch, and—

Bucky sucks in air, and his feet carry him forward of his own accord. There’s things laid on the bed, obscure from the doorway, but as he nears he takes it all in. Clothes, his clothes, laying ready for him to change, a folded towel and washcloth sitting atop them. In minor disbelief, he looks around the room, waiting for someone to jump out and tell him he’s been duped, but all he can hear is the faint sounds of movement from the lower floors.

He can’t help it, Bucky’s lips twitch and pull up in the corners, and with a brand new kind of relief settling in his chest, he reaches out and takes the towels.

He’s already kicking his shoes off when something else catches his eyes. Frowning down at the small box that had been under the towel, but atop his clothes, Bucky shifts his things under his arm, and then reaches out to gingerly collect up the box. Blinking at it, and with no real clue what it was, he snaps the lid open, and stares.

—-

You’ve just finished setting the table when Bucky enters the dining room, fresh and clean and dressed in the clothes you’d set out for him.

“Ale, come sit down!” You call, transferring a dish from the oven to the table, just as your son skitters out from underneath the table.

“Daddy! Can you sit next to me!?” Ale begs, tugging on Bucky’s hand.

“Of course! Where else would I sit, pal?”

You pitter about with some other things as Ale takes his seat, waiting for everyone to be settled before you turn back around, along to find that when you do, Bucky is still stood waiting, your chair pulled out.

“Thank you.” You say softly, placing the butter down, before letting him guide your seat under your. Bucky takes the place you’d set for him at the top of the table, between yourself and Ale, and smiles.

“Smells amazing.” He nods, and you open your mouth to reply, but are cut off.

“Let’s say grace!” Ale announces, holding his hands out for you and Bucky to take.

“Good idea, pal.” Carefully, you reach across the space between you to take your son's hand in your own, and lift your other to find Bucky already holding out his other, waiting for you once again.

The light glints of the gold on his finger, and when you place your hand in his, your rings clink against one another in the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

Bucky smiles.

“Bless this meal, this house, and this family.”

[sebstan2020]

Repaying the Debt

Chapter 8

Violet Williams, a typical rich daddy's girl who did nothing but spend his money and hang our with her girlfriends. Her life couldn't be better. But that all changes when her father gets in trouble with New Yorks biggest and most ruthless mob boss, James Barnes and she finds herself repaying the debt of her father.

Violet stumbled along the floor as James dragged her up the stairs to one of the bathrooms. She didn't get much of a chance to look properly, but from a quick glance, she knew this place was huge, and she wondered how much it cost him, but of course he could easily afford it with all the money he gets paid back. She tripped and skidded across the floor, huffing as he yanked her further, his fingers digging into her upper arm. She wanted to fight back against him, but he was too strong. They reached the bathroom, and James shoved her inside. 

"You've got fifteen minutes; I'll be out here waiting, so don't try anything," he warned and slammed the door shut, leaving her in the expensive bathroom. It was beautiful. A huge wet room was off to one corner, and a bath tub filled one side of the wall on the other. The perfect light brown granite table tops of tiles gave a warm glow to the room, and the sink was huge, covering most of the counter top. cupboards and shelves were neatly placed in, not crowding the room, and everything had an expensive touch to it. 

Violet stepped into the shower, the hot, steamy water relaxing her sore muscles, but as she turned, the water stung her ass, and she gritted her teeth together, holding back the groan as she quickly washed. The horrible stench building up on her was now replaced with fresh citrus fruits, and her hair lingered with freshness. She could stand there all day under the hot water, relaxed in its warmth and cloud of steam, but James was waiting for her. She stepped out of the shower, patting her body dry with the big fluffy towel and ringing out the water from her hair. 

Staring down at the damp clothes on the floor, she grimaced at them, not wanting to put them back on. They were caked in sweat and tears and felt disgusted. padding the door, she called out to James outside. 

"Can I please have some new clothes?" She said it with as much politeness as possible to make her get what she wanted. She waited for a minute, not hearing a response, and sighed heavily, about to give a frustrated plea, until the door swung open and she stepped back suddenly. James stood, holding a new pair of long trousers that were thin but looked comfy, and a plain white t-shirt. He held them out for her, and Violet went to grab them, but he yanked them away teasingly, raising a brow. 

"What do you say?" he asked, and Violet silently huffed. 

"Thank you," she almost spat and reached for them again, but he pulled them further, almost holding them above his head, waiting. Violet groaned softly, dropping her arms by her sides and grumbling. 

"Thank you, sir." She looked up through dark lashes, and James smirked, slowly handing her the clothes, which she snatched and slammed the door on him. She hated how he had this much control over her, but it was the only way to get what she needed. Slipping on the dark blue lounge trousers and t-shirt that barely fit over her boobs, she felt so much more refreshed. but looking at the girl in the mirror was unusual to her. No makeup, no big bouncy blowdrys, no stylish clothes. She was nothing but a prisoner now. Her neck was sore from the collar, and her ass was still red.

A small tear came to her eye, and she sniffled, rubbing it away. She didn't want to let this defeat her—to make her submit, cry, and beg for mercy. No, she wanted to fight this. Her father would want her to. But then again, had he been so blinded by his gambling addiction that he so easily listed her off as collateral until the debt was repaid? She didn't want to think about it, so she rubbed her tired, tear-filled eyes, plastering on her brave and bratty face. 

Opening the door to James, who was leaning against the stair bannister, arms folded tightly as he waited for her, he smirked and pushed himself off, padding slowly to her. Violet didn't shrink or back down, holding her head as high as she could as he towered over her. The t-shirt was clearly too tight for her chest, and her boobs were pressing against it so tightly that the material rode up her stomach, showing off her belly. She was extremely pretty with a beautiful body, one that James would enjoy seeing in rope or leather, on her knees before him with that collar wrapped around her neck. 

Perhaps he will do just that. That would teach her not to be such a fucking brat. The use of a whip on her would make her listen—or a cane. Not only would he be getting a loan repayment, but he would also get the chance to train a brat into a perfect submissive, someone with manners and respect. He hadn't imagined her to be so sassy and assumed she'd be obedient and docile, but instead he was hit with this. 

Violet was about to storm out of the bathroom when James shoved his arm on the frame, trapping her inside, and he stared down at her. 

"Aren't you going to thank me for the shower?" he teased. Why let her think she could get away with no respect for how nice he was being to her? She huffed. 

"Thank you so much," she teased in a high voice, clearly putting it on with sarcasm. With swift hands, James grabbed her hair, flinging her around so her ass was pressed out, and he smacked her square in the centre, where the most painful spot was. She yelled and jumped, squirming in his hold, until he gave her hair a tug, and she stopped in silence. 

"Do you want to try that again?" He questioned her, and she breathed, nostrils flaring, but gave in anyway. 

"Thank you, sir, for the shower," she said in a softer tone, and his soft chuckle assured her he was pleased.

"Good, you know I really don't like that tone with me; you should be thanking me for being so nice to you and letting you have a shower. I could have easily left you in there," he ran his hand over her spine, running it down between her legs, and she gasped as he tightened his grip on her mound, pulling up. A tingle shot through her, and she gripped his leg for support.

"From now on, you address me as Sir at all times; do I make myself clear?" He ordered, his voice strong and tough, and Violet swallowed, eyes wide, and a soft tug on her strands lifted her head further up, his lips pressing to her ear. 

"I asked you a question." He whispered, his tone slightly softer, the end word picking up, and Violet groaned quietly. 

"Yes, sir," she murmured, with no sass and no huff. just the words. He had the ability to make her submit right under the palm of his hands. 

"Good girl," his praise sent another tingle in her, making her feel fuzzy and warm. It was frustrating how much control he had over her, how easily he got his way, and how he was taking it away from her. He roughly tugged her up, his hand still wrapped in her hair, with complete control over her whole body as he forced her to walk. 

Back in the small prison, Violet leant against the wall by her bed, her collar locked back on tightly to the point it was almost constricting her airway. Every time she swallowed, the collar tightened, and she winced at it. She hated herself for giving into James like that, but there was no chance of her winning the fight or ever winning. Her head was swirling with all different thoughts and strategies on how to play this out. 

She could either take the good girl route and ride this out or rebel at every moment. She hoped the FBI or police were on the case, but there was an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her think they weren't. James had made it clear the police worked for him and would rather really jeopardise his career. If his colleagues knew about what he did and the people he was involved with, he'd be kicked out of there like a football.

But could she survive any longer in this small room, chained like an animal? Perhaps if she could get James to start to trust her, she could make an escape if he loosened up around her. But would her fiery nature allow her to do so? 

Too exhausted to think, she slid into the bed and wrapped the covers around her, staring at a small spot on the wall as sleep took over. 

James slumped in the plush chair in the living room, one leg over the other, bouncing so comfortably as he held his phone to his ear, listening to the endless ringing. He wondered if John was even going to pick him up. To his luck, he did, and the graggly, nervous voice of John answered. 

"Hello," James smirked instantly, hearing the fear in his voice, and he hadn't even said anything. 

"John, how's it going? I hope you're working hard on getting me my money," he said, and John swallowed. 

"Yes, yes, I am. I promise I'm going to get it to you by this week," he stuttered here and there. 

"All of it?" James inquired. If it was, then he'd have to give Violet back, and that was no fun. He was just getting started with her. Perhaps he could make a counteroffer. 

"No, just the first payment, but if I do, can I speak to my daughter?" he pleaded, and James chuckled. At least he could have some more fun with Violet. 

"That's not part of the agreement, John," he said simply. 

"Well, is she okay? Please, I just want to know if she's okay." He was begging like a tramp. 

"She's fine, although she certainly needs to learn some respect. I'm sure you didn't teach her any while she was growing up." James was scolded, and John held back the urge to call him a bastard. Anything he does could make this worse for the both of them. 

"I'll have Sam and Steve meet you in a secured area for the money. I'll send you the details on Friday, and don't think about getting the police involved," he warned, even though James had nothing to worry about. The police were on his side and wouldn't bat an eyelid, not even for a congressman. 

"Okay, understood," John gulped, and James hung up without another word, bored of talking to him. He threw his phone to the side, hearing it bounce on the nearby couch, and the soft pur of Alpine made him reach down and pick him up, stroking him gently and tenderly, the pure white ball of fur curling up in his arm. 

His exhaustion was settling in too, and he stood, making his way up to his bedroom for some much-needed sleep. 

Hey I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments

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[kaunis-sielu]

Dangerous Places: 9

His hands are on the couch on either side of your legs but he’s not touching you.

“You’re bleeding!” You snatch up his hand to examine it before you know what you’ve done.

“I’m alright Bunny.”

“Glass? Did you punch through some glass?”

“Just a little.”

“We need to clean it.” You tell him and he stands pulling you up with him. You go to let go of his hand but he keeps holding yours, he gives you a little half smile.

“You should hold on. Wouldn’t wanna get lost on my way to first aid.” You roll your eyes at him but drag him along behind you anyways. “You’re moving better, are your feet feeling better?”

“Yea,” you tell him, “is there any glass in your cut?”

“Nah Bunny.”

“Wash it out please.” You tell him before pulling the first aid kit out from under the sink. When he’d been here Hulk had restocked it so you know that everything should be good to go. Steve turns on the water as you get out the gauze wrap and a pair of gloves.

You tend to his cut knuckles gently, making sure you wrap them tight enough to stop the bleeding but not so tight that it’ll cut off circulation.

“You’re good at this Bunny.”

“He got into a lot of fights on his way to the top. I was expected to care for him in every way he demanded.” You say softly focusing on the job you’re doing.

“I can do this.”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t mind, it’s kind of nice feeling useful.”

“What have you been doing all day?”

“Reading. Sleeping. Cooking a little. When the girls are here we talk.” You’ve talked about him more than you’d like to admit. He’s an extremely powerful mob boss but the girls really didn’t have much bad to say about him. His legit businesses give back to the community as much as they can, he takes care of his employees and is known for his weirdly strong sense of justice.

“If I could get you some things to do what would you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” You admit, you really don’t know what you’d want to do. “I miss music.”

“Music?”

“Yea, I know that I can’t have my phone but I like music more than tv for background noise. I hate commercials though.”

“So radio is out,” he says, “I’ll come up with something.”

“Oh, thank you.” You tell him securing the gauze around his hand. “Would you like to eat?”

“You don’t have to serve me Bunny.”

“I’m going to eat so if you want to I can make two plates.” You suggest and he hums softly,

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure.” He studies your face for a moment then gives you a little nod. You move away from him and open the fridge then dig out the leftover lasagna. As you prep for dinner he leans against the couch and texts someone on his phone. You test your glucose then take some insulin while the lasagna reheats.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Get your drink?”

“Okay.” He takes out a beer from the fridge, “What do you want?”

“I just do water.”

“I’ll get it.” He says as you drop your needles in the hard plastic bottle that you’ve been using as a sharps container.

You eat in silence, it’s not exactly uncomfortable but it’s also not comfortable either.

“You made this?”

“Yes.”

“It’s delicious.”

“Thank you.”

“You like cooking right?”

“I do.”

“You need anything for something you wanna make tell the girls, they’ll get you whatever you need. They’ve been kind right?”

“Absolutely.” You’re a little surprised by this question, why wouldn’t the girls be nice to you?

“I know Carol can be a bit harsh sometimes.”

“She’s just honest, which is kind of nice.” You tell him and Steve looks surprised. “What?”

“You seem to read people well. Quickly too.”

“You kind of have to in this life don’t you?”

“I suppose. What have you figured out about me?” He asks, his voice is even and calm but you won’t be telling him anything. If you offend him he could get angry and you’ve seen what his fist can do to glass, you don’t need to see what it could do to you.

“I don’t know.” You say softly after a bite of lasagna. This seems to be the safest thing to say and he studies you.

“You’re afraid you’re going to anger me. You won’t.” It seems he’s good at reading people too, “I know you said actions, and my actions today probably show you that I have a temper, which I do, but the anger wasn’t directed toward you. Not unless you betray me and I don’t think that’s going to happen. Do you?”

“No.” In all honesty that depends on what his definition of betrayal is. The second he lets you go you’re fucking gone, which Brock absolutely would have seen as betrayal, as for Steve, you don’t know.

“Alright then we won’t have any problems.” He goes back to eating like it’s nothing but you have to force yourself to eat, he hasn’t given you reason to really trust him yet. The girls, you’re getting more comfortable with them but you’ve also got your guard up. You’ve been fooled before, you won’t let that happen again. When you’re done eating Steve picks up your plate and brings it to the sink to wash and put into the dishwasher.

This starts a pattern, he shows up everyday for dinner. He never does any work when he’s with you and it’s so easy to forget what he is. He’s charming and kind and brings you a record player with three boxes worth of vinyls.

It’s not until one night when you’re sleeping and he comes in, gently waking you, with a glass in his hand that you realize his attention to detail.

“What’re you doing?” You murmur confused, it’s the middle of the night and he’s in pajama pants and a zip up sweatshirt.

“You’re double arrow down and at 85, you need some sugar.” He tells you handing you the glass, “it’s apple juice.”

“Oh.” You take a sip and stare at him in the darkness. “How did you know?”

“Bruce hooked me up to your system, it alerts me if you’re too low or too high.” You won’t tell him but you’re impressed.

“What time is it?”

“2:30.” He came all the way over here at 2:30 in the morning to give you juice? “Drink up Bunny.” He coaxes so you take another sip. Sometimes drinking the juice too fast makes you feel sick but you don’t want to crash either.

Once you finish the juice Steve takes the glass back.

“Thank you.” You say softly when he’s at the door. He nods and closes the door softly behind him.

When you told him actions would prove to you that he wasn’t like Brock. This is exactly what you meant when you said that, you don’t know how far he lived from here but the fact that he’s got an alarm set up to make sure you stay healthy. You get up and make your way out into the main part of the house and are surprised to see Steve in the living room.

“Everything okay?”

“Yea, I’m just going to test with my test strips. Sometimes the sensor is a little slow.”

“Okay.” He says standing and following you into the kitchen. You test and see that you’re going down still, but it takes about fifteen minutes to see any change.

“Do you need more sugar?” He asks as you take everything apart.

“Not yet. It won’t show for at least fifteen minutes.”

“Wanna sit up with me?” He offers,

“Um. Okay.” So you join him in the living room, “could, could you get me something to sew?” When he looks up at you in surprise.

“Sorry Bunny. What was that?”

“I like to cross stitch, could you get me a project to do?”

“Do you want to look online?” He’s going to trust you to use the internet?

“You’d let me?”

“Yea.”

“Thank you.” You pause, you have another question for him but you don’t want to annoy him.

“What else Bunny?”

“Hmm?”

“I can see there’s another question in there. What is it?”

“How long will I have to stay here?”

“A bit longer.” You feel defeated, it might not be so bad if you had a time frame rather than just question marks. “I’m sorry. We’ve got to be careful about this. If they know I’m coming it’ll be a war rather than the execution I want.” He says it so casually, “I’ll try and have a better answer for you soon okay?”

“Okay.” You agree before standing.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t have my sensor to check my sugar.”

“I can.” He picks up his phone from the arm of the chair and looks at your number. “Oh, good 90 and steady.” You stand and make your way back toward the bedroom.

“Good night.”

“Night Bunny. You need anything and I’ll be here. Don’t wanna leave you alone.”

“Oh, okay.” You tell him before closing the bedroom door and going back to bed.

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