#mob!au fanfiction

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[buckyalpine]

Warnings: 18+ dub con, smut, Dark Bucky, breeding kinks. I want some Dark twin Bucky. Jealous twin Bucky. Manipulative, sexy, mob boss twisted Bucky. His brother James is everything good, everything wholesome, everything perfect. James had everything in life, the nicest house, a respectable job, the sweetest wife. Oh, how sweet his wife was.

Bucky couldn’t care less for the perfect reputation his brother had nor did he care for the money, he had so much more. More power. More control. The only thing his brother had that he wanted for himself was you. His brother didn't value or care for you for what you were worth, always working, focused on business, leaving you in the large house all by yourself. Bucky would have never. Not if he had you.

Loving, gentle, soft as silk.

Pure, untainted, everything he wasn't.

He had to have you.

"Babydoll"

You smiled hearing your husband enter your shared bedroom as you got out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around yourself before going to greet him. He sat at the edge of the bed with a knowing smirk, shamelessly eyeing you up and down like he always did, your cheeks heating up under his watchful stare. You loved how much he adored you. He strode over, humming at the scent of your body wash, his nose trailing up the column of your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin, his hands wandering to the edge of your towel.

"Miss me, baby?" He pulled it off, letting it pool to the floor leaving you bare before him, picking you up and laying on on the mattress, you were so perfect, pliant, he could already smell your arousal, your nipples pebbled against the cold air begging for his warm mouth.

"moy kotenok" He purred, nipping at your earlobe, your brows knitting in confusion, he never spoke Russian to you, only his brother-

“James?” You squeak, your heart starting to beat rapidly, blood running cold. This wasn’t your husband. You tried to scramble away, cover yourself but he grabbed your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. You then noticed the dark ink that peekd beneath his shirt, his telltale silver chain slipping out and dangling above your face. Your husband only wore his wedding ring, you tried so hard, unable to move his heavy body off you.

"Bucky-Bucky get off, what are you doing-

"Taking what should be mine, kotenok, showing you what being loved by a real man is like" He crawled off you, thighs spread wide kneeling in front of you. "He doesn't know what you deserve printsessa"

He shoved your legs apart, holding them from squirming, your twitching pearl amusing him. "S'been long, hasn't it, you say you don't want me but that swollen button says otherwise, what if I-"

He spits onto your clit making you cry out, a rough calloused thumb coming down to flick it to his hearts content. Your body jolted at the sensation, it was wrong, so wrong, God it had been so fucking long...

No.

"Bucky st-stop" You hiccupped as he moved faster, he could see your slick dampening the sheets, his idiot brother didn't know what he was missing.

"Why would I do that, hm? Look at how your body responds to me, you want this. Gonna get you so pregnant, bunny” Bucky smirked, giving his thick bulge a squeeze, making a show of shamelessly palming his erection. “Y’wouldnt even know who the daddy is”

He doesn't waste a second pulling his cock out, grinning at the way your cunt welcomes him home despite your futile protests. You scratch at him between moans of pleasure, your legs wrapping around his tapered waist. He pounds into you with purpose, he wants his child in your belly, he couldn't wait to see his brother dote on you not knowing any better.

He got harder thinking about your breasts leaking with milk as you got bigger, milk to feed his baby, milk to feed him. He'd find a way.

"Gonna put my child in you printsessa, give you my baby, show you where a man puts his cum, you'll take it won't you bunny, such a good housewife"

"No-No you-you can't oh God!" Your body shudders as pleasure and guilt washes over you, clinging onto him for dear life as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"That's right, cum for me, he can't make you cum like I can, don't think I haven't heard you with him, look at you, just a slutty little mess, you smell of sex kitten"

He intends on making the biggest mess in your pussy, needing it to drip onto the sheets you sleep in. You'd stay wrapped up in his essence while it leaked out of you, his sperm exactly where it needed to be, right in your belly-

"Get ready kitten, get ready to take it, fuck-squeezing me so good, tell me you want it, I know you do, m'gonna cum so hard for you princess, just for you, all this-fuck-do you feel it, s'all for you, SHIITTT" He roared, pumping you with the stutter of his hips, the headboard slamming against the wall as he emptied himself, shamelessly moaning into your neck.

The next 9 months would be interesting.

[navybrat817]

Moving in Slow Motion

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: Everything changes for Bucky when he meets you and your daughter.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Fluff, meet-cute, daughter nicknamed Sweet Pea, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: How mob!Bucky and our single mom met. Thanks to @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me babble about this AU. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky met you and Sweet Pea at a science museum and his life changed for the better.

Growing up, Bucky enjoyed going to the museum. Beyond developing critical and analytical thinking, science encourages curiosity and creativity.

In another life, he liked to imagine he taught science and had a family instead of being a mob boss.

It wasn’t fair to think that since his friends were his family, but something was missing that they couldn’t provide him with.

Whether for nostalgic purposes or to clear his head, he found himself back in the familiar museum. He stood and silently observed various exhibits, his eyes darting back and forth as families bustled around him and enjoyed the interactive experiences.

Something tightened in his chest and he didn’t want to ponder on that for long.

A chorus of chatter and excitement drew his attention and he stepped back to make room when he saw a group of kids in matching shirts walk by. Field trips were always something to look forward to and the wonder in their eyes reminded him of simpler times.

“Mama, Mama, look!” A sweet voice called out before something bumped his leg. He glanced down to see a little girl look up at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, Mister.”

Bucky Barnes struck fear into powerful men all over the world. He could only imagine how he looked to this sweet little girl with his large and imposing stature.

People liked to say he had a cold heart, but one look at her and it melted.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Sweet Pea.” He wasn’t sure where the nickname came from as he crouched down to make sure she was okay. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

She quickly shook her head and appeared to relax a bit when he gave her a small smile. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. “No, Mister. I’m okay.”

He nodded, glad to hear that. “You just got excited by everything here, didn’t you? I get it.”

“Uh-huh.” She smiled, making his smile widen. He didn’t smile much these days. “Science is my favorite!”

“It’s my favorite, too,” he said, pointing to one of the rooms. “Did you know in that room you can try to build your own roller coaster?”

She gasped, her eyes lighting up. “I can?!”

He chuckled. Her enthusiasm was infectious. “You sure can. I’ll bet you can build a really good one.”

“Sir, did she bump into you?” You rushed over through the crowd as Bucky’s eyes flickered up, his breath caught in his throat. You weren’t in a matching shirt like the kids, but wore a similar color. “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t help but stare at you as he stood upright, everything moving in slow motion. The little girl made his heart melt, but you set it on fire.

“I said sorry, Mama,” your daughter said, a slight pout on her face when you put a protective arm around her and gave him a wary look. He appreciated your protective instinct. “Accidents happen.”

Bucky wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that his eyes went to your left hand and was happy to not see a wedding ring. Questions went through his mind, ranging from why you weren’t married to what was the full backstory of you and your daughter?

“I know how happy you are to be here, but you also need to be careful and stay close to me,” you said in a gentle, but firm tone. Bucky had a feeling you weren’t referring to bumping into people, but to avoid strangers. “Okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” she replied, hugging your legs.

“It’s fine. Really. I’m pretty sure I walked straight into a wall once because one of the exhibits distracted me,” he teased, unsure of why he wanted to talk to you. He just did.

You smiled after a moment, keeping your arm around your daughter. “I appreciate that. This visit was all she talked about for the last week.”

“I don’t blame her. I hope she has the best time,” he said sincerely.

Your daughter tugged on your shirt. “Show him what I colored!”

Your eyes went to Bucky before you dug into your tote bag. “What do we say?” You asked your daughter.

“Please,” she replied.

Bucky smiled to himself when you took out a coloring sheet with various science and space objects. “Wow! Did you color this?” He asked the little girl. “It’s very good.”

She smiled proudly. “Uh-huh!”

“It’s for a contest. The winner gets a free season pass to the museum,” you explained, carefully tucking it back in your bag.

“I hope I win,” she said, hopefulness in her innocent eyes.

Maybe he could make a donation and get that season pass for her. Hell, he had enough money to buy the museum if he wished.

“Well, I’m not a judge, but you’d win if it was up to me,” Bucky said, taking it as a victory when she smiled again.

You gazed at him before you shook your head. “We should get back to the group.”

“Aww,” she pouted, giving Bucky a small wave. “Bye bye, Mister.”

“Bucky. My name is Bucky,” he said, wishing the wholesome interaction didn’t have to end. He was completely enamored with the two of you. “It was nice meeting you, Sweet Pea.”

“Sweet Pea?” You repeated. He worried he made a mistake in saying that before you smiled. “I call her that sometimes.”

“It’s fitting,” he said, tucking a bit of his hair back. “Any chance I might get your name before you go?”

You hesitated before you told him. You even gave him your daughter’s real name. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

Bucky was probably pushing his luck, but he’d regret it if he didn’t try. “Look, I know this is forward, but can I give you my number?” He asked, giving you what he hoped was a charming yet soft stare.

He didn’t take offense to the skepticism in your eyes. “Um…” You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the group was still close by.

“It’s more than okay if you say no,” he said. He didn’t want you to feel pressured in the slightest and he shouldn’t have assumed you were single because you weren’t wearing a ring.

It was also selfish in a way since you and your daughter seemed so bright and his world was dark, but maybe you two were the real reason he went to the museum today.

After a moment and exchanging a look with your daughter, you shrugged and handed him your phone. “Sure, why not?”

His heart soared when he put his number in, wondering how quickly he’d hear from you. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, making sure to give Sweet Pea one more smile, too. “Have fun making the roller coaster. And good luck with the contest.”

“Thanks, Mister Bucky!”

Bucky’s heart melted all over again as she pulled you away. You even glanced back and gave him a tiny smile, which he returned with one of his own.

He didn’t know you yet, but he sensed deep down that your expectations were set low when it came to men. He was going to enjoy raising the bar.

And he was going to enjoy giving you and Sweet Pea the best life possible, if you gave him a chance.

Wait ‘til the gang hears about this…

I don't have a name yet for the AU and still coming up with a nickname for our reader (Dream Girl and Starlight have been suggested!), but I can't wait to share more. Check out Heart and Home here! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jobean12-blog]

Lost In You

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

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Bucky's been too busy lately and you're missing him badly so you do something to get his attention and it works...

Author's Note: The picture below was too much to handle and gave me Mob feels and I do love writing him with a soft edge, which I hope comes across here. There isn't much back story, lately I can't do much more than focus on the action LOL Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks a bunch Daisy!🥰

Warnings: tension, masturbation over the phone (bc where the hell is your man!), soft moments in between the smut

It’s been the longest week of your life. Bucky’s been…busy and you’ve had enough and you’re just about to tell him so when your phone buzzes in your hand.

“Don’t forget what I want tonight. Make sure you eat dinner doll. I’m going to be keeping you up.”

You huff out a small laugh at his text message. He’s been keeping you up all week and while you’d never complain you would like him to be more available.

With slightly shaky hands, you press his name to call him, and wait while it rings once…twice…

“Is everything all right?” he asks immediately.

“James,” you purr. “Are you busy?”

Silence greets you across the line and after several long beats, he clears his throat, quietly.

“Doll,” he says, “you know you shouldn’t be calling me right now unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m in the middle of something. What do you need?”

His voice is low. Stern and laced with irritation at the interruption.

Your hand slides down your torso, over your belly button and lower, between your spread legs.

“I miss you,” you pout into the phone. “But if you can’t talk I can call back at a better time.”

You can almost imagine the way he leans in, pressing the phone flush to his ear and listening carefully for every sound on the other end of the line.

“No, I’m here now. I miss you too doll.”

Your hand slides up and back, fingers pressing into your skin. You pretend it’s his hand and he’s hovering over you, watching your expression.

“When are you coming home?” you start, your breath catching when you hear him exhale forcefully.

“Doll,” he whispers, and now you know he must be alone in his office, having silently gotten rid of anyone else. His voice has gone hoarse, goading, deep enough that if he were here you can just imagine the way his eyes would darken with intent.

“Why won’t you let me come see you.”

You try to keep your words steady but your fingers are moving faster now, sliding easily over skin that has grown slick with the sound of his voice, the sound of his breath through the phone.

You imagine him behind his large and ornate desk, his jaw tight, his hand clutching himself through his zipper.

Just the thought makes you gasp.

“You’re a distraction,” he hisses, and you moan quietly without meaning to.

“Are you being a distraction right now doll?” he asks.

Your back arches off the pillows, sensation pooling and warming in your thighs, low in your stomach.

“Do you want to hear me?” you ask. “Do you like thinking of me doing this in our bed?”

“Are you…” he growls. “Doll…”

You remember the way he looked at you this morning before he left. You remember how his mouth felt on your neck when he climbed into bed last night.

And then, when you barely whisper, “oh god,” you hear his rumbling groan on the other end and completely fall to pieces under your own hand, pretending it’s his, knowing how much better it will feel when it really is his, later.

Your legs are shaking and you’re crying out into the phone, riding through the wave of heat, slick pleasure sliding across your skin. You say his name, some other things you’re not even sure are coherent but just knowing he’s listening, and it’s all he can do- he can’t touch you or feel you-prolongs your release until you’re spent.

“Doll.”

You blink with a swallow. “Bucky…I…”

“Don’t you dare move,” he warns. “I’m coming home.”

You’ve drifted off waiting for him when the door slams open, the knob hitting the plaster of the wall just on the other side of the bedroom. Startled, you sit up, grasping the sides of his button down and covering yourself as he storms into the bedroom.

“There you are,” he whispers, his voice too low and steady and you know you’re in for it.

He stalks toward you, stopping at the side of the bed and running a hand through his already mussed hair.

“Did you think that was a good idea doll?”

You push up onto your knees, sliding your hands up his chest and into the open buttons at the top by his neck.

“I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

He closes his eyes, moving his fingers to your jaw, down your neck to push his button down off your shoulders. His hands slide over your breasts before he pulls his hands back, forming tight fists.

“You don’t think you’re the only thing on my mind all day…and night,” he says. “I count the minutes until I can come home to you.”

“But you’ve been gone so much this week. The late nights aren’t enough.”

He leans in and says, “I’ve had a lot of business to attend to and tonight especially.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as you lean in to meet him, your lips brushing along his neck.

His eyes flutter closed, nostril flaring.

“What do you think it looks like. Me running off?”

With his eyes anchoring yours, and to make his point, he slides a rough hand lower, between your legs, two fingers searching and finding you soaked.

“Who made you this wet?”

You don’t answer, closing your eyes and pushing into his hand before reaching to grip his wrist and fuck his fingers if he won’t move.

He jerks his arm back and pulls his fingers away, reaching to push them into your mouth, pressing your taste onto your tongue. His hand grips your jaw, fingers curled into the hollow of your cheeks to hold your mouth open.

“Answer me.”

“You.” The word is hard to get out around his intrusive fingers, but you manage, and he pulls back, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You’re all I think about,” you say as you stare up into his eyes, so intense with desire.

They soften as you continue to hold his gaze. His eyes drop to your lips and his hands spread gently at your waist.

“I don’t care that you’re busy and had to leave. I want you to ignore it.”

His jaw tenses.

“I want you.”

“Doll,” he breathes out before his lips crash over yours, tongue pushing your mouth open, tasting, rolling up against your teeth.

You greedily reach for his shirt, tugging it free of his pants. With shaking fingers, you work each button free and once his smooth, warm torso is exposed, you let out a fevered moan and your hands are frantic across his skin, your fingers catching on the gold chain that rests there.

He growls when you spend too long running your hands up and over his chest, stroking and teasing the line of hair heading down below his belly button and into his pants.

Impatiently, he tugs at the shirt that’s still draped half over your body, pushing his hips forward, and grunting his approval when you quickly unfasten his belt, his zipper and shove his pants down his thighs so you can free his cock.

Oh.

It rests warm and thick against his belly and when you reach for him he’s steel in your hands. You use both to grip him and slide them down his length, dipping your head so you can suck on him with as much hunger as you feel.

He exhales a tight groan as you pump him in your fist and then curls down, capturing your mouth in a brutal, commanding kiss. You pull away, intending to lick him until he comes, but with a growled curse he pushes you back on the bed, kicking off his pants and climbing over you.

With hands flat on your thighs he spreads your legs, leaning forward and roughly thrusting into you. It’s a relief so enormous you moan loudly, never before feeling so full of him. You’re starving and satisfied, wanting him to stay like this forever.

He pulls back and then slams forward, gripping the headboard for leverage and taking you so roughly each thrust forces air from your lungs.

It’s wild and frantic, his body over yours, your legs clamped around his waist.

“I needed to get this deal done tonight,” he hisses, hands gripping your thighs. He pumps hard and fast, sweat trickling down his temple. “Instead, I need to come home and deal with my needy wife.”

His large, rough hands reach for your breasts, and he slides his thumbs across your nipples.

“Please make me come,” you whisper hoarsely. “Please,” you beg. “I’ll be good.”

You know he can’t deny you anything. Not really. He’ll give you everything you want. Always. And that’s exactly what he does when he angles your hips and drops his hand between your legs, pressing a finger to your clit until you feel the rush of warmth along your skin and the tension build deep in your belly.

“Bucky,” you cry out as your pussy tightens around him and your body arches beneath him.

The sight of you so lost in him is too much and he thickens inside you before filling you up, his hips stuttering and slowing.

He carefully pulls out and falls to the bed, wrapping you up in his arms and burying his head in the side of your neck.

“Baby doll,” he murmurs, his lips warm and soft at your skin.

“You’re not leaving again right?” you ask quietly.

His hand slides along your waist to your stomach where he reaches for yours and tangles your fingers together.

“No doll face. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your palm and then turning it over to press a kiss to your wedding ring. His mouth moves across your knuckles then to each fingertip and you shiver in his arms.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says again, rocking behind you and pushing his thigh between yours.

You start to move against it, the friction from his hard muscle making you grip his hand tightly. When he feels your wetness coat his skin he purrs into your ear, pushing your body down harder onto his thigh.

And just when you feel yourself nearing the edge he pulls his leg away. You whine out his name but with quick hands he rolls you onto your stomach, spreads your legs, and slides in so deep you gasp.

His groan vibrates across your skin, his lips warm and soft at your neck before he whispers along the shell of your ear, “I need to feel you come around me again.”

[eviesaurusrex]

ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇɴ ᴡɪꜱᴇʟʏ | ʙ. ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: 5 incidents in which Bucky gets proven how lucky he is to have found you.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MDNI, fluff, mobster typical themes, illusions to violence, more fluff, cursing, talks of marriage, starting a family etc., pregnancy, phantom pain, allusions to smutty time, slight dirty talk, my Google Translator skills for all things Russian, children, not perfetly proof-read

author’s note: Am I in my mobster era now? (Please don't try to strangle me when I butchered the Russian parts. I had only Google Translator as my trusty helper ;_; Dividers are made by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics!

Russian translations:

малышка (malyshka)—baby

милая (milaya)—darling

“Every day I wake up next to you, I pray to the gods and thank them for the love you give me. Every day I spend with you is more than I deserve. Every day I call myself lucky that you love me back, my dear. I love you more than anything in the world, more than the world, more than life itself. You are my everything. Thank you for making me the happiest man on this planet.”

“Should I stop telling you how good you feel around me? How good you take me? How perfect you look, all filled up with my cock and already pregnant with my baby?”

Привет, папочка (Privet, papochka)—Hello daddy

Привет, солнышко (Privet, solnyshko)—Hello sunshine

The first incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes—fearsome crime lord, bratva leader, king of New York City’s underworld—found himself in the aftermath of a crossfire after a deal gone south. His doctor had just arrived to check out the gunshot wounds littering his arm and shoulder, and in his opinion, everyone made too much of a fuss about it.

He was fine. He made it out with barely any scratches.

“Nine gunshots, only one bullet I have to remove. This is a new record, Mr. Barnes.”

… a few scratches; he had to give him that.

On the other hand, his entire left arm had been reduced to nothing but a pile of scrap metal, so perhaps Bucky had been hit rather badly if he took that into account. He wouldn’t because he had to be okay, invincible even. The world he was born into was a cruel one that reprimanded one’s weakness with downfall and despair, and he had to uphold the legacy that had been bestowed upon him the moment his father took his last dying breath in the same car crash that had taken his arm. He had people to protect—his associates, partners, workers, everyone that he considered friends or even family.

Topped by only one person, one woman, who sat above them all on a throne he had created for her right next to his. Not beneath him, not a step below—right fucking next to him.

Speaking of which… The commotion outside their bedroom sounded a lot like the whirlwind he deemed to be the love of his existence, and cursing above his breath, his eyes moved a second from the slightly opened door toward the doctor holding the single bullet between a pair of forceps.

“Don’t you dare step in my way.”

Her voice rushed like opium through his veins, making the mobster forget about the burning pain of holes inside his body.

“I can’t let you in there. Not now. The doctor is with him, you don’t want to see that,” Steve’s voice echoed through the hallway, probably stacked with high-towering security men. Just as high-towering as the blond was, and still, his girl did not show fear. No, not her. Never her.

A scoff was heard, and the physician beside him chuckled under his breath as he started to clean the wounds meticulously. Even Bucky showed a rare hint of emotion around other people than her when a grin parted his lips for a moment. “You’re his second. He is his doctor. I am his girlfriend. Think again if you want to continue standing in my way, Steve. I’m not above using brute force to get to him.”

Hearing that from a woman stopping not even close to all their eye levels would be laughable with any other person, but her? Everyone knew she would move heaven and hell in order to get wherever he was. He had learned this the hard way and would never dare leave her behind again, not when she demanded to tag along.

She really is a wonder.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he had spoken those words out loud, his mind starting to struggle with the blood loss and pain seeping deeper than necessary into him.

Shuffling before the door made the brunet open his eyes again. “Fucking hell, woman…” The hardwood door opened, and he could see the woman ruling his world without even starting to grasp the extent of her power over him, turning toward his second in command. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers,” she spoke sweetly before she finally turned, her eyes immediately finding him on their shared bed.

Worry creased her forehead, brows deeply furrowed, eyes jumping from his shoulder to his injured arm, then right to the one missing. Without another heartbeat, she rushed through the grand but still cozy room, showcasing her taste because Bucky had let her redecorate this entire fucking house as soon as she had agreed to move in with him—after much persuasion on his part. He wouldn’t have given a fuck if she would’ve decided to paint every single wall a screaming yellow if it would’ve made her happy.

“Hey, милая.” His raspy voice from all the shouting broke a bit at the signature endearment for her, and he wished to reach a hand out to her, but the lack of his arm was jarringly apparent. So all he could do was watch her carefully settling down onto her side of the bed, scooting over the mattress, a warm, soft hand cupping his cheek while the pad of her thumb started to caress his cheekbone. “Hey, love,” she returned the greeting with a smile, worried gaze flicking to Dr. Strange. “How bad is it? And don’t you dare try to sugarcoat me like Sam bloody tried on our way here. I do possess eyes, you see that, right?”

Dr. Strange nodded while preparing the stitching material. “I have removed one bullet from his shoulder. Nine shots in total. I’ve cleaned them and will stitch them as soon as the anesthetic takes effect.” Bucky could see her nodding at the doctor’s explanation and tried to nuzzle closer into the palm of her hand. “Milaya?” She finally looked down on him. “I’m okay, ‘promise. They busted m’arm, though.”

His words turned slurred, slowly but steadily, and he focused on her soft smile that was always entirely reserved for him and baby kittens. He could live with that sort of competition.

“We will talk later, but I promise I’ll take a look at your arm, and in case there isn’t anything left to save, I’ll make you a new one, James.” She pressed a gentle, loving kiss to his sweat-covered forehead. “Now relax, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Her voice echoed in his ears when the drugs finally kicked in, clinging to the sound of her.

Yes, he had been smart enough to ignore his stupid rule of not letting anyone get closer than necessary. She proved him right every damn time.

The second incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was on a regular day in December. Snow fell softly outside the grand brownstone they had chosen to spend the holidays at rather than the house outside the city. His girl had wanted to finally spend Christmas in the buzzing city again, and he had ordered their things packed and moved within a blink of an eye.

Now, everyone enjoyed their little piece of heaven surrounded by their families. Yelena and Natasha had returned to Russia for the holidays, Steve spent time with his own wife, while Sam had decided to go south to see his parents and check in with a few associates while he was already there.

Meanwhile, the feared bratva mobster, leader of the darkest pits of New York’s underworld, watched his girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiancée add a few more pieces they had picked up at Tiffany’s today to their Christmas tree, humming to the soft tunes of an old record wafting through the living room. His blue eyes, usually so menacing and threatening, rested with a loving expression on the woman he had sworn to protect with his life, one arm thrown over the back of the comfy couch he had spent a fortune on—but his queen fell in love with it at first sight and couldn’t find anything better suiting. Not that she had to. The shining black Centurion Card had been pulled out of the inside pocket of his black suit jacket the second Bucky had seen that look on her face.

He would buy her anything in this world, spoiling her rotten until she’d drown in pretty things.

“I think we need more lights,” she stated in a mumble, almost to herself, before turning toward him. “Don’t we? We need more lights, yes.” And so it was decided, and he smiled at her turning back when she started to roam through the red holiday box to find the last remaining string of colorful fairy lights. “No, wait.” Lifting a dark brow, the man watched her reach for the small package he had eyed since they’ve returned instead, all wrapped prettily and neatly.

Scooting across the soft carpet toward where he sat, his girl smiled up at him, holding the small present out to him before folding her hands over his muscular thigh, waiting patiently. “It’s not your Christmas present, but I saw it and… and I needed to do this. To have something for our tree.”

Their first real tree as a couple. The past three years, they had been too busy during the holiday season, barely being at home, not to mention the little time they would’ve had to go out, find a tree, and decorate it, so it would be appreciated as it deserved. This year, however, Bucky craved the comforts of their home, and he wanted to start collecting memories like this.

He bent over to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, hand cupping her cheek tenderly, the little gift almost vanishing in the vastness of his hands. “Thank you, моя милая.” How in all the hells had he become so lucky in finding this woman who now grinned up at him with unabashed happiness? “Open it! Open it already!” And he obliged, feeling giddy himself as she almost bounced on her knees, unwrapping the small box and opening the lid to reveal a perfectly crafted snowflake ornament, a picture of them together in Central Park during the worst snowstorm the city had witnessed in over a decade placed inside the clear crystal. Their smiling faces, almost hidden behind scarves and beanies, angled to one another, her lips pressing a snow-filled kiss to the corner of his smiling lips.

It was perfect.

She was perfect.

Gods be damned, but in that moment, when his eyes found hers again, he felt the overwhelming urge to drop down on his knees and ask for a lifetime together. But he wouldn’t. He had it all planned out, and he used to stick to his plans. He was patient beyond compare, but not when it involved this woman before him. So instead of caving to this sensation, Bucky carefully placed the crystal snowflake onto the coffee table in front of him and pulled his girl up into his lap in one smooth motion, wrapping her in his strong arms, fingers—both flesh and metal—tangling in soft strands of hair or gripping the soft black fabric of the hoodie she wore which once belonged to him.

“Каждый день я просыпаюсь рядом с тобой, молюсь богам и благодарю их за любовь, которую ты мне даришь. Каждый день, который я провожу с тобой, больше, чем я заслуживаю. Каждый день я называю себя счастливчиком, что ты любишь меня в ответ, моя дорогая. Я люблю тебя больше всего на свете, больше мира, больше самой жизни. Ты — мое все. Спасибо, что сделал меня самым счастливым человеком на этой планете, малышка,” Bucky rasped in Russian with his forehead pressed to hers and eyes intimately locked, watching the shy smile he loved so dearly spreading on her lips and making her eyes twinkle.

“I don’t know if you have insulted me just now, proclaimed your undying love for humble me, or started the dirty talk earlier than usual, but either way, I don’t mind.” Her fingers wrapped around his chin to pull his face closer to hers, lips touching when she added in a breathless whisper, “It sounded hot, so keep talking dirty to me, love.”

Giggling, his girl accepted the tender kisses of chapped lips to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her lips. He felt the uncomfortable pull on his skin again when Bucky smiled at her, his split lip still not entirely healed after a punch he couldn’t dodge in time. Under her care, it will have vanished until next week when the photographer planned to take a few pictures for their first Christmas postcards.

Bucky still struggled to grasp how his life had turned in that particular manner. He never thought he’d be one for domesticity and familiar bliss, but with her?

He was all in.

The third incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was when James Buchanan Barnes, invincible mob boss, returned home in the dead of night in a frantic temper, his entourage strolling behind him, accepting his orders with grave faces and solemn nods.

“Don’t let him out of your fucking sight. Track him as soon as he leaves his godforsaken home, track him inside his own walls, hell, track when he takes a piss. I don’t fucking care!” His booming voice echoed through the foyer, and with another deep growl, he handed his weapons to Sam; two remained in the holster, hugging his broad shoulders. He wouldn’t take them off, not until the threat was decimated under his foot. “We’ll do a 24/7 surveillance on him, boss. He won’t come near her,” Steve promised, knowing damn well what would happen to all of their heads if they couldn’t protect her.

Bucky bared his teeth in disgust. “You better not fuck this up, Steve.” This would be his first and only warning, and the blond knew that, so he nodded and retreated into his office, knowing damn well that sleep would be nothing but a pleasant memory for a while—he wouldn’t be alone, though. Everyone knew how their boss got when his queen was threatened by others. Those threats had already started to grow in numbers as soon as the underworld learned of their engagement, and outsiders trying everything to get in and on good graces with certain families smelled a quick victory.

How wrong they were in those foolish assumptions.

Sam watched his boss almost anxiously while he desperately tried to cool off, fists pressed against the pretty surface of a pretty sideboard she had most definitely chosen.

“I will kill him. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”

At Bucky’s deep rumble, Sam could only hum in agreement. He would be right at his back, killing all who wanted to harm anyone he cared for, especially those inside this building.

“I could reach out to our associates in Louisiana, get some more backup and gunpower. There’s this kid who’s a marvel with tech. Maybe he can come up with a discreet solution for the in-house surveillance,” Sam suggested, knowing damn well how excited Parker would be when he finally allowed him to tag along, currently bored out of his brilliant mind at college. Bucky looked up and over his shoulder, icy blue eyes resting on one of his best men—and friend. But the creaking above their heads let him pause in his answer, and both men stared up the stairs, knowing who eavesdropped at the railing.

Bucky sighed deeply. “We need to work on your stealth skills, малышка,” he spoke up and waited for her steps to pick up and for her to shuffle down the stairs. She did in a pair of cozy yoga pants, a large hoodie hanging on her form—the one he had worn before changing into his suit this morning—and fluffy socks with reindeer and candy canes printed all over them, her hair wrapped in a messy bun on the top of her head, strands framing her face. In her arms throned a king amongst pets, and white fur littered the soft fabric of his hoodie where she held Alpine close to her chest.

His heart ached at the sight of her in the best possible way.

Her eyes wide with worry—not for herself, but for him and all his men—jumped between Sam and himself as she reached the second to last step and waited there.

“I didn’t mean to, but… I heard voices and thought you’d come home, but then I heard everyone talking and it was kind of too late to go back to bed anyway, so I figured I could… learn a bit.” Bucky started softly shaking his head, his outgrowing hair tickling his cheeks. “You meant eavesdropping, малышка. That’s the word you’re looking for here,” he deadpanned, and one corner of his mouth slightly lifted at the sound of her quiet laugh, her fingers comfortingly petting the white fluff ball currently purring at the attention and headbutting her hand for more.

With another sigh, he stepped up to the stairs, raising his gaze to his all-ruling queen, and he felt the tension in his shoulders slightly disappear when her hand came up to his neck and rested there comfortingly, fingers playing with the soft strands of his dark hair. “I’ll be alright, James,” she whispered, and he wasn’t sure how she could say that with such certainty when not even he felt so sure. “We’ll be alright, I just know it. Nothing and no one will keep me from you, from becoming your wife and living a very happy life with the man I love more than anything in this world, giving him the cutest fur babies and children the world has ever seen.” Bucky sucked in a breath, and after gently putting down Alpine, he pulled his soon-to-be wife in a bone-crushing hug, wrapping her legs around his hips with ease. “We will live until we turn old and grey and can look back at all the memories we made along the way, annoying our children and grandkids with endless, embarrassing stories,” she continued to whisper against the soft, tattooed skin of his neck and yes, he could see all that and more, too.

It was easy with her to picture this picture-perfect life—and he would do anything to make it a reality. He wouldn’t stop at murder and anarchy, not when it came to her.

So when he slightly turned to Sam with his woman in his arms, ready to put her back to bed, he only needed to mouth the words, and it was done.

Do it.

The fourth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was during one of those forsaken nights.

He woke with a startle and a groan escaping him involuntarily, the dark bedroom embracing him, a soft, warm body tucked into the expanse of his back, slow breathing fanning across his heated skin. His hand shot up with another groan leaving him, cupping the stump where once had been an arm, feeling the same agonizing pain he had felt in that car all those years ago, almost bleeding to death after a rivaling family had tried to kill them all off.

Unfortunately, he had survived—and the revenge had been brutal the moment he had recovered enough to go on a killing spree.

Trying to breathe through the crashing sensations, Bucky tried to move as quietly and carefully as possible, not wanting to wake the woman sleeping peacefully beside him because she needed all the rest she could humanely get. But the pain was blinding, the feeling of warm blood flowing down his skin so real, he could’ve sworn there was still an arm to lose, and his fucking legs were still tangled in the damn blanket!

With a frustrated huff, the mobster tried to just roll out of bed in a desperate attempt, not minding falling face-first to the floor, but the blanket didn’t budge, and suddenly, an arm snaked across his waist, and a warm hand rested on his muscular abdomen.

“D’not go…”

The sleepy mumble pierced through the agony, and usually, Bucky always obliged to his wife’s every demand, but not now. Not this time. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t crumble in front of her. She needed him to be strong and capable. He had to protect her and the little plum. He couldn’t show weakness, not even in the comforts of their own home. Word would get out, the pit of New York City would smell blood, they would come and kill her in front of his very eyes, make him watch when the life would vanish from her breathtaking eyes, taunting him, before they would end his life as well, releasing him into the bliss of afterlife where he would search for her, and—….

“Bucky? What’s wrong?”

Her voice, now sounding more awake and aware, startled and pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he could feel the mattress dip and move when she sat up and scooted closer to him. “Hey…” A soothing hand started to rub over his back. “Talk to me, love. C’mon, handsome, I can only help when I know what’s bothering you to such an unholy hour.” Her teasing made him almost smile—almost. But the pain returned in full force, and his hand gripped his shoulder even tighter.

“Phantom pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle, malyshka. Go back to sleep, you need it,” he rumbled quietly, his legs finally escaping the trap that was their blanket, and the man sat up, feet hitting the floor. He attempted to get up in order to leave her to the quietness of their room, but his wife had nothing the like on her mind. She held him back and scooted off the bed. “Stay. I’ll be right back.” Blinking into the dim light of her bedside table, he reached for her and tried to get up. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Go back to—”

She shushed him gently and pressed a finger to his lips. “I said Stay. I mean it.” With that, his woman granted him a serious glance before she patted into the adjacent bathroom, one hand cradling her already quite prominent bump, and all Bucky could hear was rummaging sounds in their cabinets and a quiet mumbling.

“Your papa is a handful sometimes, little one. Prepare yourself because I need you in my corner, okay? Okay.”

Smiling through the irritating pain, the mobster waited for her to return and watched her closely when she finally left the bathroom and patted back to their bed, a bottle of lotion in her hand. “You think you need the mirror, love?” Bucky glanced at the full-length mirror in their walk-in closet shrouded in darkness and decided with a soft shake of his head. “Maybe later if it’s not getting any better,” he mumbled in defeat, accepting the loving kisses pressed to his right temple and lips. “Just let me know, yeah?” He nodded at her request, and blue eyes watched her like a hawk when she settled right next to him, on the side of his missing arm, a squirt of lotion already between her soft hands warming it up.

“I told you to wake me up if it’s happening again,” his wife scolded him quietly, her incredible hands massaging the hurting stump of his shoulder. At first, it hurt like hell, but the more she kneaded and caressed, the more bearable it got. “You need your rest, milaya,” he returned with a lingering glance down her form, eyes equally heavy with worry and love when they settled on the little bump he had grown to love so dearly, it almost hurt.

Bucky felt her eyes on him in return and opened his arm when she stopped what she was doing to climb into his inviting lap, straddling him comfortably. Taking his hand into hers, she pushed the warm skin of her husband under his shirt she wore to sleep and placed his palm right on top of the soft curve before continuing.

“Not more than you need it, too. You’re running the mob empire, not me.” Her voice reminded him softly, and he let his forehead fall onto her shoulder, eyes closed, thumb caressing the warm skin of her bump, hoping, praying, he would feel something, anything. But according to all the books he had read so far, it would take a few more weeks until he could feel the slight movements their child did inside his wife. “And you’re growing a whole fucking human,” Bucky returned and got shushed again. “Watch your language, Barnes. I don’t want their first word to be anything obscene.”

But she couldn’t fool him. He heard her smile in the scolding.

A comfortable silence settled between them, then, reminding Bucky yet again why he had felt so good around her the second she had walked into that room in the hospital, only raising a brow at the sight of six buffed men clad in black suits, armed with more guns than one human could possibly need, and him sitting in the middle of it all—disheveled, still hurting, ice cold. She had smiled, wearing those ridiculous blue scrubs, and he had spotted a splash of blood on her light grey sneakers when she had come closer, pointing it out in almost something resembling disgust. Still, she only had rolled her pretty eyes at the pitiful attempt of an insult.

She hadn’t given a single fuck about those intimidating men—including him—all towering multiple heads above her, tattooed, guns always visible, the rough Russian language floating through the room occasionally. And he had respected her for that, even though he didn’t bother to be nice at first. In hindsight, Bucky would’ve earned a beating from his mother if she had been still alive. She had raised him better than treating a beautiful, kind, intelligent, and compassionate woman like he had initially treated her. But after a while, Bucky had felt how she had snaked her way into his thoughts, catching himself repeatedly thinking about her over the course of his day, starting to anticipate the next appointment to get his prosthetic measured, built, and adjusted, always looking forward to seeing her face.

She hadn’t given a flying fuck either when he finally revealed who he was and what he did, only cocking her head to the side in question and asking him, “Will you or one of your guys kill me after our time is over?” And when he had shook his head, denying those thoughts, she had smiled brightly, before turning back to the prosthetic arm she had crafted for him. “Then we don’t have a problem. Everyone has to earn their money somehow, James.” That was also the first time anyone had called him by that name since his parents had died, and he had fallen for her right then and there, ready to kneel at her feet and surer as hell that he would make her his queen.

“Don’t count on that, malyshka. Everyone around here is using filthy language, and do I need to remind you of certain… situations where the little plum currently has to listen in? Or do you want me to stop? Мне перестать говорить тебе, как хорошо ты себя чувствуешь рядом со мной? Как хорошо ты меня принимаешь? Как идеально ты выглядишь, вся заполненная моим членом и уже беременная моим ребенком?” He felt the pain slowly but steadily subside under her knowing and well-versed hands, feeling them stop in their magic as the huskily whispered Russian words flowed effortlessly over his lips, feeling her squirm in his lap.

Leaning slightly back in order to have a better look at his face, his wife bit her lower lip, making now the feared bratva leader squirm underneath her, his hand protectively pressed into her lower back, not daring to let her fall off of him. “You are a very evil man, James Barnes,” she hummed with almost a purring edge to her voice, making him grin as cocky as possible. “You married the worst of the bunch, malyshka—and you like it. You can’t hide it, not from me, never from me. Not when I’m balls-deep it that deliciously tight…—” Her lips pressing against his made him moan deep in his throat and stop taking altogether. Forgotten was the pain of the past. It still bothered him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but her scent, her taste, the feeling of his wife against him made him forget about it.

The past was the past, and now, only the present and the future held importance to him.

Lifting her with one arm with ease, the mobster carefully moved her to the middle of their bed, hovering above her and watching her pretty face with a loving gaze. “You’re my everything,” he dared to whisper. “You both are.” He felt her hands cupping his face tenderly as if he wasn’t the killer everyone feared across the East Coast as if he was something precious even though he was broken beyond repair. “And you are ours, Bucky.” She kissed his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his lips, and his left shoulder without disgust, without apprehension, but with deeply felt love.

As if he was perfect the way he was.

The fifth incident that proved him to have chosen wisely when following his heart for the first time in his life was after a business trip to Sicily that had taken too long for his liking, even though the business was good and the newly knitted connections invaluable. But it had made him leave his family for far too long than humanly tolerable, not even the many FaceTime calls had eased the sting in his heart.

“Make sure Enzo receives the gift for his wife and put a little something for him inside as well. Perhaps the Yamazaki Single Malt?” The 55-year-old whisky sure would make a fine gift for the young leader of the Sicilian Mafia, remembering an evening here and there when both men had shared a glass of scotch.

Steve walked beside him as they left the car and made their way over the sidewalk and behind the gate of the old brownstone in the best area in New York City. The cherry trees along the road were in full bloom, and the spring breeze was pleasant enough that the Barnes considered taking them all out for a day in Central Park. Work could wait after two weeks away from them. “Sure thing, Buck. I’ll call Stark to get a bottle,” the blond nodded and opened the door for his boss after walking up the stairs before entering the family home as well, happy sounds wafting through the air already.

Bucky visibly relaxed when he heard his family without a phone between them and handed Steve the concealed guns. They had made a rule for the house, and everyone obliged happily because everyone had been wrapped around their little fingers since the day they were born.

And no one would dare to go against Mrs. Barnes.

“I don’t want to be disturbed for the next couple of weeks, so handle everything and only bother me with situations that need my explicit attention,” was the last order the mobster could get out before the sound of small feet erupted from the living room and barreling toward the foyer.

“Papa!”

“Dada! No, waits for meeee! Annie, pwease! Mommyyyy!”

Bucky laughed as his eldest rounded the corner in full sprint, her little legs carrying her as fast they could, and the tall brunet crouched down to catch her little body. The little girl, resembling so much his wife, looked at his face with bright eyes, hands pressing against his cheeks and squishing them with an adorable chuckle.

“Привет, папочка,” she greeted him shyly, stumbling over her sounds and pronunciations, but Bucky kissed her little cheeks with such enthusiasm that her insecurities vanished in an instant. “Привет, солнышко,” the father returned with a kiss to her forehead and watched the questioning expression morphing onto his daughter’s face. Her tongue poked out between her lips, eyes wandering to the ceiling, brows drawn together in concentration—just like his wife. But then, she looked at him again, leaning closer as if she wanted to conspire with him. “What does that mean, papa? Yelena didn’t teach me that word yet,” she whispered, and Bucky laughed again, feeling almost crushed by the happiness he felt at that moment. “It means sunshine, my sunshine.” It made her smile as brightly as the sun outside the windows before she waved at Steve. “Hi, Uncle Stevie. You can go now. Papa is mine; you can have him back in… a long time.”

Nodding to underline her case, the almost six-year-old looked expectantly at his second in command, and Bucky turned with her still in his arms, looking just as expectantly as her. “You heard the little lady, Steve. Off you go,” he teased, and the blond shook his head with a smile, bowing before them. “As you wish, Princess Anastasia.” The girl huffed and showed the blond giant her tongue. “It’s Anya, Uncle Stevie! You always forget!” Chuckling, Steve took her hand and shook it apologetically. “You are right; my apologies, princess. Enjoy your time with your father.”

And with that, he left for his office, leaving the two in the foyer when they heard another set of steps.

“Anya, next time, wait for your brother, please,” Mrs. Barnes scolded the little girl gently, a smile on her lips and the little boy on her arm. His son nodded, holding his stuffed bunny at its long ears. “Yesh, waits for me, Annie! Dada!” More excitement echoed through the home as the small boy started to wiggle in her arms, and Bucky rushed over to her, catching Elijah before he could plop out of her embrace. “Careful, little troublemaker,” he laughed and held him with his other arm, hearing Anya scoff quietly. He threw his wife a questioning look, and in return, she only rolled her eyes at their children, softly shaking her head and taking Anya to her.

“They had a… falling out earlier.” Anya scoffed again as if her mother understated the entire ordeal, wanting to be put back on her feet, and hugged her mother’s hips closely. Elijah leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, bunny pressed tightly into his chest, watching his sister. “He ruined my homework! Miss Pepper said she’s suuuuuper excited for my solar system model, and then, papa, Eli just banged his stupid bunny on it!” Angry tears gathered in her eyes, almost rolling down her pretty face. His youngest looked positively undisturbed as he watched his sister unraveling over her homework, and Bucky sighed.

“Bunny s’not shtupid. Annie’s plant-… plants-… planets! Annie’s planets looks ugly, dada. Not pretty like mommy,” Elijah stated with confidence, making the tears finally spill over Anya’s cheeks. “I hate you! You’re not my little brother anymore!” And with that, the little girl pulled away from the soothing hands of her mother, almost tumbling over the stairs as she ran upstairs, a loud bang echoing through the house when she closed her door with force.

Another sigh escaped Bucky and his wife alike, both parents looking down at their little boy who started to chew on his bunny’s ear. “Honey, that wasn’t very nice to say,” she reprimanded her son and took him from Bucky when he stretched his little chubby arms toward his mother, keeping a hand on his little back. “Annie is sads?” She nodded and kissed the dark mob of hair her son had inherited from his father, just like the blue of his eyes. “She’s upset, baby, yes. We will give her a moment to calm down before we’re going upstairs to apologize, yes?”

Elijah nodded with tears in his eyes, and the father couldn’t hold back, so he gently cupped his youngest head and pressed a lingering kiss onto the wild dark curls. “Can me and bunny asks Miss Melina fors cookies?” Smiling, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before putting him onto his small feet. “But only one, baby!” He was already on his way, chanting for cookies.

In an instant, Bucky pulled his wife into his arms, capturing her lips with his, a rumbling moan escaping him at the taste and feel of her. “Two fucking weeks are too long, malyshka,” he stated with another lingering kiss, fingers tangled in her hair. “Tell me about it. Try to manage two kids who switch between being the bestes of friends and each other’s enemy number one multiple times a day.” Taking her in more closely, Bucky could see the dark circles under her eyes and the tight muscles around her lips. His thumb swept across the dark circles, and his lips followed to kiss them better. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he murmured with another kiss to her forehead and felt her hand hitting him against the back of his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had to be there, and we had to stay here with school for Anya and Eli’s first day at kindergarten. We managed. I wouldn’t mind if you take over bedtime duty for a while, though.”

Bucky grinned happily at the prospect of spending time with his kids, feeling the love only a father could feel coursing through his body. “Of course, love. We’ll get you something nice on our stroll over Fifth and let the kids play in Central Park while you enjoy a book, alright? I’ll pick up a few new bedtime stories as well, so you will not even be remotely needed and can enjoy bath after bath. Would that make my wife happy?” Sighing, she leaned heavily against him, gathering strength through his strong body supporting the weight resting on her shoulders during the worst and most exhausting days—which they have had many in the past two weeks. “Sounds lovely. But don’t you dare spend a fortune on me again!” Her warning was unnecessary because Bucky would spend a fortune on his wonderful wife, and she knew that as well. “Please,” he chuckled and pressed another heated kiss to her lips, his fingers cupping her chin tenderly. “I’ll buy whatever you want, milaya. Perhaps we could even get something for us.”

He loved his wife in pretty clothes, but he loved her especially dearly in pretty lingerie he had no qualm of ripping off her gorgeous body the second she’d appear before him, reducing the masterfully crafted pieces to lacy shreds on their bedroom floor. The first time he did that, he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to pull her to bed, receiving a scolding he had gotten the last time, probably as a boy. She had been royally pissed at his antics, mourning the pretty set she had bought for their first night together. The next day, she received a delivery of all the pieces she had eyed at the shops and saved online, making her closet filled with more lingerie than a regular woman would need in her entire life.

Only that she wasn’t a regular woman with a regular man. He could buy her anything and in any quantity possible, so he wasn’t one to hold back when the urge to see this goddess of a woman naked made him growl and impatient—and even a tad jealous of the fabric touching her skin instead of his hands and lips.

“You are the worst of the bunch, Barnes. Seriously.” Exasperated, she looked up at him, her cheeks warming under his touch, and Bucky nodded with a serious expression. “I am insatiable when it comes to you, malyshka. And you thrive on the power you have over me.” Eye-rolling, she shook her head again, winding out of his arms and smacking his ass with a teasing smile. “Stop being a seventeen year old horndog and move your sexy backside up to your daughter. She’ll listen to you more than me after two weeks filled with my constant presence. I’ll see what I can save from her project, and stopping Elijah from munching on too many cookies…”

The last part was barely a mumble, already distracted by whatever thought wandered through her beautiful mind, and Bucky watched her retreating back with a smile before shrugging out of his suit jacket. Throwing it over the stair railing, he made his way to his eldest’s room, softly knocking at the door littered with pictures and posters of her favorite animals and characters—he could even see the remnants of a glitter pen—and knew how lucky he could count himself when he was allowed to enter his sunshine’s room.

He had the perfect wife, two healthy, wonderful children, and had found happiness despite the way his life had taken.

He had indeed chosen wisely.

author's note: Tysm for reading my silly little writing. As usual: likes, reblogs, and comments are so much appreciated! I love to read your thoughts <3

[urbaebarnes]

flowers

summary: who'd ever imagine that the big bad mob boss would be such a softie when it comes to a defiant flower shop owner

mob boss bucky barnes x fem flower shop owner reader

warnings: curse words, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n (thats it I think?)

this is my first fic i'm actually putting on here and i'm scared icl

word count: 4.7k words

This shop was everything to you. You’d bought it just under a month ago, the old owner was more than happy to hand over the keys, something about having family in a different state. The walls that were once decorated in peeling wallpaper were now filled with flowers, arranged on different shelves. 

Sure, it took a few weeks to fix up, but after only a few days, business was bustling. Old couples came in to pick some tulips to brighten their sitting rooms, teenagers picked bouquets of roses and lilies for their first dates, it was just as you’d imagined. 

The area was lovely too, the owner of the bakery from the other side of the street was a frequent visitor. You quickly became friends, Wanda would often buy flowers from your store and set them on her counter, and you would always buy your lunch from her, bringing back pastries and cupcakes to eat in your quieter moments.

The only strange thing you’d noticed was the kid who seemed to linger out the front of your store. He couldn’t be more than nineteen, and he often paced out the front of the store, head down as he paced back and forth, as if rehearsing a speech. At first, you’d figured he must just be anxious, but as he returned for the fourth time, your concern grew.

Truth be told, everybody you’d met so far had been so kind, asking how you were, checking up on you. Wanda was always especially adamant about asking if you’d seen anybody suspicious during the day and messaging you on a night to make sure you’d locked all your doors and windows. You’d never bothered to mention the kid outside, he still looked like a baby really and didn’t seem as though he would cause any harm.

The fourth day he appeared outside was different though. As soon as you opened the shutters of the shop, he was on the other side of the street dressed in all black, leaning against a building as he looked down at his phone. He hadn’t been here this early before. In the first hour of the sign on your door reading ‘open’, he moved around, inching closer but still not close enough. That was until mid-day.

After waving off the last person from the store, you were free to sit down on the swivel chair in the corner and let your eyes rest just for a second. A car alarm had been going off all night about a street away from your apartment about the bakery meaning you hadn’t caught a wink of sleep. However, your moment of peace and quiet didn’t last long as the small bell you’d installed above the door rang out again.

You quickly stood up, placing a smile on your face as you turned, unable to see the visitor due to the arrangement you had in the middle of the store. You walked through the plants, frowning as you noticed a particularly droopy looking fressia. “Hello, are you looking for anything…” Your voice trailed off as you took in the visitor. The kid from outside, his hood now up as he pinched at his fingers. “...in particular?”

He looked up, hand going to lower his hood before seemingly second guessing the action and lowering his hand so it now hovered awkwardly by his head. “Erm, I’m P- wait no, I’m not supposed to introduce myself.” You frowned as he muttered, scrunching his face. “I’m here on behalf of the Barnes family. We’re aware you recently moved to the area and we’re… we offer, uhm, we offer protection for a price.” His voice got progressively quieter the more he talked.

“I’m sorry, who are the Barnes family, do they need flowers for something?” You questioned, eyebrows hunched together as the kid groaned.

“No, no it’s, we’re like, has nobody really told you about this? You’ve been here a few weeks now and-” He stopped seeing as you shrugged and he seemed to say "Bad things happen to people who don’t pay us, okay?”

“But why am I paying you?”

“For protection.” He reiterated.

“Protection from whom?” You asked, fiddling with the corner of your cardigan sleeve.

“Us and them, the other mobs, mostly the other guys, well sort of, sometimes the boss-”

“You’re in a mob?” You cut him off mid sentence as you took him in. His hands were now awkwardly stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie, eyes wide as he looked at you. “How old are you? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

His face flushed pink as he yanked his hood down, “No, we… this is my first job and I’m supposed to collect the first amount today, and if I don’t then I don’t-”

You sighed, picking up an arrangement from the left of you and placing the pot in his hands, pausing his rambling. “Look, I’m not paying you anything. Take the flowers, they’re on the house I guess, I can protect myself, kid.” You smiled sincerely as you placed your hands on his shoulders ,which had hunched up towards his head, and led him out of the shop. “Have a nice day!” You said cheerily as he landed on the pavement, blinking in confusion as you waved and let the blue door shut.

You took a deep breath in as you flipped the small sign in the glass window around to show you were closed before shaking your head. You distracted yourself from the fact you apparently needed protection by clipping the fressia from before, reopening the store half an hour later.

Wanda found herself in your shop as you were both closing up that night, a bag of leftovers in her hand as she opened the door, meeting you with a smile. “Where were you today?” She questioned, placing the bag down on the countertop. “You haven’t found somewhere better for lunch have you?”

You appeared from the back quickly, a smile forming at the smell of the baked goods. “Of course not, just had a weird… thing happen over lunch.”

Her ever present grin dropped at that, “Oh yeah, who was it?” She asked cautiously, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

After rifling through the bag to find a cookie, you glanced up at her, “Somebody about protection or something like that.” You quickly dismissed it with a shake of your head, but Wanda continued to watch you carefully.

“You agreed, right?”

You screwed up your face at her, taking a bite from one of the cookies, “No, obviously not, I can protect myself.” Her mouth fell open as you groaned at the baked goods. “This is so good, Wan!”

“Uh uh.” She shook her head, glancing out the window as she said your name once over, “You can’t protect yourself from these people, the last dude that owned this place missed out on two payments so he sold this place to pay it off and left as quick as possible.”

“Well, these people haven’t met me yet, and I’m not paying them shit.” She sighed again, taking the bag off the counter and turning towards the door, “Hey, where’re you going?”

“You’re staying at mine tonight.” She declared. “Close up the shop and lock everything, I mean it.”

[⭐]

“I’m so sorry Mr Barnes, I don’t even know what happened, I just, she gave me the flowers and I-” 

Peter stood in the centre of the room, eyes wide and frantic as he obviously feared getting into trouble with his boss. After all, Bucky Barnes wasn’t somebody you wanted to dislike you.

In fact, Bucky Barnes wasn’t somebody most wanted to be associated with. He was feared by most, including most of his people. He was known for being ruthless and cold blooded, a job was a job in his eyes.

Which is what made Peter so twitchy, this was his first time going on a mission and even though he wasn’t necessarily sure about what to do or how to intimidate people, it seemed he’d drawn the short stick and had been handed with a defiant mission. People who went against Barnes’ orders didn’t usually end up in a good condition, sometimes there wasn’t a condition at all.

“Peter.” He shut up quickly as Bucky said his name, fingers massaging his temple. “So she just… gave you flowers and you left?” His voice drawled around the empty room as he leant back into his chair. His frown was deep, people didn’t usually say no to this sort of thing, and whether he could pin it on Peter’s age or this woman’s sheer pride, he couldn’t tell.

“Well, she put her hands on my shoulders and like, walked me out of there?” Peter questioned his own words as his head tilted, “She told me she wouldn’t pay us but the flowers were on the house, so, there’s that.”

Steve couldn’t hold in a chuckle as he looked to Bucky, “I can go down tomorrow if you want.” He offered, white teeth flashing in a smile. Steve was the only person Bucky trusted- really trusted. This had all been passed down to him, this life had all been in his family for generations, but Steve didn’t know that when they were children, neither of them had any idea what his father was up to, and more importantly, Steve had no idea who Bucky would become. 

Their friendship was genuine, something that had become a rarity as time went on and they grew up. 

He shook his head, taking a sip of amber from the glass, “I’ll handle it.”

“Buck,” Steve started, raising his eyebrows, “I don’t think-”

“It’s been quiet, and I’m getting bored of sitting in this room all day. It’ll do some good for me.” He downed the rest of his drink as Steve nodded, Peter still stood, hands fidgeting. “Peter, go home, get some rest. I’m going to partner you with someone more senior next time. Maybe Stark?” He mumbled the last part to himself as Peter opened the mahogany doors and made himself scarce.

Bucky lent across the table, sliding the photo of your shop into his view as he squinted, seeing your figure through the window, standing with a customer, holding up a bouquet. He flipped it over, tracing the information for your name, running it over his tongue once.

“I don’t think she’ll agree easily.” Steve stated, eyes flickering over your picture, “Sounded pretty stubborn according to Peter.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, standing up from his chair. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

[⭐]

Wanda was reluctant to even let you leave her apartment that morning, let alone go across the street, but you’d quickly reassured her that you would be fine. In fact, you’d be more than fine, the bat by your desk and nine years of karate weren't for nothing after all.

It had been a normal day, sweet customers, one angry woman who found flowers from your shop her husband had bought for his side piece, the usual, and no sight of the kid. Wanda came to check on you every hour, leaving her brother, Pietro, in charge of the tills, even though he mostly just flirted with the customers in her absence.

But seemingly, trouble had latched itself onto your door and by the time three o’clock struck, disaster came calling. You first noticed something was happening when the couple you were talking to exited the shop, stopping your conversation. Then, the others all filtered out with wide eyes until it was just you and a single other man in the shop.

His hair was combed back, jacket thrown over a button up shirt left unbuttoned at the top. As you approached him, he fiddled with an alstroemeria between his thumb and forefinger. The door shut as the last customer shut it behind them.

He turned to face you with a smirk, faltering slightly as he took in your appearance, the flower in between his thumb and forefinger pausing as he looked you up and down. You looked backwards towards the door, exasperated at the sudden abandonment of your shop. “Hi there, is there anything I can help you with, Sir?” You asked with a wary smile, eyes flickering to where you know you kept your bat.

He was a handsome man, you’d be blind not to notice that, in fact, as your eyes met his steel blue ones, you felt your breath escape you for a second. His voice was deep as he said your name, never tearing his eyes from yours, “You have a lovely place here.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, feeling yourself relax a little as a smile clawed at the corner of his lips. “It’s still new, but it’s going good so far.” He hummed, staring intently at your face as you shifted on your feet, face flushing at the attention. “Is there anything that’s caught your eye?”

He blinked twice quickly, the hint of a smile playing at his lips quickly dropping, “I’m not here about the flowers, sugar.”

Your heart fluttered at the pet name before frowning, processing his words. “If you're here about the kid yesterday, I’m going to tell you the exact same thing, I’m afraid.” You pursed your lips, “I can look after myself.”

“I don’t think you really understand.” He said, taking a step closer.

“I think I do, and if that’s all you're here for, I suggest you leave quickly.” 

He looked down at you, watching as your breath hitched at the proximity, “There are bad things that happen around here, bad people that do bad things. All you have to do is pay me and I make sure you're safe, doll. That’s how it works around here.”

His head bent down as you looked up at him, swallowing and holding your nerve, “What, you gonna hurt me?”

He frowned at that, something that you didn’t fully expect after what the kid had said yesterday. You were expecting a laugh or something, not for his forehead to crease and eyebrows to pull together. “No, no. Couldn’t ruin a pretty face like that.” He seemed to catch himself as he stared at your lips, raising his head and taking a step back, face returning to a neutral expression as you could see the cogs turning in his head.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m still not going to pay you.” 

The bell on the door rang as Wanda’s voice rang out, “You all-”

You turned around to see Wanda stood, a foot in the door as she stared at the two of you, eyes narrowed at the man in front of you.

He looked between you and Wanda, tongue in cheek before stepping further away from you, still clutching the flower as he made his way out the door, Wanda side-stepped out of his way as he looked at the flower, glancing back at you in the doorway. “Be careful.”

His voice held a sort of sincerity you weren’t expecting, a warning but not necessarily meant towards him. The door shut as Wanda quickly hurried over to you, “Shit, holy fucking shit, please tell me you agreed to pay them.”

You frowned as he disappeared from your sight through the window before looking back to Wanda, “Huh?”

She cursed under her breath once more, “That was Bucky Barnes, you know that right?” Your eyes squinted in recognition at the surname. “That’s the guy you're supposed to be paying, and he did a home visit, he doesn’t do that. He has people to do that for him, Jesus Christ, please tell me you just nodded along.”

You shook your head, letting out a shocked laugh, “No, I said the same thing as yesterday. I won’t be bullied into paying him, no Wanda!” She groaned loudly as your speech, hand resting on the top of her hair, “He didn’t seem, I don’t know, threatening or whatever.”

Wanda quickly studied your face, hands resting on your shoulders, “Nope, that is a mob boss, we are not doing the whole cutesy blushing over a man in a suit.” She gently shook your shoulders as you laughed.

“I’m not doing that.” You shook your head with a smile, picking a flower from that morning’s delivery that you hadn’t had a chance to sort through yet and placing it in her hair, smiling as she gave you a knowing look.

It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous how you just couldn’t stop thinking about that goddamn flower, or more importantly, how it looked in between his fingers. How the bright colours offset his dark suit, the grin on his lips as he looked at you with the sort of intensity that made your stomach feel like it was on the verge of erupting. And his eyes, oh the eyes spoke for themselves. Every movement, every thought could be seen just by the smallest of movements. 

He had perfect eyes, you thought.

You blinked at the sound of Wanda’s voice, snapping from your gaze as she stood at the door, “I have to get back before Pietro offers to take somebody else on a ‘private tour’ around the bakery.” She rolled her eyes as you could just make out her brother through the window, staring at a woman intently as he leant up against the counter, arms crossed.

“Have fun!” You teased as you watched her walk across the street, wrapping her long, multicoloured cardigan around her body.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to him and the way his voice sounded and the way he walked and the way he looked- everything about him, truthfully. Every time you heard the bell chime, a part of you hoped it would be him, even if that probably didn’t mean anything remotely good.

Instead, you helped a woman  -Natasha - pick out some flowers for her sister, who’d just moved into a new apartment somewhere downtown, and a girl named Kate who’d broken something or other valuable of her mother’s and thought flowers might soften the blow. And who could forget your favourite customer, Stan, an elderly man who came in mostly just for a chat, but also to pick out his own flowers and have her arrange them as they talked over a tub of biscuits.

But none of them could fully distract you, not even when Wanda forced you to sleep over at hers, or her and Pietro’s constant bickering over what TV show they should watch, even though they both know he’d give in eventually and agree to whatever Wanda wanted. And especially not as you lied on a mattress in Wanda’s room, her soft breathing the only sound that filled the room as your imagination went wild, your mind filling with what you would do or say if he appeared on your doorstep the next morning, or even right now, and what if he was wearing a giant croissant costume, and what if he had a pet iguana named Tom, and what if Tom could talk… 

Eventually, you drifted off with the promise of Bucky Barnes showing up at your shop’s door dressed in all manner of strange costumes with a whole gang of talking animal sidekicks. 

Yet, when you exited the bakery the next morning and found an all too familiar looking man standing outside, glancing at his watch every few seconds, you were all but too sure that he could show up in a tracksuit and cap and your stomach would still make the strange fluttery feeling. It didn’t really matter about his costume or masses of talking pets, your excitement seemed to rest in seeing him.

“The shop doesn’t open for another half an hour, Mr Barnes.” You said as you walked across the street, feeling for your keys in your pocket. 

His head raised at the sound of your voice, a wide smile adorning his features, saying your name like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. “You sure you can’t let me in a smidge early.” He held his fingers up, pinching them fairly close together as you paused opening the door.

“That depends, are you here to buy flowers or here to tell me to pay you?” You questioned, letting your keychain rattle against the door. He felt closer than he actually was as you let your tongue run over your tongue.

He seemed to smirk at your question, tilting his head so you could see him from the corner of your eye, looking you up and down once, “Well, what if I just wanted to come see you?” He asked, shifting on his feet as he let his hands bury themselves in his pockets, eyes never straying from the side of your face.

“And why would you wanna do that?” You challenged, keeping your face forward as he neared your ear, trying to keep your smile at bay and breaths even. He was supposed to be the big bad wolf, so why couldn’t he stop making your heart beat faster than a race car?

It wasn’t even as if he was your type. Back home, you’d dated the perfect jock, high school football team captain, straight A student and hair reminiscent of the sun. That was until he broke your heart into a million pieces and you’d sworn off men after graduation and after years of saving, you’d finally moved here. Yet here you were, feeling as though his stare could make you melt into a puddle.

“Maybe because I couldn’t keep your pretty face out of my dreams.” He smiled, lips close to your ear as his warm breath fanned your face, the cool temperature finally catching up to you as you tugged on the sleeves of your jacket and unlocked the door with a twist of your keys.

“We open in half an hour Mr Barnes.” You giggle as you slip inside, watching through the window as his mouth formed a small circle before licking his lips and waving at you through the glass as you shut the blinds, disappearing around the arrangements and resting your arms on the desk. 

Breathe, you repeat to yourself, it’s not as if the guy you only met yesterday just tried to flirt with you. And it’s not as if he’s currently standing outside. 

Oh you were screwed.

By the time it came to opening, you opened the blinds, finding him leant against the wall beside the window outside, looking down at his watch again. He turned to you almost immediately, tugging down his sleeve as you flipped the sign over, signalling you were open as he pretended to queue in front of the door, rocking back and forth on his feet as you opened the door with a grin.

“You’re thirty-two seconds late, doll.” He smirked, biting his bottom lip as you moved to one side to let him in. He thanked you politely as he stepped in, inhaling deeply as you watched him expectantly, the door shutting. “I do have a bone to pick with you.” 

He leant up against the wall as you swallowed thickly. Truth be told, your pride wasn;t the only reason you were against paying him, between bills and running the shop, after your first week, you weren’t exactly in a position to be giving anybody anything.

“It’s not about money, don’t you worry about that.” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, shaking his head as he saw your worried expression. “You’ve picked up a nasty habit of calling me Mr Barnes.” He said the name mockingly, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer to you.

You struggled to hide your surprise. Wanda had definitely said Bucky Barnes, that had been his name, you were sure of it. “My friend Wanda said that you-”

“Well, your friend Wanda isn’t you.” He said, placing his hand on your shoulder, his fingers going to the collar of your t-shirt and fiddling with the hem, “You call me Bucky.”

You were lost for words as you took in the name. You absentmindedly leant into his touch on your shoulder. He hummed in response, letting his thumb run over your shoulder. “That seems awfully informal for a man who was attempting to get me to pay him yesterday.”

He paused, absorbing your words, seemingly surprised by your response. “I like that about you.” Bucky stated, hand pausing as he attempted to find your eyes which still avoided his, instead tracing over the shelves behind him. “You’re not afraid to speak your mind, but I guess it makes it better when you have a voice as sweet as yours.”

You look down, lips struggling not to grin widely at his flirty comments, instead you bite the inside of your cheek before glancing back up at him. “So you’re not here to try and sweet talk me into paying you?”

He chuckled at that, and god was his laugh something you’d try to commit to memory. “That’s what my people think I’m here to do.”

“Well, what do you think you’re here to do?” You were careful to keep your voice levelled.

“I think I’m here to see a beautiful flower shop owner-” His voice trailed off as the doorbell chimed and you took a step back seeing the girl from yesterday, Kate, walk in. Your body missed his hand on your shoulder instantly, but you forced your legs to move anyway, rounding the corner to see her in a long purple coat.

“I’m gonna need more flowers.” She stated with a sigh as you laughed softly at her annoyed expression. You showed her to a small section, spotting Bucky watching you intently from the corner behind Kate.

He was holding two bouquets of flowers, one in each hand as they nearly covered his face. You shook your head, telling Kate you’d be back in a minute before wandering over to his side. “Are you using them to hide behind or are you making a purchase?” You questioned with a light laugh seeing his chin poke up between the two.

“I’m making a purchase, doll. Thought these would brighten up my kitchen nicely.” He exclaimed with a smile, walking over to your desk with the till on it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be collecting my money, not giving me it?” You asked hesitantly as he put the flowers down on the desk and rummaged through his pocket for a wallet before holding his hand full of far too much cash out to you. It was more than enough for the two bouquets, probably more than enough for ten, and as much as you weren’t one for turning down generous amounts, this all felt a little too good to be true.

“What did I say earlier, sugar, you don’t need to worry about that money thing, I’ll take care of it, on one condition.” He added the last part in a whisper as you took the money and put it in the till, leaning against the counter with a small smile on your face.

“And what’s that, Mr Barnes?” You asked, squinting playfully at him as he picked up the colourful bouquets.

“You have to call me Bucky.” 

You laughed, standing up from the counter, “Okay then, Bucky.”

His head leant backwards as you said his name, scrunching his nose as he grinned, “You say it like that and I might just have to come back.” 

You walked towards the door with him, silently offering to carry one of the bouquets as you outstretched your hands, but he quickly shook his head and insisted he could do it himself until you finally got to the door, holding it open so he could exit. “Whatever you say, Bucky.”

His grin was impossibly wide as he turned backwards on the sidewalk, parting the flowers as much as possible to spot you through the masses of colours. “I’ll see you soon, doll.” He said, turning around and walking back down the street. He looked quite the sight, carrying the abundances of flowers down the path until you couldn’t spot him anymore, leaving you wondering how exactly he was going to get anywhere if he had to carry them all the way.

You let the door shut as you shook your head to yourself. “Who was that?” Kate asked curiously, wiggling her eyebrows as you grinned, hand tracing over your shoulder where his had been moments ago.

“Bucky.”

read part two here!

[witchywithwhiskey]

for so long as you live

pairing: mafia!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: the fearsome boss of new york city's russian mob proves a point about who you belong to

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), very mild dubcon, intoxication, fingering (f receiving), public play, finger sucking, choking, breathplay, very mild blood kink, dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (printsessa), very possessive bucky

word count: 2.0k

a/n: i wrote this for @the-slumberparty's emoji game using these: 🍕❤️🔥 i hope the plot twist in this actually works (idk if it counts as a PLOT twist but whatever). i just hope it's surprising but still makes sense!!! also all the russian words are from google translate so if any are wrong, let me know and i'll fix them (translations are down at the bottom because one is a spoiler!) anyway i hope y'all enjoy!!

It was a warm summer night in New York City, the kind where even the breeze was pleasant enough that you didn’t resist when a balmy gust slipped beneath the hem of your short white dress and slid up your legs, tickling the soft skin of your thighs. 

Neither did you resist when the breeze was chased by the searching hand of Bucky Barnes, his fingers skimming up your smooth skin as he curled his body around yours in the back booth of the late night Brooklyn pizza parlor.

The front door of the shop was open, and all manner of drunken Brooklynites traipsed over the threshold, intent on ordering a greasy slice that would soak up some of the alcohol in their stomachs. The crowd was loud and rowdy and thankfully unobservant, because you were painfully aware that any one of them could very easily catch you with Bucky’s hand up your skirt. 

The back booth wasn’t nearly dark enough, nor secluded enough to hide you entirely from view, but the insistent desire and warming liquor pounding in your blood made it difficult to care. 

Bucky’s fingers slid another inch up your thigh, pressing between your soft curves until they found the wetness that had dripped from your folds and made a mess under your skirt. His rumbling chuckle felt like another warm, summer breeze, suffusing you in a heat that burned from the inside out. 

Your thighs fell open of their own accord, giving Bucky unfettered access to the place that ached for his touch, even as a protesting whine worked its way up your throat.

“Bucky…” you mewled, your reticence clear in your tone. Your fingers closed around the sinewy forearm that was disappearing up your skirt, intent on pulling him away from your soaking heat. Your nails dug into his golden skin when his other hand darted out and grabbed you by the throat. 

With his thumb pressed to the hinge of your jaw, he turned your face to him, a warning sparkling in his ice blue eyes. A thrum of fear and excitement churned low in your belly at the way Bucky was looking at you—like you were prey, and he was a predator who had already decided he was going to eat you for dinner.

“I hope you weren’t about to tell me not to touch this pussy, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, his voice deep and low like an oncoming thunderstorm. His hand wedged between your thighs beneath your skirt, shoving your legs wider so that he could cup your bare heat in his palm. “I hope you haven’t forgotten who this cunt belongs to.” 

Your breath was coming in short, rabbity pants, your heart racing in your chest and your blood pounding in your veins like you were running for your life. But your mind knew what your body did not—it would be pointless to run from Bucky Barnes. 

The Zimniy Soldat was the most feared boss in the city’s Russian mafia, a fact you’d learned the hard way when your father had paid off his debts by giving you to Bucky. 

Bucky’s gaze bore into your own as he pushed two fingers into your tight channel, his eyes watching hungrily as your face went slack with pleasure. 

“I’ll touch you whenever I want,” he growled, dragging his fingers back and plunging them into you again slowly, his eyes never straying from your face. “I’ll fuck you whenever I want—where ever I want.” 

His other hand held you pinned to the leather booth by your throat, your body responding so eagerly to his touch that it felt like a betrayal. His thumb and forefinger pressed into the sides of your neck making your pussy spasm around his fingers. 

Your body proved Bucky’s point before he made it as he rumbled, “This cunt belongs to me, printsessa.” 

You hadn’t said a word since his name, but your slow submission was clear in every little movement of your body—your thighs spreading even wider for Bucky’s hand, your limbs loosening and melting into his hold, your lips falling open in a soundless moan as he fingerfucked you. Bucky owned you, and you both knew it. 

And he relished your submission, even if you hadn’t quite accepted his possession of you yet. But you would.

The victorious smile that curved Bucky’s mouth was sharp and dangerous as a knife. When he spoke, though, his voice was as warm as the balmy summer breeze. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, “give yourself to me.” The ice in his eyes was slowly but surely melting as he watched pleasure dance across your face, his smile widening into something hot and hungry. “This life of yours is mine now, printsessa, but if you’re a good girl for me, I can make sure it’s filled with pleasure and happiness,” he purred, his lips brushing against the apple of your cheek, their softness followed by the rough scrape of his scruff. 

Bucky slid a third finger into your tight hole, stretching you wider and making you bite your lip hard to prevent yourself from crying out in pain-edged pleasure. Your chest heaved with the effort to stay quiet and, unbidden, a tear slipped from the corner of your eye while blood pooled on your lip. 

But Bucky never stopped fucking you with his fingers, his hand working your body expertly as the soft, wet sounds of your obscenely sopping cunt reached your ears. Instead, the Zimniy Soldat kissed the tear from your cheek and licked the blood from your swollen lip, pulling back to stare into your eyes as he watched you come undone for him. 

“You are mine,” he said with a tone of finality, as if his statement was an incontrovertible fact. Any protest you might’ve had—though in truth, you didn’t have any left—died in your throat as he choked you harder, his fingers working your pussy faster, grinding the heel of his palm into your wet, puffy clit as he continued on, pushing you to the edge of your release. “Moya printsessa, moya zhena.” 

You felt Bucky’s ring—your husband’s ring—smooth and unyielding and warm from his skin, slip inside your cunt as he buried his fingers in your body. He rubbed your clit ruthlessly until he made you come right there in the back of the pizza parlor, not caring if anyone in the crowded shop could see it.

Your left hand, bedecked in a dazzling white sapphire ring and matching wedding band, wrapped around the back of Bucky’s neck, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to the most dangerous man in all of New York City while he made you come harder than you ever had before. Pleasure tore through your body as you held Bucky’s warm blue gaze, staring at the man who’d staked his claim on you.

The man you’d married only a few hours prior because it was the only way to settle your father’s debts.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” Bucky growled, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm, his eyes watching you hungrily, greedily.

Already, you could read him well enough to know he was thinking about watching you come on his cock as he claimed you in the most base, primal way possible. Your pussy clenched harder on his fingers at the thought, your body aching for it even as you came.

“Come all over your husband’s fingers—see how good I can be to you when you obey me, printsessa.” 

Your teeth had sunk deep into your lower lip to quell any sounds of ecstasy, but the pleasure was too much, too overwhelming, and you threw your head back. Your breathy cry was muffled by Bucky’s fingers choking your throat harder, which only wrung even more bliss out of your body as black crept into the edges of your vision. 

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, your husband’s relentless touch dragging out your release until your strangled moans devolved into desperate whimpers. Tears gathered in your lashes, and your entire body trembled in the red leather booth at the back of the pizza parlor.

Only then did Bucky relent. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured before his lips slammed down on yours, his mouth claiming yours just as surely as his fingers had claimed your cunt. 

He swallowed the keening whine you let out when he pulled his fingers from your throbbing pussy, your body aching at the loss of him. But then he replaced his mouth with them, pushing his fingers between your lips so you could taste your release—the release he’d wrung so masterfully from your body.

“Clean up your mess, moya zhena,” Bucky rumbled, his eyes sparkling with depraved delight as you dutifully licked his fingers clean.

When he decided you were done, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and let you collapse against his chest, your cheek pressed to his white cotton dress shirt—the one he’d worn to your wedding earlier that day. 

His jacket had been shed at some point during the party at one of his nightclubs—a club decorated in neon red hearts. Bucky had smirked in amusement when you’d pointed out the irony of celebrating your forced marriage in a place where the theme was love. 

That infuriating smirk had made you decide the best way to celebrate your sham nuptials was to drink and dance the night away. You’d spent your night trying not to notice how handsome the mob boss you’d married was, or how delicious he looked with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Or how a very small part of you enjoyed the way his eyes never strayed from you for long. 

It had been your idea to get some pizza after the club, a last ditch attempt to put off the wedding night you were certain Bucky expected. You kept telling yourself you didn’t want him to touch you, but the second his fingers had grazed your bare knee beneath the simple white dress you wore, tingles of pleasure going straight to your clit, you’d known it was no use pretending you didn’t want your new husband. 

When your father told you he’d arranged for you to marry the Zimniy Soldat in exchange for having his debts cleared, you never believed you could find anything to like about your mob boss husband. But Bucky had proven you very wrong in that back booth in the pizza parlor, and you were warming up to the idea of being Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes.

“Tell me you’re mine, printsessa,” Bucky rumbled, drawing your thoughts back to the present moment. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head where it was tucked under his chin, and your heart flipped happily in your chest.

The words were no less a command for the warmth in his tone that he seemed to reserve for only you, his new wife. 

Perhaps it was because of the pleasure still thrumming through your body, or because you weren’t so convinced anymore that being married to the Zimniy Soldat would be a bad thing, but the words came much easier to your lips than you would’ve expected. 

“I’m yours, my husband.” 

A pleased sound rumbled in Bucky’s throat and you felt the way his heart beat harder in his chest with your cheek pressed to his sternum. You couldn’t help the small smile that curved your lips when Bucky threaded the fingers of his left hand through yours, your matching rings slotting next to each other and glittering beneath the yellow lights of the pizza parlor.

“You’ll be happy with me,” Bucky promised, the most recent of many vows he’d made to you that day. His words rang with determination and an emotion you’d never expected to hear from the mob boss—adoration. “So long as you always remember you belong to me, moya zhena.” 

A shiver of delight raced down your spine at his possessive words, finding yourself liking them much more than you would’ve thought. 

Something told you that you’d never forget you belonged to Bucky Barnes. Not at any point during the hopefully long and happy life you were going to live with him. You were his wife, and he was your husband, for so long as you both should live.

translations:

printsessa/moya printsessa - princess/my princess

Zimniy Soldat - Winter Soldier

moya zhena - my wife

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the black sheep

a/n: wrote this at five in the morning after i woke up from a nightmare ✌️

summary: “don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…” 

warnings: soft!mob!bucky x mob boss daughter!reader, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, forbidden romance, age gap, sexual references, horrible and abusive family, bullying, mental illness (depression, anxiety, stress), references to being institutionalised at a terrible place against one's will, party, dancing, crying

word count: 1511

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist 

The creak of a heavy pair of boots crossing over the threshold found your ears, though didn’t persuade your neck to twist around and see who had appeared in the doorway. 

“Miss?” Bucky’s tone echoed quietly throughout the room as his metal hand continued to clutch the doorhandle he’d just twisted. 

But instead of tearing your eyes away from the night sky that twinkled on the other side of the window, you instead continued to sit on the floor, the fancy dress you’d been forced into wrinkling around your legs, as you faintly began to murmur, “you know, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little…” your eyes traced one of the constellations gleaming above, “it wasn’t because I had some fascination with space, but it was the one thing I could imagine that would take me as far away from here as possible…” a breath escaped you before your vision finally floated back down to earth and you glanced over your shoulder, “would you mind closing the door? It’s so loud out there…” 

As you reunited your gaze to the world outside and you heard the door shut behind you, the mobster then carefully asked, “are you alright?” 

“Don’t,” a sharp breath filled your lungs as you shook your head and your eyes instantly squeezed shut, “don’t do that… don’t act like you care just because my father pays you. I know you’re no better than all of the others out there…” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried to conceal his painful awareness of your situation. 

“I know what the others say behind my back,” you uttered, your mind haunted by their voices, playing the comments on a loop till they turned into boiling tar, “poor Y/n, weak and broken Y/n who is crazy and could never really be a part of this family… but unfortunately for everyone, I am,” you breathed, memories of your adolescence flooded your system, how they had sent you away to a broken institution at the smallest sign of vulnerability, “so I could never just leave. I couldn’t go out and earn my own money, they would cut off any attempt I made of getting a job in this city,” you pointed out their power, “and if I tried to get away, move to somewhere else, then they would have to take care of that as well because they can’t have a liability just out there. They own me, and they’ve made sure that I am nothing without them, and with them, I’d never be able to accomplish a goddamn thing. They wouldn’t hesitate to cut my life short if I ever stepped out of line again, you know that, it happened to my aunt… for all I know, it’ll probably happen as soon as my brother takes over, it is after all what everyone has surely wished for since the day I was born…” 

As those last few venting words escaped your lips, a sinking feeling bloomed in your stomach as you realised those shattering truths hadn’t been contained in your thoughts alone. 

“Oh shit…” tears began to blur your vision as you spun around and jaggedly rose to your feet, “please don’t tell anyone about any of that,” you took a panicked step forward, “I–… I didn’t mean any of it, it’s not–…” your chest rose and fell rapidly as you stared back at the gangster, “what do you want?” you attempted desperately, “do you want money? I could talk to my father and give you another leg up? I’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t tell anyone, I–…” 

An idea then struck through your terrified blubbering, and without giving it another thought, you dropped down to your knees before him. 

“What are you doing?” he finally spoke, blinking down at you by his feet. 

Wiping your cheek as a steady flow of tears rolled down them, you then reached out for Bucky’s belt and sniffled, “you can have me, if that’s what could buy your silence.” 

But instead, your father’s right-hand man grabbed your hands, “stop,” he pleaded, “just stop.” 

Blinking up into his eyes, your hazy vision then drifted down to his fingers enveloping your wrists before you gloomily concluded, “…right…of course… I get it,” your head bowed even further as you uttered, “why would you think of me any differently… of course, you wouldn’t want me to touch you, you probably think I’m cursed just like the rest of them do…” 

But instead of ripping his touch away from your skin as if it was a scorching flame, Bucky’s frame suddenly lowered to be at your level, kneeling by you before he lifted one of your palms up to cup his stubbly cheek.

“I don’t,” a faint shake found his head, “never have,” you found yourself floating away into the ocean of his eyes as he stared back at you, his slow breath fanning across your wet cheeks at the close proximity, “I won’t tell anyone what you said,” he promised, his deep voice nearly at a whisper, “you have my word.”

But as you were filled with equal amounts of uncertainty, as well as shock, footsteps on the other side of the door found you both and tore you apart, just before the door ripped open and in strolled the boss himself. 

“Barnes!” your father’s glare landed on the mobster first before it shifted to find you, hastily wiping your cheeks, “oh great, you found her,” he uttered impatiently, “darling, come, it’s time for your brother to cut the cake. You need to be there,” he swiftly waved a hand for you to shadow him. 

The storm of the party made you feel as if you could come undone and burst into tears at any moment, pushing and shoving your shaky soul till you felt like just a tiny speck of dust floating around in the air. Keeping your gaze on the floor as you pushed through the bustling crowds, it stayed there as your sibling sank a shiny blade into the ridiculously elaborate cake that was rolled out for everyone to applaud. 

Raw and bleeding while the others drank and laughed, your vision finally found enough courage to flicker up, though only to find those same blue eyes, across the room and locked upon you. 

When the music soon was cranked up high and people swarmed to the middle of the floor in pairs, you briefly spotted one of your brother’s friends, a guy not too far from your own age, march straight towards you with an air of confidence that couldn’t help but relax your tense shoulders as you were slowly filled with hope. 

But as he neared and a greeting fell from your lips, a confused look muddled up his features as he shot you a glance before grabbing the waiting hand of a girl standing in the crowd behind you. 

Amused snickers and cruel comments found your ears even though you knew their tones attempted to be silent.

“What a freak.”

“Could you imagine if it had actually been her he’d wanted to dance with? In her dreams.”

“She should just run back to that insane asylum she somehow escaped from.”

With your back soon pressed up against one of the perimeter walls, a shadow then came to darken the spot on the floor your reddened eyes were glued to. 

“You wanna dance?” you glanced up with a wide pair of eyes to spot Bucky settled in beside you. 

“Why?” your brows knit together, “so that everyone can have another thing to laugh about?” 

Holding out his palm, he then let out a sigh, “just take my hand,” and the next thing you knew, your fingers were tangled in his own. 

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, your eyes darting around to all the bewildered glances that shot your way, a sudden breath then filled your lungs as his wide palm slid over your waist and dragged you in closer to his frame, causing your vision to cease their torture and meet his own steady gaze instead. 

The sway was slow and intimate, though you weren’t sure if the sensation terrified or calmed you, as the intoxicating way he made you feel had previously been something you’d packed far away as just an inconsequential crush back when he’d first started working for your father. Though as he held you in his arms and showed you a rare display of compassion, how could your heart not begin to thump once more?

With your gaze hazily cast over his shoulder as you danced so near that your cheeks almost touched, the warmth of his hand then slid down to your lower back before he whispered in your ear, “I know it won’t fix anything, but if it was up to me, you’d be the one inheriting this whole business, not your brother,” he uttered sincerely under his breath, “he’s a hot-headed idiot, while you are stronger and more brilliant than all of these fools combined.”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[starlemons]

Coffee and Crime Series Masterlist

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

A/N ✦ All the parts of my series Coffee and Crime

THIS IS AN 18+ SERIES, MDNI

Last Updated: 01/27/2025

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

PART EIGHT

PART NINE COMING SOON

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I AM OPENING A TAGLIST FOR THIS STORY LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ADDED!

[krirebr]

Luck Be a Lady

Pairing: soft!dark Curtis Everett x female reader

Word Count: ~10.1k

Summary: Desperate for money, you accept a job as a cocktail waitress at an underground casino. You think you know what you're doing, but when you meet Curtis, will you realize you're in over your head?

Warnings: Mob AU, violence, allusions to murder, explicit language, dubcon touching, noncon touching (not Curtis), willfully oblivious reader, SMUT - facefucking, dirty talk, light d/s dynamics, praise kink, other explicit sexual content. This is definitely on the darker end of the soft!dark spectrum, so proceed with caution! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Masterlist

A/N: And here it finally is! This is my first real attempt at soft!dark. I hope I did it right! 😂

This was inspired by two things: 1) me going to a rep screening of Goodfellas and spending the entire time wondering why I hadn't done a mob au yet and 2) @bigtreefest saying "enforcer!Curtis Everett and mob boss!Andy Barber" in my general direction. Thanks for the inspo, friend!!

And big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who not only came up with Curtis's name for reader but also offered heaps of encouragement and was a great sounding board. And thanks to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how exactly we'd get to the smut. Thanks Siri!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Please come scream at me about this! 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You fruitlessly tug down your very short skirt as Holly talks at you. You’re both standing in the corner of the bar’s basement waiting for the night to start in earnest—your first night.

“Lloyd’s not so bad,” she says of your boss, the man who runs this little underground gambling ring. “You’ll have to split your tips with him at the end of the night, but he doesn’t take that much, and you’ll make enough that you won’t really notice. As long as you do that, he’ll mostly keep his hands to himself.”

You nod along, glancing at the mustachioed man conferring with the bouncer at the door. The interview process for this job had boiled down to a thorough once-over that’d made you feel naked in your jeans and t-shirt and a “You’re not too stupid to take a drink order, are you?” and then you had the job.

Holly had vouched for you. Neighbors for almost half a year, she’d come home early one morning last week and witnessed you trying to convince the landlord that you were good for your past-due rent. She’d taken you for coffee and told you she might be able to help if you were good at keeping your head down and mouth shut. And now you were here.

“The customers, on the other hand,” she continues, smacking her gum, “you’ll have to let them touch, at least a little bit. Within reason, you know? But if anything gets out of hand, you can just tell Jake at the door and he’ll take care of it.”

“Within reason?” you ask, voice shaking, just the littlest bit, as the pit that started forming in your stomach when you agreed to this grows a little more.

The look she gives you verges on exasperated. “Well, you want to make money, don’t you?”

Yes, you do. Very much so. It’s a need, not a want. So you nod and try to listen as she keeps giving you the rundown. 

Before you’re ready, the first patrons start trickling in and then you’re off to the races. It’s not too bad. No one’s orders are too complicated, mostly just bottles of beer and glasses of straight whiskey. The bartender, Colin, is friendly enough, although you learn that he’s another person you’ll need to split your tips with. 

As for the touching, there are hands on your hips, pats to your ass. But you’re rewarded with folded-up bills held up between fingers or tucked into the strap of your top. Or, twice, slid behind the waistband of your skirt. Once you realize that the majority of these bills aren’t ones or fives, but twenties, you care about the touching that comes with them much less. Plus, you’re too busy to really think about it that hard. 

You can’t believe how busy it is for a random Tuesday night, multiple games of poker, craps, and who knows what else all going at once. But when you mention that to Holly, she just laughs and shakes her head. “This is nothing,” she says. “On the weekends there’ll be three more of us and another one of Jake. Things get wild.” 

You don’t have time to decide whether that makes you nervous or excited before someone is signaling for your attention again. You manage to suppress your grimace when he slides his arm around your waist to tell you what he needs from the bar. You’re rewarded for your troubles by a wad of twenties. You aren’t sure who these men are to tip so freely, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s an hour or two later that Lloyd calls you over to where he’s speaking to a large, impossibly broad man, dressed in a soft-looking henley under a leather jacket with dark jeans. There’s dark ink all over his hands that disappears up his sleeves and reappears on his neck in intricate lines. He’s got close-cropped hair and a full beard that’s neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes drill into you right away and you do your best not to shiver.

“Got a new girl tonight, Everett. Still learning the ropes, but she’ll take good care of you, won’t you, Cupcake?” 

“Yes, of course,” you say, before Lloyd wanders off to check on one of the poker games.

The man, Everett, lets his eyes rove over you. “Cupcake, huh?” His voice is deep, gritty, but there's something there that's much gentler than you expected.

You give him what you hope is a coy smile. “Sure. If you want.” Lloyd was treating him like he's important. You hope important means deep pockets.

He hits you with a penetrative stare, so strong you almost have to take a step back. “No,” he finally says. “I don't think so. I'll find something more fitting.” Then he turns and starts to walk away, before calling over his shoulder. “I'm gonna get dealt in. Bring me a whiskey once I'm settled.”

You watch him go for just a moment, and then head to the bar, asking for a whiskey. 

“This for Everett?” the bartender, Colin, asks. When you nod, he grabs a fancy bottle off the top shelf. “This is all he drinks. And he doesn't pay for it, alright? Don't ever think about giving him a bill.” 

You look back at the man in question, seriously looking at the cards he’s just been dealt. Who is he???

You collect his whiskey and move back to him. As you set it down, he turns to you. “How about this?” he asks as he holds up a crisply folded hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes widen at the money. All you’ve done is bring him one straight pour. “There’s another one of these in it for you if you make sure I never see the bottom of this glass tonight. Sound good?” And then he folds the bill one more time in his thick fingers, before sliding it under the low-cut neckline of your blouse. Your skin tingles where he brushes against it.

“Yeah, you got it,” you just breathe out, a little shocked you’re able to form words. He gives you a smug smile that you can only describe as shark-like before turning back to his cards, and you understand it as the dismissal that it is. 

You move around the room, collecting empties, getting refills, trying to goodnaturedly accept unsolicited touches. The whole time you feel eyes on you, but whenever you glance Everett’s way, he’s focused on his poker game.

Eventually, a down moment finds you catching your breath against the wall. The moment Holly sees you standing still, she’s quickly making her way to you. “You need to be more careful around Curtis,” she hisses, lowly.

You look at her, confused. “Curtis?” Jake’s at the door. Colin’s behind the bar. You don’t know a Curtis.

“Curtis Everett!” You glance at the man at the poker table. He’s running a poker chip across his knuckles mindlessly. Then he looks up and you briefly make eye contact before you quickly look away. Holly is staring at you and she looks worried. But the name still doesn’t mean anything to you, so you shake your head and shrug. She groans as quietly as she can. “He’s Barber’s top enforcer!”

This whole conversation feels so out of the blue that it takes you a minute to catch up. Barber. Andrew Barber. The most feared mob boss in the city. Probably the state. Maybe even more. Ruthless and exacting was how the papers described him. He’d been the subject of multiple stings and taskforces and whathaveyou but nothing ever stuck. “He works for Andrew Barber?” you ask, shocked and a little appalled.

Holly stares at you in a way that you can only describe as dumbfounded. It takes her a few moments to find her words, then, “Bitch, you work for Andrew Barber!”

Everything stops. “What?” you gasp.

“Oh my god,” Holly groans. “This was such a mistake. It’s an underground card game in his city! Who did you think was running things?”

“I– I don’t know,” you stutter, stupidly. The god’s honest truth is that you’d never really stopped to think about it. You’d been staring down an eviction, struggling to afford groceries. Unable to make ends meet no matter what you did. When Holly told you about this job, all you saw were dollar signs. You didn't think about anything further. Of course, you’d known these games were illegal, but it seemed so minor in the grand scheme of things. You hadn’t connected it to anything bigger because you just hadn’t wanted to.

But now– Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do? You know what you should do. You should walk out the door right now. You should find some other legitimate way to pay your bills. It’ll be safer. It’ll be better. It’ll be so much harder.

As you bite your lip, trying to process all of this information, Holly continues. “Listen,” she says, “still get him drinks, be friendly, whatever you need to do. But keep your distance however you can. Don't encourage him. He's just– He's really dangerous. They don't call him Barber’s attack dog for nothing, ok?”

“Yeah,” you say. You start to look back in Curtis’s direction but stop yourself. You think about the hundred you already have and the one promised to you at the end of the night. You think of how empty your pantry is. But then you see the genuine fear in Holly's eyes. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”

“He doesn't even come in here that often. I'm surprised to see him tonight, so I'm sure it’ll be fine,” she says, but you can tell she’s nervous.

You nod, absently, finally letting yourself glance over at him. His drink is getting close to the bottom. “Shit,” you mumble. “I gotta get him his refill.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Holly asks. 

You should let her do it. You absolutely should. But you just can’t give up on that tip. You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine. But thanks.”

You head back to the bar and grab Curtis’s top-shelf whiskey of choice from Colin, then make your way to his table. You set it down next to him, hoping to move away without him even noticing, he’s so engrossed in the game. But as you take a step back, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. He holds it tightly until you meet his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way you feel his words in your knees. He strokes his thumb down the inside of your wrist, then abruptly lets go, pushing his chips to the middle of the table. You step away, gathering yourself as subtly as you can, and get back to work.

The rest of the night goes quickly. The crowd gets a little rowdier as they drink more, but you find that it’s nothing you can’t handle. The reality of who these people are, what they’re connected to, never leaves your mind. But really, they’re not so bad. None of this feels so bad at all. And soon, people start heading out. You’re beginning to clean up, when a recognizable voice rings out, “Bambi!” You turn and lock eyes with Curtis. He crooks two fingers at you and you quickly make your way over to him.

“Bambi?” you ask.

He grins at you and it feels more than a little predatory. You’ll never admit how much you like it. You try to keep Holly’s warning at the forefront of your mind. “Wide eyes and just getting your legs under you,” he says. You instinctively duck your head at that, which earns a dark chuckle. “Here,” he continues, as he pulls a genuine, fat money clip out of his back pocket. You’ve never seen something like it in real life before. He peels off two bills and holds them out to you. “This is what good girls get,” he says, a low rumble in his voice.

You swallow as you take them from him. Two hundred dollars. Twice what you were expecting. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He shakes his head. “You earned it.” Then, after one last long look at you, he turns around and leaves.

You stand and stare after him. You don’t doubt anything Holly said, but three hundred dollars, just for bringing him drinks. He doesn’t seem that bad, not really. A little intense maybe, but there’s some sort of interest there, and it can’t be that bad to encourage it, just a little if it earns you these sorts of tips, can it??

Any hesitance you have about this entire endeavor completely disappears as you count your money at the end of the night.

Your first week flies by. You're starting to get the hang of the job. You get along with your coworkers. You get to know the regulars. You like it. Even Lloyd isn’t so bad as long as you give him his cut at the end of every night.

And you’re making so much money.

In your downtime, you pay your landlord what you owe him. You go grocery shopping without scouring for coupons first or calculating exactly what you can afford beforehand. You make a Pinterest board of what you want your apartment to look like now that you might actually be able to buy things to fill it. For the very first time, you’re thinking about things you actually want, not just desperately trying to figure out how you’ll pay your bills. You’ve never felt this calm, this relaxed, this free before. It’s an incredible feeling.

And Curtis. Despite Holly’s reassurances that you wouldn’t see him much, he seems to be there whenever you are, trying to capitalize on his winning streak at the poker tables, you assume. His tips are still insanely generous. You don’t think he carries anything less than hundred dollar bills. 

And there’s just something about him. The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. It’s not like the other men here. His touch is like fire, warming from the inside. There’ve been times when his hand on your hip has almost made your knees buckle. That doesn’t happen with anyone else here.

But you’re being smart and you’re being safe. You are. You’re going to set a savings goal, you think. And once you hit that number, you’ll be out of here, onto something more legitimate. And until then, you’ll just keep your head down and mouth shut, like Holly said. You haven’t even really seen anything. It’s a good plan. It’ll be fine.

She’s right that the weekends are wilder. Even with three additional girls working the room, you’re kept running. You do your best to keep an eye on Curtis’s drinks, but it’s much harder than on weeknights. And you aren’t really able to pause when you drop them off. It’s one of these times, as you’re pulling away from the table as soon as you’ve set his glass down, that you’re stopped short by his hand on you. He pulls you back in by the wrist and says, “They’re just running you ragged tonight, huh, Bambi?”

You smile and shrug. “It’s busy.”

He holds out a bill and you try not to smile even wider as he slips it into the waistband of your skirt. “For all your hard work.”

You bat your lashes a little. “You spoil me.”

“I like spoiling you,” he says, lowly. 

“You’re too sweet,” you say softly. Then, pulling your arm away with a wink, you add, “Gotta run,” and you’re onto the next table.

You’re getting good at this, figuring out what level of harmless flirting is just enough to keep the money flowing. And you’re having fun. You’d never expected that.

Holly and two of the other girls, Jane and Kristi, are congregated at the end of the bar, waiting for drinks, when you join them. They’re all watching you warily. “So, uh,” Jane starts quietly, “you seem to be getting pretty cozy with Curtis.” 

Before you can respond, Holly scoffs behind her. “I’ve tried to warn her but she won’t fucking listen.”

You roll your eyes. You’re tired of hearing this. “I seriously don’t get what the big deal is. He’s nice and he tips well. It’s harmless!”

Kristi just gapes at you. “He’s nice?!”

Holly slams the drinks she was waiting for onto her tray. “Whatever,” she grumbles. “It’s her fucking funeral.”

You shake your head as you watch her go. It’s fine. You can take care of yourself.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. You don’t get much of a chance to talk to Curtis, but you feel his eyes on you before he disappears a little before closing.

At the end of the night, once you’ve helped clean up, you cash out with Colin and Jake and then go to find Lloyd in his office. You think it’s kind of ridiculous that you’re basically paying him to work there, but it is what it is. And Holly was right, you’re making so much that you barely even notice. 

Lloyd is sitting at his desk, looking a little more disheveled than you’re used to. He startles at your approach, which is also new. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, with slightly rounded eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You look at him, a little confused. “Just here with your cut,” you say as you hold out his money.

His hands immediately fly up to his chest, palms out. “No, no,” he says. “You made that fair and square. You just– you keep what you make from now on, Cupcake. Sound good?”

You swallow and nod, preparing yourself for whatever other price you’ll have to pay for keeping your job, mentally calculating what you’re willing to do. But Lloyd doesn’t do anything, doesn’t make any move to get closer to you. Just stays there at his desk, turning back to his work. “You have a good night,” he says, clearly dismissing you. 

You leave confused, but richer, telling yourself not to question it too hard.

Things go so smoothly for a few weeks that you’re a little shocked when the bubble bursts. 

It’s a relatively quiet weeknight. There are a few games going, but nothing compared to the weekend. The pace of the night feels leisurely. It’s nice.

It’s maybe the first night you haven’t seen Curtis there. It feels weird. He’s become such a part of this place for you. A fixture, like the bar or the carpet. Just one of the elements that make it what it is. But it’s fine. Of course, he doesn’t come every night. He probably has a whole life outside of this. He must’ve gotten bored of playing cards. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

You’re passing the time talking to one of the regulars at the bar, Vinny. He’s in his fifties, you think, with gray hair and laugh lines. He’d gone bust at the poker table (or maybe it was craps tonight) earlier and then had moved to the bar to drink away his sorrows and bad luck. That was how his nights tended to go.

He’s sitting on a barstool, his arm around your waist where you stand next to him. He’s a little close for comfort, but he’s always just been a friendly guy, so you’re alright. Which is why you’re so surprised when, in the middle of a story about the good old days of the Copa Cabana, his other hand suddenly finds its way between your thighs. You freeze. For just a second. Then you force out a laugh and try to push his hand away. “Bad boy,” you try to tease, your voice shaking. His hand will not move. What is happening? “Come on, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

Instead of doing what you’ve asked, his thumb briefly brushes the inside of your leg and then his whole hand begins moving higher. You stop breathing. You push again but he won’t budge.

“You’re such a pretty doll, aren’tcha?” he says. 

Tears start to gather in your eyes. You look around wildly to see if anyone’s noticing what’s happening. Colin’s busy making drinks. Jake and Lloyd are talking by the door. Everyone else is engrossed in their own business. “Vinnie, stop, please,” you whisper. You don’t know why you can’t get your voice to work, can’t get your body to move.

“Come on,” he cajoles, “I’m being nice, aren’t I?” 

Then his thumb brushes against your panties and your entire body jolts into action. You wrench your leg out of his grasp and take several steps away from him. Your whole body is shaking now. “I gotta–” you start, trying to keep your tone casual and failing miserably. “I gotta get back to work, Vinny.” Then you grab your tray off the bartop and walk away as fast as you can.

You don’t really have a destination in mind. You pick up a few empties as you wander between tables. You can feel his eyes on you, following you. You try to take a deep breath, calm yourself down. It isn’t very helpful. You look up to see Jake by himself now. You make your way over to him, Holly’s words on your first night in your ears. That was out of hand, wasn’t it?

He looks up as you approach. His big golden retriever smile on his face. “Hey, what’s up?” Then he actually takes you in and his smile drops. “What happened?”

“Um, Vinny, he, uh–” You feel a few tears fall down your cheeks and you just shake your head.

Jake’s face darkens. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, uh, he– he just–” You shake your head again. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you. There’s something about the way he does it that makes you think he understands everything you just can’t say. He nods once. “Alright. I’ll take care of it. You go take your time in the back. Do what you need to do. He’ll be gone by the time you’re done.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, thank you,” you say so quietly. Then you get yourself to the back room as quickly as you can.

It’s really more of a hallway than a room, small and narrow. All of the storage space for the building is in the legitimate bar upstairs. But there’s enough room for you to crouch down, your knees pulled up tight to your chin. You bury your face in your thighs and let the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re fine. 

You don’t know how long you’ve spent trying to calm yourself down when a large shadow suddenly looms over you. It takes you a moment to gather your strength to find out who it is. You hope it’s Jake telling you Vinny’s gone. You’re afraid it might be Lloyd, here to tell you to get back to work. There’s a slowly building terror that it might be Vinny himself.

After a deep breath, you look up to find Curtis staring down at you, concern on his face and fiery anger in his eyes. “What happened?” he growls.

You shake your head and turn away. He crouches down in front of you. “Are you alright?”

A humorless, uncontrolled laugh escapes you. Once you finally stop, you ignore his question and ask your own, “Why are you here?”

It takes him a very long time to answer. He just looks at you seriously for several moments. Then, finally, “Jake called me.” While you try to figure out why on earth Jake would do that, he continues, “I'm sorry I wasn’t already here.”

“Why?” you blurt out without thinking. 

He looks away without saying anything. You both just sit in the silence for a few moments. Then, you try to change tactics. “Where were you?” you ask out of morbid curiosity. You can't imagine what his life is like outside of here.

“Working,” he says curtly. He plays with a ring on his middle finger and the movement draws your eyes to his hands, specifically his knuckles. They're scraped and caked with dried blood. 

You swallow and you catch how his eyes track the movement. His eyes are always on you. He catches everything. 

“Someone touched you?”

“Lots of people touch me,” you say, flatly. “It's part of the job. You touch me.”

His eyes narrow at that. “But this was different.” It isn’t a question.

You look down at your hands in your lap and don't say anything. 

“Tell me who it was.”

“No,” you say instinctively, something about the moment feeling incredibly dangerous. 

He huffs in frustration. “Are you trying to protect him?”

“No!” you say, sharply. “I’m protecting myself.”

“You don’t have to do that. Not from me. Not ever.”

You don’t know how to tell him that every atom in you knows that that isn’t true. You can’t explain it, and it wasn’t until the moment he joined you in this little closet, but you’d swear that he’s a danger to you. You just can't articulate how, but you feel it in your bones. And still, here you stay.

At your silence, he grits out, “If you don’t tell me who it was, Jake will.”

Jake probably already has, that’s what you’ve figured. “Great,” you say. “Then you don’t need me to say it.”

“Bambi,” he lets out in an exasperated growl. “I'm trying to help you.” 

You just look at him and then figure you may as well ask the main question that's on your mind. “Why did Jake call you?” 

He ignores you and stands up. “Come on,” he says and extends his hand, “I'm taking you home.”

You just blink up at him. “My shift isn't over.” 

He shakes his hand at you impatiently. “It is now. Come on.”

You shake your head. “Curtis, this is my job. I can't just– Lloyd will–”

“I'll take care of Lloyd. Let’s go.”

You think about going home. About sitting alone in your small apartment. At least here you'll have something to do, things to focus on, to keep you busy. At home, there'll be nothing to think about other than that hand between your legs and– “No,” you say as firmly as you can manage. “I'm staying here. I'm finishing the night.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t say anything, just tries to stare you down. You stare right back. You will not concede this. 

Finally, he exhales through his nostrils, then growls out an unhappy “Fine. But I'll–” He's interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at the caller ID and sighs. “I have to take this.” He steps away as much as he can in the tiny area and answers with a curt “Everett.” There's a slight pause. “Yeah, I took care of it.” Another pause that has him glancing at you. “No, something else came up.”

You don't wait to hear the rest of the conversation. You take the opportunity to go back to the main room and get back to work. 

You don't see Curtis again that night. You don't spare much thought to where he might've gone. You're too focused on getting through the remainder of your shift. When it's done, Jake insists on seeing you home. You don't ask why. You already know who's behind it.

The next few days are fine. You try to put what happened behind you, doing your best to ignore it. But that becomes impossible when three days after the incident you watch Vinny walk in. You can’t help the little burst of panic you feel as you warily watch him sit down at his usual table and get dealt in. 

As subtly as you can, you make your way over to Jake. You don’t even say anything before he’s looking at you, chagrined. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I had to let him in. I promise it’s all going to be taken care of. It’s just– You can ignore him tonight, ok? Just trust me. You don’t need to worry about him. I promise.”

“Ok,” you say reluctantly, trying to resist looking back at Vinny. “I just– I didn’t think I’d have to see him again.”

“I really think that after tonight you won’t,” he says sincerely.

You don’t really understand what that means, but you nod anyway. “Ok,” you say. “I, uh, I should get back to work then.” 

He just nods after you, looking a little concerned and a little sad. But the room is filling up, so you don’t have time to delve into it.

Sometime later, as you’re taking a brief moment to idle by the bar, a strange hush descends over the room. You’re facing away from the door, away from the rest of the room, but you see Colin take in whatever it is that’s caused this. His face pales and he lets out a quiet, urgent, “Shit.” 

You turn around to see what on earth could be going on and you immediately freeze. Curtis is here. But that’s not what’s garnering all of this attention. Well, not all. Because he’s not alone, there’s a man with him. A little shorter, not quite as broad. But you’d be able to feel the power radiating off of him, even if you didn’t recognize him. Soft dark hair, thick beard, an immaculately tailored suit. You’ve seen him in the papers, on the news, but in real life, he’s even more intimidating. Andrew Barber.

Barber leans in close to say something to Curtis, who nods, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Your breath catches, but luckily Colin calls your name behind you and you have an excuse to turn around. He places two glasses of dark liquor on the bar. “Everett,” he says, gesturing to one, then “Barber,” while waving his hand over the other. “Got it?” You nod and place them on your tray. They’re identical to your eyes except for the fact that Barber's has a muddled black cherry at the bottom of the glass.

You carefully bring them over, trying to force yourself to breathe. Curtis intercepts you and grabs the drinks when you're a few steps away. “Thank you, Bambi,” he says, lowly. 

Barber perks up. “This is Bambi? Really?” He extends a hand and you have no choice but to take it. “Andy Barber,” he says with a disarming smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you finally.”

His handshake is firm, demanding. He is terrifying in his friendliness. And he knows who you are. Has known, for who knows how long. You glance at Curtis, but he's just calmly drinking his whiskey. You don't know what to say, what are you supposed to say?? So after too long a pause, you practically whisper, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

He chuckles lightly as he takes back his hand. To Curtis, he says, “You're right, Bambi does suit her.” Then he turns back to you and adds, “Andy, please.”

“O– Okay, Andy,” you say, with what you desperately hope is a benign smile. You look over at Curtis, you’re not entirely sure why, but out of these two dangerous options, he, at least, is familiar. “I should get back to work.”

Curtis is staring at you, but it’s Andy who answers. “Mmm, and we have a game to join, don’t we?” Curtis nods but still doesn’t break his gaze. Andy smirks, “No rest for the wicked.”

You have no idea what to do with that sentiment, so you take the opportunity and get out of there. You walk through the tables, checking to see if anyone needs anything, but the mob boss’s physical presence seems to have ground all action to a halt. The room is collectively holding its breath. 

You go back to the bar for want of anything else to do. Colin is standing ramrod straight, coiled in case he needs to spring into action. Lloyd is sitting down at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers, eyes moving all around the room. You settle next to Holly, who looks just as scared as she did that first night when she was trying to warn you off of Curtis. “Is this,” you start to ask, your voice shaking. “Is this normal? Does he come here a lot?”

“No, never” she shakes her head. “Why would he come here? He has real clubs and restaurants. He doesn’t need to hang out in a shit hole like this.” She shakes her head again. “He’d only come here for a reason.”

You turn your head back to the room and find that Andy and Curtis have settled at Vinny’s table, joining his game across from him. Your heart lands in your throat. That can’t– No. You’re just some cocktail waitress. Even with Curtis’s obvious interest in you, you aren’t important enough to bring the most powerful man in the city here. You’re nothing. He must have other reasons.

The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop as everyone waits for something to happen, which is why when Andy does start speaking, you don’t have to strain your ears to pick up every word.

He looks at his cards carefully, then over at Vinny. “You know, Vinny, you’re a hard man to track down.” His voice is so calm, it sends a chill up your spine. “You don’t go home, we can’t find you at work. I was starting to get worried.” He runs a few chips through his fingers before tossing them into the center of the felt. “That’s why, when I heard you were showing up here, I sent my best man to investigate,” he nods towards Curtis, “just to make sure you were ok.” 

You don’t have a great view of Vinny from where you’re standing, but you can see how stiff he is, how silent. But he still calls when it’s his turn.

“You can imagine my relief when I found out you were alright. Except,” he raises again, a few more chips into the pot, “you’re losing a lot of money, aren’t you? Now, this upsets me. Not because you’re losing your own money. But because it’s mine, isn’t it?”

Vinny finally tries to pipe up. “Andy, hold on. I can ex–”

“You owe me $150,000, Vinny. With interest, that total’s climbing every day. And yet, you sit here and you just keep losing, don’t you? At my own game. What would you do if you won, huh? Would you really try paying me back with my own money? I thought maybe you’d at least have the smarts to cross the border and try this at one of Roger’s casinos. Huh? Paying me back with my enemy’s money, at least that I could respect. But no, it’s only me you think is stupid enough to fall for your bullshit. So now I’m here to give you the chance to fucking do it to my face.” With that, he violently pushes all of his chips into the center of the table. 

Everyone else has folded. It’s just Barber and Vinny now. You’re not sure Curtis even actually played. He’s just staring Vinny down, although occasionally his eyes will flick up and meet yours. You hate feeling like you’re a part of this, but you don’t know what else to do besides watch it play out.

Vinny is just spluttering, while Andy calmly looks on. It’s all the expected, cliche stuff you’ve seen in gangster movies. He’s got the money, he swears. He just needs a little more time. Andy has to know he’s good for it! You want to roll your eyes right along with Andy.

“Call, Vinny,” Andy cuts him off, sternly. “That’s $150,000 I just put in the pot. Call. And if you win, we’re even. Your debt’s erased. But if you lose, well then that’s $300,000 you’ll owe me. And you know I won’t be able to tolerate that. So call. And let’s find out where we stand.”

You can’t see what Vinny’s doing, but you can imagine the way his fingers must be hovering over his chips, his eyes moving down to his cards to check, one more time, if they’re as good or bad as he remembers. You know there’s no way out for him either way. He’ll have to call. He’s just delaying the inevitable.

You feel like you can't breathe as you wait for him to just finally do it, but Andy cuts in again. “The thing I can't understand, Vinny, is why you kept coming here after Curtis showed up. Either you're very stupid or really fucking greedy.” He looks at Vinny carefully. “Maybe a little of both. I hear you've been touching something that doesn't belong to you.”

You gasp. No one notices, but you do. He can't be talking about you. He can't. He can't. 

Vinny seems even more confused than you. “What are you talking about? I haven't touched anything!”

Andy continues to ignore him. “So you're stupid and greedy. That's why you aren't afraid of him like you should be. They call him my attack dog, did you know? Have you heard that? Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you think he’s some puppy that follows me around. You’d be stupid to underestimate him, underestimate me. But maybe you only do that because you've never seen my dog off his leash.”

Curtis springs into action, lunging across the table to grab Vinny by the collar, and then slams his head into the felt. Before there’s even time to react, he’s stood and he's picking Vinny back up and hurling him onto the floor. Curtis comes around the table to stalk after him and the look on his face has you gasping for breath. You've never seen Curtis like this. There's a glint in his eye that might be the scariest thing you've ever seen. Who is this man? What is he capable of?

Vinny is dazedly trying to crawl away, but Curtis catches him easily. He grabs Vinny’s collar and hauls him back up, delivering two punches to his face in quick succession. The sound it makes. There's no other sound in the whole room. No one's saying anything, no one's doing anything. Everyone's just watching, hypnotized. You turn away, your stomach churning. Your eyes catch on Andy, sitting back in his chair, placidly drinking the whiskey you brought him, completely relaxed, like he's watching anything else. You can't look at him either. 

The room is completely silent except for the crunching of bones, Vinny’s whimpers, and Curtis’s grunts. You look up again to be startled by eye contact with Curtis. His eyes are wild, unhinged. Feral. But there's something else in it, like all of this is for you. That all of you are there, everything is happening, because Vinny dared to touch you. It takes your breath away. It’s mesmerizing.

Andy finally stands and strides over to where Curtis is holding Vinny up in the middle of the room. He looks down at Vinny, then spits in his face. “I'm tired of trying to draw blood from a stone,” he says. Then he turns to Curtis and finishes, “Get rid of him.”

Curtis gives you one last long look, his face unreadable. You feel it in your knees. Then he drags Vinny out, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

The moment they're gone, it's like the entire room can breathe again. “Lloyd,” Andy calls out. “How ‘bout a round for everyone? On me.”

Lloyd nods to Colin who hurriedly starts pouring drinks. And you, so grateful for something to do, instead of just standing there, shaking, start loading the glasses on your tray.

As you begin to pass them out, Andy of all people, pulls you aside. “Bambi,” he says quietly, “I hope you know now, we take care of our own.”

You gaze at him, shocked. It feels like a comfort and a threat. But why? It's not so much the implication that this all had something to do with you, but you can't for the life of you imagine what you've done to get yourself to a place where Andy Barber might consider you his, however distantly. It can't just be that you work here. You can't picture him doing something similar for Holly or Colin. Once again, this all feels so incredibly dangerous. 

While you're struggling to come up with anything to say to that, he grabs a drink off your tray and downs it quickly. Then, with a wink, he turns and leaves. You’re left staring after him until someone calls after you and you're scrambling to pass out drinks again. 

The night ends quickly. No one seems eager to stay and drink and play after everything that's happened. Not when there's still blood on the floor.

You do what you can to help clean up, but when you stare at the stain helplessly, Lloyd tells you not to worry about it. He's got a guy.

Colin walks out with you so you aren’t in the parking lot alone. You're grateful. You're still so shaken. As you approach your car, your beater that you still don’t quite have the money to replace, you see someone leaning against it. You stop short, looking to Colin for help, but he just keeps walking to his own car, his head down. That’s when you know it’s Curtis. 

You take a deep breath and then force yourself to keep walking towards him. You can't begin to parse how you feel to see him now. Your keys are ready in your hand like you might just get in and drive off without speaking to him. You know you won’t.

When you reach him, his voice is rough as he asks, “Are you ok?” He’s cleaned up. There’s no more blood on his hands, his clothes have been straightened.

You open your mouth to answer, even though you have no idea, so instead what comes out is “Did you kill him?”

“Did you want me to?” is his immediate reply.

It stops you in your tracks as all sorts of feelings come bubbling up, ones you can not, will not examine. This is about his propensity for violence, how terrifying he became, not– No. “Did you?” you insist. 

He looks at you carefully then shakes his head. “I don't think you actually want me to answer that.”

“But you've killed before?” You can't stop yourself from pressing, from pushing. You don’t know why. 

He just sort of smiles, gently almost, in a way that is deeply unsettling. “You need to stop asking questions you aren’t ready for me to answer, Bambi.” And it’s the way he says the nickname, like you really are that babe in the woods, just born with no knowledge of the world around you, that has your hackles rising.

“Andy called you his dog,” you say, like he should be offended.

To your surprise, he laughs, his head thrown back. Then he takes a step closer to you, and you take the opportunity to sneak in behind him, get to your car. You realize your mistake immediately when he turns back around and cages you in, your back pressed against the driver’s side door. “Everyone calls me his dog. Because he’s the civilized man in the designer suit, and I’m the animal just begging for a reason to slip my leash.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You should get into your car. You should drive away as fast as you can. You should never come back. But you don’t. “You did it for him,” you say, mustering all the strength into your voice that you can. “You didn’t do it for me.”

He leans over you, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “Yeah, he asked me to do it,” he nods. “But if he hadn’t, I still would have done it. For you.”

 You try to shake your head, to tell him that that can’t be true, even as a wild, loud part of you starts to rise up and claw out of your chest. You try to tamp it down, deny it, but before you can, Curtis is leaning in further, his whole body pressing against you, and then he covers your lips with his.  

There’s a heat that comes up out of him that fills you, the instant his skin touches yours. His hands are on you, your neck, your hip. You can’t keep track, can only say that his hands are there, everywhere, that his body touches all of yours, that his lips and his tongue are demanding, unrelenting. You are burning up from the inside.

Too soon, but ages later, he pulls away. His eyes are on fire as he looks at you. Then he tears his gaze away, and hits the roof of your decrepit car twice, looking at it disdainfully. “You get home safe,” he says, then steps back to allow you the space you need to get into your car.

You do what he wants you to do. You get in your car, sit in the driver’s seat, and then stare blankly out the windshield. You’ve never felt so out of control in your life. How did this happen? You were flirting for tips, that was all! You encouraged it for money, that was it, and now– You press your thighs together, trying not to pant. You will not be unmoored. 

A slight movement in your periphery makes you notice that Curtis is still standing just to the side of your car, watching you. You turn your keys in the ignition and shift into drive.

It doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything, you chant to yourself all the way home.

It’s your next shift back, and everything seems to have changed. You don’t understand it. You keep doing laps of the room, keep sidling up to regulars you were so friendly with just a few nights ago, but now, they won’t even look at you, let alone touch you. No one’s ordering anything.

Or at least, they aren’t ordering from you.

Holly has been running around nonstop all night, basically having to take care of the entire room by herself. You watch man after man after man slip her little bundles of money. 

You want to scream. What the fuck happened? What did you do? What are you going to do?

You go to stand by the bar to wait for something you can do. Colin gives you a brief nod of acknowledgment but that’s it. He’s been cold, too. No. Not cold, distant. You don’t understand what’s changed.

You take a deep breath. It’s one weird night. Things will be better tomorrow.

Things don’t get better. The next night is the same. You’re starting to panic. This job was supposed to be your lifeline. Without it, without the money you were making, you’re not sure how you’ll survive.

Curtis comes in after a couple of hours of nothing. You could cry you’re so happy to see him. But terrified too. If he gives you the cold shoulder, this job really is over. But you have no idea how he’s going to act, not after what happened last time. You’re not sure how you’re going to act either. You can still feel his lips on yours.

You bring him his whiskey immediately and he greets you with an arm around your waist, pulling you in. “Hey Bambi,” he says quietly. Then he gets a good look at you. “What’s wrong?” 

You look at him carefully, not sure what to confide. You aren’t even sure what the problem is. You shake your head. “Not my best night,” you say with a tired smile. “But I’m fine.”

He stares at you for a moment, then stands up. “Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you to the little back room. You feel eyes on the two of you the whole way there.

Once he’s closed the door behind you both, he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “The last two nights have been weird here. I don’t– I don’t know. I’m just worried. I don’t know what happened but I’m not making any tips. No one’s treating me like they used to.”

“Mmm,” Curtis hums thoughtfully. “I think,” he says as he takes two steps closer to you, which in this small space is significant, “everyone else here has figured it out.”

It’s suddenly a little hard to breathe with him standing over you like this. His presence, his attention is always so much. “Figured what out?” you ask, confused.

“That I have lost my patience for watching other men touch you.” 

It hits you like a freight train. “What?” It comes out in a whisper.

“I’ve let this go on for too long,” he says, his voice is calm, casual. “I don’t want you working here anymore. This is done.”

“I– What? Curtis. What?! I have to work! I have to pay my bills! I don’t understand. I don’t–”

He takes one last step forward. You feel the heat coming off of him. “Shh,” he soothes, cradling your cheek in his hand. “It’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you. I take care of what’s mine.”

You pull your face away, even as the urge to nuzzle into him is so strong. You feel like you’ve missed something, a thousand things. You feel too many steps behind. “Curtis, I’m not– I’m not yours.”

Something comes into his eyes and you’re reminded of him standing over Vinny, covered in blood. His hand travels down from your cheek. He strokes your throat once, and then his hand closes around it. “Look me in the eye,” he growls, “and say that again.”

His hand is firm, snug, but it doesn’t tighten. But you can imagine so easily how it might. You look him in the eye. You open your mouth, ready to say it again. But then– then you see it. In the way he looks at you, the way he’s always looked at you. You feel it in his grip on you, now. You can’t deny it anymore. 

Curtis shoves you into his bedroom. You’re panting already. You need his hands on you, right now. You don’t have to ask for it. He gets you to the center of the room and yanks down your skirt, tearing it in the process. You step out of it and take your blouse off, throwing it on top of your skirt. Curtis’s eyes are cataloging your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out of your bra, your soft tummy, thick thighs. His gaze, as always, takes your breath away.

You reach out for Curtis’s shirt, but he grabs your hands. “I want you on your knees,” he growls and you immediately kneel for him. He throws off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest, the muted blacks and grays of his tattoos. You’re desperate to run your hands over them, trace the art, but instead, they just twitch at your side. He'll tell you what you're allowed to do.

He begins unbuttoning his jeans and your mouth drops open. He chuckles darkly. “Perfect little slut.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and aims it at you, taking a picture as you gaze up at him under your lashes, your mouth wide open. “I've been dreaming of getting you on your knees for me.” He puts his phone on his dresser, then continues taking off his pants. “You ready to choke on my cock, baby?”

“Please,” you whine. You're practically salivating now. His bare thighs are as thick as tree trunks, the muscles corded. His abs ripple as he moves. His shoulders, his back. You want.

He frees his cock and rolls his black boxer briefs down his legs, stepping out of them. It's long and thick, just like the rest of him. Your breath catches. You don't think you've ever taken something that big before.

He takes a few steps so he's completely in your space, his cock bobbing right in front of your face. He takes it in one hand, the other firmly on the back of your head and slowly feeds the tip into your mouth. You taste his musk on your tongue. As he rocks into your mouth, going a little further each time, your hands come up to grasp his thighs. On his next thrust in, you run your tongue along the underside of his dick. His movements stutter just a little and then he looks down at you, a smirk overtaking his face. It's just a touch mean, in a way that has you soaking your panties. “You ready?” he asks, his voice rough. And then without waiting for the answer, he thrusts in all the way, making you take him deep in your throat.

You flail, slapping his thigh as you try to swallow around him, breathing frantically through your nose. After holding you there for a moment, he sets a brutal but steady pace. It takes you a moment, but you find your rhythm, your panic subsiding. Once you feel steady, you lift one hand from his thighs and bring it up to cradle his balls. “Fuck, Bambi,” he grinds out. “You're gonna– I– fuck!” His hand moves from the back of your head down to the back of your neck, which he grips firmly, pulling you off his cock. As you cough and splutter on the floor, he growls, “The first time you make me come is gonna be inside that perfect cunt.”

He helps you stand on wobbly legs, then shoves his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy over your panties. “Shit, fucking soaked just from deepthroating me?”

You let out a needy little whine, trying to push further into his hand, but he withdraws it, instead settling on your hip. “Well,” he grins, “if they’re ruined anyway…” then uses that hand to rip the black lace down the side, letting them fall to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra as well, then takes a step back and sighs, “Shit, Bambi, look at you.” It’s the reverence in his voice and on his face that has you launching yourself at him, unable to keep from kissing him any longer. He lets you, quickly taking control, letting you feel all his hunger, the want he’s kept barely bottled up since he first laid eyes on you. You understand it all now. His erection brushes against you, and now it’s his turn to whine, just a little. 

He pulls away, brushing a hand down your cheek, then says “Get on the bed, on your stomach.” You quickly comply, laying in the center of the bed with your knees pulled up and spread beneath you. He brings his hand down on one asscheek harshly and you can’t help the lewd moan that escapes you. He chuckles, “Oh, I will definitely remember that for later.” He grabs your hips and cants them up, then whistles at your exposed cunt. “I knew it. Absolutely beautiful.” Then he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into your hole and you choke on nothing. “Shh,” he coos. “You can take it. My cock’s gonna be a lot thicker.” 

As he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, you can’t hold it in any longer and start babbling. Mostly a combination of “please,” and “Curtis,” and “I need,” over and over.

“I know, baby,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. “I’ve got what you need right here.” You have a brief moment to feel the tip of his cock on your pussy lips before he’s thrusting it into you, as far as he can go without making it hurt. 

“Oh my god,” you cry, pressing your forehead into the mattress and balling his dark blue sheets in your hands. You feel so full. It’s so good. He’s working himself into you as quickly as he can, desperate now. You both are. Once he bottoms out, fully seated in you, he pauses. Then with one hand on your stomach and the other around your neck, he pulls you up onto your knees, your back flush to his chest. You cry out at the new angle; he’s somehow even deeper now. He starts thrusting up into you at a punishing pace. You’re bouncing up and down in his firm grasp. The hand on your neck turns your head to face him, his lips brushing against yours. He holds eye contact with you as the hand on your stomach snakes down your pelvis so his thick fingers can begin circling your clit. “Fuck! Curtis, please!” you shout. 

“Yeah, come on,” he breathes, “you can let go. You can do it. Come for me like a good girl.” It’s those words that send you careening over the edge, your cunt pulsing around his cock, squeezing him until he’s coming too with a grunt, filling you up until both your cum is leaking out around him. 

He holds you there, on your knees, as you both come down, your twin pants all you can hear.

You wake up slowly, the sun shining on you through the soft drapes. You start to shift then groan at how stiff you are. The night before comes back to you. Curtis took you two more times before you both collapsed in satisfied exhaustion. He’s still out like a light beneath you. 

You take a moment to look at him. It’s odd to see him so peaceful, so still. There’s nothing of the feral predator he projects to the world. It makes you feel oddly close to him, seeing him like this.

You carefully get up without disturbing him and begin collecting your clothes. You put on your bra, but there’s no saving your panties. Same for your skirt; it’s ripped along the seam. So instead you pick up Curtis’s t-shirt from last night and put it on. It smells like him. You breathe it in shamelessly knowing there’s no one to witness it.

You savor the soreness as you move out of the bedroom. It’s like you can still feel him inside you, how much he wanted you, needed you. It makes you feel a little powerful, having that effect on a man like him.

You make your way into his living room. You didn’t really have a chance to look at his house last night, as determined as he was to get you into the bedroom. If you’d ever thought to picture it, this wouldn’t be far off. It’s all rich blues and greens and grays, leather and dark wood. Masculine. It suits him. 

As you’re admiring the room, you hear footsteps behind you and then two big arms are encircling your waist, pulling you into him. “Good morning,” he rasps. 

You turn your head to him. “Good morning,” you say with a smile.

“Fuck, Bambi, you’re even hotter in my shirt than you were last night.”

You smirk at him even as your face heats. “Mmm,” you hum. “It’s comfy. You might not get it back.” He nuzzles into your neck as you continue. “I was hoping you might have something I could wear for bottoms, too. You destroyed my skirt.”

His beard roughly drags against your skin as he asks, “Why the hell would I let you wear bottoms?”

You laugh. “Because I have to leave the house, Curtis.”

“No, you don’t,” he says as his hand begins to move between your thighs.

You playfully swat him away, even as you feel yourself getting wet again from his attention. “I have to go home.”

“Why? You’re staying here.” It’s how certain he sounds that has you turning around in his arms.

“What?”

“I don’t like your building. It isn’t safe enough. Now that I finally have you, of course, I’m going to keep you here with me.”

Once again, you feel too many steps behind. You just blink at him, confused. How does he even know where you live??

He takes your chin in his hand, his fingers gentle. “I told you, Bambi, I take care of what’s mine.”

Tag list

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @midnightramyeoncravings

[buck-star]

Heart sweater | B.B

Your daughter got a present for his daddy and Bucky isn’t afraid to show everyone what his little girl got for him.

Pairing: Mob!Dad!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Wife!Reader

Wordcount: 2.033 Words

Warnings: none, just lots of fluff

Authors Note: I couldn’t help myself. This sweater is just so adorable and imagine Bucky’s little girl getting it for him. So yes, soft spot, feeling soft right now. Hope you enjoy!

Events: Winds of autumn challenge | Candy corn 🍬 a sweet surprise, Balance ⚖️ as the equinox approaches, the day and night balance out. Write about finding peace | @the-slumberparty

Seasonal Delights Bingo: fall vibes | Row One-One | soft kisses | @seasonaldelightsbingo | Fairytale Bingo | Row One-Three | Goddess of marriage | @fairytalebingo

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Daddyyyy! We gots you a present!" A childish voice echoes through the hallway of the building. Your and your little — big — families home. Others may say that you, Bucky, and your daughter are family, but there are so many more; they aren’t from the same blood but with the same big hearts.

Bucky’s men, who not only needed to earn his trust but also needed to earn their place in the family, are more than just his men. They are Bucky’s friends, your friends, and your daughter's uncles. None of them would let anything happen to you or the little girl — not just because Bucky told them to take care, but because you’re a family.

Your little daughter runs further through the hallway until she finally reaches her dad's office door. The second floor of the building is just an office — for Bucky and his men. And since he had an important meeting, he suggested that you could go out with her to get some new toys and clothes.

Of course, your little baby girl didn’t go to the toy store first. She loves it, but you’re shopping? She has to get a present for her daddy. She kind of gives herself a treat after finding the perfect present for Bucky — and then she uses all the money she can to get a lot of toys and stuff for herself.

You watch the toddler with amused eyes whenever you’re shopping without Bucky. Mostly Steve comes with you, keeping the two of you safe and just giving you a helping hand so you don’t have to carry all of these bags yourself.

“Sweetheart,” you chuckle while she already jumps to reach the handle and almost falls into her dad's office. You laugh softly, shaking your head — she is just as stubborn as her daddy when it comes to letting someone help or listen once they get excited.

Bucky’s head shoots up the moment the door swings open. He smiles at his little girl, then his eyes wander further toward you. The ocean blue orbs glistening when his lips curl up into a soft smile — one he reserves only for you and your little girl.

“Take care, my sweet little plum. Don’t want ya to get hurt, do we?” He asks, his voice soft but still a bit firm, so the little girl will listen to him. Her eyes — which are just as blue as Bucky’s — roam over her daddy’s body, from his legs up to his face, before she smirks with the widest grin ever.

“We gots you something’, daddy!” She says, excitedly. Bucky crouches down, resting his arms on his knees while he waits for his little girl to continue talking. “Mommy! Daddy waits fo’ you!”

You chuckle, looking for the bag in your hand she wants to have before placing all the others down and handing her the one she put her daddy’s present into. Bucky’s eyes move toward you; without any words, he makes sure you’re okay and that you can be without a kiss for a few more minutes while he focuses on his baby girl.

Once he’s sure you’re fine — after you settle down on the couch in his office and sigh softly — he mouths, ‘I love you, my pretty girl’ to you. And oh damn, you know why you fell in love with that man. He may be a big, feared mafia boss, but around you he is the sweetest, most loving, caring, and perfect husband — and father for your daughter — you could have wished for.

Bucky may be mad because of work sometimes; he may be annoyed, but he never lets it out on you. He would rather punch himself than make you feel like he doesn’t appreciate you or that you’re a burden for him. For your husband, you’re the most precious woman, and he will do everything to keep you safe and loved. He does the same for your little girl.

Luckily, Bucky discovered immediately that whenever he's mad, he just needs you, and everything is perfect. Preferably when he can keep you on his lap. His arms are tightly wrapped around your waist and pull you as close as possible while he presses his face into your chest. You will run your fingers through his hair, and he knows he’s safe — no reason for anger or annoyance, just love and affection, so he calms down without needing anything but you.

“So what do you have for me, my little plum?” Bucky asks, looking with amusement and curiosity at the little girl in front of him. She giggles, her tiny hands grasping his cheeks, and she runs her small fingers over his stubbles.

“Sc’atchy,” she mumbles and squeezes his cheeks together. Bucky lets out a low chuckle, letting her play with his scratchy stubbles. He knows how much his sweet little girl likes his stubbles; she is just like her mommy loving his metal arm and his stubbles — even though you have other intentions when it comes to his metal arm or his stubbles. But those are secrets that stay in the bedroom.

“Sweetheart, you wanted to show Daddy what you got for him,” you remind her when you notice that she got lost in her little game to play with her daddies cheek. But she was so excited to get him his present, plus you know that Bucky’s curious as well.

She removes her small hands and grasps the paper bag again, opening it before hiding her face almost inside of it. You would never leave her with a bag without anyone else around her, but as long as you and Bucky are there, you don’t feel scared if she puts her head slightly into it to tease her daddy a bit.

“Yeah, my little plum. What do you got Daddy, huh?” He asks, bringing his big hands to her small sides to poke his fingers into her soft flesh. The little girl laughs, throwing her head back while she wiggles in his grip.

She pulls her tiny hands out of the bag and holds a big, white sweater with hearts on it in front of her. Her smile grows and her eyes sparkle as she shows it to Bucky. And the big, most feared mafia boss has the sweetest expression on his face.

His eyes shine, and it looks like the sun is brightening them. His smile reaches almost his ears as he stares at the fabric in his daughter's hands. Bucky’s eyes wander to you for a second, then back to his little girl.

“Thank you, my little plum,” he coos, taking the sweater out of her hands to admire it a moment longer. Your daughter watches Bucky intensely — the same intense stare Bucky has if he wants to find out how you think about something. “You want me to take it on right now?”

She nods, letting herself fall backward into her butt while she holds his gaze. He nods, smirking softly. Bucky leans forward, his big hand placed at the back of her head, and he brings her closer to press his plump lips against her forehead.

“Then I will do that,” he says, getting up from the stop he was kneeling. His eyes land on you, and before he leaves the room to change into the new sweater, he makes his way over to you.

He towers over you, both of his hands finding their way to your thighs, and he leans closer. His lips almost brush yours when he grins at you. “She chose the sweater all by herself, but you allowed her to buy it, didn’t you?”

You shiver under his intense stare and his rough voice. “S-she’s just really convincing. I know you said you don’t want presents, but I guess— I guess she got that from you,” you giggle and Lena closer to chase his lips for a soft kiss. Bucky chuckles, kissing you once again before he pushes himself up and makes his way out of the room to change into the sweater you and your daughter got him.

Your daughter gets one of her new toys out of the bag and shows it to you. It’s not like you don’t know what she bought, but she loves to show you and explain everything about it anyway.

“Mommy, wants book or wants dolly?” She asks, lifting her small arms and holding both up to let you decide which of these she should show and explain to you.

“Do you want me to tell you more about the book you got?” You ask. She nods and puts the doll down, walking with the book in her hands toward you. The little girl places the book on the couch next to you, her small fingers digging into your thighs, and she tries to push herself up onto the couch. “Do you want me to help you, sweetheart?”

“Nuuu, ‘m big girl!” She nods, underlining her words. You chuckle; let her climb up without help. Your hand is still behind her back just in case she falls backwards, but she doesn’t.

Once she is on top and next to you, she wiggles a bit and takes the book, placing it in your lap. She just wants to explain why she got the book, who’s on the cover, and what she knows about her favorite series — the book is about it — when Bucky walks back into the room.

Her eyes widen, and she giggles as she sees her big daddy in this pretty sweater she got him. You smile softly at him, reaching your hands out for him to come closer. “You’re pretty, Bucky,” you say and run your fingers over the back of his flash hand, then over the fabric of the sweater.

“Didn’t know I would look that good in that sweater,” he jokes. Stroking one of his hands over the fabric. And he really does look adorable with his middle long hair, his broad chest, and his big arms — the feared mafia boss — wearing a sweater with a lot of hearts on it because his sweet little plum got it just for him. “So, my little plum, what do you think?”

Bucky gets down on his knees in front of the couch, looking at the little girl. Her ocean blue eyes roam over him a little longer before she giggles. “Looks pwetty, daddy! Now we can go back to work!”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I thought I could take out my girls for dinner.” Bucky tilts his head. His fleshy hand holds yours tightly while he watches the little girl, considering if she wants to work or prefers to have dinner with the two of you.

“Do we gets my favorite food?” She asks, taking her book and making grabby hands, waiting for Bucky to pick her up. He nods, wrapping his arms around her to lift her onto his waist before he holds a hand out for you to grasp and let him pull you up.

Bucky doesn’t care that people could look weird at him for wearing a sweater with hearts on it. His sweet girl got it for him, and he knows that no one will disrespect him — not even when he looks like a sweet puppy with an adorable sweater.

“You know, babydoll,” Bucky says, looking at you as he wraps his free hand around your waist to pull you into his side. His nose brushes over your cheek until his lips press against your temple. “Thank you for letting out sweet plum to buy me such a pretty sweater. Now I’m wearing your necklace, our wedding band, and my little girl's sweater. I love you, my babydoll, pretty momma.”

Bucky’s voice is low, and he smirks against your skin as you shiver. You knew he would love the sweater — he loves everything you or your daughter get him. “I love you too, Buck,” you mumble before you make your way to the restaurant — letting Bucky show his sweater around to let everyone see how proud he is to have his family, how much he loves you and his little plum, and how much he appreciates you and your love.

Taglist -> @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @loki-laufeyson68 @winterschildren8 @bxtchboy69 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @im-alestan @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @lives-in-midgard @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @nervouseden @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel @mrs-katelyn-barnes @sasha-writing @blackhawkfanatic @fanfictionreaderfan @multiversefanfics @angelbabyyy99 @looking1016 @aphrodite-xoxo @fanfictionreaderfan @iris-xoxo-juhu @holylulusworld @bucks-babe @whatever-lmaoo @thevillainswhore

[buckyalpine]

18+ fluffy, smutty, utterly debauched thot. I'm saying sorry now: Imagine dating a grumpy, rugged, Mob Bucky. Everything about him is all dark and broody from his chiseled clenched jaw and tattooed skin to the permanent scowl on his face. Even in bed, he's only ever dominant, not that you mind at all. In fact you thrive off it, loving the way he takes full control, tossing you around like a ragdoll till he's covered in sweat and you're covered in his cu-

His mask never falls; he doesn't show his emotions or mercy to anyone. He didn't get the title of the Winter Soldier out of nowhere.

But then comes the day where he's especially wound up. A weapons deal turned into a shoot out. He shot everyone dead within minutes but it was still irritating. The side of his ribs stung from where bullets had grazed his skin. That was one out of a thousand things that were pissing him off.

You peeked into his office after Steve had already given you a heads up that your grumpy boyfriend was in a mood. He was sitting at his desk, nursing his third glass of scotch as you padded over wearing nothing but one of his shirts.

"You okay?" You slink onto his lap, your fingers carding through his dark, fluffy locks. He lets out something between a sigh and a growl, the line between his brows more prominent, nothing easing his stress.

"M'fine" He grunts, letting his hands settle onto your plush thighs, the feeling of your skin already starting to settle his frayed nerves. You hum, sitting in a comfortable silence while his fingers start to roam up to the buttons of your shirt. "C'mere pretty girl"

Normally when Bucky gets into this kind of mood, he wants nothing more than to bend you over his desk and utterly ruin you until you're a moaning mess with his name and juices dripping from your lips. Your cheeks heat up as he moves to unbutton your shirt, his cock throbbing when he finds you're not wearing anything underneath. Your pretty bare breasts sit right in front of his face and his lips immediately seal around your peaked nipple, sucking while his tongue toys and swirls around like he wants to taste every bit of you.

Your breasts are so warm and soft, he chases more trying to pull more of your pebbled bud into his mouth, desperate and greedy. The longer he suckles, the more he starts to slip into an unfamiliar territory, his mind going blank, fully focused on how good you feel in his mouth. He was already so fucking tired and stressed, he needed this so bad.

You can tell something about him is different as his eyes flutter closed, his arms wrapping around your body to pull you closer. You continue to play with his hair, now massaging his scalp and he whines feeling your gentle ministrations. The soft sound catches you off guard; did your broody boyfriend who most of the city was scared of really just whine while sucking at your boobs?

"What is it baby boy" You ask hesitantly, cupping his scruffy cheek, your thumb caressing his beard. He starts to slip further, moving to give your other breast attention while leaning into your touch. You were the most precious thing in his life. He loved hearing the sound of your voice while he lost himself, letting out another whine at the pet name you called him.

Baby boy.

He liked that.

He was always taking care of 101 things and for once, it felt nice to have someone take care of him. He loves the way you cradle his head like a child, your body shielding him from the rest of the world while he was vulnerable. He'd never let go of himself before, not like this. Not where he was clinging onto you like a needy baby, not even warming his cock, just nursing from you as if your breasts were feeding him the sweetest milk-

Fuck.

His cock throbs at the thought.

He was already so need for you, if your boobs were full, there would be no coming back. He'd constantly be seeking you out, shamelessly taking from you. His subby, empty little brain starts to wander further. On the one hand, no other man should see you the way he does. On the other, he would give anything to prop you on the desk while he sits at the head of the table, letting the others watch what they can't have. Unbutton your blouse just like this, sucking your full breasts, letting your milk leak onto his beard. Fuck, he'd make a show of groaning at how sweet you tasted, licking his lips, not bothering to wipe the droplets that dribbled down his chin. His enemies would have to sit there with their dicks hard in their pants while he told you how you fed the baby and him so well-

How did his mind get here-

"Look at me baby, you okay?" Your voice and the way you speak to him only amplifies what he's already feeling. At this point, there's a mess in his slacks from his arousal, precum leaking, he tries to keep his mouth shut by feeling it full but he really can't hold back.

"Can I put a baby in you?" He looks up at you with puppy eyes, a flash of something vulnerable passing though when he finally pulls away to look at you. "Please?"

Your stomach clenches at the way he's peering up at you, his thick cock ready to break out of his pants, pressing against your soaked cunt.

Could you imagine how worked up he'd be? The second you nod, he's working at his pants to pull his leaky cock out and he's never been this way before. The man prides himself in being able to fuck like a demon and now he's scrambling to stuff his dick in you, 99% sure he's going to cum like a virgin the second his pink tip breeches your hole. This feeling is all new to him, his chest heaving when you sink down on him.

He doesn't hold back at soon as he's all the way in, heavy, full sack ready to pump you till your belly was nice and round. He loves to run his mouth when he's feral and being subby doesn't change a thing.

"Want you to be a mommy" He pants, biting his lip when he feels you clench at his words. All you can do is moan, already way too close to cumming, you've never had your boyfriend like this and it absolutely does something to you. He latches onto your neck to muffle his needy whimpers, a stark contrast to his usual deep grunts.

"Y-yeah baby? You want to make me a mommy?"

"Wanna drink from you, wan you to gimme your milk" He doesn't look at you when he says this, keeping his face hidden in your neck while his hips thrust upwards. Everything about him is sinful and nothing is more sinful than the fat cock that was currently running your pussy but here he was, shy like a child.

"You can have all the milk you want baby boy" You press a kiss to his forehead and that just about does it. I need this man to blow his load like it's his first time having sex. He doesn't have a clue what's come over him but he fully gives into it, overstimulating himself by ruttig up as much as he can so his cock is deep in your pussy.

"M'getting you pregnant" He moans between broken cries when he feels a second orgasm building up, frantically picking you up and laying you onto the table, jack hammering his cock in while you practically squirt. "Gonna-gonna cum again, take it angel, m'putting my baby in your tummy, m'giving you all my kids, oh fuckkk, need you to have my baby pretty girl, please"

I want him to keep his soft cock in you, whimpering when your walls squeeze the last drops of cum out. He can barely move, holding onto you as he sits back on his chair, sweat clinging onto his forehead.

"Feel better?" You coo, still letting him feel whatever he needs as he floats in a postorgasm haze.

"All cause of you" He holds you tight, his sensitive cock twitching at the thought of how much of his spend he's just filled you with, in about an hour, he's going to give you at least one more-

Sorry. I'm sorry.

[navybrat817]

(Im)Patiently Waiting

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader

Summary: Bucky is trying to patiently wait for your call.

Word Count: Over 1.4k

Warnings: Fluff, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and already whipped, okay?)

A/N: Continuing with Moving in Slow Motion and Heart and Home, the phone call! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky looked down at the phone in his hand. He was never the kind of guy to constantly check his device, but he hadn’t stopped looking at it since he met you. Hell, he checked it while he was still at the museum, hoping for a text or something so he’d have your number, too. He didn’t think it was possible to become whipped so fast, but life still surprised him.

He sighed when the screen went dark. Why hadn’t you called yet? Maybe he came on too strong? He didn’t think he had. Were you just busy? Probably. You had an adorable daughter who needed you love and attention and-

“Bucky!”

His head snapped up to find Steve, his best friend and second-in-command, staring at him. He didn’t look impressed and pursued his lips more when Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t hear a damn word I said, did you?”

“No,” he replied, not bothering to lie. “Was I supposed to be listening, punk?”

“Yeah, you were, jerk.” Steve ran a hand through his golden hair, plopping down in his chair. “Still hasn’t called yet?”

“Not yet,” he said, setting the phone on the desk in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky sighed again, staring off at the books that lined one of the walls of his office. He didn’t divulge much of his personal life to others. It was safer that way, to both protect himself and the people he cared about. But meeting you and your daughter, he told Steve and their small circle all about it. How Sweet Pea bumped into him and his heart melted. How seeing you set his heart on fire.

They were stunned to say the least and were naturally curious about you since you caught his attention. Each of them offered in some way to do their research on you and make sure there was nothing suspicious or dangerous about you, but he refused. His gut instinct told him all he needed to know.

“You know,” Steve began, pulling his attention back. “We can get you her number if-”

He cut him off with a glare. “I already said no,” he growled, taking a breath. He wasn’t going to snap at his best friend. “I’m doing this the right way.”

Bucky was powerful, extremely powerful, but he wouldn’t use his influence over you. It wouldn’t be right. His hands were dirty as it was, and this could be his chance to have something pure.

With his hands up in surrender, Steve nodded. “Sorry. I just… I haven’t seen you like this before and you haven’t even gone on a date with her yet,” he smiled a little. “She must be something special.”

Bucky smiled a little, too. “She is,” he whispered. Things that didn’t make sense before did after he looked in your eyes.

“Yelena will be the judge of that,” the blonde winked.

“Yelena will take one look at Sweet Pea and declare that she’s her aunt,” Bucky teased, both of them chuckling.

If Bucky’s group taught him anything, it was that blood wasn’t always thicker than water. Friends were the family he got to choose. He would defend and protect them with his life. He imagined you were like that with your daughter, perhaps even more.

Who defended and protected you?

A ring echoed in the office and Bucky stared at the device as it lit up. He held his breath when a phone number popped up with no name. His gaze flickered to Steve as it kept ringing. Was it you?

Steve stared back at him like he had grown two heads. “What the hell are you waiting for? Answer it!”

Clearing his throat, he waved for his friend to go, who did so quickly. If it was you, he didn’t want anyone eavesdropping. If it wasn’t you, he didn’t want any witnesses when his face fell.

Releasing his breath, he finally quietly answered, “This is Bucky.”

“Hi, Bucky,” you spoke on the other end, stating your name as well. He slumped in his chair at the sound of your voice, his heart skipping a beat. It was really you. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at the science museum.”

“Of course, I remember you. You and Sweet Pea.” He couldn’t forget either of you if he tried and he didn’t want to. Did you think of him as much as he thought of you? “How are you two doing? Did she win the contest?”

“We’re doing just fine. She keeps talking about the museum and wants to go back, but no word if she won the contest or not.” He could hear the smile in your voice and it put a smile on his face, too. “How are you?”

“I’m doing just fine,” he replied, getting up and heading to the sofa so he could relax a bit more. He was better than fine since he was talking to you.

“Sorry it took me a bit to call you.”

Should he admit that he kept checking his phone in anticipation? “No, no. You don’t need to apologize,” he said. You didn’t owe him an explanation either. Whether you were busy with Sweet Pea or you didn’t want to call right away, that was your business. “I’m just glad you called.”

“I am, too.” There was silence on the other end. “So, I, um…” Your nervous giggle was beautifully endearing. “God, I’m really out of practice with this.”

“Practice with what exactly?” he smiled, laying back and looking at the ceiling. He wondered if you were sitting on a sofa, too. Or maybe you were in bed, comfortable, unwinding.

“Talking, I guess. At least with someone outside of work or parenting.” There was that giggle again. He wanted that sound on a loop. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Why don’t you start with what you did today?” he suggested.

“That might bore you.”

“I don’t think anything you could say could possibly bore me,” he sincerely said. If you decided to pick up a phone book and read it to him, he’d listen. But he was genuinely interested in your day. The little things would help him get to know you better and build more of that connection, both with who you were as a mother and as a person.

“Okay, but only if you tell me about your day, too,” you said.

“Now my day might bore you,” he chuckled. He wouldn’t start anything with you built on a lie about what he did, but he had to be careful with the truth.

“Mmm. I don’t know. You don’t strike me as a boring kind of guy.”

“Oh, I’m not boring,” he smirked. He would love to show you just how thrilling he could be some time. “But my day might be.”

“Try me,” you smiled.

“Can I ask you something before we talk about our ‘boring’ days?”

“Yeah, anything,” you answered.

Butterflies filled his stomach. Jesus, he was nervous. When was the last time anything made him feel nervous? “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

The pause on your end didn’t soothe his nerves. “A drink?” you repeated, your voice smaller than before. He detected uncertainty, like when he offered you his number.

“Yeah. Coffee at a cafe or wine at a nice restaurant, whatever you want,” he replied, exhaling slowly. He didn’t want to mess up your schedule or over complicate anything for you. “What do you say?”

Bucky stared down the barrel of a gun more than once in his life. He experienced torture. Had come close to death. Waiting for your answer was a different kind of torment. It would either be a killing blow or his saving grace.

“I’d love to get a coffee with you,” you stated, allowing him to properly breathe again. He wanted to pump his fist in the air. “Tomorrow, maybe? Unless that’s too soon. Is it too soon?”

“No, no, that’s great,” he smiled. He couldn’t stop smiling. Even if wasn’t free tomorrow, he’d clear his schedule. “Give me the time and place and I’ll be there.”

“Great.” The uncertainty was long gone. “There’s a cafe not too far from me. I can text you the place and time.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, and he wouldn’t be late. “Now… tell me about your day.”

He was going to soak up every single word until he saw you in the morning.

You called! He's whipped! You have a date! I still need to name this AU. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jobean12-blog]

Make It Last

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

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: When the most powerful man in the city wants you, it's hard to say no. Obviously he's hard to resist but considering his significance in the city you can't help but wonder if you're just another piece of arm candy, so if he wants you, he'll just have to wait.

Author's Note: I've been thinking about Mob!Bucky a lot and what it would be like the first time with him. Lovely Sydney @buck-star had sent me a Mob!Bucky thot last week and he's just so yummy! Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of build up and tension to lots of smutty fun. Bucky is dominant but also soft and gives you everything you want. Oral (f rec), p in v (wrap it up but no need here bc it's Mob!Bucky and he's good and already checked you out haha), light praise and overstim, Bucky can't get enough and you don't want him to.

“It might last longer if he just takes a picture!”

You laugh but you don’t look at your friend even after she makes the joke.

“Why is he even here? Didn’t you tell him you’d be out with the me?” she adds.

At her question you turn to Nat and raise a brow.

“He owns the place. What am I gonna do? Have security remove him for staring too much?”

Nat laughs into her drink but shakes her head. “I guess that won’t work…but it doesn’t bother you at all?”

You give Bucky one more lingering glance then turn your full attention to Nat.

“Under different circumstances it might but it’s sort of my fault that he’s so…worked up.”

“What does that mean?” Nat asks as she leans in closer with a smirk.

You take another sip of your drink. “Well, speaking of pictures…I sent him some while I was getting ready…”

Nat pauses then says, “and? Hasn’t he seen you naked already. You’ve been dating almost a month.”

“We haven’t had sex yet.”

She nearly spits out her drink. “You haven’t fucked that man yet?” She peeks over your shoulder at Bucky, who still has his full attention on you.

“I know,” you sigh. “I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long. But honestly, he’s the most powerful man in the city. He probably has had every woman alive. Why me? I didn’t want to just sleep with him and then…that’s it.”

Nat nods in understanding. “So, you’re making him work for it.”

“Work for it, wait for it…I like him. A lot. And I’m hoping that this shows him I want more than just a good fuck.”

“I bet he’s the best fuck…ever!”

Nat’s words send you into a fit of giggles that dissolve as you feel him approach, the heat at your back followed but a shiver from his whispered words against your ear.

“Enjoying yourself doll face?”

You turn your head, your face so close to his you nearly bump noses.

“I am Bucky, thank you.”

“Good,” he says. “And this is your last drink.”

Your eyes widen at his statement, and you open your mouth to argue but he places a long finger against your lips to silence you.

“I want you completely coherent when I fuck you tonight. I want you to remember everything I do to you.”

With a hard swallow you whisper, “ok,” and your eyes drop to his lips. He kisses you, sweet and soft and way too quickly.

“My car will be outside at eleven.”

He says goodbye to Nat before walking off and disappearing behind one of the doors at the back of the club.

“What was that about?” Nat asks. “You look like you might pass out.”

“I’m going to sleep with him tonight,” you answer, nearly breathless.

Your eyes roam over his body, his black button-up shirt tucked into black pants. The first two buttons of his shirt are left undone, hinting at the expanse of skin beneath and highlighting the long and muscular line of his neck. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his corded forearms and prominent veins shift as he removes the lustrous watch on his wrist.

You stand and wait, watching him as he slowly stalks closer.

“Do you know how hard it’s been? How hard I’ve been…waiting?”

Your eyes drop to his pants and the clear outline of him pressing along the lush fabric. You reach out, your fingertips just brushing against him and his breath comes out in a sharp exhale.

He wraps his fingers around your wrist and drags you into his chest, pressing you against every inch of him. His lips find yours in a hungry kiss, his hands slowly tracing your curves until they cradle your face.

“Are you finally going to let me have you?” he murmurs against your lips.

Your palms flatten along his chest, and you kiss him softly.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“My favorite word,” he breathes before kissing you again.

His hands move to your back, finding the zipper of your dress and toying with the small piece of metal. You whimper with impatience, and you feel his smile against your mouth before he spins you around, so your back is to him.

Goosebumps break out across your skin as he smooths his fingertips over the curve of your shoulder then drops his hand back to the zipper, slowly pulling it down until the fabric pools at your feet.

He hums in approval, kissing the back of your neck and then the space between your shoulder.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace of your undergarments.

He turns you to face him again and then gently guides you toward the bed, pushing until you sit. He kneels, taking your foot in his hand and sliding off your heel. He repeats the action with your other foot and smooths his palm along your calf with a delicate caress.

“So soft,” he sighs then stands, gazing down at you. “So beautiful.”

He starts to unbutton the rest of his shirt, but you stand to stop him, taking the fabric between your fingers and teasingly undoing the buttons until you can push it off his shoulders.

Your fingertips lightly scrape down his chest, lingering over every scar you find before your lips press to the puckered skin.

His eyes close and he whispers your name.

When your fingers reach his pants, trembling slightly, you pull the zipper down. You reveal his boxers and the noticeable bulge beneath the tight material.

You lick your lips and brush your fingers through the soft hair just above the waistband then dip them inside, sliding your hand along every warm, silky inch of him.

He throbs in response, your thumb tracing the tip and smearing the wetness there. You kiss him all over, not taking him into your mouth yet but teasing with your lips.

“Doll,” he warns and unclenches a fist to stop you. “If you keep that up this will be finished before we even start.”

You let out a soft gasp as he helps you stand and pushes you back onto the bed. His hands skim your thighs, pulling your legs up and placing them on either side of his hips. He hovers over you, staring, the curling wisps of his dark hair falling across his forehead.

When he slides his hand between the mattress and your back, you lift yourself, giving him access to unhook your bra. He makes quick work of it but takes his time as he peels it from your body to reveal your breasts.

He stares again, his cheeks flushed and the muscles in his arms and chest straining. You reach for him, pulling him down for a kiss and pressing your bodies together. His lips trail down your neck, to your collarbone, soft nips at your skin before he continues his descent, lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

His tongue teases your nipple then sucks it into his mouth making your back arch in pleasure. He pays the same attention to your other breast, teasing, licking, nibbling, and soothing.

You feel his smile against your skin as he pulls away to kiss down your stomach, keeping one hand on your breast.

His name falls from your parted lips when he presses a kiss between your legs, the thin fabric of your panties doing little to dampen the heat of his breath.

He sits back, gazing down at you, fingers teasing the waistband of lace at your hips.

“Do you want my mouth doll?”

You nod, your hips squirming.

“I want to hear the word.”

“Yes!”

A satisfied look crosses his face as he hooks his thumbs into the soft material and pulls it off, purposefully dragging the tips of his fingers down your thighs and calves.

His kiss is a barely there whisper of his lips to your clit, yet it causes your entire body to quiver. He does it again and again until you’re begging for more.

Finally, his tongue flattens, and he tastes you in a long lick from top to bottom. You cry out, bucking and pushing your hips into his face. He closes his lips around your clit and sucks, applying the perfect amount of pressure to make you tremble.

His hands dig deeper into your thighs, the rings adorning his fingers leaving marks in your skin as your calves come to rest on his shoulders, opening you wider for him. His tongue circles your clit before sweeping lower and dipping inside you. Your fingers grasp his hair, another breathless moan leaving your lips.

After bringing you to the edge he pulls back and lets you catch your breath, but it’s short lived as his finger circles your clit before sliding lower to sink inside you.

“More Bucky,” you breathe.

He pulls his finger out and rubs along your entrance with two, teasing you, before only pushing one back inside.

You bring your hand down toward him, needing more, but he quickly intercepts it. He withdraws his fingers and gathers your wrists together with one hand, bringing both arms stretched out above your head.

“Keep them there,” he orders.

You start to nod but then quickly reply with a breathy, “yes.”

He bends down to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before sinking his teeth into it. He moves back down your body, his tongue working you over, no longer teasing, but with purpose.

It takes everything in you not to let your hands fall to his hair and when he suddenly pushes two fingers inside you, giving you what you asked for, you moan out in pleasure.

His long fingers reach deep inside you, and combined with his attention to your clit, you can feel your release building.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads through your body and your breathing turns ragged as your muscles tense.

He doesn’t stop, working you through your release and prolonging it until you’re a trembling mess beneath him.

You open your eyes to find him watching you with a heated gaze.

“Fuck doll face. I could watch you come undone for me like that every day for the rest of my life.”

His thumb sweeps over your sensitive and swollen clit and your eyes roll back.

“Again,” he murmurs, dipping between your legs before you can respond.

His lips replace his thumb, his fingers resuming their previous pace as he slides his free hand under your lower back to effortlessly lift you and bring you closer.

Everything feels ten times more sensitive now and you fight with the clashing sensations of pulsating pleasure and the soreness of overstimulation.

You feel your release approaching quickly and your eyes squeeze shut but his commanding voice pulls you from your haze.

“No,” he growls. “Open them. Look at me.”

You obey, opening your eyes again, and the sight of him between your spread thighs sends you over the edge.

“Bucky,” you choke out.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers. “But not nearly enough.”

You struggle to sit up, your eyes falling to his cock resting against his abdominals. He smirks and grips himself, pumping his hand slowly up and down his length.

“Do you need a break doll?”

“No,” you tell him, letting your legs fall open.

He settles between them, his lips kissing your neck and the sensitive spot below your ear. He slides his hand down between your bodies and rubs himself against you teasingly.

“What is it?” he asks, pausing at the slight tensing in your body.

“Nothing Bucky.”

“Tell me doll face,” he demands. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“No!” you say quickly. “No. It’s not that. You’re just…bigger than what I’m used to.”

He smirks, rolling his hips slowly, not pressing in yet.

“You can take it doll.”

His hand moves to your face, grasping your jaw, keeping you looking up at him.

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes Bucky.”

His other hand grips your waist, holding you steady, and your breath catches in your throat as he begins to press into you, then came out in a low moan as he unhurriedly sinks in, making you feel every throbbing inch of him.

Your eyes flutter closed, but then his fingers dig into your jaw, a silent reminder to keep your eyes open. Your body stretches to accommodate him, the initial burn giving way to sweet friction as you relax.

He continues to move maddeningly slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, the intimacy of the moment making your pulse pick up in a way that has nothing to do with his languid movements.

He lets out a soft exhale as he finally stills, settled fully inside you. Your inner walls flutter around him as you adjust to his size, and he pulls back slightly, only to push back in with more force, drawing another moan out of you.

“See doll. You take me so well,” he praises. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” you say, your hands wrapped around his biceps, feeling the power in his muscles as he holds himself over you.

He draws back until only the tip remains inside you and then slips back in slowly. You lift your hips with impatience but his hand pushes on your stomach to pin you back down to the bed.

He leans in to kiss you, softly and with sweet, whispered words. The slow roll of his hips builds tightness in your stomach, and he takes your hand in his, pressing it next to your head, entwining your fingers.

You slide your free hand through his hair, dragging your fingers through the soft strands and then down his neck. He closes his eyes, savoring the sensation, his hold on your hand tightening.

“I could come just from this,” he says huskily, lips dropping down to your ear. “Just from the sight of you completely ruined under me.”

His words make you squeeze around him, and he lets out a low, deep rumbling moan into your neck. You jerk your hips up toward him, your legs trying to draw him closer and deeper.

He lets go, pumping his hips faster, fingers digging into your thigh possessively as your body jolts with the force of it.

With a precise and purposeful rhythm, he keeps a relentless pace until your body explodes with every sensation and all you can do is hold onto him and listen to the rough sound that comes deep from his throat.

He pants against your neck, then trails soft kisses along your jaw to your lips, his kiss slow and deep, making you breathless all over again. Your heart beats frantically between you, his own a rapid thump, thump, thump, against his sweaty chest.

With gentleness he pulls out and lays down next to you, throwing his arm over your waist and curling you toward him. You quickly get lost in his cocoon of warmth, sighing, and closing your eyes, but he presses two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze to his.

“I want to clean you up,” he whispers. “And I want you to stay the night with me.”

Your quiet “yes,” makes him smile proudly and he carefully extracts himself, returning quickly with a warm cloth and delicate hands.

He slides up the bed and pulls you to him, closing the distance and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth and finally your lips. His hand cradles your face, his thumb swiping over your lips, applying enough pressure to part them.

Then his hand glides along your throat and his fingers close around the back of your neck to angle your head in a way that allows him a deeper kiss.

When he pulls away his nose gently bumps yours and he opens his eyes, ghosting his lips to yours as he whispers, “so perfect for me doll.”

[harrywavycurly]

Tuesday Dinner: A Sopranos meets Mafia!Harry Styles AU✨

A/N: This is based on this post right here and is probably the most dramatic thing I’ve ever written in my life but I just love the Sopranos and Harry Styles so please don’t take this seriously it’s just a bit of fun!

CW: Language, Harry is a dick but he loves you, threats of violence, brief act of minor violence (you toss something at the back of Harry’s head), this is probably a kinda toxic relationship but I don’t mind if you don’t?

Summary: You’re making dinner on a random Tuesday and Harry’s “coworkers” keep showing up unannounced✨

You place a wooden spoon in your pasta sauce to give it a stir in the pot it’s simmering in, having just moved it to one of the burners on the back of the stove. You feel a hand on your hip and a moment later you feel a soft kiss being placed to the side of your neck before a chin is resting on your shoulder, you smile as you take the spoon out of the pot and bring it up to your lips to give it a taste. You ignore the slight pouting noise Harry makes when you don’t offer him a taste before putting the spoon on the spoon rest next to the stove, deciding your sauce needs a little more salt.

“Where’s the pasta?” Harry questions when he doesn’t see a pot of boiling water next to the pot your sauce is on, you roll your eyes at his question because you know Harry is well aware where the pasta you’ll be using tonight is.

“M’serious what’s the sauce goin’ on?” He asks as he stands up giving your hip a squeeze before he turns to head towards the fridge his eyes landing on the bread on the counter next to it. “All I see is a baguette and-”

“Oh you didn’t just want some sauce with a side of bread and maybe a salad?” You ask feeling annoyed that he’s even in the kitchen in the first place, having been in the office since he got home from work a few hours ago. Harry shoots you a glare as his hand grips the handle of the fridge his wedding ring making a light clink sound when it comes in contact with the metal door handle, not liking your sudden attitude when all he’s doing is asking about what you’re making for dinner.

“You’ll know what the sauce is goin’ on when you open up the fridge and don’t go bein’ an ass about it either okay? I know how you get about-”

“Know how I get about what?” You go back to your sauce, adding a pinch of salt before grabbing the spoon to give it a quick stir as Harry opens the fridge and sees the container of leftover pasta sitting on the bottom shelf. Harry lets out a groan as he leans in and grabs the container off the shelf and sees its full of the rigatoni you didn’t use in the baked dish you made the other night.

“Oh you’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin me. We can’t get fresh pasta?”

“It is fresh I made that last night. This is just a Tuesday night dinner for the two of us Harry what are you expecting a Sunday dinner kinda spread for?”

“So you’re gonna ruin your good sauce with some microwaved noodles?” Your grip on the handle of the spoon tightens as you turn around so you can face Harry who is now standing by the fridge with the container of pasta in his hands.

“Tell me Harry does this look like the Olive Garden to you? You know damn well I’m not microwaving the fuckin’ pasta you jack-” Before you can finish your sentence you hear three loud knocks on the back door before it opens making Harry turn his attention away from you and towards the back door.

“H you’re not gonna believe the shit I just heard.” Harry puts the container of pasta on the counter next to the fridge as his younger cousin Christopher walks through the door. “Oh somethin’ smells good in here.” You give him a smile as he walks into the kitchen and automatically opens his arms out to give you a quick hug.

“You know that’s your problem. You’re always kissin’ the wrong ass Christopher.” Harry snaps as he places a hand on his hip as he sends a glare to his cousin as you place a kiss to his cheek before he pulls away from you. “Who’d you come over here to see huh? Me or her?” Christopher quirks a brow at you, silently asking what Harry’s problem is when he hears a slight edge in his voice making you roll your eyes and shrug as you turn and go back to perfecting your sauce.

“It’s called havin’ manners H. I mean come on you act like you don’t know who my mother is? She’d kick my ass if she knew I stepped into a woman’s kitchen and didn’t say hello to her first.” You chuckle to yourself as Christopher makes his way towards Harry who is still glaring at his cousin.

“What is it you need to tell me?” He asks as he runs a hand through his hair while his cousin walks past him and to the fridge to grab a beer.

“They got Jimmy.”

“Who got Jimmy?”

“They did H.”

“You’re talkin’ in fuckin circles Christopher who the hell got him? The feds? Sal’s guys? Who?” You bring your spoon up to your lips to give it another taste and smile to yourself when you finally feel you got it right and don’t need to add anything.

You hear Christopher let out a sigh as he opens his beer but before he can fully explain the situation to Harry your back door swings open. You let out a startled squeak as both men instantly place a hand on the back waistband of their slacks, reaching for something they keep tucked away for protection that their casual short sleeved dress shirts do a good job at keeping hidden.

“Boss!” Harry lets out a sigh of relief as Paulie rushes through the door in his usual matching tracksuit and heads straight into the kitchen, Harry’s hand that was on the waistband of his pants falls to his side while he uses the other to pinch the bridge of his nose as an attempt to calm himself down.

“How’ya doin sweetheart? Smells good.” You turn your head and give him a smile as he leans in and places a kiss to your cheek on his way to the other side of the kitchen where Harry and Christopher are still standing by the fridge.

“The fuck is the matter with you Paulie? Bustin’ in the door like that? You’re lucky I didn’t redecorate the walls with your fuckin’-”

“You didn’t hear me knock? I knocked before I came in boss I swear I’m not some kinda wild fuckin’ animal.” He says with his hands raised in a show of mock surrender since he can sense the irritation coming off his boss. “They got Jimmy.”

“I already told em’ Paulie.” Christopher explains after taking a sip of his beer. Harry lets out a frustrated groan as he places both hands on his hips and shakes his head while a sarcastic chuckle bubbles up and out of his mouth from his deep in his chest.

“Actually no one has told me shit because I still don’t know who got Jimmy?” He snaps while you just do your best to ignore the loudness of the men that are starting to take over your kitchen as you turn so you can grab the bread off the counter next to where Harry placed the container of pasta.

“Yo uncle H you hear what happened to Jimmy?” You turn your head to give Harry a warning glare as once again your back door flies open allowing a loud voice that can only belong to his nephew Anthony, to be heard well throughout the house. Harry ignores your glare as Paulie and Christopher turn to look at the youngest member of the Styles crew.

“If you tell em’ then half the damn neighborhood is gonna hear about it too you fuckin’ loud mouth.” Paulie teases as Anthony walks into the kitchen, you open your mouth to say something to your husband but feel a hand on your shoulder pulling you in for a side hug and a kiss to your cheek.

“How ya doin auntie? Smells incredible in here.” While you want to roll your eyes at him you can’t because you’re not annoyed with him or any of the men in your kitchen minus the one that they all came over to talk to, the one they call boss but you just call your husband.

“If one more of you ass kissin’ fucks tells her it smells good in here I’m kickin all you out on your asses. It’s just a fuckin’ sauce and some leftover pasta for Christ sake.” You feel your jaw clench as you reach for a small bread knife from the knife block, Harry watches you turn around and face him with the bread in one hand and the knife in the other. He has to hold off the smirk that’s tugging at the corner of his mouth as he crosses his arms over his chest making his biceps flex a bit as you narrow your eyes at him in a harsh glare while taking a step towards him causing Paulie and Christopher to move to the side to give you some space while Anthony just stands behind his uncle.

“Say one more thing about what I’m making for dinner Harry and you’ll be taking all your meals through a fuckin’ straw for the next few months.” You threaten as you raise the knife up and use it to point at him, Paulie raises an eyebrow as he looks from you to Harry who just gives you a nod as he takes a step towards you and slowly reaches a hand out and places it over yours that’s gripping the handle of the knife that’s still pointed at him.

“Yeah? You gonna break my jaw sweetheart? Is that it?” You shrug as you let him lower your hand holding the knife to your side while looking him in the eyes, you can tell by the way they are a light shade of green almost like a jade color that he’s not angry at you for speaking to him that way in front of company. “I’d let you if it meant I didn’t have to eat microwaved pasta and lukewarm sauce for a while.” He admits with a smirk knowing that comment is going to push you over the edge.

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” Harry’s smirk turns into a full blown grin as you insult him because he knows you’re capable of calling him much worse things than an asshole so that’s his signal that you’re not really mad at him. He lets go of your hand that’s holding the knife and brings it up to cup the side of your face, his rings feeling cool against the warmth of your skin.

“Yeah m’a real fuckin’ prick but you love me.” You roll your eyes making Harry’s grip on your face tighten ever so slightly as his thumb presses into the side of your cheek as he leans down so his lips are right next to your ear. “Come on baby tell me you love me.” He whispers into your ear before placing a kiss to the spot just below it.

“I love you.” You say with an annoyed sigh making Harry smile because in that moment he feels he’s won. He places a kiss to your forehead before he drops his hand from your face and takes a step around you towards the dining room. The guys pause a moment when they hear you let out a scoff before you turn and see Harry’s back facing you as he reaches the edge of the kitchen.

You quickly reach over and place the knife on the counter and grab an apple out of the fruit basket you keep on the kitchen island and before you can second guess yourself you toss it, aiming for the back of Harry’s head. He pauses as the apple makes contact with his shoulder instead of where you had intended it to go but a hit is a hit so you aren’t too upset. He slowly turns around and looks at the apple on the ground, bending down to pick it up before he looks over at you with a glare.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Say it back you fuckin’ jackass.” Harry looks at you with a quirked brow as you stare at him waiting to hear him say he loves you back.

“I love you. You’re the love of my whole miserable fuckin’ life okay? Happy now?” Harry admits and you just nod and turn to grab the knife and make your way over to the area by stove so you can begin to slice the bread and get it ready to be put in the oven with some oil and a bit of garlic.

“Maybe your life wouldn’t be so miserable if you were nicer to your wife you prick.” You mumble making Harry laugh as he turns and walks into the dining room.

“I love when we get dinner and a show.” Paulie jokes as he walks behind you and off in the direction Harry went.

“Always with the jokes. How bout you make yourself useful and set the table huh?” You laugh when you hear Harry’s voice from the dining room followed by what you know is the sound of his hand smacking Paulie upside the head.

“The fuck you two waitin around for? Someone better tell me what the hell happened to Jimmy before my wife sets foot in this room or I’m lettin’ her break all your jaws.” He shouts from the table and you look over your shoulder and watch Christopher and Anthony nearly trip over themselves trying to get in the dining room.

“M’sorry bout the whole dinner and a show comment. You know m’a fuckin’ idiot sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it Paulie you’re fine he’s just an ass.” You reassure him with a smile as he stands next to you while he opens the cabinet you keep the plates in.

“Just a normal Tuesday at the Styles house huh?” He teases with a giggle and you can’t help but laugh and nod because while normally there aren’t this many unexpected visitors on a Tuesday night you can’t say it hasn’t happened before and that it won’t happen again.

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Boundaries

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~2.6k

Summary: Y/n stands up for her wife, and gets in trouble for it

A/N: We'd all do this, right?

Warnings: angst, slurs, violence, fluff

You hadn’t meant for everything to get so out of hand. Honestly, you usually did a much better job of controlling your anger, but it had been a rough week for you, and this asshole had really hit a nerve. 

You’d been stuck at the compound all week because the clinic was closed for repairs. The power had gone out suddenly during a surgery last week, and this exposed all kinds of electrical issues that needed to be fixed. Given that this process involved having an entire team of people present and the power to be turned off while they worked, you were getting a paid vacation. This usually wasn’t something to sniff at, but the fact that your wife was so busy this week and barely had anytime to see you made it seem like more of a curse than a gift. 

You’d spent a lot of time in your rooms because you didn’t really feel like navigating the crowds of people downstairs. They all worked for your wife, some in a roundabout way, but that meant that they were involved in some sort of crime that you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t believe that they cared enough about your presence, or hell even knew who you were, so you’d allowed yourself a daily trip downstairs to frequent your favorite restaurant at lunch. 

It's not until you make a rather impulsive decision that you realize maybe it would be better if people knew who you were. 

Downstairs it's hectic as always during lunchtime, even when you go near the tail end, so you’re waiting patiently for your friend Larry to have time to help you. You’re probably fourth in line, if the group that’s loud and obnoxious is all together, and you try to block them out by scrolling mindlessly on your phone. 

“So what assignment did we get stuck with this time?”

“Damn, Hawk, didn’t you pay any attention during the briefing?”

A long silence is the only answer his friend, and you unfortunately, need to know that he most certainly did not. You don’t really care to hear what they’re about to say given how extensive your wife’s reach is in this city. They could be talking about something as mundane as patrol or as horrifying as murder.

You wish you’d brought your headphones, but they’re still charging and nothing quite kills the mood like having ‘battery low’ chirp during your favorite songs. 

You watch with an impatient scowl as the brunette in front of you finally just shrugs before offering his friend a smile that makes your skin crawl. 

“Barely, I was still thinking about my run-in with the boss.” 

This makes you frown but you only get a moment to consider who he’s talking about before another member of their group, a blonde with a bad haircut speaks up with a disbelieving scoff.

“Oh, come on, you didn’t run into her. You just stared at her like a creep when she walked by.” 

“Yeah dude, come on, when are you going to let that go?”

You’ve abandoned even the pretense of scrolling through your feed when your suspicions are confirmed a few seconds later. You really wish this creep would just order his food and get out of your sight, but that was obviously unreasonable of you. 

“It’s hard, man. Come on, don’t tell me you don’t find Maximoff smokin’ hot.”

You’d gag if it wouldn’t draw their attention, but seriously. Ick. You tell yourself that he’s just some hormonal dude who doesn’t have a chance in hell with Wanda. Believing this is made easier by you going to your texts and opening the last conversation you had with your wife which was annoyingly two days ago.

You’re smiling as you read her response to your latest request for a dog, and you follow dutifully, almost absentmindedly as the line begins to move. 

“Well, no shit, but she’s married, and a lesbian right?” 

You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from laughing or flat out saying ‘no shit’ in response. You really should have brought your headphones.

Wanda was dangerously close to running as she left her last meeting to head back to her rooms. She was hoping that the fifteen-minute break she had would be enough to check on you because honestly, she was so sick of not seeing you until she finally managed to call it a night well past your usual bedtime. Usually it wouldn’t be so bad, just annoying, but you weren’t working this week because of a problem at the clinic, and she wanted to spend time with you. Of course, her busiest week of the year just so happened to fall during your impromptu vacation, so it had honestly been days since she’d talked to you before the late hours of the night.

She was trying to fix this now, but as she wandered into their private rooms, she realizes you aren’t here. The television is off and the bed’s made, but there’s no note saying where you went. She’s not sure why she expected one since she doubted you would think she’d have time to stop by. Wanda sighs and checks her watch before she decides to try and push it and check downstairs for you. She’s well aware of your near obsession with one of the restaurants on the first floor, so she figures if you’re anywhere, it’s there. 

You were hoping that this brunette, Hawk you think it was, would have a reasonable response to being told that his crush or whatever is married. For once, your normal underestimation of most men, wasn’t unfair. 

You’re forcing yourself to look at dog pictures when you hear an exaggerated sigh that can’t mean anything good. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure I could bring her around…”

You’re mid-eyeroll when he says something that makes your blood boil.

“One way or another.” 

“You’re fucking disgusting.” 

You are made aware of the fact that you hadn’t said this in your head when the four men turn to stare you down. You resist the urge to flinch and instead you glare at the brunette who’s crossed too many lines for you to forgive at this point.

You all miss when it’s their turn to order because you’re all too busy glaring at each other. Hawk turns to face you fully and sneers before he takes a step toward you.

“What did you just say to me?” 

You can feel your frustration growing and it’s certainly surpassed any sense of self-preservation you have at this point. You close the distance so you’re practically standing toe to toe before you repeat what you said, but a little bit louder in case he truly hadn’t heard you. Which you sincerely doubt.

“I said, you’re fucking disgusting.” 

You ignore all of his friends muttering under their breath and keep your focus on the now glaring brunette. You wonder how stupid you’re being going against someone like him who you’re unlikely to talk sense into. Not to mention its potentially four to one. Maybe two if Larry steps in which you hope he doesn’t. 

“How about you mind your own fucking business?” 

You smile and it surprisingly doesn’t fade when he shoves you hard enough to make you take a step back. You don’t notice Larry’s caught on to what’s happening, and you laugh in Hawk’s face before stepping forward like he hadn’t even pushed you. 

“Believe it or not, dumbass. This is my business.” 

You see confusion briefly before it turns into an annoying smugness that makes you want to punch him. You honestly should have left this alone, but you’re in it now, so you either have to back off and run away with your metaphorical tail tucked between your legs or…

“What? Are you telling me you’re a dyke too?”

Your smile fades at the slur which unfortunately makes him smile, but you recover quickly before shooting him a saccharine smile.

“For sure, and as a dyke I can tell you that she would never go for a disgusting piece of shit like you.” 

You’re ready for him this time, so when he reaches out to grab you, you sidestep him before punching him in the face. You wince slightly because damn that hurt, but you immediately curse yourself for turning your back on his friends. 

Two sets of hands grab you and you faintly hear someone shouting in protest as you face Hawk and his already reddening face. You don’t have time to feel smug about it as you try and fail to shake off the duo behind you. 

“You’re going to regret that you little bitch.” 

He grabs you from his friends and raises his fist to punch you, and you’re about to kick him in the balls when you hear a familiar voice. 

Wanda had made good time and when she arrives downstairs to see the crowds of people she realizes that she won’t have much time to catch up with you at all. She walks towards the food court and the restaurant that you’d eat at for every meal if you could. She stops in her tracks when she notices what looks like an argument playing out between some people waiting in line. 

She sees the man behind the counter, someone you’d befriended quickly, scowling and shouting at a group of men who are surrounding…

“Hey! Let her go!”

Wanda hurries to close the distance between them and she watches as all of the men except the one with his back to her flinch and immediately step away from you. The brunette who’s still holding onto you and only seconds away from hitting you, turns to practically snarl at her.

“She fucking started it, the--!”

He trails off as he finally notices who’d interrupted them, and he drops you immediately as his eyes widen in horror. Wanda just glares at him as she looks between you and the group of men you’d somehow gotten into an argument with. She considers just letting it go and getting you out of there, but her curiosity gets the best of her.

“Oh, and what exactly did she start?” 

You wait with bated breath to see what Hawk says about what happened. You truly don’t believe he’s dumb enough to admit that he’d been saying such disgusting things about his boss, to her face. That said, fear makes you do dumb things apparently. 

“She was butting into our conversation about you—”

He trails off as his eyes widen even further and his friends hiss under their breaths as they continue to take small steps back. One of them even turns around and tries to order something, but Larry just shoots him an incredulous look.

Wanda frowns in confusion and she tilts her head as she regards the sweaty brunette in front of her.

“Me? Why on Earth were you talking about me?” 

You can’t help yourself and you grumble something that’s only meant for your wife, but of course they all hear it. 

“Drooling over you, more like it.”

You watch in awe as Wanda seems to realize what she’d walked into and makes a decision on how to deal with it in a split second. She glowers at Hawk who’s the only one of his group that’s within reach, not that she even needs to grab him to keep him still. He’s petrified and as still as a statue as Wanda takes a step toward him. 

“What’s your name?” 

Wanda could look for his ID badge, but that’s not nearly as satisfying as having him say it. She only has to wait for a split second before the brunette is mumbling his name just loud enough for you and Wanda to hear. You see your wife consider dragging this out, but like you, she just wants to get out of here. 

“Alright, Hawkins, here’s the deal. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. If you step out of line again, you’re gone, understood?” 

The brunette’s fear is dimmed a bit by his anger and confusion at being chastised for participating in an argument that he didn’t even start. He doesn’t get why you’re not getting into trouble, but Wanda’s happy to fill him in and render him speechless in the process. 

“Also, I’ll be reporting this incident to your superior. She’ll decide your punishment for manhandling my wife.” 

Wanda doesn’t wait for a response, she doesn’t need one, before she reaches out for your hand. 

“Come on, detka.” 

You grab her hand and don’t look back as you leave the stunned group in the dust. The only one who’s not surprised is Larry, but he’s already sending the men away without food. That at least makes you feel better about not getting any either. 

“Not exactly how I wanted to see you in the daylight for the first time in days.” 

Wanda is still practically dragging you toward the elevators, so you can’t tell if she’s upset with you. You don’t have to wonder too long though as she offers you a rueful smile before she presses the button and leans against the wall with a sigh. 

“Definitely not, but I’m glad I showed up when I did.” 

It’s your turn to smile and your face heats up in embarrassment as you follow Wanda into the elevator. 

“Yeah, thanks. That got a little out of hand.” 

Wanda just hums in acknowledgment as she scans her badge and presses the button for your private floor. She figures she can be a little late to her next meeting given the circumstances. She waits until the doors are shut before turning to you with a frown.

“What did he say, Y/n?” 

You frown too and just shake your head before deciding that its not even worth repeating. You tell your wife that he’d just said something gross about convincing her to sleep with him. Wanda’s still frowning when you arrive to your floor without food, but she’s quick to follow you out and into your rooms.

“I’m surprised you said anything.” 

You can’t blame her for saying this because honestly you’re still surprised too. It wasn’t even something new and different that Hawkins had been saying. You’d heard it before, but for some reason today you just couldn’t put up with it. Maybe you were just fed up with male arrogance and his claims about turning your wife’s head made you want to punch him. 

You eventually just sigh before you collapse onto the couch and shake your head in defeat. 

“Me too, Wands, but come on. He called you smokin’, how cringe is that?” 

Wanda surprises you by laughing and it actually makes you smile before you remember you’re supposed to be pouting. You wait until Wanda sits down beside you and reaches out for you wordlessly. You don’t hesitate to move closer to her and let her wrap her arms around you. You sigh in relief, happy to be in your wife’s presence, even if the circumstances that led you here weren’t pleasant. 

“What? You don’t think I’m smoking hot?” 

You laugh out loud at this and turn so you can face your wife before leaning in to kiss her. You pull away too soon for either of your liking, but you know she likely has things to do, and you don’t want to get too distracted.

“You’re gorgeous, but that’s only one of the many things I love about you. He was just focused on your looks which despite being what they are is…ugh.” 

Wanda smiles at you and she kisses your forehead before quickly glancing at the clock in the kitchen. She needs to go, and she hates herself for it. 

“I love you too, detka. I love you for coming to my defense, but maybe next time make sure your odds are a bit better?”

You roll your eyes but still smile as you lay your head against your wife’s shoulder. You don’t care if you only get a few minutes. You’re going to enjoy the time you have with her for as long as possible. 

“Will do, Wands.”

Masterlist